e, and cries out, "Bravo, Atalanta! but where is
Milanion, that he has forgotten the golden apples?" And Phillis,
stricken dumb by the question and the sudden apparition of a bearded
face behind the breakwater, remains standing as though she were carved
in stone.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MOTHERS ARE MOTHERS.

"Mr. Drummond! Oh dear! is one never to be free from pastoral
supervision?" muttered Phillis, half sulkily, when she roused from her
stupefaction and had breath to take the offensive. And what would he
think of her? But that was a question to be deferred until later, when
nightmares and darkness and troublesome thoughts harass the unwary
soul. "Like a dog, he hunts in dreams," she might have said to
herself, quoting from "Locksley Hall." But she did nothing of the
kind,--only looked at the offending human being with such an outraged
dignity in her bearing that Mr. Drummond nearly committed himself by
bursting out laughing.

He refrained with difficulty, and said rather dryly,--

"That was a good race; but I saw you would win from the first; and you
jumped that stone splendidly. I suppose you know the story of
Atalanta?"

"Oh, yes," responded Phillis, gloomily; but she could not help showing
off her knowledge all the same; and she had always been so fond of
heathen mythology, and had even read translations of Homer and Virgil.
"She had a she-bear for a nurse, and was eventually turned into a
lion; and I always thought her very stupid for being such a baby and
stopping to pick up the golden apple."

"Nevertheless, the subject is a charming one for a picture," returned
Archie, with admirable readiness, for he saw Phillis was greatly hurt
by this untoward accident, and he liked the girl all the better for
her spirit. He would not have discovered himself at all, only in
another moment she must have seen him; and if she would only have
believed how fully he entered into the fun, and how graceful and
harmless he thought it, there would have been no pang of wounded
self-esteem left. But girls, especially if they be worthy of the name,
are so sensitive and prickly on such matters.

Dulce had basely deserted her sister, and, at the sight of the
clerical felt hat, had fled to Nan's side for protection.

"Oh, never mind," Nan had said, consoling her: "it is only Mr.
Drummond. And he will know how it was, and that we thought there was
not a creature in sight." Nevertheless, she felt a little sorry in her
heart that