“I’m so sorry!” said Winona, who found she had all the talking to do. “I’m afraid your uncle doesn’t like it!”
“Oh, he’s only got an artistic temp’rament,” said Vicky, as if it were a disease uncles could not help. “I think Sandy’s goin’ to, too. Do stay to breakfast. We’ll have things out o’ your basket if you will.”
“No, thank you,” said Winona. “I think Louise is in a hurry to go home. Come over and see us. It isn’t far if you have a boat.”
“We’ll get somebody to bring us,” said Vicky. “I’d come now if I was dressed.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad plan if you dressed a little earlier,” said Winona frankly. “Are there just you two?”
“Nope,” said Vicky, “there’s Lancy, too. He’s eight. Uncle Will tries to bring us up, but he don’t know how so very well.”
“Well, when you come down to camp we can tell you a lot of things if you’d like us to,” said Winona.
“Maybe,” said Vicky indifferently. “But it’s all right this way. You can try telling us, though.”
“Well, good-bye,” said Louise—it was all she had contributed to the conversation, but she seemed to contribute it gladly.
So they went, still carrying the basket.