“You think that I’m just pretending! I don’t like you any mare, Leslie Secrest!” But Peggy was half smiling as she spoke and Leslie did not apologize.
Sarita was still looking out over the ledge. Then quickly she stepped back behind the jutting rocks and plumped herself down by the other girls. “It’s Bill,” she said. “He was going on down, but I couldn’t get a good look at him till he suddenly turned; and then I was afraid that he would see me watching him,—hence my sudden retreat!”
“Could there be some other ledge along here, and someone on it?” Leslie suggested. “This one ends here, I suppose, with that big bulge of rock.”
“Suppose we fasten a sign of some sort here and then look up from below and see just what is near us here. That does not smell like a pipe, and I can smell it yet. Can’t you?”
“Yes, Peggy, though not so much,” said Leslie. “Sarita, this is more like an Eyrie than ours, isn’t it? You can see most of the bay, our headland, the sea and a bit of the village from here. Do you suppose that we can see this with our ‘mind’s eye’ next winter when we are digging into our books and have nothing better to look at than the flat plains of home?”
“I wonder,” said Sarita. Below them lay the bay, sparkling in the sun. Its salty waves leaped up on many a half-submerged rock near the shore, that sent back the spray. Beyond the rim of confining rocks and the Secrest headland, the sea surged more quietly than usual, though there was a line of breakers to be seen. The sky was a deep blue, its clouds in heaps of billowing, floating white.
“This,” said Peggy, “is the home of the ‘triumvirate.’”
“‘Triumvirate’ is not exactly appropriate, Peggy,” Sarita remarked.
“No,” said Leslie. “How about the Three Bears?”
“Who’s been sitting in my chair?” squeaked Peggy in a high voice.