“‘The treaty of Ghent was so called because every man brought his own drink.’”
“Goodness gracious Agnes!” sputtered his sister. “Do you mean to say that college students don’t know any better than that? Where do they pick them—out of the infant class?”
“You shouldn’t have read these girls that, Darry,” complained Burd, when Amy and Jessie had laughed their fill. “They’ll lose all respect for our erudition. That will never do!”
“You don’t suppose,” drawled Amy, “that we are really impressed by your superabundance of knowledge and your wonderful brainery? No, no! We know you too well. Look out, Burd Alling! Don’t run us ashore.”
“Well put,” agreed her brother. “Try to keep your eyes open, old Sleepyhead. We don’t want to have to walk back from Carter’s.”
The young people from New Melford proper all went by bus and automobile to the lower end of Monenset Lake, where there was a landing and a boathouse at which canoes and rowboats could be hired. The lake, shaped like an elongated comma, swept around to this point, passing Dogtown on one hand and the old and abandoned Carter estate on the other.
Belle Ringold and her party were nearer the half demolished dwelling belonging to the old plantation than were Darry and his party; but the latter in the Water Witch came into view of the big bonfire on the shore at the Carter place as soon as the flotilla from the Lower Landing.
The Ringolds were wealthy people, and Belle could usually do about as she pleased. She had sent several of her mother’s servants ahead and preparations had been made for dancing on the smooth yard before the old house, while inside the long picnic tables were laid for supper.
The moon had come up in wonderful effulgence and now poured its light over the plaza before the house. But the bonfire served as a beacon when the various craft, filled with singing and laughing picnickers, headed for the shore.
“Is that your boat, Mr. Drew?” shrilled a voice that could never be mistaken for any but that of Belle Ringold. “Was so afraid you wouldn’t come.”