“No. 7; it is the larger,” said Molly, drawing Weezy into that room, and locking the door.
Kirke vanished into “H,” to reappear before No. 7 in precisely two minutes, clad in blue flannel, and calling,—
“What! Aren’t you ready yet, girls?”
That was the fun of being a boy, and having no strings and no hooks and eyes to hinder him!
On emerging into the main room the children found their father seated there awaiting them. He had formed the habit of being present at their swimming-lessons.
“I feel safer to watch my ducklings,” Molly heard him say to Mr. Tullis, the swimming-master, as she and Weezy drew near.
“Your daughters are learning fast, especially this little one,” answered Mr. Tullis, looking at Weezy. “She’ll soon swim like a fish.”
Mr. Rowe patted Weezy’s head, shining beneath her oiled-silk cap.
“She’s a venturesome little lassie,” he said. “She never seems to know what fear is.”
“She’ll make all the better swimmer for that, Mr. Rowe.”