m, barking furiously. Mrs. Carmichael clutched her companion's
arm and stood still. "It may be a wild beast, Cecile, or some of those
terrible men. Let us go back at once." But Miss Du Plessis calmly
answered, "It may be only a bird or a squirrel; dogs often make a great
fuss over very little." So they stood and waited.

Muggins' barking ceased. The reason was apparent in the sound of a
gentle voice they both knew, saying, "Poor Muggins, good doggie, has he
come back again to his old friends?" It was the voice of Matilda Nagle,
and she seemed to be alone. Taking heart, the two ladies went in its
direction, and, guided by Muggins, who came back to lead them, they
descended to a little bay with a sandy beach, where, in the skiff, sat
the woman they sought. She was neatly dressed, and wore a large straw
hat. When they greeted her, she showed no astonishment, but invited them
to enter the skiff and see the pretty place she had back there. Miss Du
Plessis hardly cared to accept the invitation, but the curiosity of the
older lady was aroused and she pressed her companion to comply. Bringing
the bow of the skiff into the shore, Matilda told them to enter the boat
and walk back to the stern. When they had taken their seats, the stern
was depressed, and the bow floated clear of the sand. Then, with every
motion of an accomplished oarswoman, she rowed the skiff along the
shore, altogether out of sight of the other picnickers in scow and on
pier. After a few strokes, she told her companions to lower their heads,
and, ducking her own, shot the boat through what had seemed a solid bank
of foliage, but which was a naturally concealed channel, out into one of
the loveliest little lakes eye ever rested upon. No fire had touched its
shores, which were wooded down to the sandy margin, the bright green
foliage of the hardwood in the foreground contrasting with the more
sombre hues of the pines and hemlocks beyond. In little bays there were
patches of white and yellow water lilies, alternating their orbed
blossoms with the showy blue spikes of the Pickerel weed, and, beyond
them, on the bank itself, grew many a crimson banner of the Cardinal
flower. Another little bay was passed with its last rocky point, and
then a clearing stood revealed, void of stump or stone or mark of fire,
covered with grass and clover, save where, in the midst of a little
neglected garden, stood the model of a Swiss chalet. "Do not be afraid!"
said the woman, catchi