“A music box, I guess. There’s our place, Poke; see the sign?”
Poke shook his head. “I see nothing clearly,” he muttered. “All is a blur before me.”
“There’s Sandford’s,” called Gil from the other canoe which had drawn ahead. “Shall we go over there now?”
“Yes, let’s look at his canoes first. Then we’ll have something to eat, eh?”
“Eat!” shouted Poke. “Who said eat? Do my ears deceive me?”
“Back water!” commanded Jeffrey. “That was a narrow squeak, Poke.” A pea-green canoe crossed their bow, while the single occupant of it asked them scathingly if they were blind. It required some care to cross the river, which here widened into a very respectable basin, without scraping somebody’s paint, but it was at last accomplished and the two canoes sidled up to a long sloping float which presented a very busy scene. Canoes were being brought from their racks in the big shed and placed in the water, and dozens of persons were embarking or awaiting their turns. Paddles and cushions and lunch-boxes littered the float. Through the open doors of the boat-house canoe after canoe could be seen housed on racks in the dim interior.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Jim. “I didn’t know there were so many canoes in the world!”
They pulled their own craft onto the float and looked about them. Across the basin was another boat-house bearing the name of a rival maker. Near at hand a high bridge spanned the river. Beyond it the stream turned to the left and still more boat-houses showed through the leafless trees that lined the banks.
“It’s just too—too jimmy for words!” cried Hope. “It must be perfectly stunning up here in summer, mustn’t it? Jim, will you bring me up here sometime and paddle me around?”
“We’ll all come up and make a day of it next spring,” said Gil. “It’s really very jolly in warm weather, when the leaves are out, you know, and the birds are singing—”