She was gazing absently at the mass of black hair dangling about his shoulders, thinking, no doubt, how “horrid” he had been, when he abruptly paused, turned, looked straight into her face, and made a comical grimace. He did not speak, and immediately resumed his paddling. She pouted more than before, turned up her pretty nose, and stared to the left at the wooded shore. Ten or fifteen minutes later he repeated his action, except that he continued grimacing and chuckling, as if determined to make her smile. She flushed and strove hard to keep her cross countenance, but could not. She laughed, in spite of herself, but, as he resumed paddling, she reached forward, caught hold of a strand of his hair, and pulled it, taking pains to jerk _upwards_, so as to make sure it hurt. It was a vigorous pull, but Nantaquas acted as if unaware that anything of the kind had taken place, and the girl, as if sorry for her petty outburst, sat back again and looked in a more kindly way at the big brother whom she loved so dearly.