"Now, father," returned Bessie, pouting just a little, "you know we don't believe that. We want you so much to take us in the boat; it doesn't leak at all now—oh! do." And both children fairly capered in their excitement.
Mr. Hedden smiled; but; after wiping his forehead with a red and yellow handkerchief, went on thoughtfully with his work without returning any answer.
The children, looking wistfully at him a moment, turned toward the house, wondering among themselves, "what father meant to do about it."
That evening, at the supper-table (where they didn't have napkin rings or silver salt-cellars, I can assure you), Mr. Hedden asked his wife whether Tom Hennessy was back from "up river" yet?
"I think he came home yesterday," returned his wife. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I thought, as to-morrow'll be a holiday, I'd get him to take the youngsters down the stream in the scow."
"Oh! husband," rejoined Mrs. Hedden, looking up anxiously, "do you think it's safe?"
"Why not, Betsey?—the scow doesn't leak; and even if it did, the water isn't above Tom's waist anywhere."
"I don't mean anything of that kind," pursued the wife, smiling in spite of herself at the joyful faces of the young folks. "I—I mean the Indians."
"Oh, never fear about them; I'll give Tom every necessary caution," was the answer. "The boat won't be gone more than two hours altogether; and, to my mind, there wouldn't be the slightest danger in letting even little Kitty join the party."