And there's the cunningest little pond to sail it on.

Mamma would let me sail it there, I know, 'cause it isn't a bit deep.

You come and see, Uncle Jed." The "pond" was a puddle, perhaps twenty feet across, left by the outgoing tide.

Its greatest depth was not more than a foot.

Jed absent-mindedly declared the pond to be safe enough but that he could not make a shingle boat, not having the necessary shingle.
"Would you if you had one ?" persisted the young lady.
"Eh?
.