er, small and still and sheltered, and a great resort of
pleasure-seekers because of the clouds of white and golden lilies that
floated over it in the hot summer months. Mr. Breynton owned a boat there,
which was kept locked to a tiny wharf under the trees, and was very often
used by the children, although Tom declared it was no better to fish in
than a wash-tub; as a Vermont boy, used to the trout-brooks up among the
mountains, would be likely to think.

"What's that?" asked Gypsy, as they neared the wharf.

"Looks as much like a little green monkey as anything," said Tom, making a
tube of his hands to look through. "It's in the boat, whatever it is."

"It's a green-and-white gingham monkey," said Gypsy, suddenly, "with a
belt, and brown pants, and a cap on wrong side before."

"The little----, he may just walk home anyhow," observed Tom, in his
autocratic style. "He ought to be taught better than to come where older
people are, especially if they don't want him."

"I suppose he likes to have a boat-ride as well as we do," suggested
Gypsy.

"Winthrop!" called Tom, severely.

Winnie's chin was on his little fat hand, and Winnie's eyes were fixed
upon the water, and Winnie was altogether too deeply absorbed in
meditation to deign a reply.

"Winnie, where did you come from?"

"Oh!" said Winnie, looking up, carelessly; "that you?"

"How did you get down here, I'd like to know?" said Gypsy.

Winnie regarded her impressively, as if to signify that his principles of
action were his own until they were made public, and when they were made
public she might have them.

"You may just get out of that boat," said Tom, rather crossly for him.
Winnie hinted, as if it were quite an accidental remark, that he had no
intention of doing so. He furthermore observed that he would be happy to
take them to row. "Father said whoever took the boat first was to have
it."

Tom replied by taking him up in one hand, twisting him over his shoulder,
and landing him upon the grass. At this Winnie, as characteristic in his
wrath as in his dignity, threw himself flat, and began to scream after his
usual musical fashion.

"It's too bad!" said Gypsy. "Let him go, Tom--do."

"He should have stayed where he was told to," argued Tom, who, like most
boys of his age, had a sufficiently just estimate of the importance of his
own authority, and who would sometimes do a very selfish thing under the
impression that it was his duty to family and