The days flew by on wings and the girls were surprised to wake one morning to find that they had been at Lighthouse Island over a week.
They had been bathing and boating and swimming till they were tanned a beautiful brown, the color not being confined to their faces, but covering their arms and hands as well.
What with the exercise and Mrs. Danvers’ wonderful cooking, they had gained flesh so fast that they had begun to wonder a little anxiously if they were “bound for the freak show.”
“Why, it’s positively dreadful!” Laura declared one morning, feeling ruefully of her waistline which she was quite certain had expanded at least two inches. “I’ve simply got to stop eating, or something.”
“Stop eating!” echoed Billie, taking up a handful of sand and letting it sift slowly through her fingers. “Well, maybe you can do it, Laura dear, but I certainly can’t—not with Connie’s mother doing the cooking.”
“I don’t intend to try, no matter how fat I get,” declared Vi.
It was right after breakfast, and the girls had jumped into their bathing suits, as they did at almost the same time every morning, and were waiting impatiently for the hour to pass that Mrs. Danvers had insisted must pass before they went in swimming after breakfast.
“Mother said she might come down this morning and go in with us,” said Connie, her eyes fixed dreamily on the horizon. Then suddenly she sat up straight and stared.
“What’s the matter?” asked Billie. “Seeing ghosts or something?”
“No. But look!” Connie clutched at her arm. “Isn’t that a motor boat?”