reach, resting quietly on the smooth emerald velvet of the quaking bog.

"Oh, bother! Now I suppose I shall have to fish the old thing out. It
will never look fit to be seen again, and Margaret retrimmed it only the
other day. Well, here goes!"

Looking about carefully, Peggy pulled a long bulrush from a clump that
grew at the side of the bog. Then she walked along the edge, skirting
with care the deceitful green that looked so fair and lovely, till she
came to where a slender birch hung its long drooping branches out over
the bog. Clinging to one of these branches, Peggy leaned forward as far
as she dared, and began to angle for her hat. "He rises well," she
muttered, "but he doesn't bite worth a cent."

Twice she succeeded in working the end of the bulrush through the loop
of ribbon that perked cheerfully on the top of the hat; twice the loop
slipped off as she raised it, and the hat dropped back. The third time,
however, was successful, and the skilful angler had the satisfaction of
drawing the hat toward her, and finally rescuing it from its perilous
position. Not all of it, however; the flower, the yellow rose, once
Peggy's pride and joy, had become loosened during the various
unaccustomed motions of its parent hat, and now lay, lonely and lovely,
a golden spot on the bright green grass. Peggy fished again, but this
time in vain; and finally she was obliged to give it up, and go off
flowerless in search of her strawberries.

Meanwhile, Margaret had been searching high and low for Peggy. John
Strong could have told her where she was, but he had gone to a distant
part of the farm, and no one had seen the two talking together.

"A search for Calibana?" said Rita, when her cousin inquired for the
wanderer. "My faith, why? If she can remain hidden for a time,
Marguerite, consider the boon it would be!"

[Illustration: PEGGY AT THE BOG.]

But Margaret turned from her impatiently, seeing which, Rita was
jealous, and said, "I had hoped you would take a walk with me, _ma
cousine_. I perish for air! I cannot go alone through these places,--I
might meet a dog."

Margaret could not help laughing.

"I think you might," she said. "And what then?"

"I should die!" said Rita simply. Then, linking her arm in her cousin's
with her most caressing gesture, she said, "Come with me, _alma mia_. We
walk,--very likely we find La Calibana on our way. She cannot have
strayed far, it is too near dinner-time; and she has a clock in