“I am not afraid,” said the elder girl; “but I never tried it. What must I do? Put my arms so, and jump head first?”
“There is nothing to do at all,” said the Captain, with some acidity of tone. “Keep your mouth shut and strike out as you come up. You’ll do it, Katherine, first try. Hilda is in a funk, I see.”
“Poor Hilda,” Odd ejaculated mentally. She was evidently in a funk. Standing on the edge of the landing, one slim foot advanced in a tentative effort, she looked down shrinking into the water—very deeply black at this spot—and then, half entreatingly, half helplessly, at her father.
“Oh, papa, it is so deep,” she repeated.
The Captain’s neatly made face showed signs of peevish irritation.
“Well, deep or not, in you go. I must break you of that craven spirit. What are you afraid of? What could happen to you?”
“I—don’t like water over my head—I might strike—on something.”
Tears were near the surface.
What asses people made of themselves, thought Odd, with their silly shows of authority. The more the father insisted, the more frightened the child became; couldn’t the idiot see that? The tear-filled eyes and looks that showed a struggle between fear of her father’s anger and fear of the deep, black pool, moved Odd to a sudden though half-amused resentment, for the little girl was certainly somewhat of a coward.
“Let me go in first, papa, and show her. Hilda, dear, it’s nothing; being frightened will make it something, though, so don’t be frightened, and watch me.”