ity over the whole expedition, it was so delightful to be
looking after papa again; and she was obliged to tell him that he must
not touch the river mud any more, or he would not be fit to go through
the streets of Riverport next day, at which Mr. Leicester, though deeply
attached to his old friends in that town, looked very distressed and
unwilling.

The darkness fell fast, and the supper dishes had to be put under some
bayberry bushes until morning. The salt air was very sweet and fresh,
and it was just warm enough and just cool enough, as Betty said. The
stars were bright; in fact, the last few days had been much more like
June than August, and it was what English people call Queen's weather.
Mary Beck said sagely that it must be because Miss Leicester came, and
then was quite ashamed, dear little soul, not understanding that nothing
is so pleasant to an older woman as to find herself interesting and
companionable to a girl. People do not always grow away from their
youth; they add to it experiences and traits of different sorts; and it
is easy sometimes to throw off all these, and find the boy or the girl
again, eager and fresh and ready for simple pleasures, and to make new
beginnings.

Seth Pond had stolen out to the cat-boat on some errand of his own which
nobody questioned, and now there suddenly resounded the surprising notes
of his violin. It was very pretty to hear his familiar old tunes over
the water, and everybody respected Seth's amiable desire to afford
entertainment, even if he failed a little now and then in time or tone.
He had mastered several old Scottish and English airs in the book Betty
had given him, and already had become proficient in some lively jigs and
dancing tunes, as we knew at the time of Betty's first party in the
garden. The clumsy fellow had a real gift for music. Some stray fairy
must have passed his way and left an unexpected gift. The little
audience on the shore were ready to applaud, and two or three boats came
near, while some young people in one began to sing "Bonny Doon," softly,
while Seth played, and, encouraged by the applause, went on more boldly,
and took up the strain again when Seth changed suddenly to "Lochaber no
more." Miss Leicester was overjoyed when she heard such fresh young
voices sing the plaintive old air so readily. It had always been a great
favorite of hers, and she said so with enthusiasm. Mary Beck was sorry
that she never had learned it, but by the tim