It was really getting very dark, and the girls could not make out what she looked like, but they could see that she was small and graceful and her voice—well, her voice had a gay lilt that made one want to laugh even though all she said was “what a pleasant day it is.” No wonder, with that father and mother, Connie was such a darling.
“Why, no, we’re not very tired,” Billie said in answer to Mrs. Danvers’ question. “We were on the train, but the minute we got on board the boat we seemed to forget all about it. It’s this beautiful salt air, I suppose,” and she sniffed happily at the soft, salt-laden breeze that came wandering up from the sea.
“Of course it’s the air,” agreed Mrs. Danvers gayly. “The air does all sorts of wonderful things to us. You just wait a few days and see.”
They were walking along a rough boardwalk set quite a way back from the water’s edge so that there was a white stretch of beach between it and the first thin line of lapping waves.
“Why, look at the boardwalk!” cried Laura, in wonder.
“You didn’t say anything about a boardwalk down here, Connie,” added Vi. “You’re really right up to date, aren’t you?”
“What did you suppose?” put in Billie. “That Lighthouse Island was in the backwoods and had no improvements?” And she laughed gayly.
“Well, I know that very few of the islands on this coast have boardwalks,” defended Laura. “Most of them have the roughest kind of stony paths.”
“You are right, there,” said Connie. “I remember only too well when I was on Chatter Island we had to climb over the rocks all the way, and one day I twisted my ankle most dreadfully—so badly, in fact, that I was laid up for three days while all the other girls were having the best time ever.”
“I know what I’d do on a real dark night,” remarked Billie dryly. “If I couldn’t see where I was stepping, I’d take my chances and walk in the sand.”