our
household here at Nepaug includes some interesting people, and,
moreover, some very queer things have happened lately, I thank Heaven,
I have none of Dr. Cricket's curiosity; but I should be ashamed if I
were so indifferent to those about me as not to take an interest in
their concerns. This interest has led me of late to ponder on recent
events, and speculate as to their causes.

When I asked some very simple and natural questions of Winifred
Anstice, she snapped at me like a snapping-turtle; but I did not
discontinue my investigation on that account. On the contrary, I
resolved to be all the more watchful; and when it comes to putting two
and two together, there are few who have a more mathematical mind than
Susan Standish.

On Friday evening, we had a picnic supper at Eagle Rock.

Mr. Flint (superior as usual) preferred to go in the only society
which interests him, and therefore set off _alone_ in his dory. His
absence did not have any visibly depressing effect on the party in the
sail-boat. Winifred was at her very best; and Philip Brady seemed to
appreciate her. If I were a matchmaker, I should have tried to throw
them together, for they do seem just cut out for each other; in spite
of all my efforts to give them opportunities of making each other's
acquaintance on intimate terms, they never appeared to take advantage
of them. But on Friday it was different. In the first place, anything
more warm-blooded than an oyster must have fallen in love with
Winifred at first sight on that evening. She wore a white flannel
yachting-dress, and a red-felt hat cocked up on one side, and as she
stood against the sail in the sunset, she was--Well, I'm too old to be
silly; but really that girl is something worth looking at when she is
nice. To-day, she looked like a frump, and talked like a fury.

The wind on Friday died out soon after we started; and at one time I
was afraid Mr. Flint would have the satisfaction of getting to the
Point before us; but, providentially, it sprang up again and, indeed,
I need not have worried, for it seemed he was afraid of being bored,
and did not start till six o'clock. Brady says he was always like
that, even in college; that when they were invited anywhere, Flint
would always put off the start, and would say, "Your coming away
depends on your hostess; but your going depends upon yourself."

"If it had been _my_ house," said I, "his _staying_ away would have
depended on his hostess. I h