Dot went out by the front door. Here, there was a straight flagged path to a gritstone wall as at the back, but the gate opened into the mowing field and Flo could not think where they could be going with their brushes and scrubbers and buckets of hot water. Then for the first time she noticed twenty yards down the green bank a tarred wooden shed. A faint track went to a door in the centre of the end which was towards the house. There was a padlock which Dot opened, and Flo stared into a room fifteen feet wide and twenty-five feet long, going up to a peak twelve feet high. All the inside was stained a very light brown. Against the wall on the left just inside was a table, and down the centre was a much longer table covered with white damask-patterned American cloth fastened along the edges with brass-capped carpet nails. A score of simple wooden chairs, also stained light brown, stood to the long table or against the walls. There were two windows only, both in the same side, but these were towards the lake, which Flo had not really noticed as she walked down. In the sallow willows there was a wide gap which seemed to have been opened purposely, so that Flo saw a small green bay, where tiny waves were spilling on a beach of brown-grey sand and green-grey stones. At the left end of the bay a dock ran in between deep banks to an open boat-house, the greater part of the tarred felt roof of which was hidden by the sprawling arms of three old hawthorns and a tall ash. In the motionless dark water of this dock three rowing boats lay side by side with a crude punt half as broad as it was long, all its sides perpendicular, exactly like a very big drawer without a handle.
“Boats,” exclaimed Flo. “Whatever for?”
“Sailing in . . . what d’you think?” answered Dot coldly. “Give the place a thorough clean out. Mother will inspect it, so you know . . .,” and out she went. Flo saw her pass the windows and go somewhere behind the boat-house. Later Dot appeared walking down the beach two hundred yards beyond, where there were no willows but only open grass with a few stunted hawthorns above what Flo supposed would be high-water level. There Dot paused and looked across to where on the far side there were taller, thicker trees, alders and oaks and a few ash.
Dabbling close in there were two black birds which Dot appeared to be idly watching. Then she strolled on out of sight once more behind the hawthorn bushes. Flo felt envious, and a sudden longing came over her to see the lake properly, to go exploring. She stopped pushing the long brush and impulsively let it fall against the table. After a careful stare towards the house she slipped hastily round the cabin corner. There she was hidden, but being in the open she still felt visible and ran down the bank, only slowing when she was almost at the boathouse. A path was worn along the side and she went on and round the back and was startled to find an open door.
“Hello?” came an inquiring voice. She stopped, trapped, and had half turned to run back when Bert Nadin’s close-shaved head and lean face came out. “Oh, it’s you.” He straightened and leaned against the doorpost unhurriedly. Lying up the grassy bank that closed them in, Flo noticed half a dozen oars.
“How d’you think you’ll like this part of the world?” he asked conversationally.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, still worried about her truancy.
“There’s water where you come from, isna there?” he went on. “You’ll know how ta manage a boat?”
“There’s the channel; but I’ve hardly been on it, though I’ve been in a boat at . . . at . . . I forget where,” she finished weakly.
“Oh, so you don’t know anything about fishing,” he said as if regretfully, “or wild-fowling?”
“No,” said Flo. “I’m supposed to be working; I didn’t know you were here.”
“Didn’t you?” He smiled and she felt much more relieved and was curious to know what he had been doing. Her glance sought into the darkness past the doorway, but all that she could see was a glassy deep-green water reflection.
“I’d better get back,” she said, unwilling.
“What’s the worry?” he asked. “There’ll be nobody till tea.”
“But missis’ll grumble . . .”
“Well, you don’t let that worry you? She’ll grouse whatever you do. Our Dot’s supposed to be with you, I bet. If the old woman says anything, tell her Dot went mooning down the lake.”
“I don’t know,” said Flo uncomfortably. “Whatever do you do with all these?” meaning the oars.
“Row. Did you think they were butter-pats?” he asked, quizzing.
“But why so many?”