so late getting home. I must let you go back at once. Good night, and
thank you."

Roderick had been hoping that he might walk up to Rosemount with her,
but felt he was dismissed. He wanted, too, to ask her if she would not
come out on the lake again, but his shyness kept him silent.

As he helped her out, the yellow light of the wharf lamp fell upon her
light dress and shone on the gold of her hair, and at the same moment a
canoe slid silently out of the dimness beyond and glided across the
track of the moon. In the stern knelt one of Algonquin's young men
wielding a lazy paddle, and in the low seat opposite, with a filmy
scarf about her dark hair, reclined Miss Leslie Graham. She sat up
straight very suddenly, and stared at the girl who was stepping from
the canoe. But she did not speak, and Roderick was too absorbed to
notice who had passed. And the young man with the lazy paddle wondered
all the way home what had happened to make the lively young lady so
silent and absent-minded.

Helen Murray thought many times of what Roderick had told her about his
father's interest in Willow Lane. She could not help wondering if
others could find there the peace that shone in the old man's eyes.
She was wondering if she should go down and visit the place, when, one
day, Willow Lane came to her. It was a warm languorous October day, a
day when all nature seemed at a standstill. Her work was done, she was
resting under her soft coverlet of blue gossamer, preparing for her
long sleep. Helen had had a hard day, for she had not yet learned her
new strange task. The room was noisy, fifty little heads were bent
over fifty different schemes for mischief, and fifty sibilant whispers
delivered forbidden messages. The teacher was writing on the board,
and turned suddenly at the sound of a heavy footstep in the hall. The
door was open, letting in the breeze from the lake, and in it stood a
big hairy man with a bushy black head and wild blue eyes. Helen stood
and stared at him half-frightened.

The fifty small heads suddenly whirled about and a hundred eyes stared
at the visitor, but there was no fear in them. A giggling whisper ran
like fire over the room. "It's Peter Fiddle!" The man shook his fist
at them, and the teacher went with some apprehension towards the door.

"Can I do anything for you, sir?" she enquired, outwardly calm, but
inwardly quaking. He took off his big straw hat and made her a
profound bow.