hip-chandler name of Peroti.
Ask him if he remembers Shad Gould that he knew in '65. If he ain't dead
I bet you he'll remember."

So Mary-'Gusta sailed away and for ten marvelous weeks daydreams came
true and attic make-believes turned to realities. War had not yet come
to sow its seed of steel and fire and reap its harvest of blood and
death upon the fair valleys and hills of France, and the travelers
journeyed leisurely from village to cathedral town and from the Seine
to the Loire. They spent three weeks in Switzerland and two in Italy,
returning for the final week to London where, under Miss Pease's expert
guidance, Mary visited the shops, the big ones on Regent and Oxford
Streets and the smaller, equally fascinating--and more expensive--ones
on Bond Street and Piccadilly, buying presents and remembrances for the
folks at home. And, at last, came the day when, leaning upon the rail,
she saw the misty headlands of Ireland sink beneath the horizon and
realized that her wonderful holiday was over and that she was homeward
bound.

The voyage was rather rough and stormy, as westerly voyages are likely
to be, but the ship was comfortable and speedy and they made good
time. Mary spent but one day in Boston and, on the morning of the next,
started for South Harniss. She had one week before school opened and
that week was to be spent with her uncles; no one else, she vowed,
should have a minute of it.

Great were the rejoicings in the white house by the shore that day, and
marvelous was the dinner Isaiah served in honor of the occasion. Mary
was obliged to relate the story of her trip from start to finish, while
three rapt listeners nodded and exclaimed in sympathy or broke in to
ask questions. She had written faithfully, but, as Isaiah said, "writin'
ain't tellin'." So Mary told and her uncles and Mr. Chase listened and
questioned. It was twelve o'clock that night before anyone thought of
going to bed, and next morning at the breakfast table the questioning
began all over again.

"Mrs. Wyeth was down at the dock, I presume likely, to meet you when
your ship made port?" queried Zoeth.

"Yes, she was there," replied Mary.

"Anybody else? How about that young Smith feller? Wa'n't he there, too?"
asked Captain Shadrach with elaborate innocence.

Mary colored just a little. She knew it was foolish; there was no reason
in the world why she should be embarrassed, but she could not help it.

"No, Uncle Shad," she answered