“Birch,” suggested Phil.
“Birch bark, and so heavy that I couldn’t upset it, though I tried my hardest.”
“Lucia!” The voice was Mrs. Tramlay’s, of course.
“Why, mamma, the water wasn’t knee-deep; I measured it with the paddle.”
Mrs. Tramlay sank back in her chair, and whispered that if the family ever went to the country again she would not dare leave that child out of her sight for a single instant, but she had hoped that a girl twenty years of age would have enough sense not to imperil her own life. As for that farmer fellow, she had supposed he was sensible enough to——
“You wouldn’t have tried that trick if I had been in the canoe, Miss Tramlay,” said Phil.
“Why not?” asked Lucia: she knew how to look defiant without ceasing to be pretty.
“Well, I would have been responsible for you, you know,—your instructor in navigation, so to speak; and it’s one of the first principles of that art not to take any risk unless something’s to be gained by it.”
“Good!” exclaimed Tramlay.
“Not bad,” assented Marge.