“I am afraid not for the present, my son,” replied his mother, “at least Ethel can not go. It is a little chilly after the rain, and besides, the boat will be full of water.”
Ethel did not really care about going just then, but seeing how anxious her brother was to enjoy the ride and get the beautiful flowers, the first lilies of the summer, she also pleaded for permission. At length under the combined pleading of the two, Mrs. Henning consented.
“Now, Tommy,” she said, “if I let you go, you must promise me not to go near the mill-race.”
“All right, Ma; there's lots of room without going near there,” and the handsome little fellow scampered off in high glee, with the full intention of keeping his promise.
The injunction was not an unnecessary one. The mill-race was a dangerous spot. At the sluice there
was a considerable current of water which would take a boat caught in it over the bank and dangerously dash it into deep water, if it escaped being broken to pieces on some large boulders which had formerly been a part of the masonry of an old mill.
The pond was noted in the neighborhood for the profusion and beauty of its water-lilies. The children found no greater delight in the summer than in gathering them and adorning their pretty suburban home with them.
The boy found there was not much water in the boat. With Ethel's assistance he bailed it out and they were soon among the water-lilies. They formed a pretty picture—these two children, Tom in his white flannel shirt adorned with a pretty pink tie, a special Christmas gift of Ethel; she in her pink dress and white sunbonnet, her lap almost covered with luxuriant flowers.
“That's enough, Tom; plenty for to-day,” said Ethel.
“All right. Now for a good row around the pond while you cut the stalks.”