It was easy for Nora to laugh—she felt she would never do anything but laugh, it was so good to be safe within reach of shore once again.
Thistle and Wyn threw their wet heads back and emitted a “coo-hee.” The call was taken up by the others, and instead of the incident being of an alarming nature it was thus turned into a lark.
“Coo-hee! Coo-hee!” sounded along the little lake basin, while shouts of laughter and expressions of opinion about bobbed heads after an unexpected ducking, were snapped from Scout to Scout as the party waded in.
So near the edge they were loath to emerge. No possibility of getting any wetter or spoiling anything more generally, but there was a possibility of more fun.
“Where’s that Jimbsy boy?” demanded Pell. “We didn’t leave him to the sharks, did we?”
“Look,” replied Thistle, pointing to a little slash in the lake’s outline. It was a pocket full of water just about big enough to float the upturned boat that Jimmie was pushing in through it.
“Poor boy! And we never asked him what he was out after,” reflected Betta. “Maybe he had an order to bring a boat load of passengers from the Ledge.”
“We’ll take up a collection for him,” proposed Pell.
“What’ll we collect?” asked Wyn.
“Opinions,” replied the first. “They’re most plentiful.”