“Poor Mrs. Higgins has been looking for Nanny for two whole days—” said Gloria ruefully.
“She’ll have her tonight,” replied Mr. Doane. “But go easy with the rope, Ranny, and let the poor creature finish up the paper.”
“They love it,” added Blanche without a trace of disappointment in her voice. What’s a deer or a goat to animal hunters? Besides, Mrs. Higgins sold the goat’s milk to a delicate old lady who believed it had health value—every one knew that.
“We’ll tie her to a tree and eat our lunch,” suggested Mr. Doane, and the way that order was carried out left no suspicion of poor health demanding goat’s milk among any of those present.
But Nanny wasn’t home yet, and it was quite a sail over the tranquil waters, back to Barbend.
CHAPTER VIII
NANNY’S RETURN
Greatly as they enjoyed the feast, and what is greater than a feast on the shores of a lake on a perfect autumn evening—still, the thrill of adventure enshrouded that little goat.
Mr. Doane did not give orders. He was one of those charming men who would not interfere with children’s plans unless he felt obliged to do so through some safety measure, so now, as each planned and the other contradicted as to the best method of getting Nanny across the lake and back to her little shed among Mrs. Higgins’ lima bean poles, Mr. Doane just ate his sandwiches and drank his lemonade as any guest of honor should have done.
“Let me tell you! Hey, listen a minute!” begged Tom. He was copying Mr. Doane’s manner in a sort of aloofness until now. “I know a goat can swim—”