"Oh! Tom, isn't it too thrilling?" cried Viola. "Oh! Tom, aren't you perfectly rigid with excitement? It makes Tom rigid, Mr. Merryweather, and it makes me flutter; we are so different. Aren't you rigid, Tommy?"
"Viola, don't be a goose!" said her brother, good-naturedly. "I am not in the least rigid, though I shall be delighted to see Miss Merryweather, of course."
"You can see the camp now, through the trees," said Phil. "There is the flag, just over that tall pine. Flag by day; lantern by night. That is 'Merryweather.' Ready about, Peggy, for the last tack!"
The squall had passed, and though the water was still rough, the waves were tossing merrily in blue and white under a brilliant sun. The Petrel sped along, the silver foam bubbling up before her prow, and the Seamew, as the other boat was named, followed as swiftly.
Peggy leaned back over the stern once more, and holding out her hand to her old schoolmate, gave her slender fingers a squeeze that made her cry out.
"Dear old Vanity," said Peggy; "I forgot how soft your hands always were. But I am so glad to see you, even if I am not going to expire about it. Do tell me how you came here, and where you are staying, and all about it, now that we can hear ourselves speak."
"How did I come here, my dear?" repeated Viola Vincent. "Witchcraft!"
"What do you mean, you foolish thing?"
"My dear, what I say; simply that and nothing more, just like the Raven. Witchcraft! The very minute I get home, I am going to get a pointed black hat and a red cloak, and a crutch-stick. I think they will be quite sweet, don't you? Don't you think pointed hats are quite sweet, Mr. Merryweather?"
"Pointed hats," replied Phil, gravely, "have always seemed to me the acme of sweetness; that is why they call them sugar-loaf hats, I suppose."