"Yes, and the boys like her brother, too," said Grace. "Will says he is a fine fellow; and Will never says a thing like that unless he means it."
"Do my eyes deceive me?" cried Betty, springing up and pointing toward the mainland, "or is that the good old Pine Island dreadnaught steaming majestically from the harbor? Tell me some one—am I right?"
"You are!" cried Grace, dramatically. "That noble ship could be no other."
"Oh, do stop your nonsense," cried Mollie impatiently. "Are you sure that's the ferry?"
"Since it is the only apology for a boat that ever comes this way," Grace remarked lazily, "I guess it must be."
"Oh, Grace, don't tease," warned the Little Captain, in an aside. "Can't you see how worked up Mollie is? No wonder she is excited—the news may mean a lot to her."
Grace glanced at her chum and saw that Betty had spoken the truth. Mollie's hands were clenched tight to her side, crimson flamed in her face, and her foot tapped nervously on the ground.
"Oh, they'll never get here," she was saying over and over again. "Can't the old ferryboat get up any steam at all?"
"Perhaps we might help tow it in?" Betty suggested, striving to break the tension. "I think we could paddle lots faster in the canoes."
"Goodness, I would almost like to try it!" Mollie exclaimed. "I think they might get something modern on the lake—something real modern—around the eighteenth century."