He had heard stories. In stories girls drew their breath in sharply and said "Oh, why must you spoil everything like this?" He decided not to spoil everything. Walking warily, he reached the little gate that led to the boathouse steps and opened it with something of a flourish. "Be careful," he said. "What of?" said Pat. It seemed to John that she spoke a trifle flatly. "These steps are rather tricky." "Oh?" said Pat. III He followed her into the punt, oppressed once more by a feeling that something had gone wrong with what should have been the most wonderful night of his life. Girls are creatures of moods, and Pat seemed now to have fallen into one of odd aloofness. She said nothing as he pushed the boat out, and remained silent as it slid through the water with a little tinkling ripple, bearing them into a world of stars and coolness, where everything was still and the trees stood out against the sky as if carved out of cardboard. "Are you all right?" said John, at last. "Splendid, thanks." Pat's mood seemed to have undergone another swift change. Her voice was friendly again. She nestled into the cushions. "This is luxury. Do you remember the old days when there was nothing but the weed-boat?" "They were pretty good days," said John wistfully. "They were, rather," said Pat. The spell of the summer night held them silent again. No sound broke the stillness but the slap of tiny waves and the rhythmic dip and splash of the paddle. Then with a dry flittering a bat wheeled overhead, and out somewhere by the little island where the birds nested something leaped noisily in the water. Pat raised her head. "A pike?" "Must have been." Pat sat up and leaned forward. "That would have excited Father," she said. "I know he's dying to get out here and have another go at the pike. Johnnie, I do wish somebody could do something to stop this absurd feud between him and Mr. Carmody. It's too silly. I know Father would be all over Mr. Carmody if only he would make some sort of advance. After all, he did behave very badly. He might at least apologize." John did not reply for a moment. He was thinking that whoever tried to make his uncle apologize for anything had a whole-time job on his hands. Obstinate was a mild word for the squire of Rudge. Pigs bowed as he passed, and mules could have taken his correspondence course. "Uncle Lester's a peculiar man," he said. "But he might listen to you." "He might," said John doubtfully. "Well, will you try? Will you go to him and say that all Father wants is for him to admit he was in the wrong? Good heavens! It isn't asking much of a man to admit that when he's nearly murdered somebody." "I'll try." "Hugo says Mr. Carmody has gone off his head, but he can't have gone far enough off not to be able to see that Father has a perfect right to be offended at being grabbed round the waist and used as a dug-out against dynamite explosions."