"So unreasonable."
"No—reasonable. Now just look at the whole thing sensibly. Here we are—mamma and I and two girls."
"What do you call yourself? Aren't you a girl?"
"Don't interrupt; perhaps I should have said two schoolgirls. We have come away partly for rest and change, partly for study. So it would only upset all our plans to have you and your friend with us. You'd be dreadfully in the way."
"In the way! I like that. Why, you could rest, or study all day, for all we'd care, and we'd afford you the change that you would certainly need once in a while. Only—if you'll excuse my saying so—who ever heard of any one's resting or studying on a pleasure-trip? Just look at the funny side of it yourself, Amy—and smile—please."
Whereupon, quite against her will, the smile that twitched Amy's lips extended itself into a laugh, in which Fritz Tomkins joined heartily.
"Ah, Amy, that laugh makes me think of old times. So now perhaps you'll condescend to explain why two lonely youths may not visit the historic Acadia in company with you and your mother, not to mention the other members of your party."
Amy made no answer, and Fritz continued:
"Just think what we shall lose! It always benefits me to be with your mother, and you are so full of information, Amy, and you so love to impart what you know, that by the end of the journey I should be a walking guidebook. To go with you would be better than attending a summer school."
"There, Fritz," interrupted Amy, with rising color, "you are getting back at me for what I have said. But we really mean to make this an improving trip."