he was well again now, and they set off one morning
in the canoe, she and Rolf. Neither father nor mother could leave the
house. They had their misgivings, but what could they do? She was
bright and happy, full of the childish joy that belongs to that age, and
engaged on such an important errand for the first time in her life.

There was something more than childish joy showing in her face, an older
person would have seen that, but it was largely lost on Rolf. There was
a tendency to blush when she laughed, a disposition to tease her "big
brother," to tyrannize over him in little things.

"Now, you tell me some more about 'Robinson Crusoe,'" she began, as soon
as they were in the canoe, and Rolf resumed the ancient, inspiring tale
to have it listened to eagerly, but criticized from the standpoint of
a Lake George farm. "Where was his wife?" "How could he have a farm
without hens?" "Dried grapes must be nice, but I'd rather have pork than
goat," etc.

Rolf, of course, took the part of Robinson Crusoe, and it gave him a
little shock to hear Quonab called his man Friday.

At the west side they were to invite Mrs. Callan to join their shopping
trip, but in any case they were to borrow a horse and buckboard. Neither
Mrs. Callan nor the buckboard was available, but they were welcome to
the horse. So Annette was made comfortable on a bundle of blankets,
and chattered incessantly while Rolf walked alongside with the grave
interest and superiority of a much older brother. So they crossed the
five-mile portage and came to Warren's store. Nervous and excited,
with sparkling eyes, Annette laid down her marten skin, received five
dollars, and set about the tremendous task of selecting her first dress
of really, truly calico print; and Rolf realized that the joy he had
found in his new rifle was a very small affair, compared with the
epoch-making, soul-filling, life-absorbing, unspeakable, and cataclysmal
bliss that a small girl can have in her first chance of unfettered
action in choice of a cotton print.

"Beautiful?" How can mere words do justice to masses of yellow corn,
mixed recklessly with green and scarlet poppies on a bright blue ground.
No, you should have seen Annette's dress, or you cannot expect to get
the adequate thrill. And when they found that there was enough cash left
over to add a red cotton parasol to the glorious spoils, every one there
beamed in a sort of friendly joy, and the trader, carried away by the
e