"Take that!" cried Star, panting with fury, and flinging the water
at him with all her small might. "I wish it was sharp stones, instead
of just water. I wish it was needles, and jagged rocks, and quills
upon the fretful porkypine, so I do! How dare you say such things
to me, Bob Peet? How dare you?" She paused, breathless, but with
flashing eyes and burning cheeks; while Bob meekly mopped his face
and head with a red cotton handkerchief, and shook the water from
his ears, eyeing her the while with humble and deprecatory looks.

"No offence," he muttered, in apologetic thunder-rumble. "Poor ol'
Bob--eh, Missy? Sorry, beg pardon! Never no more. Didn't mean
it--nohow!"

The tempest subsided as suddenly as it rose, and Star, with a
forgiving nod, took out her own little handkerchief and daintily wiped
a few drops from her victim's forehead.

"You're so stupid, Bob," she said, frankly, "that I suppose I ought
not to get angry with you, any more than I would with Imogen, though
even she provokes me sometimes. So I forgive you, Bob. But if you
ever say such a thing again as my getting tired of Daddy, I'll kill
you. So now you know!"

"Jes' so!" assented Bob. "Nat'rally! _To_ b' sure!"

The sudden splashing of the water had caught many eyes on the deck
of the _Huntress_, and people admired the "playfulness" of the pretty
child in the little boat. One pair of eyes, however, was sharper than
the rest.