“But why did it rock?” cried the old lady tremulously. “And look, look; there are only two of them there, and we are four at this end! We shall sink it, I’m sure.”
“Now, auntie, it’s too bad of you to set up for a stout old lady, when you are as light as a cork,” cried Scarlett, dropping his oar with a splash.—“Ready, Jack?”
“Ready, ay, ready,” said the doctor, following suit; but his oar only swept the sedge.
“Gently,” said Scarlett; “don’t break the oar.—That’s better; now you have it,” he said, as the head of the gig turned more and more, the doctor’s oar took a good hold of the water; and in a few moments they were well out from the shore, the steady vigorous strokes sending them past the sloping lawn of the Rosery, which looked its best from the river.
“There, aunt, see how steadily and well the boat goes,” said Lady Scarlett.
“Yes, my dear, but it doesn’t seem at all safe.”
“Place looks pretty from the water, doesn’t it, Arthur?” shouted Scarlett.
“Delightful. A most charming home—charming, charming,” said Prayle, lowering his voice with each word, till it was heard as in a whisper by those on the seat in front.
“Don’t feel afraid now, do you, auntie?” cried Scarlett to Aunt Sophia.
“N-not quite so much, my dear. But won’t you make yourself very hot and tired?”