"Indeed, I’m not going to let you stagnate," replied Mrs. Bunker. "There’s a different place to see every day, and when you’ve seen everything the hunting will commence." "We couldn’t have a nicer day for a drive," remarked Mrs. Stillwater. "It has rained all night, and there won’t be any dust." "Oh, if a storm don’t come up while we’re out," said Mrs. Bunker. "You never can tell what’s behind these mountains. They’re always brewing something. Don’t you ever let Indiana get you out in that sail-boat—while I think of it, Lord Canning." "No, Mrs. Bunker, I will not let her get me out in that sail-boat. There, I put my foot down." "Yes, you will," said Indiana, propping her chin on her hand, "won’t you?" Lord Canning smiled back into her eyes. "Well, perhaps," he said. "There!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "Indiana makes everyone do as she wishes." "Have you your Tennyson here, Lord Canning? I should like to look through it." He gave it to her, and then two heads were soon bent, in a discussion, over the book. Lord Canning started, when they reached their destination, and Haller gave a spring to the dock. "Already," closing the book, "this has been most interesting, Miss Stillwater. You have a very clear and fresh conception. It’s a great pleasure to read with you." "Oh, Indiana has always distinguished herself in her studies," said Mrs. Stillwater. "I can believe that," said Lord Canning. As the ponies sped along with their swift, firm trot, Indiana explained to him the different points of interest in the country. "Why, Indiana, you’re taking the old road—that’s the longest," as she made a sudden turn from the highway. "And the prettiest, Grandma Chazy." "Well, do as you like. We’ll never get home." "Thinking of home already, Mrs. Bunker. We’re just started. This is awfully jolly." "Well, we’ll see how jolly you’ll think it, Lord Stafford, when you’re kept till nearly nine for your dinner." "Dear me, is it so serious as that?" "We follow this all the way," said Indiana, pointing to the narrow stream on whose banks they were driving. "Charming to hear, that delightful gurgle. I am so fond of the sound of water!" "A very narrow path," said Lord Stafford, peering over the banks. "One lurch to the right, and we’re over." "The banks are propped with logs," explained Mrs. Bunker. "That is done every spring. The force of the water in winter breaks them down. They’re none too safe now, I believe. But Indiana would take this old road!" "I am so glad you did," murmured Lord Canning. "The continuous perspective of this winding stream is charming." As they drove on they were surprised now and then by little green islands, very small, sometimes merely clumps of trees. "Mysterious little islands," said Lord Canning. "So lonely, set here and there in the stream, like little green shrines, for those who wish to pray." "You have more imagination than many would credit you with, Lord Canning."