“Well, we’ll look after the hamper this time. We should not find even the onions on our island,” said the Captain, laughing. “We will ask Mrs Wallace’s permission when she comes home, and begin preparations to-morrow morning if it is fine.”
Mrs Wallace protested that the children were being spoiled by so much kindness, but was delighted to give her consent, and the next morning was happily employed in packing the tea-basket, and purchasing strawberries, cakes, and chocolates from the shops in the village.
Several of the visitors pleaded to be allowed to join the party, and tried to wheedle invitations from the children during the luncheon-hour, to their own humiliation and defeat.
“You would like to have me with you, wouldn’t you, darling? You would like to sit next to me in the boat?” pleaded one pretty young lady of the chubby baby; but Inda wriggled away, and replied sturdily—
“Don’t want you in the boat! Don’t want nobody only the Capting and Mamzelle. You go anuzzer picnic by yourself!”
“You must forgive us, Miss Rose, but this is strictly a limited expedition. We children want to be as mischievous as we like without the controlling influence of grown-up people. No best frocks, please, Mrs Wallace! Just holland pinafores that we can soil as much as we like!” pleaded the Captain, feeling more than rewarded for his firmness as he met the adoring glances of three pairs of innocent eyes.
There was quite a little assembly by the boat-house to speed the expedition on its way, and it is safe to say that no boat on the river that afternoon carried a happier, more excited party. The Captain rowed; Pixie sat in the stern and pulled the rudder-lines according to instructions, with occasional lapses of memory when she mistook her right hand for her left, and was surprised to find the boat going in an opposite direction from what had been intended; the little girls sat on either side, as yet too mindful of their promises of good behaviour even to splash the water. They snored with excitement at the mystery of the first lock, and wrapped their hands in their pinafores to keep them safely out of the way, since the Captain said that it was impossible to be too careful in such places.
Along the banks were dotted beautiful houses set back in luxuriant gardens; round the bend of the river stood a house-boat known by the fascinating name of The Yellow Butterfly. The paint was white, but everything else was a rich, glowing yellow—yellow plants and flowers in baskets; yellow curtains to the windows; yellow cushions on the chairs; actually—if you can believe it—a yellow parakeet in a golden cage on the top deck.
“I should like to live and die in that house-boat!” cried Viva rapturously.
Presently came the sound of music from afar and a thud, thud, thud, which foretold the advent of a steamer. Now there would be waves—real, true, up-and-down waves, and you could pitend you were going to be drowned, and the boat go upside down. What fun! What fun! The gurgles of excitement, the clutchings of Mamzelle’s skirts, the shrieks of exultation as the happy moment drew near, were as charming to the beholder as to the children themselves.