The canoe contained one passenger, who, with feminine indifference to the inflexible laws of science, was endeavouring to assist its progress by paddling in the wrong direction. Her small person, propped by convenient cushions, was wedged into the bow of the vessel, and her white frock and attenuated black legs were protected from the results of her own efforts at navigation by a spare blazer of Hughie's. Her hat lay on the floor of the canoe, half-full of cherries, and her long hair rippled and glimmered in the afternoon sun. Miss Joan Gaymer would be a beauty some day, but for the present all knowledge of that fact was being tactfully withheld from her. To do her justice, the prospect would have interested her but little. Like most small girls of eleven, she desired nothing so much at present as to resemble a small boy as closely as possible. She would rather have captured one bird's-nest than twenty hearts, and appearances she counted as dross provided she could hold her own in a catherine-wheel competition. They were rather a silent couple. Joan was filled with that contentment which is beyond words. She was wearing a new frock; she had escaped under an escort almost exclusively male--if we except the benevolent despotism of Mrs. Ames--from home, nurse, and governess, to attend a series of purely grown-up functions; and to crown all, she was alone in the canoe, a light-blue blazer spread over her knees, with one who represented to her small experience the head and summit of all that a man should--nay, could--be. "I expect," she remarked, in a sudden burst of exultation, as the canoe slid past two gorgeously arrayed young persons who were seated by the water's edge, "that those two are pretty sorry they're not in this canoe with us." The ladies referred to arose and walked inland with some deliberation. Hughie did not answer. His brow was knitted and his manner somewhat absent. "Hughie," announced Miss Gaymer reproachfully, "you are looking very cross at me." She had a curiously gruff and hoarse little voice, and suffered in addition from inability to pronounce those elusive consonants _r_ and _l_. So she did not say "very cross," but "ve'y c'oss," in a deep bass. Hughie roused himself. "Sorry, Joey!" he said; "I was thinking." "Sec'ets?" inquired Miss Gaymer, all agog with femininity at once. "No." "Oh,"--rather disappointedly. "About your old boat, then?" "Yes," said Hughie untruthfully. "Do you quite understand how we race?" "I _think_ so," said the child. "Your boat is second, and it wants to bump into the boat in f'ont--is that it?" "Yes." "Well, do it just when you pass us, will you?" "I'll try," said Hughie, beginning to brighten up. "But it may take longer than that. About the Railway Bridge, I should think." "And after the race will _you_ take me home again?" inquired the lady anxiously.