O’er the waters so blue,
We’re afloat, we’re afloat
In our birch bark canoe,”
sang Grace’s high sweet voice as their boat bobbed gayly up and down with the little rippling waves of the lake.
“That is a pretty song, my dear child,” exclaimed Miss Sallie Stuart, from a cushioned seat in the stern of the boat, “but you should substitute ‘naphtha launch’ for canoe. Nothing would induce me to ride in one.”
“The Count de Sonde is going to be at the fête in a canoe,” observed Maud Warren in the tone of one imparting a piece of valuable information. “He asked me to go with him, but Papa was unreasonable, as usual.”
“In a canoe with that little foreigner!” cried Miss Sallie in amazement. “Does he know how to paddle?”
“The count is an expert boatman,” replied Maud stiffly. She had mixed sensations of fear and dislike for Miss Sallie, although fear was the stronger sentiment of the two.
“I imagine his swimming and his canoeing are about alike,” said Ruth aside to Barbara; “just paddling in shallow water.”
The “Automobile Girls” were busily engaged in decorating their launch for the Venetian Fête, which was to take place that evening. The lake dotted with numbers of boats looked like an immense flower bed. Hundreds of craft of every land were anchored near the shore, each filled with gay parties of young people who were stringing up rows of Japanese lanterns, bunting and flags.