alkative
crowd of young people; and Ford Foster and Frank Harley, with Joe and
Fuz Hart, were asking what had become of Dab, for the train was in
sight.

A moment later, as the puffing locomotive pulled up in front of the
water-tank, the conductor stepped out on the platform, exclaiming,--

"Look a-here, folks, this ain't right. If there was going to be a picnic
you ought to have sent word, and I'd have tacked on an extra car. You'll
have to pack in now, best you can."

He seemed much relieved when he found how small a part of that crowd
were to be his passengers.

"Dab," said Ford, "this is your send-off, not ours. You'll have to make
a speech."

Dab did want to say something; but he had just kissed his sisters and
his mother, and half a dozen of his school-girl friends had followed the
example of Jenny Walters; and then Mrs. Foster had kissed him, and Ham
Morris had shaken hands with him; and Dab could not have said a word to
have saved his life.

"Speech!" whispered Ford mischievously, as Dab stepped upon the
car-platform; but Dick Lee, who had just escaped from the tremendous hug
his mother had given him, and had got his breath again, came to his
friend's relief in the nick of time. Dick felt, as he afterwards
explained, that he "must shout, or he should go off;" and so, at the top
of his shrill voice he shouted,--

"Hurrah for Cap'n Kinzer! Dar ain't no better feller lef long shoah!"

And then, amid a chorus of cheers and laughter, and a grand waving of
white handkerchiefs, the engine gave a deep, hysterical cough, and
hurried the train away.

Three homesteads by the Long Island shore were lonely enough that
evening, and they were all likely to be lonelier still before they got
fairly accustomed to the continued absence of "those boys."

It was well understood that the Fosters had determined to prolong their
"summer in the country" until the arrival of cold weather, they had
found all things so pleasant; and the Kinzers were well pleased with
that, as Samantha remarked,--

"If it's only to compare letters. I do hope Dabney will write as soon as
he gets there, and tell us all about it."

"He will," said his mother; but Ham's face put on a somewhat doubtful
look.

"I'm not quite sure about Dab," he said slowly. "If things ain't just
right, he's the sort of boy that wouldn't say a word about it. Well, I
must say I liked what I saw of Mrs. Myers's notions about feeding
people."

CHAPTER XXV.