be gurls, soft and feminine, don’t you know—but, for gracious’ sake, don’t tell her I said so!’
Rowing in four and pair outriggers and sometimes in a skiff alone, was another of Lesbia’s out-door exercises this summer. The river to which she had to go for this purpose was the same across which the memorable ferry had taken her with the bicyclists, and it was some members of that club who got up such boating as was to be had on its rather narrow water. It was better than none, however, and further up there was a wider reach, where racing was practicable. Lesbia rowed sometimes bow, other times stroke, and everyone admired the easy and powerful style she had acquired. One bright evening just before sunset, as she pulled down past the well-remembered group of poplars, two big rough-looking men on the bank saluted her respectfully. She did not recognise them at first, but they had recognised her, and a second glance showed her that they were none other than the identical bargees. Poor Bill and Joe! we shall meet with them once more in this story; but on a very different scene.
