istant
road as they sat there; but otherwise; the stillness was unbroken save
by the twitter of birds in the woods behind them, the chirp of
sand-peeps or the scream of gulls on the beach, and the soft
intermittent boom of the surf.

It had been a perfect afternoon, and a great success, all the picnickers
voted, as they parted in the dusk on the gravel-walk in front of Mrs.
Gray's door. Yet, after all, there was much to be said for Newport and
civilization, and they were not sorry to come back to them. It was all
very well to play at being old-fashioned for a day; but modern times
have their distinct charms and conveniences, and if the girls, on sober
second-thought, preferred their own share of the centuries to any other,
no one need count them blameworthy.

CHAPTER VIII.

BRIC-A-BRAC.

ONE afternoon in August, Candace happened to be alone in the
drawing-room with Mrs. Gray when Mrs. Joy was announced.

"My dear," began that lady, after administering the two hard, rapid
little kisses which were her idea of a cordial greeting, "I've come to
see if you don't want to go down to the Point with me. There's an old
woman there, I hear, who has a lot of wonderful old china and some
mahogany arm-chairs which she wants to sell, and I'm going to look at
them. Do put your things on, and come. I hate to drive alone; and
there's no fun in this sort of expedition unless there's some one along
with you."

"You are very kind," said Mrs. Gray; "but I have promised Mr. Gray to go
with him at four to call on some friends who have just arrived at
Bateman's, so it's quite impossible for me to go with you. Who is the
old woman? Do you recollect her name?"

"Oh, Collishan or Collisham,--some name like that. She lives in Third
Street."

"It must be old Miss Colishaw. Are you sure she wants to sell her
china?" asked Mrs. Gray, who as a child had spent many summers in
Newport before it became a fashionable watering-place, and knew the
townspeople much better than did Mrs. Joy.

"I believe so; why shouldn't she? She's as poor as a church mouse, they
tell me; and what use can such things be to her? She would rather have
the money, of course. You can't go, then? I'm awfully sorry. But you'll
let me have one of the girls, dear, won't you? I absolutely can't do it
alone."

"Georgie has gone to drive with Berry, and I am sorry to say that
Gertrude is on the sofa with a headache."

"Well, here's Miss Candace; she hasn't a headac