“Are you giving me a Tshoti-non-da-waga blessing?” he asked when she stepped on the shore.
“Don’t you know the sign?” she asked incredulously.
“No; what does it mean?”
“Really?” She stood before him looking at him curiously. “Where have you been brung up! It means, ‘Let’s go swimmin’.’ Every country boy knows that.”
“I wish I had been a country boy.” He spoke with a touch of regret.
“Don’t tell me you spent your summers in New York City.”
“Even that would have been something,” said he ruefully. “Those kids over on the West Side have lots of fun.”
“Well,” she smiled, “if you were neither a country boy nor a city boy, what were you?”
Phœbe joined them. The Wheelen boy had made his farewells and had piloted his canoe around the bend.
“I’ll tell you,” said Phœbe. “He was sent up to the Reform School at an early age and then transferred to Matteawan. He’s just out of the crazy house. I know; I’m an expert. Besides, he’s just been tellin’ me all about it.”