"Nothing easier," said Gerald, pulling on with long, steady strokes. "We will just keep on; I ask nothing better. Years pa.s.sed. A form was seen, gray and bent with age, feebly tugging at a pair of oars. Trailing behind the crazy boat, another figure might be distinguished--I forbear further description, Margaret: I may grow old, but not you; please stay as you are always. Anyhow, the people will flock to the sh.o.r.e. Ha! the Muse! the afflatus descends.

"The people thronged the rocky sh.o.r.e, And viewed that graybeard old and h.o.a.r; 'Oh! why thus dodderest at the oar, Unhappy soul?'

The answer came: 'Forever more She wished to troll!'"

"Gerald, I think we'd better go back now."

"Wait! she hasn't finished. Never interrupt a Muse! it isn't the thing to do.

"And still along that rocky coast, A gibbering yet a gallant ghost, He dodders, dodders at his post, Nor nears the goal; For she, the spook he cares for most, Still loves to troll."

"Gerald, take me back, please! see, we are ever so far from sh.o.r.e, and it is time for me to go in, I am sure."

"Just look down, Margaret! see the bottom, all white sand; isn't that pleasant? Hi! there's a bream watching his nest. See him fanning about over it, never leaving the place. He'll keep that up for hours at a time. Domestic party, the bream! this is an excellent opportunity to study the habits of--"

"Gerald, I am cold!"

"We'll be there in two minutes!" said Gerald, settling to his oars.

"Hold tight, now, Margaret! troll as the wolves of Apennine were all upon your track!" and with long, powerful strokes he sent the boat flying through the water, while Margaret fairly shrieked with delight and excitement.

Her face had been turned away from the float; but now she was speeding toward it, and looked eagerly to see what the others of the party were doing. To her great amazement, no one was in sight. The wharf lay wet and glistening in the sunshine, but no blue-clad figures leaped and pranced across it, no merry faces emerged from the blue, sparkling water. All was silent and solitary.

"Why, Gerald," cried Margaret, "where are they all? have they gone in?

Surely I heard their voices just a moment ago, and a great splash: where can they be?"

"A stunt!" replied Gerald. "For our benefit, I presume, but I scorn their levity. I advise you to take no notice of their childish pranks. I myself was young, once upon a time, but what then?"

They were now at the float, and Margaret looked about her, in utter amazement. All was silent; not a voice, not a whisper; no soul was in sight. It was as if she and Gerald were alone in the world. She stepped out on the float: at the instant, up from under her feet rose a sound as if the biggest giant that ever swung a club were sneezing. "A--_tchoo_!"

Margaret screamed outright. "Gerald! what is it?"

"Come out from there!" cried Gerald. "They are under the float, imbeciles that they are. The Pater has gone ash.o.r.e, and the others manifest their nature, that is all. Come out, Apes of the Apennines! or I'll--"

The threat remained unfinished, for the Merryweathers came out. Swarming up from under the float, where they had been treading water at their ease, with plenty of breathing-s.p.a.ce, they flung themselves with one accord upon Gerald's boat, capsized it, and dragged him into the water.

A great splashing contest ensued, with much shouting and merriment, and they were still hard at it when "All in!" sounded from the boat-house.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MAIL

"STILL raining, Phil?" asked Mrs. Merryweather, looking up from her writing.

"Still, honored parent! or rather, to be exact, anything but still. Up on the hill, the wind is fierce. I had to ride round the blast once or twice, instead of going through it. Solid old wind, that!"

He threw off his dripping oilskin jacket, and came in, unslinging the letter-bag from his shoulder as he came.

"Letters! letters!" he cried. "Who wants letters?"

Every one gathered around him, holding out eager hands.

"One for me, Phil!"

"For me, Protector of the Poor!"

"Oh! please, Phil! I want three at least."

"If there is none for me, Fergy my boy, I shudder at the consequences for you!"

Phil distributed letters and papers; the family subsided on chairs and benches with their treasures, and for some minutes nothing was heard but the rustle of paper and the steady downpour of the rain.

"Oh!" cried Peggy, presently. "Oh--eee! splendid!"

"Sapolio!" exclaimed Gerald; and "Well! well!" said Mrs. Merryweather.

The three exclamations were simultaneous, and Bell, who had no letters, raised her hand with an imperative gesture. "Exclamation must be followed by explanation!" she said. "Law of the Medes and Persians. We shall be glad to hear from the exclaimers."

"Who? me? did I?" asked Peggy, looking up with sparkling eyes.

"Semiramis has eight puppies. Think of it! eight whole puppies!"

"I never buy more than half a puppy at a time," said Gerald, "unless it is for a veal and ham pie."

"Gerald!"

"Well, it's a fact, Mater; I never do. What kind of puppies, thou of Limavaddy?"

"Gordon setters, black and tan: oh, she says they are perfect beauties.

She says--this is Jean, you know, my sister--'they are all like Semmy except one, and he is _blue_.' Who ever heard of a blue puppy? You shall have one, Snowy: I promised you one, don't you remember? oh--eee! and the new colt is a perfect beauty too, and they have named her Peggy.

Oh!"

Peggy looked down at her letter, then looked up again shyly. "I--don't suppose you would care to hear any of it?" she said, interrogatively.

"Indeed we should!" said Mrs. Merryweather, heartily. "We should like it extremely, Peggy. A letter from the Far West; why, it will be a journey for all of us."

"Great!" said Phil.

"Corking!" said Gerald. And one and all, in their several ways, expressed their desire to hear the letter.

Dimpling with pleasure, her rosy face beaming, Peggy began to read.

"'Dear old'--oh, well, I won't read just the beginning, because it is just the way we talk to each other, you know. I wish you knew Jean, Snowy. Let me see! oh, yes, here it is.

"'This is eight birthdays all at once, for what do you think, Peggy?

this morning we missed Semmy at breakfast, and could not find her anywhere. There were kidneys, and you know she always finishes the dish off, because she is so fond of them. Well, and so I went to look for her, and she wasn't in her box, or in the shed, or behind the kitchen stove, or anywhere where she usually is. So I went out to the stable, and there I heard little squeaks and squeals, the funniest you ever heard, and then a growl in Semmy's voice as I opened the door. Then the dear thing heard my step, and was ashamed of growling, and began thumping her tail on the floor till I should have thought she would break it. And there she was, all cuddled down in a pile of hay, and the dear little darling things all cuddled round her. I never saw anything so perfectly dear! they were all blind, and bald all over, and pink, and squealing like anything; you never _did_ see anything so lovely in all your life, at least I never did. Well, she let me take them up, one by one, old darling, though I could see that it made her nervous. Most of them are like her, beautifully marked, with pink noses, and black ears, and just the right blackness and tanness on them; but one is very queer, great splotches of black on his nose and his hind quarters, and all the rest of him white. So they named him "Magpie," right off; but I haven't come to the names yet. He is not very pretty, but he looks _very_ bright, and I shouldn't wonder if he was terribly clever, to make up for not being so handsome as the others. And the other different one is a perfect beauty, though you may not think so when I tell you that he is _blue_. Yes, truly blue; of course I don't mean sky blue, nor navy, but the black is all mixed in through the white,--I can't explain to you just how it is--but anyhow, at a little distance, he does truly and honestly look blue. Well, so--I was the first to find them, so Father said I might name them, but of course I wanted us all to do it together; so we all thought, and each made a list. Oh, Peggy, we did want you; and I wanted to wait till you could send your list too, but the others thought you would not mind, and it is nicer to have them named quickly, because then their names seem to belong to them more, and they look like them. Perhaps, I mean, if you had been called something else till you were two or three years old, you might not have been so just exactly Peggy as you are, you dear old thing.'

"Perhaps I ought not to have read that," said Peggy, looking up with a blush; "but it is as like Jean as I am like Peggy, if I am like it, whatever it is."