hat crossed a field and led to the water.
Helen had some little pupils from Willow Lane, and their appearance did
not invite a closer acquaintance with their homes.

She did not know that she was passing near the back of Old Peter
McDuff's farm, but she noticed that the fences were conveniently broken
down, and left a path clear down to the water's edge.

Lake Algonquin lay before her in its evening glory, a glory veiled and
softened by the amethyst veil the autumn was weaving. The water was as
still and as clear as a mirror. To her left the town nestled in a soft
purple mist, the gay voices from the park were softened and sweetened
by the distance. Straight ahead of her lay Wawa island, an airy thing
floating lightly on the water, and reflected perfectly in its depths.

At one end of its dark greenery autumn had hung out a banner to herald
her coming--a scarlet sumach. A yellowing maple leaf fell at Helen's
feet as she passed. Along the water's edge where the birches grew
thick arose a great twittering and chattering. The long southern
flight was already being discussed. Away out beyond the island a canoe
drifted along on the golden water. Some one seated in it was picking a
mandolin and singing, "Good-bye, Summer."

Helen slipped down the path where the birches and elms, entwined with
the bitter-sweet, hung over the water. A little point jutted out with
a big rock on the end of it. She took off her hat, seated herself upon
the rock, and drank in the silence and peace of the calm evening.

A little launch went rap-rap-rap across the clear glass of the water,
leaving a long trail of light behind it like a comet, and the sweet
evening odours were mingled with the unsavoury scent of gasoline.
Helen had often sped joyfully over the bay at home in just such a noisy
little craft, quite unconscious of being obnoxious to any one else. It
was not the first time she had found her view-point was changing. She
seemed to have been drifted ashore in a wreck, and to be sitting
looking on at the life she had lived with wonder and sometimes with
disapproval. The launch passed, the evening shadows deepened, but she
still sat wrapped in the deeper shadows of her own sad thoughts.

She had no idea how long she had sat there when she was roused by the
sudden appearance of a canoe right at her side. It had stolen up
silently, propelled by the noiseless stroke of a practised paddler, and
went past her like a ghost. The yo