“But the boat!” protested Amy. “Suppose it should——”
“Now don’t go imagining things,” interrupted Betty, gayly slipping an arm through Amy’s and drawing her upward. “The Gem couldn’t get away from her moorings if she tried. Trust your aunt Elizabeth.”
They found the “perfect duck of a place” Betty had mentioned and all agreed that she had not said half enough for it. There was the great flat rock surrounded by mossy grass and on the rock they spread their lunch while they plumped to the soft and yielding ground with signs of content.
“We’re as alone as though we were at the end of the world,” said Grace, contentedly munching a sandwich. “I wouldn’t change places with the King of England just now.”
“I don’t suppose many people come here, except to picnic like us,” said Amy, and then sat up suddenly as though she had heard something.
Betty made a grab for a glass of crabapple jelly which had almost been upset by Amy’s sudden motion.
“What’s the matter, Amy?” asked Grace, lazily. “You look like a scared jack rabbit.”
Amy made a motion for silence.
“I hard a noise,” she said, with an uneasy glance over her shoulder. “It was like some one stealing through the woods. Oh, girls!”