cried Maurice.

"I began to think I would be drowned," she said, laughing breathlessly.

The magician dropped his shears and took her umbrella.

"You are wet; we must have a fire," he said.

Celia protested. A summer shower wouldn't hurt. It was too warm for a
fire. Rosalind meanwhile sat in the shadow, Crisscross beside her, the
thought of the rose and of Aunt Genevieve's words making her hope Miss
Fair would not see her. Her face was gentle; was it possible she could be
unkind and disdainful?

The magician came to the rescue. He didn't believe in quarrels anyway, and
if he had considered the matter he probably would have argued that
Rosalind could have no concern with those she knew nothing about; and
observing her in the corner he said, with a wave of the dripping umbrella,
"This is Mr. Pat's little girl, Miss Celia. You remember Mr. Pat?"

Celia, shaking out her wet skirts, turned in surprise. As her eyes met
Rosalind's she smiled. "Yes," was all she said.

But after a while she came over and patted Crisscross, and said Rosalind
must be a witch to have gained his affection so soon, and asked what she
and Maurice were doing there, not as if she wanted an answer so much as
just to be friendly.

Rosalind felt a great relief, and her eyes were soft as she responded
shyly.

CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

A NEW MEMBER.

"In the circle of this Forest."

In Friendship the summer was never fairly ushered in until Commencements
were over. When the boys of the Military Institute, a mile beyond the
village, had yelled their last yell from the back platform of the train as
it swept around the curve, and Mrs. Graham's boarders had departed,
accompanied by their trunks and the enthusiastic farewells of the town
pupils, then, and not before, Friendship settled down to the enjoyment of
picnics, crabbing parties, and moonlight excursions.

Going away for the summer was almost unknown in Friendship; a week or two
at the shore or in the mountains was as much as any of its loyal
inhabitants dreamed of. To the few who like Genevieve Whittredge found the
place dull at any season, the warm days afforded a welcome excuse for
flitting.

After the final decision in the Gilpin will case Friendship drew a long
breath and acquiesced in the inevitable. Arguments and discussion lost
their interest, and something like the old peace settled down on the town.

The Gilpin house and its contents must now be sold, but summer was not an