usual course in peace for the next few months. Lois gathered
her strawberries, and Madge made her currant jelly. Peas ripened, and
green corn was on the board, and potatoes blossomed, and young beets
were pulled, and peaches began to come. It was a calm, gentle life the
little family lived; every day exceedingly like the day before, and yet
every day with something new in it. Small pieces of novelty, no doubt;
a dish of tomatoes, or the first yellow raspberries, or a new pattern
for a dress, or a new receipt for cake. Or they walked down to the
shore and dug clams, some fine afternoon; or Mrs. Dashiell lent them a
new book; or Mr. Dashiell preached an extraordinary sermon. It was a
very slight ebb and flow of the tide of time; however, it served to
keep everything from stagnation. Then suddenly, at the end of July,
came Mrs. Wishart's summons to Lois to join her on her way to the Isles
of Shoals. "I shall go in about a week," the letter ran; "and I want
you to meet me at the Shampuashuh station; for I shall go that way to
Boston. I cannot stop, but I will have your place taken and all ready
for you. You must come, Lois, for I cannot do without you; and when
other people need you, you know, you never hesitate. Do not hesitate
now."

There was a good deal of hesitation, however, on one part and another,
before the question was settled.

"Lois has just got home," said Charity. "I don't see what she should be
going again for. I should like to know if Mrs. Wishart thinks she ain't
wanted at home!"

"People don't think about it," said Madge; "only what they want
themselves. But it is a fine chance for Lois."

"Why don't she ask you?" said Charity.

"She thought Madge would enjoy a visit to her in New York more," said
Lois. "So she said to me."

"And so I would," cried Madge. "I don't care for a parcel of little
islands out at sea. But that would just suit Lois. What sort of a place
_is_ the Isles of Shoals anyhow?"

"Just that," said Lois; "so far as I know. A parcel of little islands,
out in the sea."

"Where at?" said Charity.

"I don't know exactly."

"Get the map and look."

"They are too small to be down on the map."

"What is Eliza Wishart wantin' to go there for?" asked Mrs. Armadale.

"O, she goes somewhere every year, grandma; to one place and another;
and I suppose she likes novelty."

"That's a poor way to live," said the old lady. "But I suppose, bein'
such a place, it'll be sort o' lonesome, a