“I can sew, but I don’t like it. Angelique does that. I do like climbing and canoeing and botanizing and geologizing and astronomizing and—”
Adrian threw up his hands in protest.
“What sort of creature are you, anyway?”
“Just plain girl.”
“Anything but that!”
“Well, girl, without the adjective. Suits me rather better,” and she laughed in a way that proved she was not suffering from her mishap.
“This is the strangest place I ever saw. You are the strangest family. We are certainly in the backwoods of Maine, yet you might be a college senior, or a circus star, or—a fairy.”
Margot stretched her long arms and looked at them quizzically.
“Fairies don’t grow so big. Why don’t you sit down? Or, if you will, climb up and look toward the narrows on the north. See if Pierre’s birch is coming yet.”
Again Adrian glanced upward, to the flag floating there, and shrugged his shoulders.