"She tuk it," he answered, chuckling.
Indiana stood up in the boat, balancing herself admirably, and flung the letter to Mrs. Bunker, then sat down examining the other letters and papers in her lap.
"Nothing for you, Glen."
He overturned a boat and seated himself upon it, smoking a pipe. Naturally dark, he was burnt several shades darker, from his hair to the loose, open collar of his flannel shirt.
"You're sitting right in the water, Indiana. Your feet must be soaking wet. Your mother ought to see you."
Indiana looked at him with a laugh. He remembered her blue eyes had given him that same arch glance as a child, when he had discovered her in some act of mischief.
"You always liked to put your feet in the puddles," he said.
"Yes, I always had a passion for puddles. As Grandma Chazy would say, 'it'll bode me no good, some day.'"
"It's from Lord Stafford," cried Mrs. Bunker.
"Indeed!" said Indiana, affecting an English accent.