So ran Jane's log, with these and other entries, throughout several weeks. It must be confessed that the log languished presently, as youthful journals often do. Not because Jane had too much else to do, however. On the contrary, she seemed to have less and less to occupy her. Mr. Bolliver, who at first was inclined to treat as a joke her alternate languor and restlessness, scolded her laughingly.
"Upon my soul, you'll turn into a little old woman if you do nothing but sit glowering at the harbor," he said. "Can you find nothing to do?"
"Oh, I have lots to do," Jane assured him. "I just can't get at it, that's all. I feel the way you do when you're expecting somebody to come and they're late."
"Pooh!" said Mr. Bolliver. "You'd better get over that without delay, young lady, if it's the boys you're waiting for. You'll waste a deal of time if you put off doing anything until they get back!"
