"To hang our harps on?" inquired Rose.
"Precisely!" replied Hildegarde. "And I think--Rose, I do see a boat-house! My dear, this is bliss! We will bathe every morning. You have never seen me dive, Rose."
"I have not," said Rose; "and it would be a pity to do it out of the window, dear, because in the first place I should only see your heels as you went out, and in the second--"
"Peace, paltry soul!" cried Hilda. "Here comes a scow, loaded with wood. The wood has been wet, and is all yellow and gleaming. 'Scow,'--what an absurd word! 'Barge' is prettier."
"It sounds so like Shalott," said Rose; "I must come and look too.
"'By the margin, willow-veiled, Slide the heavy barges, trailed By slow horses.'"
"Yes, it is just like it!" cried Hildegarde. "It is really a redeeming feature in you, Rose, that you are so apt in your quotations. Say the part about the river; that is exactly like what I am looking at."
"Do you say it!" said Rose, coming softl