“To a party, is it?” exclaimed Brother Bart, in dismay. “Me at a party! Sure I’d look and feel queer indeed in such a place.” Brother Bart’s glance turned from the fine boat to the gentleman before him; he felt the responsibilities of his position were growing perplexing. “It will be great sport for the boys, I am sure,” he added; “and I don’t like to say ‘No,’ after all yer kindness in coming for them. But how are they to get back?”
“Oh, we’ll see to that!” answered Mr. Forester, cheerfully. “They will be home and safe in your care, by half-past ten,—I promise you that.”
“Hooray!—hooray!” rose the shout, that the boys who had been listening breathlessly to this discussion could no longer repress.
There was a wild rush to the shining decks of “The Polly,” and soon all her pretty passengers were helped ashore, to scramble and climb as well as their dainty little feet could over the rocks and steeps of Killykinick, to wonder at the gardens and flowers blooming in its nooks and crannies, to peep into cow house and chicken house, and even old Neb’s galley,—to explore the “Lady Jane” from stem to stern in delighted amazement.
Nell and Gracie, who were a little older than their cousin, took possession of Jim and Dud; their small brother Tad attached himself to Freddy, who was about his own age; while Polly claimed her own especial find, Dan, for escort and guide.
“Oh, what a queer, queer place!” she prattled, as, after peering cautiously into the depths of the Devil’s Jaw, they wended their way to safer slopes, where the rocks were wreathed with hardy vines, and the sea stretched smiling into the sunlit distance. “Do you like it here, Dan?”
“Yes: I’m having a fine time,” was the cheery answer, for the moment all the pricks and goads forgotten.
“Are you going to stay long?” asked Miss Polly.
“Until September,” answered Dan.
“Oh, that’s fine!” said his small companion, happily. “Then I’ll get dad to bring me down here to see you again, Dan; and you can come up in your boat to see me, and we’ll be friends,—real true friends. I haven’t had a real true friend,” said Miss Polly, perching herself on a ledge of rock, where, in her pink dress and flower-trimmed hat, she looked like a bright winged butterfly,—“not since I lost Meg Murray.”