She was a dainty, pretty, and alluring little piece of femininity; and I could have taken her in my arms and hugged her, only I did not dare, for like as not she would have boxed my ears. All I could say was:
"Good for you, little girl. That's the way to talk."
She smiled, and in little more than no time at all she was back into her merry mood.
We chatted and laughed together at the window until the dusk had crept into darkness and Rita's Isle had become merely a heavy shadow among the mists.
"I got to be getting back," she said at last. "Can you fix up my groceries for me, if you please?"
I went into the store and packed together the few humble necessities which had been Rita's excuse for coming over, although, I discovered later, that Rita was pretty much of a free agent and did not require an excuse to satisfy either her grandmother or her grandfather, both of whom trusted her implicitly.
Time went past quickly in there.
"Rita, it is almost dark. Will you let me accompany you across the Bay? I can fix a tow line behind for your little boat."
"That would be nice," she answered simply. "But I can see in the dark near as well as in the day time. I could row across there blindfold."
As I paddled her over, I thought what a pity it was she could not talk more correctly than she did. It was the one, the only jarring, note in her entire make-up. But for that, she was as perfect a little lady as I had ever met.