Behind a holly, within sight of the pond, they left her. “Oh, dear, I wish I were a boy,” she pouted. “Boys have fathers and they can bathe and—and they can do almost everything.”
While they undressed, she kept on talking.
“It’s the same as if you weren’t there, when I can’t see you. Splash loud when you get into the water.”
As she heard them enter, “Splash louder,” she commanded. “Girls don’t have to be truthful. If you don’t make a noise I’ll look round.”
“Pooh! Look round. Who cares!” cried Ruddy.
“No, don’t—not yet,” shouted Teddy.
Then the sound of their laughter came to her, of the long cool stretch of arms plunging deep and panting growing always more distant.
She couldn’t resist. The babies came into her eyes and her finger went up to her mouth. She turned and saw two sleek heads, bobbing and diving among anchored lilies. Beneath the water’s surface, as though buried beneath a sheet of glass, the ghost of the wood lay shrouded. Trees crowded down to the mossy edge to gaze timidly at the wonder of their own reflection. Across the pond flies zigzagged, leaving a narrow wake behind them. A fish leapt joyously and curved in a streak of silver. With his chin resting in the highest branches, the sun stared roundly and smiled a challenge.
“I will be a boy,” she whispered rebelliously.
Her arms flew up and circled about her neck. Lest her daring should go from her, she commenced unbuttoning in a tremendous hurry.