“Even that wouldn’t do; unless I had taken it a few hundred years ago, and started the trees growing then.”
“No, America wouldn’t suit you,” said Patty, thoughtfully, “any more than English country life would suit most of our American boys.”
“But you like this life of ours?”
“I love it; for a time. And just now I am enjoying it immensely. Oh, what gorgeous lilies!”
They had reached the lake, and the quiet, well-behaved water was placidly rippling against the stone coping.
Bob untied the boat.
“It’s an old thing,” he said, regretfully; “but it’s water-tight, so don’t be afraid.”
Patty went down the broad marble steps, and seated herself in the stern of the boat, while Bob took the rowing seat.
A few of his strong pulls, and they were out among the lily pads.
“Row around a bit before we gather them,” suggested Patty, and Bob with long, slow strokes sent the boat softly and steadily along.