as pretty, too, though there were no rocks nor ferny
coves. On the contrary, the water was quite shallow, and full of brown
weeds, which brushed softly against the boat. Not far from the bank she
saw the highway, looking white and dusty, with the afternoon sun lying
on it. "No dust on my road!" she said exultingly; "and no hills!" she
added, as she saw a wagon, at some distance, climbing an almost
perpendicular ascent. "I wonder what these water-plants are! Rose would
know, of course."

Now came the willows that she had seen from the window,--the "margin
willow-veiled" that had reminded her of the Lady of Shalott. It was
pleasant to row under them, letting the cool, fragrant leaves brush
against her face. Here, too, were sweet-scented rushes, of which she
gathered an armful for Rose, who loved them; and in this place she made
the acquaintance of a magnificent blue dragon-fly, which alighted on
her oar as she lifted it from the water, and showed no disposition to
depart. His azure mail glittered in the sunlight; his gauzy wings, as he
furled and unfurled them deliberately, were like cobwebs powdered with
snow. He evidently expected to be admired, and Hildegarde could not
disappoint him.

"Fair sir," she said courteously, "I doubt not that you are the Lancelot
of dragon-flies. Your armor is the finest I ever saw; doubtless, it has
been polished by some lily maid of a white butterfly, or she might be a
peach-blossom moth,--daintiest of all winged creatures. The sight of you
fills my heart with rapture, and I fain would gaze on you for hours.
Natheless, fair knight, time presses, and if you _would_ remove your
chivalrous self from my unworthy oar,--really not a fit place for your
knighthood,--I should get on faster."

Sir Lancelot deigning no attention to this very civil speech, she
splashed her other oar in the water, and exclaimed, "Hi!" sharply,
whereupon the gallant knight spread his shining wings and departed in
wrath.

And now the boat-house was near, and the beautiful, beautiful time was
over. Hildegarde took two or three quick strokes, and then let the boat
drift on toward the wharf, while she leaned idly back and trailed her
hand in the clear water. It had been so perfect, so lovely, she was very
loath to go on shore again. But the thought of Rose came,--sweet,
patient Rose, wondering where her Hilda was; and then she rowed quickly
on, and moored the boat, and clambered lightly up the wharf.

"Good-by, good b