"Well, I'm all alone," said Hal. "Haven't even got a first cousin.
We've been coming down here since I was a youngster, so that's why
Dorothy seems like my sister. We used to make mud pies together."
The boys were in the canoe now, and each took a paddle. The water was so smooth that the paddles merely patted it, like "brushing a cat's back," Bert said, and soon the little bark was gliding along down the lake, in and out of the turns, until the "narrows" were reached.
"Here's where we get our pond lilies," said Hal.
"Oh, let's get some!" exclaimed Bert. "Mother is so fond of them."
It was not difficult to gather the beautiful blooms, that nested so cosily on the cool waters, too fond of their cradle to ever want to creep, or walk upon their slender green limbs. They just rocked there, with every tiny ripple of the water, and only woke up to see the warm sunlight bleaching their dainty, yellow heads.
"Aren't they fragrant?" said Bert, as he put one after the other into the bottom of the canoe.
"There's nothing like them," declared Hal. "Some people like roses best, but give me the pretty pond lilies," he finished.
The morning passed quickly, for there was so much to see around the lake. Wild ducks tried to find out how near they could go to the water without touching it, and occasionally one would splash in, by accident.
"What large birds there are around the sea," Bert remarked. "I suppose they have to be big and strong to stand long trips without food when the waves are very rough and they can hardly see fish."
"Yes, and they have such fine plumage," said Hal. "I've seen birds around here just like those in museums, all colors, and with all kinds of feathers—Birds of Paradise, I guess they call them."