"You little romancer! Do you imagine that anyone very nice would
chum in with Jim Peters? Isn't there something in your book about
birds of the same quills?"

"It's aigrettes, in my book," retorted Bess. "But it all applies to
the same sort of birds. Just the same, I am interested in Mr.
Jones."

"I fancy perhaps that we are," said Cora. "But there is the point
Ben spoke of. We are to turn to the left."

Gracefully as a human thing, the boat curved around and made its
path through the narrow part of the lake.

"And there are the willows," announced Bess, as she saw the great
green giants dipped into the water's surface.

"Yes. I thought it would be much farther on. But this is an ideal
spot for hiding. One could scarcely be found here without a
megaphone."

"Hear our voices echo," remarked Bess. "An echo always makes me
feel desolate."

"Don't you like to hear your own voice?" asked Cora lightly. "I
rather fancy listening to mine. An echo was always a delight to
me."

"There's a man sitting under that tree!" almost gasped Bess.