“He heard you,” I said, “but he can’t believe you really said it.”
The oars fell into unison, there was the dip of their blades, the grating chunk of the rowlocks—dip-ke-chunk, dip-ke-chunk. As we fell into our stroke the little boat began to respond, the water swished at her bows and gurgled under her stern. The wharf fell away behind us, the houses back of it came into sight, then the wooded hills behind. The whole town began to draw together, with its church steeples as its centers.
“She does go!” remarked Jonathan.
“I told you! Look at us now! Look at that buoy!”
Dip-ke-chunk, dip-ke-chunk—the red buoy swept by us and dropped into the blue background of dancing waves.
“Are we really off? Is it really happening?” I said joyously.
“Do you like it?” said Jonathan over his shoulder.
“No. Do you?” To such unwisdom of speech do people come when they are happy.
But there were circumstances to steady us.
“What I’m wondering,” said Jonathan, “is, what’s going to happen next—when we get out there.” He tilted his head toward the open bay, broad and windy, ahead of us. “There’s some pretty interesting water out there beyond this lee.”