ous girl, way up in an “ology” or two, knows that, by slow, thoughtful watching, you can gain much, as against working up a wild, panicky condition. Lady Gadsby said again and again: “What is going on?” but Nina Adams said: “You ought to know that today, anything can”
But look again!! From in back of that boat landing, a big fairy float is coming! Slowly,—slowly—slowly; a cabin amidships, just dripping with lilacs, as still and noncommittal as old Gibraltar. Slowly, on and on it is coming; finally stopping right at that spot upon which our group is standing; forty boys, forty girls, and a big mob, all as still as a church. What is it, anyway? Is anybody in it? Not a sign of it. But wait! Aha! It has an occupant, for, coming out of that lilac glory isParson Brown!! Parson Brown? What was Parson Brown in that cabin for? Aha!! A lilac spray is moving; and, as our groups stand stock still, look! Lucy Donaldson is coming out! Oh! What a vision of girlish joy and glory!! And—and—and, ah! That lilac spray is moving again! Hulloa! Bill Gadsby is coming out!!
A Spring sun was slowly approaching its horizonward droop, shooting rays of gold down onto our gasping crowd, as Parson Brown said:—
“William Gadsby, do you…?”
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