“I declare! Is that Miss Amy Drew?” demanded Burd, sticking a half dollar in his eye like a monocle and apparently observing Amy for the first time.
“It is not,” said Amy sharply. “Brush by! I don’t speak to strange young men.”
But Darry had come to Jessie and shaken hands. If she flushed self-consciously, it only improved her looks.
“Awfully glad to see you, Jess,” the tall young fellow said.
“It’s nice to have you home again, Darry,” she returned.
Amy ran down again then, in her usual harum-scarum fashion, and the conversation became general. How had the girls finished their high-school year? And how had the boys managed to stay a whole year at Yale without being asked to leave for the good of the undergraduate body?
Was the Marigold a real yacht, or just a rowboat with a kicker behind? And what were the girls doing in their present fetching costumes?
“The wires!” cried Burd. “Is it a trapeze? Are we to have a summer circus in Roselawn?”
“We shall have if you remain around here,” was Amy’s saucy reply. “But yon is no trapeze, I’d have you know.”
“A slack wire? Who walks it—you or Jess?”