Old Mrs.Fairfield, in a lilac cotton dress and a black hat tied under the chin, gathered her little brood and got them ready.

The little Trout boys whipped their shirts over their heads, and away the five sped, while their grandma sat with one hand in her knitting-bag ready to draw out the ball of wool when she was satisfied they were safely in.
The firm compact little girls were not half so brave as the tender, delicate-looking little boys.

Pip and Rags, shivering, crouching down, slapping the water, never hesitated.

But Isabel, who could swim twelve strokes, and Kezia, who could nearly swim eight, only followed on the strict understanding they were not to be splashed.

As for Lottie, she didn't follow at all.