hore thrashed about in the reeds and waded
in the shallows, mourning his unhappy state in an occasional cry. Hawker
stood up and sternly shouted. Thereafter silence was among the reeds.
The moon slipped sharply through the little clouds.

The girl said, "I liked that last picture of yours."

"What?"

"At the last exhibition, you know, you had that one with the cows--and
things--in the snow--and--and a haystack."

"Yes," he said, "of course. Did you like it, really? I thought it about
my best. And you really remembered it? Oh," he cried, "Hollanden perhaps
recalled it to you."

"Why, no," she said. "I remembered it, of course."

"Well, what made you remember it?" he demanded, as if he had cause to be
indignant.

"Why--I just remembered it because--I liked it, and because--well, the
people with me said--said it was about the best thing in the exhibit,
and they talked about it a good deal. And then I remember that Hollie
had spoken of you, and then I--I----"

"Never mind," he said. After a moment, he added, "The confounded picture
was no good, anyhow!"

The girl started. "What makes you speak so of it? It was good. Of
course, I don't know--I can't talk about pictures, but," she said in
distress, "everybody said it was fine."

"It wasn't any good," he persisted, with dogged shakes of the head.

From off in the darkness they heard the sound of Hollanden's oars
splashing in the water. Sometimes there was squealing by the Worcester
girls, and at other times loud arguments on points of navigation.

"Oh," said the girl suddenly, "Mr. Oglethorpe is coming to-morrow!"

"Mr. Oglethorpe?" said Hawker. "Is he?"

"Yes." She gazed off at the water.

"He's an old friend of ours. He is always so good, and Roger and little
Helen simply adore him. He was my brother's chum in college, and they
were quite inseparable until Herbert's death. He always brings me
violets. But I know you will like him."

"I shall expect to," said Hawker.

"I'm so glad he is coming. What time does that morning stage get here?"

"About eleven," said Hawker.

"He wrote that he would come then. I hope he won't disappoint us."

"Undoubtedly he will be here," said Hawker.

The wind swept from the ridge top, where some great bare pines stood in
the moonlight. A loon called in its strange, unearthly note from the
lakeshore. As Hawker turned the boat toward the dock, the flashing rays
from the boat fell upon the head of the girl in the rear seat,