I know a place where the sun is like gold
And the cherryblooms burst with snow
And down underneath ...
"All right, Missy, step in," said the man in the red sweater who was holding the canoe to the landing with a paddle. "Easy now."
"Let m-m-me get in first," said Fanshaw stuttering a little. "I hope this isn't a tippy one."
"I'll help you in Missy," said the man in the red sweater. Fanshaw, from the stern seat he had plunked down in, saw the man's big red hand, like a bunch of sausages against the blue dress, clasp her arm, press against the slight curve of her breast as he let her down among the cushions. "Thanks," she said, as she tucked her dress in around her legs, giving the man a long look from under the brim of her hat.
"Ou, I'm scared to death, she said, leaning back gingerly. If you tip me over ..."
Fanshaw had pushed the canoe out from the landing. Over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of a grin on the face of the man with the red sweater. He paddled desperately. The other canoe was far ahead, black in the broad shimmering reach of the river. He was sweating. He splashed some water into the canoe.
"Ou you naughty ... Don't. You've gotten me all wet."
"I think I'll take my coat off if you don't mind."
"Don't mind me, go as far as you like," giggled Elise.
Fanshaw took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He was trying not to look at the pink legs in stockings of thin black silk with clocks on them that stretched towards him in the canoe, ending in crossed ankles and bronze high heel slippers.