"C'était une corquerre!" said Gerald, heartily. "Elle est aussi une corquerre, la Peggy. You will be doing it soon yourself."
"Oh, never, never! You cannot seem to understand, Gerald, that I am not made for these things. I love to see them; I admire them intensely, but I cannot so much as think of trying."
"Point de stonte pour Marguerite?" said Gerald. "Alas the day! Because you really would do them so corkingly, you know, if only you should do them. Well, see here, I am going to give you a troll. You will like that, I am sure."
"A troll? I thought they were mountain goblins. I don't want one, thank you, sir! water nixies and pixies are as much as I can bear in the goblin line."
"Verb, not substantive!" replied Gerald.
"I troll, thou lettest thyself be trolled, he, she, or it sees you being trolled and wishes that he, she, or it had such luck. Observe!"
He climbed into one of the Rangeley boats that lay near the float, loosed her moorings, and, taking up the oars, brought her close to the rope. "Now, Margaret, catch hold; here, at the stern!"
"What are you going to do with me, Gerald? I fear thee, ancient mariner, I fear thy skinny hand!"
"I hold you with my glittering eye, you cannot choose but come. I am going to take you off a-trolling. Hold on tight with your hands, and let all the rest of you go, as if you had nothing to do with it."
He took a few strokes, slowly and easily. Margaret, clinging to the stern, was drawn along without effort or motion of her own. Her long hair floated behind her; her white arms gleamed like ivory through the clear water; her face was alight with pleasure.