it was always there
in his pocket whenever he came to town. It was a long, comfortable
story, without plot and with little incident, the kind of story that you
could begin and leave off at your convenience. But before Bob was half
tired of it, some one called out "Hallo," and Dick appeared coming along
the path toward them.

"Glad I found you," he said gaily, and then, turning to the little boy,
"Your mother says it's time for you to be trotting home."

Bob viewed the newcomer suspiciously. It was not his first experience in
having Dick interrupt when he and Miss Ogilvie were enjoying a good
time.

"Very well," said Hertha, rising, "we'll go home together."

This arrangement was not in the least what Dick desired, but he said
nothing and the three walked slowly away from the lake to the park's
entrance where Bob's house could be seen across the broad street.

"Say," Dick whispered, "let the little fellow go and come out rowing
with me."

Bob heard and clutched Hertha's hand tight.

"I'm going on the road Monday," Dick added.

Bob only clutched the harder and tried to drag his friend across the
street.

Realizing the need of strategy, Dick put his hand in his pocket and
pulled out a dime. "Run over and get yourself a soda, sonny," he said;
"I bet you know the way."

Bob's hesitation was short. "Sure," he replied after an infinitesimal
wait, and dropping Hertha's hand dashed across the street. They saw him
enter the friendly drug store and then, at Dick's earnest pleading, they
walked back along the path that they had come.

It was a day for dreaming, for lightly putting the oar in the water to
withdraw it again. On the soft wind, from the bushes, white and purple
and golden, from the new buds of the resinous trees, came a fragrance,
sweet and pungent. Rowing beside the west bank, the boat kept in shadow,
but beyond this restful line of dimmed light the sun danced upon the
water, the ripples streaming with silver and gold. The late blossoming
trees still stood tall, dark, with naked limbs, but the drooping willow
gleamed pale yellow, and the maples and elms were dropping their small
blossoms to stand clothed in summer green. Robins called to one another
across the lake, busy carrying bits of grass and twigs to make their
nests. Her hat off, Hertha sat in the stern of the boat, sometimes
trailing her hand in the water, her head bent as she watched the
trickling drops, again sitting erect gazing among the tree