"No, no, Papa, I won't cry," said Linny; "but it is so disappointing, and Syd's holidays are so short."
"All the sweeter while they last, Lin," said the manager. "There, cheer up; the storm is passing along the hills. Be off with you. Not a drop of rain will fall this side."
"Oh!" cried Linny joyously, and she made a spring at her father to reward him for his good news, while he helped her by jumping her up breast-high.
"Going to take the little punt, Syd?"
"Yes, father."
"Very well, but keep out of the dam."
"Oh, yes, father; of course."
"That's right. Then you cannot get into mischief."
The young folks dashed off past where the waterwheel was going and the stamps turning, while where the ore was being washed below the stream ran red and thick, but upward beyond the house it was clear as crystal.
The punt, which was like a washing-tub grown out of knowledge, lay in a shallow tied to a post, and Syd ran into the carpenter's shop, where the man who did the repairs to the mine machines good-humouredly took out his saw from the tool-basket, cut a short board in two, and gave it to the boy for seats. These two were carried down to the punt and placed across fore and aft, after Syd had waded in to draw the punt ashore. Linny jumped in and took her place forward, Syd lifted the short pole which lay in the bottom, and then began to thrust the boat along through the shallow water, in and out among the pieces of granite which half filled the bed of the stream, and, after getting aground at least a dozen times, Syd managed to get up to the most beautiful part of the tiny river, where the fishing and flower-gathering began.