They were to leave in the morning, and Harry spent most of that afternoon in the kitchen making pies and doughnuts, Mrs. Emery assisting. Chub, being missed from the tennis court, was discovered sitting on the kitchen doorsteps sampling the baking.
“How many has he had, Mrs. Emery?” Roy demanded.
“Only one or two, haven’t I, Mrs. Emery?” cried Chub.
“Well, not very many,” responded that lady smilingly.
“Chub Eaton, you’ve had four to my certain knowledge!” exclaimed Harry, who, with a blue-checked apron tied under her chin and very flushed cheeks, was superintending the frying of a new batch of doughnuts.
“Then you’ve had quite enough,” said Roy firmly. “And it’s back to tennis court for you, Chub.”
However, they postponed the carrying out of the verdict long enough to do some sampling themselves. “They’re perfect,” was Dick’s verdict, “but I miss the almond flavor, Harry.” Whereupon Harry grew very much redder and it was discovered that her mother had never learned of her experiment in adding almond extract to the doughnut recipe the summer before. So Chub told about it and Harry declared that he was too mean for words and shouldn’t have another bite of anything.
The next morning after breakfast the luggage was taken aboard, the doctor’s being largely composed of books and papers, and at ten o’clock all hands were at the landing, Snip being so excited that he was obliged to bark every instant. Doctor Emery pretended that the voyage was to last for months at least and was very solicitous as to the state of the larder. Mrs. Emery, her sister, and John, the gardener and general factotum, were on hand to witness the departure and to wave good-by as the _Slow Poke_ nosed her way free of the landing and started off on the second stage of her voyage.
“Good-by, mama!” called Harry from the upper deck, waving a wisp of a handkerchief frantically.
“Good-by!” called Mrs. Emery. “Don’t fall overboard!”
And then caps and handkerchiefs waved busily until the _Slow Poke_ passed around the end of Harry’s Island and the landing disappeared from view.
“And now,” cried Harry, ecstatically, “we’re really at sea!”
Three idyllic days followed during which the _Slow Poke_, her white paint freshly gleaming in the sunlight, bobbed and courtesied her way up the long reaches of the river. It was wonderful weather for July, pleasantly cool in the mornings and evenings and languorously hot in the middle of the day. Chub still remained nominally master of the ship, but to all intents and purposes the management of affairs had passed into the small, sun-browned hands of Miss Harriet Emery. It was Harry who ordered the lines cast off as soon as breakfast was finished in the morning and who refused to allow them to remain at anchor for more than the barest two hours at dinner-time. Chub predicted sunstrokes for the whole party, but Harry was without mercy. She was on a cruise and her idea of cruising was to keep going. On the second evening she even insisted that they should leave a very comfortable berth and put in two hours of sailing by moonlight. It proved a very pleasant experience, and every one enjoyed it until it became necessary to find a place to spend the night. Then, as the shore was in deep shadow, they had their own troubles with jutting rocks and submerged tree-trunks.