"Will you?" "Will I!" "All right. That's splendid. I'll expect you at one." The Skirme rippled about the boat, chuckling to itself. It was a kindly, thoughtful river, given to chuckling to itself like an old gentleman who likes to see young people happy. "We used to have some topping picnics in the old days," said Pat dreamily. "We did," said John. "Though why on earth you ever wanted to be with a beastly, bossy, consequential, fractious kid like me, goodness knows." "You were fine," said John. The Old Bridge loomed up through the shadows. John had steered the boat shoreward, and it brushed against the reeds with a sound like the blowing of fairy bugles. Pat scrambled out and bent down to where he sat, holding to the bank. "I'm not nearly so beastly now, Johnnie," she said in a whisper. "You'll find that out some day, perhaps, if you're very patient. Good night, Johnnie, dear. Don't forget to-morrow." She flitted away into the darkness, and John, releasing his hold on the bank and starting up as if he had had an electric shock, was carried out into mid-stream. He was tingling from head to foot. It could not have happened, of course, but for a moment he had suddenly received the extraordinary impression that Pat had kissed him. "Pat!" he called, choking. There came no answer out of the night--only the sleepy chuckling of the Skirme as it pottered on to tell its old friend the Severn about it. "Pat!" John drove the paddle forcefully into the water, and the Skirme, ceasing to chuckle, uttered two loud gurgles of protest as if resenting treatment so violent. The nose of the boat bumped against the bank, and he sprang ashore. He stood there, listening. But there was nothing to hear. Silence had fallen on an empty world. A little sound came to him in the darkness. The Skirme was chuckling again. CHAPTER IX I John woke late next day, and in the moment between sleeping and waking was dimly conscious of a feeling of extraordinary happiness. For some reason, which he could not immediately analyze, the world seemed suddenly to have become the best of all possible worlds. Then he remembered, and sprang out of bed with a shout. Emily, lying curled up in her basket, her whole appearance that of a dog who has come home with the milk, raised a drowsy head. Usually it was her custom to bustle about and lend a hand while John bathed and dressed, but this morning she did not feel equal to it. Deciding that it was too much trouble even to tell him about the man she had seen in the grounds last night, she breathed heavily twice and returned to her slumbers.