Learning to Swim

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jun 25, 1908

FROM the reception hall came the sound of merry voices. Out in the sitting-room Aunt Janet moved impatiently. Her silks rustled stiffly.

“Really, Mary, I wish Agnes had more independence. That Redmond girl treated her shamefully only last week, and yet there is Agnes talking as sweetly as if nothing had happened. I never should stand it.”

Mrs. Holmes looked up at the hard, bitter lines in her sister’s face, listened again to the sweet voice of her daughter as its gentle tones came drifting in to them, and replied,— “I do not think Agnes lacks spirit. You know how she used to resent a slight. But lately—”

The hall door closed. There came a breath of the outside wintry air, and a young girl dropped on a stool at her aunt’s feet.

“Agnes,” began her aunt, severely, “how can you treat that girl as a friend? She has been saying the meanest things about you. Mrs. Brown told me—”

“Stop, auntie!” cried Agnes, putting her fingers in her ears. “Please don’t repeat it. I do not want to know.”

“Why not?”

A moment’s silence. Then a brave face was lifted to the stern one above it. “Because, auntie, I am learning to swim.” Turning from her aunt’s astonished gaze, she looked straight into her mother’s face—into the eyes so sure to understand.

“You remember, mama, at the sea-shore last summer, what a time I had

learning to swim. My head would go down, and I come up sputtering, with such a dreadful taste in my mouth. My teacher said, ‘Keep your head up, and your mouth closed, and you will be all right.’”

“So, auntie, if I listen to all the gossip afloat, I am sure to go down with it, and come up sputtering. It makes me feel badly all over. But if I keep my ears and mouth closed, and my head up, I have a lovely time riding the breakers. It is so much more fun than to be sputtering all the time.”

“Humph!” said her aunt; but her silks actually rustled a little more softly.

—The Youth’s Companion.