Mamma glanced at the time-piece.
"It is rather late," she said doubtfully. "You would have to be very quick. Which of the big ones are going with you?"
"None of them," answered Joan, the smallest of the small party. "They've all gone for a walk except Lilly, and she's drawing in the garden, but I'm sure she'd come if we asked her. Lilly's always so kind—if only you'd say we might."
"It is so fine and sunny, and the tide won't suit again for ever so many days," added two or three imploring voices.
"Very well, then if Lilly will go you may bathe, but you must be quick. I can't have luncheon kept waiting again," said Mamma.
In another moment loud eager cries from the garden reached her through the open window. "Lilly, Lilly, where are you? Mamma says if you will come—" and then the voices faded away in the distance.
"Poor Lilly," thought Mamma, with a smile. "I wonder if it's a shame of me to let those wild children torment her. I dare say she was counting on a quiet morning."
But whether Lilly was disappointed or not, no sign of anything but content and pleasure appeared on her pretty, bright face when the little group of bathers, all brushed up and tidy again, took their places round the luncheon-table.
"That's right," said Mamma. "You really have been very expeditious this morning. Whom am I to praise?"