“It helped me swing around that narrow place,” laughed Peggy. “Besides, let the hostess provide the eats.”
“Are you hostess?”
“Isn’t this Steeple Rocks? I know that you are laughing at the lunch, but those were the things I found and they all looked good.”
“I know by experience, Peggy, that anything from your house is good,” said Leslie. “This isn’t the first time that you have treated us. Hurrah for blueberry pie in Maine! We found a new place for blueberries, Peggy, scrumptious ones.”
Peggy had saluted when Leslie complimented the Steeple Rocks cooking. Now she changed expression. “Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the—smoke of an English-mun! Isn’t that funny? Don’t you smell cigar smoke, girls?”
“I believe I do a little, Peggy,” Sarita replied. She was at the opening, and taking a careful step or two she looked over the ledge, her hand on a rocky protuberance for safety’s sake. “Somebody’s going down toward the dock. Perhaps we are getting a whiff from the pipe he is smoking.”
“Please see who it is, Sarita, if you can without being seen. Mother said that Dad might be home to-day, and if he is, I want to keep out of sight as much as possible.”
Leslie, listening, puckered her brows and Peggy saw her.
“Now Leslie, don’t worry. It isn’t bad of me to keep out of trouble. You just don’t understand, that’s all.” Peggy gave Leslie an engaging look out of frank, affectionate eyes.
“Little flirt,” laughed Leslie. “She knows, Sarita, that she only has to look at us with ‘them eyes’ to have us melt. Why don’t you try that on Mr. Ives?”