en waterproof contented herself with
observing Edna's gambols. This afternoon she did not go in. The shade
hat topped her Sunday gown of black grenadine, which was turned up
carefully about her as she sat on a rock and chaperoned her young
people. A straw "pancake" softened the asperities of her granite couch.

Dunham observed her erect attitude doubtfully. "Can't I get you some
sofa pillows?" he asked.

"No, pancakes are what I always use," returned Miss Martha decidedly.

"That's true," said Edna, "especially on Sunday. Miss Lacey is willing
to do anything on the spur of the moment except sit on it. She draws
the line there; but Sunday is no day to be luxurious, is it, Miss
Martha?--not for a person whose forefathers fought in the Revolution
and ate leather."

"And it's not a good day to go in swimming, either," returned Miss
Lacey uneasily. "I do hope, Edna, you'll come out before the islanders
begin to return from church. Some of them might come along this shore."

"Dear Miss Martha," said Edna, "we don't have Mr. Dunham every day, to
give Sylvia a swimming lesson."

"And I'm just as scared as I can be," declared Sylvia, her curly hair
and big eyes emerging from the mackintosh that enveloped her. "_I_
never asked to go and see the land 'where corals lie,' and I don't
think there's any bottom to that water."

The cottage had produced bathing suits for the guests, and although
Miss Lacey had scruples, and sat very straight, darting glances to
right and left through the trees, and held a copy of a Congregational
church paper prominently before her, she was glad of this opportunity
for her niece.

"You can learn, Sylvia," she said. "Benny Merritt taught me to swim in
that very spot, for I was determined to learn. I pulled out some of the
poor boy's hair, I remember; so be careful and don't grab Mr. Dunham by
the head."

Edna ran down a few steps, and throwing her cloak on a rock clasped her
hands above her, launched herself through the air in a graceful arch,
and disappeared in the liquid emerald.

Sylvia lifted despairing eyes to Dunham. "She just does that to make me
crazy," she said.

"We'll fool her, then," returned John. "We won't go crazy. Now lift up
your arms."

"You aren't going to put that thing on me!" exclaimed Sylvia, eyeing
with scorn the life-preserver he had picked up. "I thought that was
something to sit on." She pinioned her elbows to her side. "Oh, I'd
much rather drown than wear anyth