a
beautiful afternoon and the outdoors called them at last.

And, after all, it is the outdoors at Mt. Vernon that is most beautiful.
The house is a simple country home with a wide, old-fashioned portico and
gallery built of frame and painted to look like stone.

But there is no palace on the Rhine, no castle in Spain, that has a more
beautiful natural situation than Mt. Vernon. It stands on a piece of
gently swelling land that slopes gradually down to the Potomac, and
commands a view of many miles of the broad and noble river.

Bab and Ruth managed to get away from the rest of their party and to slip
out on the wide colonnaded veranda.

"How peaceful and beautiful it is out here," Ruth exclaimed, with her
arm around her friend's waist. "It seems to me that, if I lived in
Washington, I would just run out here whenever anything uncomfortable
happened to me. I am sure, if I spent the day at Mt. Vernon, I should not
feel trouble any more."

Barbara stood silent. A vague premonition of some possible trouble
overtook her.

"Ruth," Bab asked suddenly, "do you like Harriet's friend, Peter Dillon?
Every now and then he talks to me in the most mysterious fashion. I don't
understand what he means."

Ruth looked unusually grave. Then she answered Bab in a very curious
tone. "I know you have lots of common sense, Bab, dear," Ruth began. "But
promise me you won't put any special faith in Peter Dillon. He is not one
bit like Hugh, or Ralph Ewing, or the boys we met at the Major's house
party. When I meet any one who is such a favorite with everyone I always
wonder whether he has any real feelings or whether he is trying to
accomplish some end. I suppose Peter Dillon can't help striving to be
agreeable to everyone."

Bab laughed a little. "Why, Ruth," she protested, "that idea does not
sound a bit like you. You are sweet to everyone yourself, dear, and
everyone loves you. But I do know what you mean about Peter Dillon. I--"

"Hello," cried Mollie's sweet voice. She waved a long blue scarf
toward Ruth and Bab. Mollie and Elmer Wilson were standing on the
lawn, examining the motto on the sun dial. It read, "I record none but
sunny hours."

"Let me write down that motto for you, Miss Thurston," Elmer Wilson
suggested. "I hope you may follow the old sun dial's example and record
none but sunny hours yourself."

"Ruth!" called Hugh, coming around from the other side of the porch with
Peter Dillon. "Well, here you are, at las