"Good-by, Tommy, dear. Be sure to tell Mamma that I thought she would not mind my staying, when Mrs. Merryweather was so perfectly heavenly as to ask me. Be sure to tell her that my skirt is all cockled up, so that you could put it in your waistcoat pocket, Tom; and that the only way to save it is to press it damp, and let it dry before I put it on. Tell her that I have got on a dress of the Snowy's that is simply divine,—more becoming than anything I ever had on; and that my silk waist has run—oh, tell her it has run miles, Tom, so that I can never—"

"There, there, Vi!" cried Tom Vincent, pushing his boat off. "I must run, before you swamp me entirely with messages. I'll come back for you to-morrow, and bring your toggery. Ever so many thanks, everybody. You've been awfully good. I've had a corking time. Good-by!"

The sail filled, the boat swung round, and was soon speeding along the lake, while her owner still waved his cap and looked back to the wharf, where the campers stood, giving back his greeting with hearty good will.

"Nice chap!" said Gerald to Phil.

"Corker!" said Phil to Gerald.

"Nor," added Gerald, turning to look after the girls as they walked back along the slip, "nor is the sororial adjunct totally devoid of attraction. What thinkest, Fergy?"

He shot a quick glance at his brother, and seemed to await his reply with some eagerness.

"I think she's as pretty as a picture," said Phil, soberly.

"You have a nose on your face, if it comes to that," said Gerald. "At least it passes for one. Weiter!"

"I think she's awfully jolly, and all that," said Phil. "Nice, jolly, good-natured girl."

"Granted; she's great fun."

"But," Phil went on, slowly,—"oh, well! you know what I mean. If our girls went on like that, we should be under the painful necessity of ducking them. Now, Peggy—"

He paused and examined the mooring of the boat, critically.

"Now, Peggy," Gerald repeated, jogging him with his elbow. "Always finish a sentence when you can, son. It argues poverty of invention to have to stop in the middle. You can always fall back on 'tooral looral lido,' if you can't think of anything else. What about Peggy?"

"Oh, nothing. Only she is just like the rest of us, and that seems more natural; that's all."

"And 'beyond a doubt we are the people; and wisdom will perish with us,'" quoted Gerald, his face brightening as he spoke. "'Tis well. Come on, thou antiquated ape, and let us pump out the float."

Meantime the girls had sought their favorite pine parlor, and were deep in talk. High would be a more descriptive adjective; for Viola Vincent was the principal talker, and her shrill, clear treble quivered up to the very tree-tops, startling the birds in their nests, and sending the squirrels scampering to and fro with excitement.

"My dear, this is too delicious, simply too! I should expire, if I lived here, of pure joy. Oh, Snowy, what a darling you are! Your nose is just as straight as ever, isn't it? Rulers, my dear, are crooked beside it, aren't they? If I had a straight nose, I should pass away from sheer bliss. My nose turns up more every year; it's the only aspiring thing about me. Pothooks are straight by comparison. Isn't it a calamity?"

"Tiptilted like the petal of a flower," said Gertrude, laughing. "I always thought your nose one of your prettinesses, Vanity, and I believe you think so, too."

"Oh! my dear, how can you?" cried Viola, caressing her little nose, which was certainly piquant and pretty enough to please any one. "You don't really mean it, do you? You just say it to comfort me, don't you? You are such a comforting darling! Where did you get that heavenly shade of green, Snowy? I never saw anything so lovely in my life. It is just the color of jade. My dear, I saw some jade bracelets the other day that were simply made for you. I wanted to tear them from the girl's arms, and say, 'What are you doing with the Snowy's bracelets?' She was a dump, with a complexion like Doctor Somebody or other's liniment. A person who can wear jade is simply the—"

"Oh, come, Vanity!" said Peggy, good-naturedly. "Come out of the millinery business, and tell us about yourself, and about the other girls. What has become of Vex—of Vivia Varnham?"

"My dear! haven't you heard?"

"Not a word! You have never written, you know, since we left school, and she would not be likely to."

"You didn't love each other quite to distraction, did you?" said Viola. "Poor V. V.! she really was the limit sometimes, wasn't she? I never minded her, of course, because I never listened to what she said. Besides, she was like pickles, you know; you just took her with the rest of your dinner, and she didn't make much difference. I used to tell her so. Well, poor V. V.! You never could guess: married, my dear!"

"Married!" echoed Peggy and Gertrude.

"Married! to a missionary; widower, with four children. Gone to China! You need not believe it unless you like; I don't believe it myself, though I saw them married."

"It is hard to believe, Vi!" said Gertrude. "How did it happen?"

"My dear, the limit! positively, the boundary line, arctic circle, and that sort of thing. Love at first sight, on both sides. Spectacles, bald,—not the spectacles, but he,—snuffy to a degree! You really never did! I was the first person she told. I simply screamed. 'My dear!' I said, 'you cannot mean it. You could not live with that waistcoat!'

"She told me I was frivolous—which I never attempted to deny—and said I did not understand, which was the truth. She looked really quite sweet in her wedding-dress, and when she went away she was quite softened, she truly was, and wept a little weep, and so did I. You see, Snowy, the very first thing I can remember in my life is V. V.'s breaking my doll over my head. I miss her dreadfully, I do indeed; nobody has been—well, acidulated, to me since she went, and I need the tonic. And speaking of tonics, where is Beef? where is the Fluffy? You know"—turning to Margaret—"I used to call the Snowy and the Fluffy and the Horny my triple tonic, Beef, Wine, and Iron; and the Fluffy was Beef. Steady and square, you know, and red and brown; exactly like beef; simply no difference except the clothes. How is she, Snowy?"

"The Fluffy—Bertha Haughton, you know, Margaret—is teaching in Blankton High School; very busy, very happy, indeed, perfectly absorbed in her work. I have a letter from her in my pocket this minute, that came last night. Would you like to hear it?"

And amid a clamor of eager assent, she drew out the letter and read as follows.

"'Dear Snowy: It is good to hear about all the jolly times at Camp. I wish I could come, but see no way to it just now. Yes, I know school is over, but there are the rank lists to make out, and all kinds of odd end-of-the-year chores to be done; besides, two of my boys have conditions to work out,—going to college in the fall,—and I am tutoring them. They are two of the dearest boys that ever were, only not very bright, and I have promised to stand by them.' This is the way she behaves, after teaching all the year; she is incorrigible! 'All the others passed without conditions, and three of them got honors, so I am very proud and happy. This has been the best year of all; but then, I say that every year, don't I? I do feel more and more that I am doing the thing in the whole world that I like best to do.'

"The rest is just messages, and so on; but you see how happy she is, and how utterly absorbed."

"My dear, it is too amazing!" cried Viola Vincent. "The very thought of teaching makes me simply dissolve with terror; little drops of water, my dear, would be all that would be left of poor Vanity; not a grain of sand to hold her together. Hush! let me tell you something! Last year I tried to teach a class in Sunday school,—great, terrible boys, taller than I was,—and I almost expired, I assure you I did. They never knew their lessons, and two of them made eyes at me, and the rest made faces at each other; it was simply excruciating. Then the rector asked me if I didn't think I could dress more simply; said I set an example, and so on. I told him I was dressed like a broomstick then, as far as simplicity was concerned, and so I was, simply and positively like a broomstick; only my dress—it was a rose-colored foulard, the most angelic shade you ever saw, girls; just like a sunset cloud, somebody said—happened to have ruffles to the waist, and ribbons fluttering about more or less. He said I fluttered, and I told him I certainly did. 'I always flutter, Mr. Monk,' I said. 'When I don't flutter, I shall be dead.' Which was true. He was quite peevish, but I was firm; you know you have to be firm about such things. Only, the next Sunday he happened to come by when one of those great dreadful boys asked me if Solomon's seal was tame, and I said I didn't think it was. Well, I didn't! But he wrote me a note next day, saying he thought teaching was not my forte, and perhaps I would like visiting better. I fully agreed with him, so now I visit, and it is simply dandy. I just love it!"

"Tell us about your visiting, Vi!" said Gertrude. "I am going to take it up next winter, and I should like to know how you do it."

"My dear! Such sport! There are some dear old ladies I go to see, perfect old ducks; in a Home, you know. I go once a week, and I put on all my frills, and never wear the same dress twice if I can help it, and I tell them all about the parties I go to, and what I wear, and what my partners are like, and about the suppers, and take them my German favors, and they simply love it! Mr. Monk thinks it's terrible that I don't read them tracts; my dear, they abominate tracts, and so do I; we found that out at once. So I read them the gayest, frilliest little stories I can find, that are really nice, and they adore it. One day—my dears! will you promise never to breathe it if I tell you something? never even to sneeze it?"

"We promise! We promise!" cried all the girls.

"Well—hush! It was simply fierce; and the greatest sport I ever had in my life. There is one old lady in the Home who is too perfectly sweet for anything. Miss Bathsheba Barry; did you ever hear such a delicious name? She is just my height, and as pretty as a picture in her cap and kerchief. They all wear caps and kerchiefs, and little gray gowns, the most becoming costume you ever saw; I am going into the Home the very minute my looks begin to go, because I do look quite—but wait! Hush! not a word! Well! I had been teasing Miss Barry for ever and ever so long to let me dress up in her things, because I knew they would suit me, and at last, one day, the dear old thing consented. It was the time for the matron's afternoon visit, and she is very jolly, and I wanted to surprise her. So I put on the little gray gown, and the delicious cap, just like Rembrandt's mother, and the white net kerchief—don't you adore white net, Snowy? it softens the face so!—and the apron; and then I went and sat down in Miss Barry's chair by the window, with her knitting, and put on her spectacles—oh! how she did laugh. Then we heard steps, and Miss Barry went into the closet and shut the door all but a crack to peep through, and I turned my head away from the door, and knitted away for dear life. Oh, girls! The door opened, and I heard Mrs. Poddle say, 'This way, gentlemen! This is Miss Barry's room.' Gentlemen! My dears, I thought I should pass away! Then there came great, loud men's steps, and I heard Mr. Monk's voice—'This is one of our most interesting inmates, Bishop! Eighty-seven years old, and as sprightly as a girl. A most pious and exemplary person. Good morning, Miss Barry! How is your rheumatism to-day?'

"'Simply fierce, your reverence!' said I, in a little squeaky voice, as like Miss Barry's as I could make it. I kept my face turned away, and pretended to be counting stitches very hard.

"'Ahem!' said Mr. Monk. I could hear that he was surprised, for, of course, Miss Barry wouldn't say 'simply fierce,' but it slipped out before I knew it.

"'Miss Barry,' he said, 'I have brought Bishop Ballantyne to see you. I am sure you will be glad to receive him.'

"'Oh, I should perfectly love to see the Bishop!' I said; because Bishop Ballantyne is simply a duck, an adorable duck; but still I did not turn round; and I could hear Miss Barry squeaking with laughter in the closet, and it was really getting quite awful. But now Mr. Monk began to suspect something. I believe he thought I had been drinking, or rather that Miss Barry had, poor old dear. He said, in a pretty awful voice: 'What does this mean? Miss Barry, I desire that, if you are unable to rise, you will at least turn round, and receive Bishop Ballantyne in a fitting manner. I cannot conceive—I must beg you to believe, Bishop, that this has never happened before. I am beyond measure distressed. Miss Barry,—'

"And then he stopped, for I turned round. I had to, of course; there was nothing else to do.

"'How do you do, Bishop Ballantyne?' I said. 'Can you tell me whether Solomon's seal was tame or not?'

"For a minute they both stared as if they had seen a ghost; but then the Bishop went off into a great roar of laughter, and I thought he would laugh himself into fits, and me, too; and the more solemn Mr. Monk looked, the more we laughed; and Miss Barry was cackling like a hen in the closet—oh, it was great, girls, it truly was! At last Mr. Monk had to laugh too, he couldn't help it; it was simply too utter, you know. He said I was enough to break up an entire parish; and the Bishop said he would take me into his, cap and all. And then the matron came back, and Miss Barry came out, and we all stayed to tea, the Bishop and Mr. Monk and I, and had the time of our lives; at least, I did.

"So you see, girls, visiting can be the greatest sport in the world, if you only know how to do it. But we all had to promise Mr. Monk and Mrs. Poddle not to tell, because they said it was enough to break up the discipline of the Home, and I suppose it was."