. "Any port in a storm." ("Which is the same as saying, any
guess, if you can't make the right one," murmured Will.)

"Rising Sun Stove Polish." "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath."
"Every cloud has a silver lining." ("That house is behind a cloud, isn't
it?" asked Cricket.)

"It's a _very_ easy one, too," said Eunice. "'It's always darkest just
before dawn.' Don't you see the sun just coming up?"

Archie, who drew beautifully, had made a really very clever little
sketch of a Spencerian pen, mounted on two thin legs, furnished with an
equally thin pair of arms, and a face as well, engaged in a boxing match
with a very plump and well-developed sword. In a second picture, the
sword was flat on the ground, while the pen was dancing away, grinning.
Of course this could be only, "The Pen is mightier than the Sword."

Hilda had drawn simply two long lines in perspective. As nobody could
make anything of them, the guesses were wild.

"Why, don't you see? Those two lines are a lane. 'It's a long lane that
has no turning.' That's the long lane. It has no turning," explained
Hilda. "I thought you would guess it the very first thing."

When the last of the guesses were read, auntie rose to rest herself from
a sitting position.

"Isn't there a bit of a breeze coming up?" she asked, shading her eyes
with her hand, to look across the glassy sea, in search of the faintest
sign of a ripple.

"Sorra a bit," said Archie. "Here, Will, you scull a while, and rest a
fellow. Hello! we're really getting along. See how far the Gurnet Lights
are behind us."

"Yes, but look at the distance ahead of us, to be sculled over yet,"
said Auntie Jean, "and here it is four o'clock," consulting her watch.
"Come, Archie, it's time to whistle up the wind."

"I will!" said Edna, breaking out again into her blackbird whistle.

Cricket listened in rapt admiration.

"Why _can't_ I do it?" she sighed.

"But, Mrs. Somers?" broke out Hilda, in amazement, "can they really
whistle up a breeze?"

"No, indeed, dear. It's only an old saying about sailors. The children
do it for fun when we're becalmed sometimes. Well, there's no signs of
it yet. I'll tell you what I'll do, children. While you're whistling up
the wind, I'll write an adjective story for you."

"Oh, that will be fun!" exclaimed one and all. All, that is, but Hilda,
who asked again:

"Now, what _is_ an adjective story?"

"I write a little story about anything," explained Mrs. So