Still They Come
The girls did not really enjoy the tea as it had been served on the
_Merry Jane_. Not that the tea wasn’t good; it must have been, for
Russian tea is famous. But it tasted that way, they thought—“famous.”
Home-made tea was much more congenial. Consequently, at home again, the
tea given them at “Buckingham Palace” when supper was served was even
more appreciated than usual.
“Maybe that water from the samovar——” began Terry.
“No, those old brass urns are lined with—well, I think it’s tin or lead,”
Arden informed them. “Grandfather had one; bought it from a man who used
to work for Tolstoi. It had the stamp from what this man called the
president’s factory, which meant, I believe, it was made in a sort of
royal shop,” Arden concluded.
“Why, what a lot you know,” teased Sim. “Why didn’t you tell the artist?
He might trace some relationship——”
“Oh, say!” interrupted Terry. “You and your old samovar! What about the
jeweled box? Don’t you feel guilty to have seen a thing—so—well, so
precious?”
This brought on a discussion so animated and so filled with questions and
exclamations that the beauty of the snuffbox must have been greatly
enhanced by so much young enthusiasm.
Afterwards they were sitting, as had become their custom, on the screened
porch. The first one out always claimed the comfortable swing. Next in
favor came two large, low wicker chairs covered with bright striped
linen. Tonight Terry was in the swing and Arden and Sim curled up in
chairs.
They must have been talking very loudly or else have been asleep, they
facetiously decided later. How else could they explain the fact that a
car had driven right up to the back door and they had not heard it?
In fact they all jumped with surprise when Arden called their attention
to a young man, coming up the sandy path.
“Sit up, girls, here comes another visitor,” she exclaimed. “What now, I
wonder?”
The young man hesitated as he reached the screen door.
“Good-evening,” said Arden pleasantly.
“Good-evening,” responded the caller. “I hope I have not disturbed you,
but I wonder if you could tell me how to reach a houseboat? I understand
it is somewhere near here.”
“Oh, you mean _Merry Jane_,” Sim piped up brightly. “Lots of people ask
us that. That is, you’re the second one who has inquired,” she replied,
feeling a little foolish at being so friendly.
He smiled amicably and said he hoped they had not been bothered in that
way.
“We didn’t mind,” Terry chimed in. “We don’t have much to do here,
anyway.” The girls really were being silly.
“It’s down the bay, but you can’t reach it by car. The road is too soft
this time of year,” Arden said helpfully, the first one really to answer
his question.
“Is one obliged to walk, then?” the man asked. His wording was foreign
and a slight accent made it seem more so.
“No; walking would be dangerous, too,” Arden explained. “The only way is
by boat.” She waited to see what effect this announcement would have, but
Sim spoiled it.
“We have a rowboat you could use. We could take you,” she announced,
still pursuing the rôle of the very young.
“But couldn’t I take myself? That is, with your permission and if you
wouldn’t be using the boat?” He looked questioningly at them.
“I guess we won’t be going out again tonight,” Terry remarked. “You’ll be
careful not to lose the oars, won’t you? I’ll show you where we keep the
boat.”
Terry, followed by Arden and Sim, led the way to the dock, stopping to
pick up the oars as they went.
“Let me take them, please,” the caller protested. Terry handed him the
oars.
They wanted very much to ask if he knew Dimitri and try to get some more
information, but they could not naturally work the talk around to it. The
young man volunteered no information at all. He seemed quite sure of
himself, and Arden fancied she saw in him a slight resemblance to
Dimitri.
When they reached the old rowboat, Terry pointed down the bay.
“The _Merry Jane_ is just around the bend; if you stay close to shore,
you can’t miss it,” she instructed the stranger.
They all looked admiringly over the still green water where the fish were
beginning to jump in the stillness of the evening. The beauty of the bay
was inescapable.
“Tania, the big dog, will bark, and you can row in the direction of the
noise, if you should be doubtful about the location,” Arden suggested.
The man raised an eyebrow. “You know Dimitri, then?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Sim answered. “We’re good friends.” She felt justified in
saying that.
“I am a friend, too,” their caller replied as he got into the boat. “I’ll
take very good care of your skiff and tie it up very carefully when I
return.” He pushed off and began rowing easily down the bay. “Good-bye,”
he called to the girls. “And thank you, a thousand times!”
“Good-bye,” Terry answered, while the others mumbled something.
They waited until he was out of sight, and then began the flood of “What
do you think’s” and “Maybe’s.” But of course they all agreed on one
thing. That he was very charming and well mannered and that perhaps all
foreigners were that way. But they decided it was indeed queer the way
Dimitri’s friends all came to them for advice on reaching the old
houseboat. The newest caller gave rise to plenty of speculation, but the
girls retired earlier than usual, and it was, perhaps, for this reason
that Arden awoke sometime near morning, although it was still dark.
Deciding she could not get back to sleep, she lay tossing restlessly.
The events of the day marched before her now active mind. The gold
snuffbox, Olga, Tania, Dimitri, the man who had come that evening. It was
all very puzzling. She turned over and looked at Sim, sleeping
peacefully. Nothing bothered her. Arden sighed and then started. What was
that noise? Another mysterious visitor? She strained every nerve to
listen. Then she smiled as she realized it was the motor of an auto
purring along. Going to the window, she saw the stranger’s car move
slowly as it was started and disappear as it gathered speed. She looked
at her wrist watch. The dial showed four-thirty, and he was just coming
back from the houseboat!
“‘Curiouser and curiouser,’” Arden said to herself as she climbed back to
bed. “Alice in Wonderland had nothing on me. I wonder, too.”