“Ah, don’t,” Billy begged. “You can’t say that, after the way you were swimming about before I came in. Have a go, now—I’ll be just behind you.”
Thus adjured, Rex gripped his waning courage in both hands and plunged in again. This time it was quite easy: in a moment he was near the bank and Billy was crowing gently beside him, triumphant.
“That’s top-hole. Cold?”
“Rather!” chattered Rex.
“I’ll tell you what, then—come and have a race on the bank to get warm, and we’ll have another practice afterwards.”
They splashed out and tore round the dry slopes like a couple of young puppies. The sun was well up now: already it was warm with the promise of a blazing day. In a few minutes they were glowing with heat. Down the bank again and into the water, tumbling over each other in the shallows; then they swam out to the rope, and back again, and round and round in a circle, Rex’s confidence developing at every stroke. He tingled with the joy that comes with the first knowledge that deep water has lost its mystery and terror and has become merely a playfellow.
“I believe I could swim right across, now!” he said, looking longingly at the deep side.
“Yes, but you better hadn’t—it must be nearly cow-time,” said Billy prudently. “Come along home, or the girls will be hunting for us.”
They trotted home gently, hugging the prospect of surprising the twins. A knowledge of the early-morning habits of those energetic damsels enabled them to slip into their room unperceived, and when they appeared presently in the kitchen, ready for milking, their hats concealing their damp heads, no one suspected them of anything more than being rather later than usual. Faint surprise was excited by their appetites, which seemed remarkable for the early morning, even for small boys.
“Them’s the two to eat,” remarked Sarah, looking after them as they ran off to milk, their hands full of food. “Here was me thinkin’ I’d enough scones to do breakfast—but they’ve made ’em look silly. Well, you’d sooner see ’em eatin’ than not eatin’.”