Tom took off his cap, and leaned lazily against the side of the boat; Winnie, interested in making a series of remarkable faces at himself in the water, for a wonder sat still, and Gypsy lay down across two seats, with her face turned up watching the sky.

It was very pleasant, and no one seemed inclined to talk.
"I wish I were a cloud," said Gypsy, suddenly, after a long silence.

"A little white cloud, with a silver fringe, and not have anything to do but float round all day in the sunshine,--no lessons nor torn dresses nor hateful old sewing to do." "S'posin' it thunder-stormed," suggested Winnie.

"You might get striked." "That would be fun," said Gypsy, laughing.

"I always wanted to see where the lightning came from." "Supposing there came a wind, and blew you away," suggested Tom, sleepily.
"I never thought of that," said Gypsy.