It was a pretty scene—that group of young people in the Pullman carriage, the girls in their white dresses, the tall, handsome men, the cheery little chaperon in the centre. The professor and Esther sat by a window whispering earnestly together, for having been separated for a weary length of ten whole days, they had naturally large arrears of talk to make up. Arthur pointed out the various objects of interest to Eunice, as the train whizzed past, and Peggy sat glued to the side of Mrs Bryce, determined not to be monopolised by Hector thus early in the day. Rob had come with his brother, but she felt little satisfaction in his presence, knowing that he had tried to refuse the invitation, and had only yielded on Arthur’s assertion that he was needed for help, not ornament, and must come whether he liked it or not, to lend a hand with the oars. He looked pre-occupied and solemn, but was absolutely friendly in his manner, rejoicing in the fineness of the weather, and congratulating Peggy on the success of her dressmaking experiment, of which he had heard from his brother. To explain that Hector’s report was entirely prejudiced, seemed but a tacit acknowledgment of his infatuation, and Peggy blushed in sheer anger at the perversity of Fate, the while she gave the true version of the affair, and dilated on her own sufferings.
“It will be a lesson to me for life not to interfere with the business of others, and take the bread out of the mouths of professionals by amateur interference,” she concluded grandiloquently, and Rob smiled in his grave, kindly fashion. It seemed to Peggy that there was an added kindliness in his smile of late, and several times during the morning she looked up suddenly, to discover his eyes fixed upon her with a scrutiny at once so tender, so anxious, and so searching, that she was obliged to turn aside to conceal her tears.
When the train arrived at its destination, a couple of carriages conveyed the travellers on the next stage of their journey, and with their arrival at the little fishing village came the first hitch in the programme. Arthur had written in advance to ask that two of the best boats should be reserved for his party, and that a fisherman should be in readiness to go in each, so that his friends need not exert themselves more than they felt inclined. It is one thing, however, to despatch an order to the depths of the country, and quite another to find it fulfilled. As a matter of fact, the letter was even now lying unopened in the village post-office, and Arthur was confronted with the intelligence that men and boats had departed en masse to attend a regatta which was taking place some miles along the coast. Only a few of the oldest and most unwieldy boats had been left behind, and neither man nor boy could be found to row them. Here was a fine predicament! A snapshot taken of the party at this moment would have been an eloquent study in disappointment, and each one looked expectantly at Arthur, waiting for him to find a solution of the difficulty.
“Here is a fine pickle! I’m furious with myself, and yet I don’t see what more I could have done. There are two alternatives before us, so far as I can see—either we must get into one of these old tubs and row ourselves across, or give up the island altogether, and spend the day where we are.”
At this there was a groan of dismay, for, truth to tell, the village was of an uninteresting character, and the sands felt like an oven in the shadeless noon. To spend the day here would indeed be waste of time, while only a few miles off lay the island of their dreams—that wonderful island, with the blue waves splashing its shores, the kindly trees shading its crest.
“The island! the island!” cried the girls in chorus, while the men looked at each other, braced themselves up, and said:
“We can do it. Why not? It will be a stiff pull, but the day is our own. We can take our time, and rest when we are tired. Let us go at once and choose a boat.”
It was Dobson’s choice, however, or very nearly so, for the only boats left were tubs indeed, in which a score of passengers could have been accommodated as easily as eight. Large as they were, however, there was one member of the party who seemed diffident about their sea-going quality, and, wonderful to relate, that person was Peggy herself.
“Is it safe?” she kept asking. “Is it safe? Are you quite sure it is safe?”—and her companions stared in amazement at this sudden access of nervousness.
“Why, Peggy, you are surely not turning coward in your old age!” Arthur cried laughingly, as he dragged at the unwieldy bulk. “If you are afraid of this old bark, I don’t know when you would feel safe. It is like going to sea in a pantechnicon!”