“I won’t have to,” boasted Dolly. “You’ll all remember it. All I’m afraid of is that you won’t be satisfied with the way anyone else cooks after this. I’ve let myself out this time!”
It was a good dinner—a better dinner than anyone had thought Dolly could cook. But, despite her jesting ways, Dolly was a close observer, and she had not watched Margery, a real genius in the art of cooking, in vain. Everyone enjoyed it, and, when they had eaten all they could, Dolly lay back in the sand with Bessie.
“Well, wasn’t I right? Don’t you love this place?” she asked.
“I certainly think I do,” said Bessie. “It’s so peaceful and quiet. I didn’t believe any place could be as calm as the mountains, but I really think this is.”
“I love to hear the surf outside, too,” said Dolly. “It’s as if it were singing a lullaby. I think the surf, and the sighing of the wind in the trees is the best music there is.”
“Those noises were the real beginning of music, Dolly,” said Eleanor. “Did you know that? The very first music that was ever written was an attempt to imitate those songs of nature.”
After the dishes were washed and put away, everyone sat on the beach, watching the sky darken. First one star and then another came out, and the scene was one of idyllic beauty. And then, as if to complete it, a yacht appeared, small, but beautiful and graceful, steaming toward them. Its sides were lighted, and from its deck came the music of a violin, beautifully played.
“Oh, how lovely that is!” said Eleanor. “Why, look! I do believe it is going to anchor!”
And, sure enough, the noise of the anchor chains came over the water.