He set a good, rollicking, dashing stroke that sent the spray playing all over the boat like a fountain, and made the whole crowd sit up straight in no time.

When he spread more than pint of water over one of those dresses, he would give a pleasant little laugh, and say: "I beg your pardon, I'm sure;" and offer them his handkerchief to wipe it off with.
"Oh, it's of no consequence," the poor girls would murmur in reply, and covertly draw rugs and coats over themselves, and try and protect themselves with their lace parasols.
At lunch they had a very bad time of it.

People wanted them to sit on the grass, and the grass was dusty; and the tree-trunks, against which they were invited to lean, did not appear to have been brushed for weeks; so they spread their handkerchiefs on the ground and sat on those, bolt upright.

Somebody, in walking about with a plate of beef-steak pie, tripped up over a root, and sent the pie flying.

None of it went over them, fortunately, but the accident suggested a fresh danger to them, and agitated them; and, whenever anybody moved about, after that, with anything in his hand that could fall and make a mess, they watched that person with growing anxiety until he sat down again.
[Picture: Washing up] "Now then, you girls," said our friend Bow to them, cheerily, after it was all over, "come along, you've got to wash up!" They didn't understand him at first.