A Lesson in Swimming

It was hot! One of those dry summers when the air seems to quiver with
the heat, and one afternoon, as I was in my old place at the window
watching Shock go to and fro, carrying baskets of what seemed to be
beans, George Day came along.

"I say," he cried, "ask leave to come with us. We've got a
half-holiday."

Just then I saw the bristling shoots on the wall shake, but I paid no
heed, for I was too much interested in my new friend's words.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Oh, down the meadows! that's the best place, and there's no end of fun
to be had. I'll take a fishing-rod." I went to where my mother was
lying down and asked her consent, receiving a feeble yes, and her hand
went up to my neck, to draw me down that she might kiss me.

"Be back in good time," she whispered. "George Day, you said?"

"Yes; his father is something in London, and he goes to the
grammar-school."

"Be back in good time," she whispered again; and getting my cap, I just
caught sight of Shock at the top of the wall as I ran by the window.

"Poor fellow!" I thought, "how he, too, would like a holiday!"

"Here I am," I cried; and feeling as if I had been just released from
some long confinement, I set off with my companion at a sharp run.

We had to call at his house, a large red brick place just at the end of
the village, close to Isleworth church, where the rod was obtained, with
a basket to hold bait, lines, and the fish that we were going to catch;
and soon after we were down where the sleek cows were contentedly lying
about munching, and giving their heads an angry toss now and then to
keep off the flies.