"I'm not going, Nell," said Boris; "but please don't fuss over it, it's nothing."
"Nothing!" said Nell, coming into the room and seating herself by the side of her little brother. "Don't you love picnics?"
"I adore them," said Boris.
He shut up his lips as he spoke and winked his eyes.
"Don't make a fuss," he said again after a pause. "Do you think I might learn a bit of the 'Ancient Mariner' for my punishment task? I like that old chap, he's so grisly."
"It's a splendid poem," said Nell with enthusiasm, "particularly that part about—
'Water, water everywhere,
And not a drop to drink.'
Can't you picture it all, Boris? The sea like a great pond, and the thirsty old mariner looking at it, and longing, and longing, and longing to drink it, and the dead people lying round. Sometimes at night I think of it, and then afterwards I have a good, big, startling dream. A dream that's not too frightful is almost as good as a story-book. Don't you think so?"
"No, I don't," said Boris. "I hate dreams. Perhaps I'd better learn the first six verses of the 'Ancient Mariner,' and perhaps I'd better begin at once. Jane Macalister is very stern, isn't she, Nell?"
"Awful in lesson times," said Nell.