"How about the river, Cousin Wealthy?" asked Hildegarde, timidly. "I
thought I saw a boat-house through the trees. Could we go out to row?"

Miss Wealthy seemed a little flurried by the question. "My dear," she
said, and hesitated,--"my dear, have you--do your parents allow you to
go on the water? Can you swim?"

"Oh, yes," said Hildegarde, "I can swim very well, Cousin Wealthy,--at
least, Papa says I can; and I can row and paddle and sail."

"Oh, not sail!" cried Miss Wealthy, with an odd little catch in her
breath,--"not sail, my dear! I could not--I could not think of that for
a moment. But there is a row-boat," she added, after a pause,--"a boat
which Jeremiah uses. If Jeremiah thinks she is perfectly safe, you can
go out, if you feel quite sure your parents would wish it."

"Oh, I am very sure," said Hildegarde; "for I asked Papa, almost the
last thing before we left. Thank you, Cousin Wealthy, so much! We will
be rather quiet this morning, for Rose does not feel very strong; but
this afternoon perhaps we will try the boat. Isn't there something I can
do for you, Cousin Wealthy? Can't I help Martha? I can do all kinds of
work,--can't I, Rose?--and I love it!"

But Martha had a young girl in the kitchen, Miss Wealthy said, whom she
was training to help her; and she herself had letters to write and
accounts to settle. So the two girls sauntered off slowly, arm in arm;
Rose leaning on her friend, whose strong young frame seemed able to
support them both.

The garden was a very pleasant place, with rhubarb and sunflowers, sweet
peas and mignonette, planted here and there among the rows of
vegetables, just as Jeremiah's fancy suggested. Miss Wealthy's own
flower-beds, trim and gay with geraniums, pansies, and heliotrope, were
under the dining-room windows; but somehow the girls liked Jeremiah's
garden best. Hildegarde pulled some sweet peas, and stuck the winged
blossoms in Rose's fair hair, giving a fly-away look to her smooth
locks. Then she began to sniff inquiringly. "Southernwood!" she
said,--"I smell southernwood somewhere, Rose. Where is it?"

"Yonder," said Rose, pointing to a feathery bush not far off.

"Oh! and there is lavender too, Hilda! Do you suppose we may pick some?
I do like to have a sprig of lavender in my belt."

At this moment Jeremiah appeared, wheeling a load of turf. He was "long
and lank and brown as is the ribbed sea-sand," and Hildegarde mentally
christened him the Ancient Mariner o