“All the advice in the world won’t help us to sail these boats till we know all about them ourselves, know every bit of wood in them, and every inch of sail, and every cleat and bolt and pin—”
“Don’t they call them pintles?” suggested Kate, but Polly never noticed the interruption.
“And we know what they’re going to do next in all sorts of weather. But I like it, don’t you, girls?”
“It’s glorious,” cried Ruth, enthusiastically. Her hair was hanging down her back, while she brushed it vigorously, trying to get the salt water harshness out of it. “I’ve named my yacht the Iris. It means a rainbow.”
“Mine’s the Patsy D.,” Sue said complacently. “I’ve always wanted a boat named the Patsy D.”
“Patsy D.,” exclaimed Polly, laughing. “Why do you want to call her that?”
“Because,” said Sue, firmly, “I want a name that will be simple and vigorous, and easy to say, and besides the only boat I ever had a really happy sail on was named the Patsy D. It’s the excursion steamer that runs around Chesapeake Bay for Sunday-school outings, and last year she bumped into something and spoiled the shape of her lovely nose, and now she’s a barge down at Newport News. So I shall perpetuate her memory and call my yacht the Patsy D.; and you may name yours after all the rainbows and other beauties in creation. I believe that names should be suggestive of pleasant memories.”
“Hurrah for the Patsy D.,” sang out Ted from the couch corner.
“I don’t care if you do make fun of it. She’s the Patsy D. all the same,” said Sue, stoutly.
“How can she be the Patsy D.?” asked Polly, teasingly.