"Shall I?"

"Of course you will. That boat will float six inches deep by herself,
and I'm sure there's not six inches by the Thorns."

"Very awkward."

"Why didn't you have a hide boat made, with a willow framework and
leather cover? Then you might perhaps get down the river by hauling it
past the shallows and the fallen trees. In two days' time you would be
in the hands of the gipsies."

"And you would be Sir Constans' heir!"

"Now, come, I say; that's too bad. You know I didn't mean that. Besides,
I think I'm as much his heir as you now" (looking at his sinewy arm);
"at least, he doesn't listen as much to you. I mean, the river runs into
the gipsies' country as straight as it can go."

"Just so."

"Well, you seem very cool about it!"

"I am not going down the river."

"Then, where _are_ you going?"

"On the Lake."

"Whew!" (whistling) "Pooh! Why, the Lake's--let me see, to Heron Bay