Syd had the former all to himself, for, as he said, it was not girl's work to wade about, sometimes knee-deep, and get your arms wet feeling under ledges and among stones for tiny trout.
"You get your flowers," he said, and to help his sister he thrust the boat head in here and there close under the rocky banks which ran straight up and often hung over in the shady places where the most beautiful flowers grew.
And so an hour of real delight passed away, with the clear water sparkling in the sunshine here, and turning dark there, where the ferns hung over the great stones which looked as if they had been built up like walls by giant hands.
"Oh, I am glad the storm did not come our way," said Linny, standing up to balance herself on her seat so as to reach up and pick at a cluster of purple loosestrife. "Oh!" she cried, springing down to crouch directly, for she nearly went overboard. Then, seeing her brother's mocking face where he stood with the water just gliding by the knees of his knickerbockers, "what a shame, Syd! you joggled the boat."
"I didn't," he said.
"You did, sir!"
"I didn't—only poked this end down a little."
"Well, it was a shame. You might have made me tumble in—splash."
"Never mind; I'd have spread you out on the hot stones there in the sun to dry. There, hold tight; I'm going to push the punt up higher. There isn't a trout here."