“Pooh! auntie; there’s no risk,” cried Scarlett. “You’d better come.”
“No; I shall not!” said the lady very decisively.
“Why, auntie, how absurd!” said Scarlett, passing his arm round her waist. “Now, what is the very worst that could happen?”
“Why, that boat would be sure to upset, James, and then we should all be drowned.”
“Now, my dear old auntie,” cried Scarlett, “the boat is not at all likely to upset; in fact I don’t think we could upset her; and if she were, it does not follow that we should be drowned.”
“Why, we should certainly be, boy,” cried Aunt Sophia.—“Naomi, my dear, of course you have not thought of going?”
“Yes, aunt, dear; I should like to go very much,” said Naomi.
“Bless the child! Why?”
“The river is lovely, aunt, with the shadows of the trees falling upon it, and their branches reflected on its surface.”
“O yes; very poetical and pretty at your age, child,” cried Aunt Sophia. “You never see the mud at the bottom, or think that it is wet and covered with misty fog in winter. Well, I suppose you must go.”