hey realised what had happened to them, but, when they
did, they began to shout lustily for the boy to stop. He, however, was
too much occupied with the horse to hear them, and we watched them,
flying after him, until the distance hid them from view.

I cannot say I was sorry at their mishap. Indeed, I only wish that all
the young fools who have their boats towed in this fashion--and plenty
do--could meet with similar misfortunes. Besides the risk they run
themselves, they become a danger and an annoyance to every other boat
they pass. Going at the pace they do, it is impossible for them to get
out of anybody else's way, or for anybody else to get out of theirs.
Their line gets hitched across your mast, and overturns you, or it
catches somebody in the boat, and either throws them into the water, or
cuts their face open. The best plan is to stand your ground, and be
prepared to keep them off with the butt-end of a mast.

Of all experiences in connection with towing, the most exciting is being
towed by girls. It is a sensation that nobody ought to miss. It takes
three girls to tow always; two hold the rope, and the other one runs
round and round, and giggles. They generally begin by getting themselves
tied up. They get the line round their legs, and have to sit down on the
path and undo each other, and then they twist it round their necks, and
are nearly strangled. They fix it straight, however, at last, and start
off at a run, pulling the boat along at quite a dangerous pace. At the
end of a hundred yards they are naturally breathless, and suddenly stop,
and all sit down on the grass and laugh, and your boat drifts out to
mid-stream and turns round, before you know what has happened, or can get
hold of a scull. Then they stand up, and are surprised.

"Oh, look!" they say; "he's gone right out into the middle."

[Picture: Lady pinning up frock] They pull on pretty steadily for a bit,
after this, and then it all at once occurs to one of them that she will
pin up her frock, and they ease up for the purpose, and the boat runs
aground.

You jump up, and push it off, and you shout to them not to stop.

"Yes. What's the matter?" they shout back.

"Don't stop," you roar.

"Don't what?"

"Don't stop--go on--go on!"

"Go back, Emily, and see what it is they want," says one; and Emily comes
back, and asks what it is.

"What do you want?" she says; "anything happened?"

"No," you reply, "it's all right; on