rnest, secure in the rower's seat, could afford to be generous. He
brought the boat in and took them all on board. Gertie had been a quiet
spectator of the frolic. She had little taste for boisterous fun.

Captain Clarke handed her in with a flourish. "Gertie is my partner."

Sherm had his revenge. Ernest rowed energetically--so energetically that
he was tired enough to be willing to resign the oars before a half hour
had gone by. Under the circumstances he did not quite like to ask Sherm
to relieve him. Sherm seemed to be oblivious to the fact that it
required energy to propel the boat. He was strumming an imaginary banjo
as an accompaniment to the familiar melodies the girls were softly
singing, occasionally joining in himself. Katy did not fail to observe
that Ernest dropped one of his oars to regard a blister ruefully, and
she did her best to help.

"Say, Ernest, let me try one oar. I believe I could row with you if you
would take shorter strokes."

Ernest hadn't much faith in Katy's skill, but the experiment gave him an
excuse to rest a minute. He moved over and handed her the oar with a
little smile of gratitude.

"You're a trump, Katy," he whispered.

Darkness dropped softly in the timber. They heard a distant splash where
a muskrat had taken to the water. Every one wished solemnly by the
evening star. And two of the wishes came true in record time. The
Captain wished that he might find the son so long lost to him. Katy
wished--she didn't quite put the wish into words--but she did want
Ernest to have what he wanted. One by one the other stars twinkled forth
and the darkness deepened till their faces were dim, white blurs, and
the girls' pink-and-blue dresses faded into patches of dusk in the
blackness. Fireflies winked in the gloom. At the Captain's suggestion,
Katy and Ernest rested on their oars. They stopped singing and listened
to the night's silences--silences broken by rustling movements from a
thicket on the farther bank or by eery creakings of the branches
overhead. The little group felt vaguely the bigness of things, though no
one but the Captain knew exactly why.

It was ten o'clock before they went back to the house. Wing had
performed a miracle in the meantime; the boy's suits were not only
dried, but neatly pressed.

Mrs. Morton let them all sleep late the next morning in view of the long
journey ahead for Ernest and the girls.

Poor Sherm found this last day trying. His father's health was