Saying this, the boat was pushed off with one shove. When it reached the middle of the lake, lady Feng became nervous, for the craft was small and the occupants many, and hastily handing the pole to a boatwoman, she squatted down at last.
Ying Ch'un, her sisters, their cousins, as well as Pao-yü subsequently got on board the second boat, and followed in their track; while the rest of the company, consisting of old nurses and a bevy of waiting-maids, kept pace with them along the bank of the stream.
"All these broken lotus leaves are dreadful!" Pao-yü shouted. "Why don't you yet tell the servants to pull them off?"
"When was this garden left quiet during all the days of this year?" Pao-ch'ai smiled. "Why, people have come, day after day, to visit it, so was there ever any time to tell the servants to come and clean it?"
"I have the greatest abhorrence," Lin Tai-yü chimed in, "for Li I's poetical works, but there's only this line in them which I like:
"'Leave the dry lotus leaves so as to hear the patter of the rain.'
"and here you people deliberately mean again not to leave the dry lotus stay where they are."
"This is indeed a fine line!" Pao-yü exclaimed. "We mustn't hereafter let them pull them away!"
While this conversation continued, they reached the shoaly inlet under the flower-laden beech. They felt a coolness from the shady overgrowth penetrate their very bones. The decaying vegetation and the withered aquatic chestnut plants on the sand-bank enhanced, to a greater degree, the beauty of the autumn scenery.
Dowager lady Chia at this point observed some spotless rooms on the bank, so spick and so span. "Are not these Miss Hsüeh's quarters," she asked. "Eh?"