“Oh, we must go and see it after lunch. I know few things I like better than a spring,—and out of a tree.”
“Yes; mustn’t it be comfortable for the old tree?”
“Rather,” she said, and fell silent.
It was now quiet and warm—no leaf astir—a noonday dreaminess on wood and water. “That canoe’s dropping down,” Ned said. “Is it Mr. Ellett or Mr. Carington, Rose? He doesn’t get any fish.”
“I don’t know. I was half asleep. How nice to be where all the noises are sounds one likes!”
“Do you hear the rapids, Rose? I thought yesterday they were exactly like children laughing—I mean their noise.”
“I said that very thing to Pardy, the night we came up.”
“I guess when the Indians called a fall ‘The Laughing Water’ they might have meant that.”
“Perhaps,—or only that, in a way, it did sound cheerful.”
“I don’t think the sea always makes pleasant noises, Rosy.”