motions of the hour, contributed a set of buttons of shining brass.

Warren kept a "meal house," which phrase was a ruse that saved him from
a burdensome hospitality. Determined to do it all in the best style,
Rolf took Annette to the meal-house table. She was deeply awed by the
grandeur of a tablecloth and white plates, but every one was kind.

Warren, talking to a stranger opposite, and evidently resuming a subject
they had discussed, said:

"Yes, I'd like to send the hull lot down to Albany this week, if I could
get another man for the canoe."

Rolf was interested at once and said: "What wages are you offering?"

"Twenty-five dollars and board."

"How will I do?"

"Well," said Warren, as though thinking it over: "I dunno but ye would.
Could ye go to-morrow?"

"Yes, indeed, for one month."

"All right, it's a bargain."

And so Rolf took the plunge that influenced his whole life.

But Annette whispered gleefully and excitedly, "May I have some of that,
and that?" pointing to every strange food she could see, and got them
all.

After noon they set out on their return journey, Annette clutching her
prizes, and prattling incessantly, while Rolf walked alongside, thinking
deeply, replying to her chatter, but depressed by the thought of
good-bye tomorrow. He was aroused at length by a scraping sound overhead
and a sharp reprimand, "Rolf, you'll tear my new parasol, if you don't
lead the horse better."

By two o'clock they were at Callan's. Another hour and they had crossed
the lake, and Annette, shrill with joy, was displaying her treasures to
the wonder and envy of her kin.

Making a dress was a simple matter in those and Marta promised: "Yah,
soom day ven I one have, shall I it sew." Meanwhile, Annette was
quaffing deep, soul-satisfying draughts in the mere contempt of the
yellow, red, green, and blue glories in which was soon to appear in
public. And when the bed came, she fell asleep holding the dress-goods
stuff in arms, and with the red parasol spread above her head, tired
out, but inexpressibly happy.

Chapter 53. Travelling to the Great City

He's a bad failure that ain't king in some little corner.
--Sayings of Sylvanne Sylvanne

The children were not astir when Rolf was off in the morning. He caught
a glimpse of Annette, still asleep under the red parasol, but the dress
goods and the brass buttons had fallen to the floor. He stepped into the
canoe. The dead calm of early morning