"Yes. I thought we might as well ask him. I got hold of him at the farm in Old Beecham where he works. He didn't go into ecstasies over the idea but he said he was planning to go for a swim this afternoon anyway, as it's Saturday half holiday, so I guess maybe he'll show up. I only hope he and Hattie May won't come to blows."
As soon as our rather hurried dinner was over, Aunt Cal, arrayed in her second best black silk, departed for Millport. Although she reiterated her warnings against fire and drowning, I felt somehow that her mind was preoccupied. Indeed she had been vaguely different all day. She seemed in a way softened, and yet more determined. Was that old letter responsible for the change and was it that which was taking her to Millport?
Hattie May and Hamish were waiting on the beach when we got there that afternoon. Hamish wanted to know at once whether Aunt Cal had said anything more about the letter. I told him shortly that she had not. I felt that he deserved a snubbing for what he had done last evening but, as often happens, the people whom you most wish to snub are the very ones who are impervious to such tactics.
Michael was late in arriving. Hattie May said that for her part it didn't matter whether he came or not as she'd never met a ruder boy. I thought it a good moment to put in a word of warning. "Michael is different from most boys," I said. "He doesn't like to be made a fuss about."
"Why, I just said I thought he was brave in grappling with that burglar," Hattie May retorted indignantly. "Though now that I come to think it over, I quite see that there was probably no danger at all and that he was just trying to show off."
"Show off!" This indignantly from Eve. "I tell you Michael's not that kind."
"Oh, you needn't tell me," retorted Hattie May. "I guess I know all about boys."
When at last Michael's tall figure came sauntering down the beach, Hattie May greeted him with a chilly nod. "We thought probably it was milking time and you wouldn't be able to get away," she said casually.
Michael grinned. Apparently he had decided that Hattie May was not to be taken seriously. "Oh, no," he said, "we don't milk till seven. Guess you've never lived on a farm."