It was past three o’clock before the caravan started. First a wagon was sent around by the shore road, with Aunty Welcome and the luggage.
“That’s a pretty hefty load, son,” the Admiral told the sunburned youngster who had agreed to do the hauling down to the Knob, as all the shore people called Lost Island. He laughed, and slapped the reins on the horses’ backs.
“Guess the colts will get there all right, sir,” he said. “They can both of them swim.”
“We’ll be there right away, Aunty,” Polly called, receiving a reassuring wave from a large, dark green cotton umbrella.
“Now, I begin to feel as though we were getting down to business,” Kate said, decidedly, as she came from the telephone booth in the hotel office. “I’ve arranged for our groceries, and they say they can send a team over about four, because they deliver goods every morning and afternoon to the hotel and cottages, and we might as well receive ours that way, too.”
“Did you order stuffed olives and plenty of chocolate, Kate?” Isabel asked.
“No, ma’am, I did not. We must have solid food, the Admiral says, and no nonsense. Plenty of fresh vegetables and fruit.”
“Well, I like the incidental trimmings myself,” mourned Isabel.
“Ready?” asked Polly, and the caravan moved, Polly and the Admiral bringing up the rear.
Just then the two Vaughan sisters came down the hotel steps dressed in dark blue linen yachting suits, and as they passed, girl fashion, they smiled at the strangers without the formality of an introduction. Polly could not wait for time to ripen the acquaintance, but paused and spoke to them in her impulsive way.