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The ain't stung in Fanshaw's ears. The girl was common. The thought made him blush.

"Come along, let's get started. Man the boats," cried Cham.

"I'm scared o' canoes. You can paddle all right, can't you, Fanshaw?" The blue girl pressed his hand tight as they stood irresolute a moment looking down into the canoe. The other canoe was off, upstream into the noon dazzle.

"Come along," shouted Cham. The sun flashed on his paddle. He began singing off key:

I know a place where the sun is like gold

And the cherryblooms burst with snow

And down underneath ...

"All right, Missy, step in," said the man in the red sweater who was holding the canoe to the landing with a paddle. "Easy now."

"Let m-m-me get in first," said Fanshaw stuttering a little. "I hope this isn't a tippy one."

"I'll help you in Missy," said the man in the red sweater. Fanshaw, from the stern seat he had plunked down in, saw the man's big red hand, like a bunch of sausages against the blue dress, clasp her arm, press against the slight curve of her breast as he let her down among the cushions. "Thanks," she said, as she tucked her dress in around her legs, giving the man a long look from under the brim of her hat.