cognize my soul mate by. Come to my arms, Finny!'"

Migwan laughed at the picture, and replied mysteriously, "Oh, I
have a way of telling things beforehand. I can read them in the
stars!"

Sahwah sniffed and resumed her watch, holding the sheet in
readiness to wave the instant the little steamer should appear
around Blueberry Island. The minutes passed without a sign of
the _Bluebird_, and Sahwah grew tired of looking at nothing. She
ceased staring fixedly at the distant gap between Blueberry
Island and the mainland, and pointed the glass around at the
objects near her; at Migwan washing middies in the lake, her soap
tied to the dock to keep it from floating away; at the toothbrushes
strewn over the rocks like bones bleaching in the sun; at the smooth
strip of shining sand; aiming her glass idly now here, now there,
her feet swinging in the air eighteen feet above the water, her
long brown hair flying in the wind.

High up on the cliff Hinpoha stood nailing the railing around the
Crow's Nest, a tiny tree-house just big enough for two, built in
the branches of a tall pine tree. She finished her pounding and
stood looking out over the gleaming lake, dotted with rocky,
pine-covered islands, shading her eyes with her hand. Her gaze
strayed again and again to the narrow gap between Blueberry
Island and the mainland, and now and then she heaved an impatient
sigh. "Oh, please, dear _Bluebird_," she said aloud, "please
hurry up!" By and by her eyes rested upon Sahwah, silhouetted
against the sky on top of the diving tower. Picking up a big dry
pine cone from the floor of the Crow's Nest, she took careful aim
and sent it sailing downward in a swift, curving flight. The
prickly missile hit Sahwah squarely in the back of the neck. She
started violently and threw up her arms, while the spyglass fell
into the water with a loud splash. Hinpoha laughed a ringing
laugh when she beheld the effect of her handiwork. Sahwah turned
around and saw Hinpoha perched in the Crow's Nest, nearly doubled
up with laughter, and she too laughed, and then, shaking her fist
amiably in Hinpoha's direction, she prepared to dive from the
tower, bloomers and all, in search of the spy-glass.

As she stood there poised on the end of the springboard her ears
caught the sound of a swinging boating song, borne on the breeze
across the water:

"Across the silver'd lake
The moonlit ripples break,
Their path a magic highway seems: