She had gone
down with some over-harbour friends to the rock-shore where they all
lingered as dance after dance went on above them. It was cool and
pleasant and they were tired. Rilla sat silent, taking no part in the
gay conversation. She was glad when someone called down that the
over-harbour boats were leaving. A laughing scramble up the lighthouse
rock followed. A few couples still whirled about in the pavilion but the
crowd had thinned out. Rilla looked about her for the Glen group. She
could not see one of them. She ran into the lighthouse. Still, no sign
of anybody. In dismay she ran to the rock steps, down which the
over-harbour guests were hurrying. She could see the boats below--where
was Jem's--where was Joe's?
"Why, Rilla Blythe, I thought you'd be gone home long 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
around 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 Jem and Mollie Crawford. Oh, why didn't they
look for me?"
"They did--but you couldn't be found.
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