ld cross the river in that way."

"Oh, we've known 'bout that always," was the reply. "Ned Joselyn used
to come to our house ever so many times by the river stones, to talk
with Ol' Swallertail, an' Gran'dad used to come over here, to this same
summer-house, an' talk with Joselyn."

Mary Louise noticed that the old gingham dress had been washed, ironed
and mended--all in a clumsy manner. Ingua's blond hair had also been
trained in awkward imitation of the way Mary Louise dressed her own
brown locks. The child, observing her critical gaze, exclaimed with a
laugh:

"Yes, I've slicked up some. No one'll see me but you, will they?" she
added suspiciously.

"No, indeed; we're to be all alone. How do you feel to-day, Ingua?"

"The devils are gone. Gran'dad didn't 'spicion anything las' night an'
never said a word. He had one o' his dreamy fits an' writ letters till
long after I went to bed. This mornin' he said as ol' Sol Jerrems has
raised the price o' flour two cents, so I'll hev to be keerful; but
that was all. No rumpus ner anything."

"That's nice," said Mary Louise, leading her, arm in arm, to the
pavilion. "Aren't you glad you didn't run away?"

Ingua did not reply. Her eyes, big and round, were taking in every
detail of the table. Then they wandered to the big basket and Mary
Louise smiled and said:

"The table is set, as you see, but I don't know what we're to have to
eat. I asked Aunt Polly to put something in the basket, as I was going
to have company, and I'm certain there'll be _enough_ for two, whatever
it's like. You see, this is a sort of surprise party, for we won't know
what we've got until we unpack the basket."

Ingua nodded, much interested.

"Ye said 'tea,'" she remarked, "an' I hain't tasted tea sence Marm left
us. But I s'pose somethin' goes with tea?"

"Always. Tea means a lunch, you know, and I'm very hungry because I
didn't eat much luncheon at noon. I hope you are hungry, too, Ingua,"
she added, opening the basket and beginning to place its contents upon
the table.

Ingua may have considered a reply unnecessary, for she made none. Her
eyes were growing bigger every moment, for here were dainty sandwiches,
cakes, jelly, a pot of marmalade, an assortment of cold meats, olives,
Saratoga chips, and last of all a chicken pie still warm from the
oven--one of those chicken pies that Aunt Polly could make as no one
else ever made them.

Even Mary Louise was surprised at the array of eatabl