st
night to that last awful night in the woods, and though these things
were nobody's fault, they remained in Dolly's memory as decidedly
undesirable pictures of her mountain trip.

Dotty Rose, all unconscious of Dolly's secret feelings, realised only
that they had had lots of gay times together and many occasions of
rollicking camp-life fun. Having spent many summers at Camp Crosstrees,
the Rose family had become attached to the place, and always looked
forward with eager anticipation to each successive trip.

Unlike Dolly, Bert Fayre loved it all. To him, roughing it was fun, and
he cared nothing at all for the city comforts that were missing. He
tramped the woods and went fishing, swimming and boating with the same
enjoyment of these sports that Bob Rose felt, and he was more than
delighted when Mrs. Rose invited him to spend the rest of August at the
camp while the girls went for their two weeks at the seashore.

So on the day of departure Dotty and Dolly bade good-bye to their
brothers and to Mrs. Rose and Genie, and in care of Mr. Rose started for
New York and thence down to Surfwood, a resort on the New Jersey coast,
where the Fayre family were staying at a hotel.

"Oh, don't you just hate to leave it?" exclaimed Dotty as the motor-boat
took them swiftly down the lake. "Good-bye, you dear old woods;
good-bye, you lovely lake. I shan't see you again till next summer."

For, as the children must begin school early in September, both
families would return to Berwick in about a fortnight.

Dolly did not entirely share Dotty's enthusiasm, but she realised the
wonderful beauty of the scene as she looked back at the lake with its
wooded shores and hills rising to the high mountains.

"It _is_ splendid!" she said, very honestly, as she gazed at the
beautiful landscape. "I'm afraid, Dot, that you won't have a good time
down at Surfwood. It's awfully different, you know."

"'Course I'll have a good time, if I'm visiting you. But, you see, we
were a whole month later than usual coming up here this summer, and now
to cut two weeks off the other end makes an awfully short season for
dear old Crosstrees. Why do they call it Surfwood, Dolly; are there any
woods there?"

"Yes, indeed; not far back from the beach there are lots of woods. But
all flat, of course; no hills like these."

"Well, you couldn't expect mountains and seashore together. I know we'll
have lovely times there, anyway I'd rather be with you than to