“You will sometime,” Maida interrupted, “but father says we’ve all got to learn to swim before we can get into a sailboat.”
“I know how to swim,” Arthur stated in an off-hand voice. “All boys do.”
“I don’t,” Dicky remonstrated.
“Well you will in a week,” Maida promised.
Harold had all this time been keenly examining the ocean, the curving line of shore.
“What’s that island off there, Maida?” he asked.
“Everybody else calls it Spectacles Island, because it’s shaped like a pair of spectacles. But I call it Tom Tiddler’s Ground, because nobody lives there. I don’t see why I shouldn’t call it what I want. It’s my island.”
“Your island,” Rosie repeated. “Oh Maida, you lucky girl.”
Maida flushed and looked ashamed. “I mean our island,” she corrected herself.