"That's so," says he. "And they'll not know who you are, either. I'll go. Just hold her off." Me with a boathook, posin' back to for the next ten minutes, not even darin' to rubber over my shoulder. Then voices, "Have you the coffee bottles?"--"Don't forget the steamer rugs."--"I put the olives on the top of the sandwiches."--"Be careful when you land, Mabel dear."--"Oh, we'll be all right." This last from Vee. Another minute and they're down on the float, with Payne Hollister explainin', "Oh, I forgot. This is someone who is helping me with the boat while Tucker's disabled." I touches my hat respectful; but I'm too busy to face around--much too busy! "Now, Cousin Mabel," says young Hollister, "right in the middle of that seat! Easy, now!" A squeal from Mabel. No wonder! I gets a glimpse of her as she steps down, and, believe me, if I had Mabel's shape and weight you couldn't tease me out on the water in anything smaller'n the Mauretania! All the graceful lines of a dumplin', Mabel had; about five feet up and down, and 'most as much around. Vee is on one side, Payne on the other, both lowerin' away careful; but as she makes the final plunge before floppin' onto the seat she reaches out one paw and annexes my right arm. Course that swings me around sudden, and I finds myself gazin' at Vee over Payne Hollister's shoulders, not three feet away. "Oh!" says she, startled, and you couldn't blame her. I just has to lay one finger on my lips and shake my head mysterious. "All right!" sings out Payne, straightenin' up. "Always more or less exciting getting Cousin Mabel aboard; but it's been accomplished. Now, Verona!" As he gives her a hand she floats in as light as a bird landin' in a treetop. I could feel her watchin' me curious and puzzled as I passes the picnic junk down for Hollister to stow away. Course, it wa'n't any leadin'-heavy, spotlight entrance I was makin' at Roarin' Rocks; but it's a lot better, thinks I, than not bein' there at all. "Oh, dear," sighs Mabel, "what a narrow, uncomfortable seat!" "Is it, really?" asks Vee. "Can't it be fixed someway, Payne?" "Lemme have a try?" says I. With that I stuffs extra cushions around her, folds up a life preserver to rest her feet on, and drapes her with a steamer rug. "Thanks," says she, sighin' grateful and rewardin' me with a display of dimples. "What is your name, young man?" "Why," says I, with a glance at Vee, "you can just call me Bill." "Nonsense!" says Mabel. "Your name is William." "William goes, Miss," says I; and as she snuggles down I chances a wink Vee's way. No response, though. Vee ain't sure yet whether she ought to grin or give me the call-down. "Cast off!" says Payne, and out between the rocks we shoot, with Aunty and Mrs. Hollister wavin' from the veranda. Anyway, that was some relief. This wa'n't Aunty's day for picnickin'.