eek which led into Patricio towards
its southern end. The little boats were each propelled by one person,
who stood erect facing the prow, and using, now on one side, now on the
other, a single light paddle; the stream, though deep, was not wide
enough to allow the use of two oars, and it wound and doubled so
tortuously upon itself that the easiest way to guide it was to stand up
and paddle in the Indian fashion. At the stern of each boat, seated on
the bottom on cushions, leaning back in the shade of a white parasol,
was a lady; Margaret Harold, Garda Thorne, Mrs. Lucian Spenser.

Mr. Moore was propelling the boat in which Mrs. Spenser was reclining;
Lucian's skiff held Garda; Torres had the honor of piloting Mrs. Harold.
The skiffs were advancing together, though in single file, and the
voyagers talked.

"How delightful it is that one never has to speak loud here!" said
Margaret; "the air is so still that the voice carries--all out-doors is
like a room. I believe it's our high skies at the North, as much as the
clatter of our towns, that make us all public speakers from our
cradles."

"I don't agree with you; that is, I don't if you mean that you prefer
the southern articulation," said Mrs. Spenser.

"Yet I'm sure you prefer mine, Rosalie," said her husband, laughing.

"You're not a real southerner, Lucian."

"Oh yes, I am. But even if I'm not, here's Miss Thorne; she certainly
is."

"Miss Thorne is Spanish," answered Mrs. Spenser, briefly; "she doesn't
come under the term southerner, as I use it, at all; she is Spanish--and
she speaks, too, like a New-Englander." Then feeling, perhaps, that this
statement had been rather dry, she turned her head and gave Garda a
little bow and smile.

"You have described it exactly," said Garda, who was letting the tips of
her fingers trail in the water over the skiff's low side. "Try this,
Margaret; it makes you feel as if you were swimming."

"The southern pronunciation," went on Mrs. Spenser, in a general way,
"_I_ do not admire." (She spoke as though combating somebody.) "And they
have, too, such a curious habit, especially the women, of talking about
their State. 'We Carolinians,' 'We Virginians,' they keep saying; and
when they are excited, they will call themselves all sorts of
names--'daughters of Georgia,' for instance. Imagine northern women
speaking of themselves seriously (and the southern women are as serious
as possible about it) as 'We daughters of Connectic