“You’re going to get wet,” Mary warned as Michael passed over the wake of another boat, the Merry Mac slapping across, the spray leaping to drench Peggy’s face.
“I love it!” Peggy cried happily. “The wetter the better! Where are we going, Michael?”
“Straight across.” Michael cut his speed a little so he could hear. “See that cluster of buildings? The Golden Hound is the last one on the left. Good food and music—very rustic.”
They were in the middle of the lake now, and Peggy realized that it was much larger than she had thought. There were islands dotted all around, some so tiny that there was only room for one or two houses.
“Private islands,” Michael informed her. “How would you like one of those, Peggy?”
“Oh, would I! It would be sheer heaven!” Peggy took a deep breath of the wonderful fresh air. “No wonder you love this place, Michael. I wouldn’t ever want to leave if I’d been raised here!”
“The winters are cold, though.” Mary laughed. “How do you feel now, Peggy? Better?”
“Marvelous! I’ve almost forgotten about the theater entirely. This is just what the doctor ordered!”
Michael slowed the Merry Mac and carefully turned her into the dock in front of the restaurant. Peggy was impressed by his expert handling of the boat.
“Dad would never forgive me if anything happened to our little friend here, and I’d never forgive myself!” he said as he stepped out and helped the girls up from the boat.