"Exactly," answered Betty. "That's why mamma and I decided on it. I like still water myself."
"So do I," murmured Amy.
"I don't! I want the boiling surf!" declared Mollie, who was an excellent swimmer.
They drove up to the cottage, finding new delights every moment, and when the carriage stopped within the fence, at the side porch, the whole party waited a moment before alighting to admire the place.
"It is nice," decided Mrs. Nelson. "I had forgotten part of it, but I like it even better than I thought I should."
"It's sweet!" declared Grace.
"Horribly fascinating, as Percy Falconer would say," mocked Mollie.
"Don't!" begged Betty, making a wry face.
As they were alighting, a quaint figure of an old man, bent and shuffling, with gnarled and twisted hands, and a face almost lost in a bush of beard, yet in whose blue eyes twinkled kindliness and good fellowship, came around the side path.
"Wa'al, I see ye got here!" he exclaimed in hoarse tones—his voice seemed to be coming out of a perpetual fog.