"Well, then," returned the child, "we'll have to make it do. There are so many happinesses here, it isn't any matter if the boat isn't just right; but I was thinking, grandpa, if you wouldn't wear such nice shoes, I'd go barefooted, and then we could both sit on the same seat and let the water come in, while I use one oar and you the other; or"—her face suddenly glowing with a brilliant idea—"we could both wear our bathing-suits!"
"Yes," returned the broker, "I think if you were to row we might need them."
The child laughed.
"No, Jewel, no; we'd better bathe when we bathe, and row when we row, and not mix them. You couldn't do anything with even one of those clumsy oars in that tub of a boat."
As Mr. Evringham said this, he saw the disappointment in the little girl's face as she looked straight ahead, and noted, too, her effort to conquer it.
"Well, I do have so many happinesses," she replied.
"It will be a grand sight at the beach this morning, with the sunlight on the stormy waves," said Mr. Evringham. "The water-baby will have to keep out of them, though."
Jewel lifted her shoulders and looked at him. "Then we ought to row over, don't you think so?"
"You're not willing to be a thorough-going land lubber, are you?" returned the broker.