"Come on, then, and I'll lift you out some," assented Darby. "But you mustn't take much, mind; just what will wash down that biscuit, for it was dry!"
They crept up the bank of the canal in shelter of a sheaf of tall reeds. Together they crouched upon the brink. Joan held Darby's hand fast while he leaned down and with his hat ladled her up a small measure of the doubtful-looking liquid, which she swallowed greedily and pronounced the nicest water she had ever tasted—better even than milk.
Darby shook the moisture from his hat and waved it in the air to dry—backwards, forwards, round and round, faster and faster. It was almost dry. A few more turns would complete the process, and he twirled it quicker still, when all at once it went flying from his fingers, skimming right into the middle of the canal, hopelessly out of reach!
He gazed after it with such a blank look that Joan laughed gleefully. Away it went, sailing slowly along, the blue ribbon trailing like a tail behind; on, on, farther and farther, until at length, behind a clump of osiers that hung over the bank and dipped into the water at a bend in the canal, the watchers lost sight of the gallant little craft—H.M.S. Dreadnought!
"It's gone!" said Darby ruefully. "Well, it's a good thing that it was only an old one," he continued, in a cheerier tone. "I'm just as comfy without a hat. Perhaps it'll be to one of those big schools where the boys wear nothing on their head but their hairs that father will send me by-and-by, so I'd best be getting used to going without. And in the Happy Land hymn, although it tells about the robes—at least, I expect it's them that's 'bright, bright as day'—there's not a word about what they wear on their heads, except a crown, and one couldn't wear anything else along with that."
"I wants another drink," whimpered Joan after a pause, preparing to lay hands on Aunt Catharine's mushroom hat. "Take my hat, Darby; it'll hold lots and lots of water. That ho'wid old cracknel's stickin' in my froat yet," and she gasped piteously, like a chicken with the pip.
"Certainly not," answered Darby decisively, putting down his foot, so to speak, in his most masterful manner. "You can't have any more of that bad water. Don't you know it's very dangerous to drink bad water? There's funny little beasts living in it called microscopes. They get into the blood and carry on dreadful. They give people fever, and typus, and palsy, and cholera-mortis, and—and—I don't know what all," and he took a long breath, having somewhat exhausted the supply along with his list of horrors. "I heard Dr. King telling Auntie Alice all about it one day."
Joan heard him out with open mouth and wondering eyes. How clever Darby was! He knew everything—almost! Her admiration was short-lived, however. Soon she returned to the charge, and with the skirt of her cotton frock at her eyes, she wailed anew,—
"I want a drink, I do, or my tea. Bo—o—o! I wants my tea!"
"Don't think any more about being thirsty, Joan, like a good girl," coaxed her brother, laying his arm lovingly round his little sister's shoulders. "That's the right way to do when you've got a pain or anything that won't get better—just pretend it's not there. Or we'll make believe that we've had our tea—although it's only done being dinner-time—and that nurse has just handed us our second cup, and, by mistake for her own, put four lumps of sugar in it. My, isn't it sweet!" And Darby smacked his lips, but Joan did not lift her head. "Maybe we'll get some nice fresh water when we get into the barge," he added, seeing that his first tactics had failed. "And when we reach the Happy Land there'll be oceans of it—streams and streams of pure, sparkling water, clear as crystal! Think of that, Joan!"