Susy was charmed with the boat. It was lighter and nicer than the old canoe, which had so long been used by the family. She and Lonnie Adams, her aunt Martha's nephew, took daily lessons in rowing; but Susy, who had for years been accustomed to the water, knew how to manage a boat far better than did Master Lonnie. The boy strained every nerve, to very little purpose, while Susy would lightly dip in the paddle, and turn it with perfect ease.
"I don't care," said Lonnie; "guess you can't drive a nail any better than I can, Susy Parlin, and I can row her some, anyhow. Now, Abner, can't I row her?"
"Yes, my boy, I think I've heard you roar," replied Abner, with a provoking smile.
"Well, can't I row her this way?"
"Middlin' well," returned Abner, cautiously; "but little Sue, here, is the water-man for me."
Susy's cheeks glowed, and there was a proud flash in her eyes as they met Lonnie's. At that moment she felt equal to the task of steering a ship across the Atlantic Ocean.
Not long after this praise from Abner, aunt Martha said that she and Master Lonnie were going over the river, after some wild-flower roots, and would be glad to have the boat sent for them at five o'clock.
"Mayn't I be the one to go?" asked Susy.
"If you like," replied the grandmother; "that is, if Abner is willing."
Susy knew perfectly well that her grandmother had no idea of allowing her to go alone; but it so happened, when she reached the river-bank with the boat-key, that Abner was nowhere to be seen.