"Now, you tell me some more about 'Robinson Crusoe,'" she began,
as soon as they were in the canoe, and Rolf resumed the ancient,
inspiring tale to have it listened to eagerly, but criticized
from the standpoint of a Lake George farm. "Where was his wife?"
"How could he have a farm without hens?" "Dried grapes must be
nice, but I'd rather have pork than goat," etc.
Rolf, of course, took the part of Robinson Crusoe, and it gave
him a little shock to hear Quonab called his man Friday.
At the west side they were to invite Mrs. Callan to join their
shopping trip, but in any case they were to borrow a horse and
buckboard. Neither Mrs. Callan nor the buckboard was available,
but they were welcome to the horse. So Annette was made
comfortable on a bundle of blankets, and chattered incessantly
while Rolf walked alongside with the grave interest and
superiority of a much older brother. So they crossed the
five-mile portage and came to Warren's store. Nervous and
excited, with sparkling eyes, Annette laid down her marten skin,
received five dollars, and set about the tremendous task of
selecting her first dress of really, truly calico print; and Rolf
realized that the joy he had found in his new rifle was a very
small affair, compared with the epoch-making, soul-filling,
life-absorbing, unspeakable, and cataclysmal bliss that a small
girl can have in her first chance of unfettered action in choice
of a cotton print.
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