he waves
were tossing merrily in blue and white under a brilliant sun. The
_Petrel_ sped along, the silver foam bubbling up before her prow, and
the _Seamew_, as the other boat was named, followed as swiftly.

Peggy leaned back over the stern once more, and holding out her hand to
her old schoolmate, gave her slender fingers a squeeze that made her cry
out.

"Dear old Vanity," said Peggy; "I forgot how soft your hands always
were. But I am so glad to see you, even if I am not going to expire
about it. Do tell me how you came here, and where you are staying, and
all about it, now that we can hear ourselves speak."

"How did I come here, my dear?" repeated Viola Vincent. "Witchcraft!"

"What do you mean, you foolish thing?"

"My dear, what I say; simply that and nothing more, just like the Raven.
Witchcraft! The very minute I get home, I am going to get a pointed
black hat and a red cloak, and a crutch-stick. I think they will be
quite sweet, don't you? Don't you think pointed hats are quite sweet,
Mr. Merryweather?"

"Pointed hats," replied Phil, gravely, "have always seemed to me the
acme of sweetness; that is why they call them sugar-loaf hats, I
suppose."

"Oh! Mr. Merryweather, you _are_ funny! Oh, I _hoped_ you were going to
be funny," cried Viola; "you _look_ funny, and--"

"Thank you!" said Phil; and "Viola, don't be a goose!" said her brother
again.

"I mean it as a compliment!" cried Viola. "Mr. Merryweather, I mean it
as the very highest compliment I can pay, I truly do. With such a simply
entrancing name as Merryweather, it would be such a dreadful pity to be
sober as a judge, you know; though the only judge I know is too frisky
for anything. Kittens, my dear, I--I mean, Mr. Merryweather--I _beg_
your pardon! are actually _grim_ beside Judge Gay; aren't they, Tommy?
Did you ever see a grim kitten, Mr. Merryweather? Wouldn't it be too
horrid for anything? Well, but what I meant to say is, the only weeniest
speck of a fault I ever had to find with the Snowy--darling thing!--was
that she was a little bit--just the tiniest winiest scrap--too serious.
If your name were Tombs, you know, or Graves, or Scull,--I knew a girl
named Scull,--of course you would have to _be_ serious to live up to it;
but when your name is Merryweather, you ought to live up to _that_, and
so I always told the Snowy."

"I am sure the Snowy was always jolly enough," said Peggy, bluntly,
"except when you wanted to get into mischie