Water Lilies — Louisa May Alcott

A PARTY of people, young and old, sat on the piazza of a seaside hotel one summer morning, discussing plans for the day as they waited for the mail. "Hullo here comes Christie Johnstone," exclaimed one of the young men perched on the railing, who was poisoning the fresh air with the sickly scent of a cigarette. "So 'tis, with 'Flucker, the baddish boy, ' in tow, as large as life," added another, with a pleasant laugh as he turned to look.