“Provided she doesn’t take too great risks, Mr. Tullis. I’ve sometimes feared we ought not to let her go into the water.”
“Anybody’s liable to get into water, Mr. Rowe; the point is to know how to get out,” replied the swimming-master lightly.
Molly and Kirke hardly heeded the remark at the time, but it rang in their ears afterward.
Mr. Tullis was already leading Weezy down the steps into the tank, which was divided across the middle by a low wall of stone. On one side of this wall the water was cold, but on the side they were entering it was agreeably warm; and Weezy was soon paddling about with great glee, supported under the chin by the strong hand of the swimming-master.
“Look, papa, see how well I can do it!” she cried, splashing and puffing like a young seal, till she was out of breath.
“You’d better rest a few minutes now, little girl,” said Mr. Tullis.
And leaving Weezy clinging to a plank, he went to instruct Molly in swimming.
Meantime Kirke had been making ludicrous attempts to mount a hobby-horse, which, being mostly barrel, would rear and plunge as often as he tried to get astride its back. Finally, tired of these fruitless efforts, he climbed the staircase near by to coast down the toboggan slide with some other boys.
Mr. Rowe looked on as his son dashed down the slippery board again and again, and dived into the tank. Then he glanced at his more timid Molly, flushed with trying to strike out for herself, and at little Miss Weezy, floating gayly on her plank; and he mused—
“What a blessing it is to be young and strong! I wish my children could appreciate this, and could know how happy they are.”