And now far ahead she saw lights, and started as the Indian smote the water with the flat of his paddle, making a loud sound, which came back in altered notes from the hills about them.
“Make ’em hear at camp.”
Presently she was at the foot of a little cliff, where the twins were already noisily busy.
“Halloa, Rose! Can you see?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“Isn’t it jolly? Give me a hand.”
“No, me.”
“This beats Columbus,” said the elder lad. “Take care, Spices”—this to the younger twin, who, by reason of many freckles, was known in the household, to his disgust, as the Cinnamon Bear, Cinnamon, Spices, or Bruin, as caprice dictated.
“I’ll punch your red head, Rufus,” cried the lad. “You just wait, Ruby.”
“Boys! boys!” said Rose. “Now each of you give me a hand. Don’t begin with a quarrel.”