“Come, K., go and get your boat and pick some of those lilies.”
“I will if you’ll give me your word that you will remain here, and not follow, to see where I take her from, or where I put her.”
“Well, I will; I’ll sit down on this rock, and won’t stir from it till you return. Let me go and get them,” he said, as we brought the little affair to the beach.
“You can’t go in her; you’ll upset.”
“Tell me I can’t go in a boat! I was born and brought up on Cape Cod, and have been used to boats all my life.”
“Can’t help where you were born; going in a thing like that isn’t a matter of birthright. I have a cousin who is a watchmaker, and I used to sleep with him, but I can’t make a watch for all that; you’d have her bottom up in five minutes.”
“Nonsense; take my gun, and let me get the lilies.”
We took the gun and went into the woods; but it was not long before we heard the cries of, “Help! help!” and returning to the pond, found the surface covered with floating lilies, in the midst of which was a broad-brimmed hat, the boat bottom up, and our Cape Cod friend clinging to her.
Those were pleasant days, rainbow-tinted; and though more sombre hues have since succeeded, I love to look even on the sky from which they have faded.