“No, not of the dark,” replied Nancy, trying again the knot with which she fastened the boat. “But it certainly is lonely out here, with all that water to run into if anyone chases us,” she added, jokingly.
“You bet!” agreed Rosa. “That’s one thing we must never try to do; we must not try to run across that lake, for it’s awfully wet.”
“Is that a boat I hear? Maybe it’s Orilla,” suggested Nancy, listening to the distant purr of a motor boat.
“No, I don’t believe it is,” replied Rosa. “You see, she keeps awfully busy, and I suppose it didn’t worry her any to leave poor Pixley to swim ashore.”
“What a very odd girl she must be,” continued Nancy, almost against her will.
“Perhaps she is, but then—oh, well, don’t let’s bother about her. Dad is sure to be watching the moon rise from the East porch,” said Rosa, as they started back toward the house. “Let’s go talk to him.”
“But perhaps he and—”
“Oh, Betty will be bossing the packing,” interrupted Rosa, anticipating the words of Nancy’s objections. “Come on. I’m going to miss dad and I want to be with him all I can—now.”
“Then you go talk to him, Rosa,” urged Nancy, considerately. “I’ve got some things to do. You won’t mind. You see, I must write mother at once, so that she’ll get it almost as soon as she reaches London.”
“Give her my love,” said Rosa, as the cousins parted on the porch.