"I see the marks of their teeth," persisted Juliet, rubbing the little spots made by the nettles.
Emily would have laughed at her cousin, but that she felt too much depressed by her own adventure.
And then they were on the towing-path, and the great river, all glowing with the reflected gold and red of the sunset sky, was gliding past them on its peaceful way.
"There!" said Mrs. Rowles, "do you know what that is, Juliet?"
"A river."
"Yes, it is the Thames,"
"No, it ain't; not my Thames."
"Yes, my dear; though you do contradict me, it is the Thames for all that."
"I know the Thames well enough," said Juliet; "it is twice as broad as this. And it is all inky-like; and it has wharves and smoky chimneys and steamboats and masts all over it. This ain't no Thames; I know bettor than that."
"Oh, but, cousin Juliet," Emily put in, "the Thames is young here, and it is old at London. Some day you will get old, and once on a time mother was a little girl like you."