"Know what that is, all around us, Winnie?" said Tuck, his voice low. The silver notes were pure and clear and lovely. It was so quiet that Winnie almost jumped when the bullfrog spoke again.Īnd then, from the tall pines and birches that ringed the pond, a wood thrush caroled. The rowboat slowed and began to drift gently toward the farthest end of the pond.
"Best time of all for fishing," he said, "when they come up to feed." Here and there the still surface of the water dimpled, and bright rings spread noiselessly and vanished.Īnd Winnie, looking down, saw hosts of tiny insects skittering and skating on the surface.
The rowboat slipped from the bank then, silently, and glided out, tall water grasses whispering away from its sides, releasing it. Tuck climbed in, too, pushing off, and, settling the oars into their locks, dipped them into the silty bottom in one strong pull. The hard heels of her buttoned boots made a hollow banging sound against its wet boards, loud in the warm and breathless quiet.Īcross the pond a bullfrog spoke a deep note of warning. Winnie, newly brave with her thoughts of being rescued, climbed boldly into the rowboat. The sun was dropping fast now, a soft red sliding egg yolk, and already to the east there was a darkening to purple. The sky was a ragged blaze of red and pink and orange, and its double trembled on the surface of the pond like color spilled from a paintbox.
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