Here there was a tumbledown wharf, and an old ferryboat
which worked on a chain. Years ago a ferryman had had charge of it, but
there was so little traffic that it was no longer worth his while, so the
boat had been left for passengers to use as they liked. It was lying now
at the edge of the wharf. The girls, following Edith, stepped in, and
began to wind the boat across the river by pulling the chain. It was
rather an amusing means of progression, and they enjoyed their 'Dover-
Calais crossing,' as they called it. Arrived at the opposite bank, Edith
scrambled out.
"Tie the boat up, somebody!" she called, and set off running over the
meadow to the hedge where the violets grew.
Somebody is an exceedingly vague term, and generally means nobody. Merle
and Beata went scampering after Edith, and Sybil, who was last, flung the
boat chain hastily round a post and followed her friends. The violets
were lovely, sweet-scented and blue and modest and everything that
orthodox violets ought to be.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204