away back in a mountain valley, and is mortally afraid when he has to
row out to the steamboat. His face was deep red, and he made such hard
work of rowing and backing water, and came up to the steamboat so
awkwardly, that the captain scolded and blustered from the bridge. At
last we got down into the rowboat and were left rocking and rocking in
the steamer's wake.

John, the farm boy, mopped his face and neck. He was all used up just
from getting a rowboat alongside the steamer!

"Whew, whew! but it's dreadful work," said he.

The rectory harbor lay like a mirror. The island and trees and the
bath-house stood on their heads in the clear, glassy water; and between
the thick foliage of the trees there was a wide space through which we
could see the upper story of the rectory and the top of the flagstaff.
It is worth while to go traveling after all. I won't give another
thought to that old rag of a five-crown bill.

CHAPTER IV

WHAT HAPPENED ONE ST. JOHN'S DAY

Well; what I am going to tell about now hasn't the least thing to do
with St. John's Day itself,--you mustn't think it has; not the least
connection with fresh young birch leaves and strong sunshine and
Whitsuntide lilies and all that. Far from it. It is only that a certain
St. John's Day stands out in my memory because of what happened to me
then.

Yes, now you shall hear about it. First I must tell you of the weather.
It was just exactly what it should be on St. John's Day. The sky looked
high and deep, with tiniest white clouds sprinkled over the whole circle
of the heavens, and the sunshine was glorious on the hills and mountains
and on the blue, blue sea.

Since it was Sunday as well as St. John's Day, I was all dressed up. To
be sure my dress was an old one of Mother's made over, but the insertion
was spandy new and there was a lot of it. I'd love to draw a picture of
that dress for you, if you wanted to have one made like it.

Perhaps I had best begin at the very beginning, which was really
Karsten's stamp collection. He does nothing but collect stamps, and talk
and jabber about stamps the whole day long. He swaps and bargains, and
has a whole heap of "dubelkits," as he calls them. These duplicates he
keeps in a tiny little box. He means to be very orderly, you see.

To tell the truth, Karsten is perfectly stupid about swapping. The other
boys can fool him like everything. He doesn't understand a bit how to do
business, and so I always f