"'Cause Mother says it'll make her mouth a bad shape if she keeps it up, and she told me it was up to me to stop it. You see I have Genevieve with me most of the time. Mother's so busy." But by this time, Doris's roving eye had caught the sign forbidding children to play in the boats. "Do you see that?" she asked. "Aren't you afraid to be sitting around in that boat?" "Huh!" exclaimed Sally scornfully. "That doesn't mean Genevieve and me." "Why not?" cried Doris perplexedly. "'Cause we belong here. Captain Carter's our father. All these boats belong to him. Besides, it's so early in the season that it doesn't matter anyway. Even we don't do it much in July and August." "Oh!" exclaimed Doris, a light beginning to break on her understanding. "Then that--er--lady up at the candy counter is your mother?" She referred to the breathlessly busy, pleasant, though anxious-faced woman who had sold her the candy. "Yes. She's awfully busy all the time, 'cause she has to wait on the soda and candy and ice cream, and see that the freezer's working all right, and a lot of other things. In July and August we have to have girls from the village to help. We don't see much of her in the summer,--Genevieve and I. We just have to take care of ourselves. And that's Dad, down on the dock." She pointed to a tall, lanky, slouchily dressed man who was directing the lowering of a sail in one of the cat-boats. "Yes, I know Captain Carter," averred Doris. "I hired this canoe of him." "Did you go and hire a canoe--all by yourself?" inquired Sally, eyeing her very youthful new acquaintance with some wonder. "How did your mother come to let you?" "Well, you see Mother's been awfully sick and she isn't at all well yet. Has to stay in bed a good deal of the day and just sits around on the veranda the rest of the time. _She_ couldn't tend to things like that, so I've got used to doing them myself lately. I dress myself and fix my hair all by myself, without the least help from her,--which I couldn't do three months ago. I did it today. Don't you think I look all right?" Again Sally flushed with the painful consciousness of her own unkempt appearance, especially her bare feet. "Oh, yes! You look fine," she acknowledged sheepishly. And then added, as a concession to her own attire: "I hate to get all dressed up these hot days, 'specially when there's no one around. Mother often makes me during 'the season,' 'cause she says it looks bad for the Landing to see us children around so sloppy." "My mother says," remarked Doris, "that one always feels better to be nicely and cleanly dressed, especially in the afternoons, if you can manage it. You feel so much more self-respecting. I often hate to bother to dress, too, but I always do it to please her."