"There's Tim Roon! Wave to him, Bobby," cried Meg.

"Doesn't Marion Green look funny before she knows you?" commented
Dot.

The car with Mother and Father Blossom and the four little Blossoms and their suitcases and rugs and shawls and long and short coats, had whirled past Marion Green so rapidly that she had not guessed who the people were until they were almost around the corner, though she waved to them in answer to their call.

For the time at last had come to start for Apple Tree Island, and this morning the Blossoms were actually on their way. Norah's sister had come to stay with her and Annabel Lee, so Mother Blossom had been spared the work and trouble of closing the house. Meg and Bobby had been promised that they could go into a higher grade in the fall, because of their good records for the term. Dot's new dresses were all finished; and Twaddles had wheedled his father into allowing him to take along an empty bird-cage which took up a great deal of room and was utterly useless. The Blossoms had no bird, and, as Bobby pointed out to Twaddles, he would not be able to catch a bird if he tried, and if he did catch one, said Bobby, it would be against the law for him to keep it. He would have to let it go as he had the robin. But Twaddles was firm in his resolve to carry the empty cage.

"Miss Florence's canary bird died," he explained to Father Blossom. "And it makes her cry to see the cage; so she gave it to me. I think it is very nice and you never can tell when it will be useful!"

It was over seventy miles to Apple Tree Island from Oak Hill,
quite too long a trip for the children to make without a break.
This was partly the reason Father Blossom planned to stop at
Brookside Farm. The real reason, of course, was Aunt Polly.

"When do we go on the boat?" asked Dot, soon after they had left Oak Hill and were running smoothly along the State highway which the interurban trolley line followed for some distance. Dot remembered the trip on the boat to Aunt Polly's, and she had reason to, as you will recall if you have read of that memorable visit.

"We don't go on the boat," answered Mother Blossom. "We go as far as Little Havre, at the lower end of Lake Tobago, where we took the boat, and then we branch off and follow the lake shore road that brings us straight to Brookside Farm and Aunt Polly."

"I dropped my cage," announced Twaddles conversationally.

Of course there was nothing to do but stop the car and let him get out and run back for it. Father Blossom was a skillful driver now and there was no danger that the steering wheel would play him strange tricks.

Presently it was lunch time, and as Father and Mother Blossom had foreseen that traveling in the balmy Spring air and sunshine might sharpen appetites, they had arranged to have a picnic under the largest and shadiest tree that could be found. How glad the four little Blossoms were to get out of the car and run about on the grass, and how good Norah's sandwiches did taste! There was milk for the children, and coffee for Father and Mother, and after the meal was finished, Father Blossom showed the children how to bury the papers and waste so that the pretty meadow spot might not be spoiled for the next picnic party.

"Where are we going to have supper?" speculated Dot, as she snuggled into the car beside Mother Blossom. Dot was a great girl to consider the future.

"Can't you guess?" teased Mother Blossom.

"I know!" cried Meg. "Aunt Polly's."

Dot and Twaddles enjoyed a little nap that sunny afternoon, but
Meg and Bobby were wide awake every instant. When they came to
Little Havre the twins awoke and sat up, a bit heavy-eyed, but
inclined to be resentful that they had missed anything at all.

"There's the wharf!" shouted Twaddles. "'Member the organ-grinder man, Dot? And there's the restaurant where you spilled the milk on your dress."

"I want to get a few directions," said Father Blossom, running the car close to the curb under a drooping willow tree. "Don't get out, any one, for I'll be right back."

He disappeared into the real-estate office on the corner, and the four little Blossoms amused themselves by watching the people hurrying down to make the afternoon boat.

"We'll beat them, won't we, Mother?" asked Meg. "And this time
Aunt Polly won't have to come to meet us."

Father Blossom came hurrying back and climbed into his seat.

"I'm glad I asked," he told Mother Blossom. "They're repairing a stretch of the lake shore road and we'll have to make a short detour. It won't add more than half an hour to our running time."

They moved forward slowly, for the narrow streets of the little town observed no traffic rules, and boat passengers, baby carriages, horses, jitneys and automobiles had to find their way about as best they could, and then, when they reached the open road, Father Blossom allowed his car to gather more speed.

"Isn't the lake pretty!" said Meg, as they rounded a curve and saw the water shining through the screen of trees. "What do you suppose they are doing in that funny boat?"

"Fishing, aren't they, Daddy?" Bobby asked. "I hope I can go fishing. Palmer Davis went with his father twice last year."

"I'll take you," Father Blossom promised.

"There's a man walking," Dot announced suddenly.

Before any one could stop him, Twaddles had mounted his seat, his precious cage under his arm.

"Where?" he demanded.

Then he lost his balance and the cage shot over the side of the car.

"Oh, dear," sighed Twaddles. "I didn't mean to drop it, Daddy.
Honestly, it slipped."

Father Blossom looked rather grim, for his patience with the useless cage was sorely tried.

"I'll get it," shouted the solitary walker, who had turned on hearing the car and now ran back toward the Blossoms.

He was a pleasant-faced man, rather shabbily dressed, with a soft felt hat pulled well down over honest gray eyes. He handed the cage up to Twaddles smiling and revealing a set of square, even white teeth. Father Blossom started as the light fell clearly across the man's face.

"Dick Harley!" he ejaculated. "Where did you drop from?"

The man pushed his hat back and his smile changed to a slow, sheepish grin. His hair was quite gray at the temples and Meg privately decided that he must be old.

"Well, well, Mr. Blossom!" he exclaimed, plainly pleased. "You're the last person I ever expected to meet right here. This your family?"

"Get in, if you're going our way," said Father Blossom cordially.
"Margaret, you remember Dick Harley?"

Mother Blossom held out her hand.

"Of course I do, though it has been several years since we've seen each other," she said pleasantly. "Oh, there's plenty of room, Mr. Harley. You sit with Mr. Blossom and I'll take Dot on my lap."

Dot was passed over the back seat, and Mr. Harley sat in the front seat with Twaddles between him and Father Blossom.

"This your family?" he repeated. "Which is the little feller I used to hold in my lap?"

"That was Bobby," smiled Mother Blossom. "He's seven years old now. This is Meg, and the two youngsters are our twins, Twaddles and Dot. We're going to Apple Tree Island. I have never been back since—"

She stopped, afraid that perhaps she had recalled painful memories to Mr. Harley. But his attractive smile slowly overspread his face again.

"That so?" he said with interest. "I haven't been there myself in quite a spell. I expect the boys have grown out of sight. I'm on my way now to see the wife and kids."

The Blossom family remained perfectly silent. What could they say?