Even at low ride the shallow water rippled about it. At high tide the
coy reef withdrew entirely within the briny deep, so that the
unromantic and unsightly scow was not visible and the island stood in
all its wild and floral beauty, a vision of picturesque delight for
three or four hours each day at full tide. From the mainland (some
thirty feet distant according to a piece of string) the yellow
dandelions could be seen dotting its geometric coast and occasionally
some drowsy turtle, with neck extended, was visible, sleeping in the
sun.
The only historic memento of Minerva Skybrow's lawn party to be found
upon the island now was the refreshment board, quite empty. It is true
that an explorer, delving among the rocks and crevices, might have
found some fugitive stuffed olive or perchance a lost nut or raisin
here and there. But the feast of Dessert Isle was now a part of
history. Minerva's little tent had been delivered to her (for Pee-wee
could not eat that) and only the makeshift table which had supported
the absconding repast remained.
This was now made into two long benches, supported by sticks driven
into the ground. It was intended that the overflow from this
grandstand should sit on the grass. These preparations completed, our
hero, accompanied by Brownie and Billy, went ashore on Friday afternoon
and edified the people on Main Street with an imposing display.
[Illustration: Pee-wee becomes a sandwich man.]
They paraded up and down the sidewalk wearing large placards, the most
striking of which was the one that almost completely obscured the
diminutive form of our hero.
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