"Why couldn't I?"
"Because,—well, because, most likely, you'd 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!"
Dab's face turned red again.
Annie Foster had heard it as distinctly as he had; 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, as he turned around.
"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?"
"Or little girls, either? Not much; but Annie and I mean to have a good sail before long."