hour. And he had a curious dream. He thought
he was in some strange land--a land like a garden seen through yellow
glass--where everything was transparent, and people glided about as
though they were skating, without any conscious effort. Then Aunt
Charlotte appeared upon the scene, and he saw by her eyes that she was
very angry because Lycidas had been drowned while bathing; but Austin
assured her that it was Lubin who was drowned, and that it really was
of no consequence, because Lubin was only a squirrel after all. At
this point things got extremely mixed, and the sound of voices broke
in upon his slumbers. He opened his eyes, and saw Aunt Charlotte
herself in the act of walking away with a toss of her head that
betokened a ruffled temper.

Austin's interest was immediately aroused. "Lubin!" he called softly,
motioning the lad to come nearer. "What was she rowing you about? Was
she blowing you up about this morning?"

"Well," confessed Lubin with a broad smile, "she didn't seem
over-pleased. Said you might have lost your life, going out o' your
depth with only one leg to stand on, and that if you'd been drownded I
should have had to answer for it before a judge and jury."

"What a wicked, abandoned old woman!" cried Austin. "Only one leg to
stand on, indeed!--she hasn't a single leg to stand on when she says
such things. She ought to have gone down on her knees and thanked you
for taking such care of me. But I shall never make anything of her,
I'm afraid. The more I try to educate her the worse she gets."

"I shouldn't wonder," replied Lubin sagely. "The old hen feels herself
badly off when the egg teaches her to cackle. That's human nature,
that is. And then she was riled because she was afraid I shouldn't
have time to get the garden-things in order by to-morrow, when it
seems there's some sort o' company expected. I told her 'twould be all
right."

"Oh, those brutes! Of course, they're coming to-morrow. I'd nearly
forgotten all about it. It's just like Aunt Charlotte to be so fond of
all those hideous people. You hate the MacTavishes, don't you, Lubin?
_Do_ hate the MacTavishes! Fancy--nine of them, no less, counting the
old ones, and all of them coming together. What a family! I despise
people who breed like rabbits, as though they thought they were so
superlative that the rest of the world could never have enough of
them."

"Ay, fools grow without watering," assented Lubin. "Can't say I ever
took to 'em m