"We mean to go right across the bay and try some fishing."
"Couldn't I fish?"
"Well, no. I don't think you could."
"Why couldn't I?"
"Because,—well, because you'd most likely be too sea-sick by the time we got there."
Just then a low, clear voice, behind Dabney, quietly remarked: "How smooth his hair is!" And Dab's face turned red again. Annie Foster heard it as distinctly as he did, and she walked right away with her mother, for fear she should laugh again.
"It's my own hair, Jenny Walters," said Dab, almost savagely.
"I should hope it was."
"I should like to know what you go to church for, anyhow?"
"To hear people talk about sailing and fishing. How much do you s'pose a young lady like Miss Foster cares about small boys?"