"Do you want to go home?" he asked.
"Yes, it's time I went, for the cats may be raidin' the pantry. But you must not come; your friends here want you."
"Nonsense!" said Winslow sulkily. "If you are going I am too."
But Nelly was too quick for him; she sprang into the skiff, unwound the rope, and pushed off before he guessed her intention.
"I can row myself home and I mean to," she announced, taking up the oars defiantly.
"Nelly," he implored.
Nelly looked at him wickedly.
"You'd better go back to your friends. That old woman with the eyeglasses is watchin' you."
Winslow said something strong under his breath as he went back to the others. Will Evans and his chums began to chaff him about Nelly, but he looked so dangerous that they concluded to stop. There is no denying that Winslow was in a fearful temper just then with Mrs. Keyton-Wells, Evans, himself, Nelly—in fact, with all the world.
His friends drove him home in the evening on their way to the station and dropped him at the Beckwith farm. At dusk he went moodily down to the shore. Far up the Bend was dim and shadowy and stars were shining above the wooded shores. Over the river the Pennington farmhouse lights twinkled out alluringly. Winslow watched them until he could stand it no longer. Nelly had made off with his skiff, but Perry Beckwith's dory was ready to hand. In five minutes, Winslow was grounding her on the West shore. Nelly was sitting on a rock at the landing place. He went over and sat down silently beside her. A full moon was rising above the dark hills up the Bend and in the faint light the girl was wonderfully lovely.