ugh to unpack
his boxes of wire, his tools, and instruments. Nevertheless, in spite
of this, his first enthusiasm had seeped away and he did not attempt to
go farther than to take the things out and look at them.

Before his father had withered his ambitions by his pessimism, a score
of ideas had danced through his brain. He had thought of running a
buzzer over to the Stevens's bungalow in order that Mrs. Stevens might
ring for him when she wanted him; and he had thought of connecting Mr.
Wharton's office with the shack by telephone. He felt sure he could do
both these things and would have liked nothing better than try them.
But now what was the use? If a little later on Mr. Fernald intended to
take the shack away from him, it would be foolish to waste toil and
material for nothing. For the present, at least, he much better hold
off and see what happened.

Yet notwithstanding this resolve, he did continue to improve the
appearance of the boathouse. Just why, he could not have told. Perhaps
it was a vent for his disquietude. At any rate, having some scraps of
board left and hearing the gardener say there were more geraniums in
the greenhouse than he knew what to do with, Ted made some windowboxes
for the Stevens's and himself, painted them green, and filled them with
flowering plants. They really were very pretty and added a surprising
touch of beauty to the dull, weather-stained little dwelling in the
woods. Mr. Wharton was delighted and said so frankly.

"Your camp looks as attractive as a teahouse," said he. "You have no
idea how gay the red flowers look among these dark pine trees. How came
you to think of window-boxes?"

"Oh, I don't know," was Ted's reply. "The bits of board suggested it, I
guess. Then Collins said the greenhouses were overstocked, and he
seemed only too glad to get rid of his plants."

"I'll bet he was," responded Mr. Wharton. "If there is anything he
hates, it is to raise plants and not have them used. He always has to
start more slips than he needs in case some of them do not root; when
they do, he is swamped. Evidently you have helped him solve his problem
for no sooner did the owners of the other bungalows see Stevens's boxes
than everybody wanted them. They all are pestering the carpenter for
boards. It made old Mr. Fernald chuckle, for he likes flowers and is
delighted to have the cottages on the place made attractive. He asked
who started the notion; and when I told him it was you he