"Will you?"
"Will I!"
"All right. That's splendid. I'll expect you at one."
The Skirme rippled about the boat, chuckling to itself. It was a kindly, thoughtful river, given to chuckling to itself like an old gentleman who likes to see young people happy.
"We used to have some topping picnics in the old days," said Pat dreamily.
"We did," said John.
"Though why on earth you ever wanted to be with a beastly, bossy, consequential, fractious kid like me, goodness knows."
"You were fine," said John.
The Old Bridge loomed up through the shadows. John had steered the boat shoreward, and it brushed against the reeds with a sound like the blowing of fairy bugles.
Pat scrambled out and bent down to where he sat, holding to the bank.