“And don’t neglect that wood,” suggested his father, with a twinkle in his eye.
“That’s for mornings; I have my afternoons ‘off,’” called back Ned, capering out of the house. In a second he stuck his head in through a window and cried: “I nearly forgot to say ‘thank you,’ father, didn’t I?”
“I believe you did, Ned,” assured his father; and Ned vanished.
“I really don’t see how it is possible that the water should be warm, so soon,” declared Mrs. Miller, anxiously, to her husband.
“I, either,” he replied, smiling. “But Ned can stand it if the other boys can. It won’t hurt him any.”
“I suppose not,” assented Mrs. Miller, doubtfully.
Well, to tell the fact, the water was not especially warm, in spite of what “all the fellows” had declared. It was as warm as milk—but that must have referred to old milk, not fresh; perhaps milk which had been in an ice-box.
At least, so Ned thought, when gingerly he started to wade out, for the first swim of the season. He stepped in, ankle-deep—and his toes curled, and his knees shook, and with a hasty exclamation he sprang back.
“Oh, jump in all at once!” urged Hal. “’Tisn’t cold; it’s fine,” and he paddled around to show his perfect satisfaction.
Ned was disappointed. When, on the way over in the boat, they had dabbled with their fingers, to test, the water had seemed just right; but now—ugh!