"I guess I could," Freddie said.
"I'll hand you a stick," Flossie offered, looking for one along the shore. There were many dead branches, blown from the trees, and she soon handed Freddie a long one. With it the little boy was able slowly to pull the boat toward him, and he had soon shoved the "nose," as he sometimes called the bow, against the bank of the island.
"Now I can get in!" laughed Flossie. "And I won't have to take off my shoes and stockings either," and into the boat she scrambled.
"Oh!" exclaimed Freddie. "Are you going to get in the boat?"
"I am in," answered his sister. "Aren't you comin' in, too?"
Freddie looked at the boat, at his sister, at the lake, and at his shoes and stockings on the shore. Then he said:
"Well, it doesn't belong to us—this boat don't."
"I know," said Flossie. "But you pulled it to shore and we can keep it till somebody comes for it. And we can make-believe have a ride in it. Momsie won't care as long as it's fast to the shore. Come on, Freddie!"
It seemed all right to Freddie when Flossie said this, especially as the boat was close against the shore. He put on his shoes and stockings, drying his feet in the grass, and then he took his seat in the boat beside his little sister.
"Now we'll play going on a long voyage," she said. "We'll take a trip to New York and maybe we'll be shipwrecked."