“What do you think of this?” asked Hilary, as she tried on a fiery looking turban made of silk middy ties. “And look at the flag Patty has made for us. Isn’t that a scary skull and cross-bones?”
“Yes indeed! Patty’s a peach,—O, ‘fifteen men on a dead man’s chest. Yo, ho, ho!—and a bottle of rum!’”
“Aren’t you a case, Lilian North!” exclaimed Cathalina, who was resting from her recent labors on the canoe, and lay on her cot watching the girls.
“O, Captain Kidd, we’re glad, we’re glad you aren’t here now!” hummed Lilian.
“Are you going to sing that?” asked Cathalina.
“O, no; if I have time I’ll make up something like, ‘I’m Captain Kidd, the pirate bold, who sails the Kennebec,—’”
“My right arm helps ’em walk the plank,” added Hilary.
“And little do I reck!” finished Cathalina.
“Hurrah!” cried Lilian. “Poetry made while you wait by Squirrels’ Inn and company. Give me another verse and I’ll take my guitar, neatly concealed by evergreen, and make up a tune on two or three notes as we go.”
“A verse is a line, Lilian.”