ago,” said Mary Vance, who was waving her scarf at a boat skimming up the channel, skippered by Miller Douglas.
“Where are the rest?” gasped Rilla.
“Why, they’re gone—Jem went an hour ago—Una had a headache. And the rest went with Joe about fifteen minutes ago. See—they’re just going round Birch Point. I didn’t go because it’s getting rough and I knew I'd be seasick. I don’t mind walking home from here. It’s only a mile and a half. I s’posed you'd gone. Where were you?”
“Down on the rocks with Jen and Mollie Crawford. Oh, why didn’t they look for me?”
“They did—but you couldn't be found. Then they concluded you must have gone in the other boat. Don’t worry. You can stay all night with me and we'll ’phone up to Ingleside where you are.”
Rilla realized that there was nothing else to do. Her lips trembled and tears came into her eyes. She blinked savagely—she would not let Mary Vance see her crying. But to be forgotten like this! To think nobody had thought it worth while to make sure where she was—not even Walter. Then she had a sudden dismayed recollection.
“My shoes,” she exclaimed. “I left them in the boat.”
“Well, I never,” said Mary. “You’re the most thoughtless kid I ever saw. You'll have to ask Hazel Lewison to lend you a pair of shoes.”
“I won't,” cried Rilla, who didn’t like the said Hazel. “I'll go barefoot first.”
Mary shrugged her shoulders.
“Just as you like. Pride must suffer pain. It’ll
