We'd put Jack in yours, and take you girls a nice spin up to the Hemlocks," said Frank, whose idea of bliss was floating down the river with Annette as coxswain.
"You'd better come in here, this will hold four, and we are tired of rowing," returned the "Water Witch," so invitingly that Gus could not resist.
"I don't think it is safe to put four in there.

You'd better change places with Annette, Gus, and then we shall be ship-shape," said Frank, answering a telegram from the eyes that matched the blue jacket.
"Wouldn't it be _more_ ship-shape still if you put me ashore at Grif's landing?
I can take his boat, or wait till you come back.

Don't care what I do," said Jack, feeling himself sadly in the way.
The good-natured offer being accepted with thanks, the changes were made, and, leaving him behind, the two boats went gayly up the river.

He really did not care what he did, so sat in Grif's boat awhile watching the red sky, the shining stream, and the low green meadows, where the blackbirds were singing as if they too had met their little sweethearts and were happy.
Jack remembered that quiet half-hour long afterward, because what followed seemed to impress it on his memory.

As he sat enjoying the scene, he very naturally thought about Ed; for the face of the sister whom he saw was very anxious, and the word "fever" recalled the hard times when Frank was ill, particularly the night it was thought the boy would not live till dawn, and Jack cried himself to sleep, wondering how he ever could get on without his brother.