ere, and what is
most convenient, and facing all kinds of weather regardless of
complexion, dishevelment, and fatigue. If you can promise all this, be
here loaded and ready to go off at six o'clock to-morrow morning."

After which cheerful picture of the joys to come, Mark marched away to
his studio, taking his friends with him.

Sylvia worked the three miracles, and at half past five, A. M. was
discovered sitting on the piazza, with her hammock rolled into a twine
sausage at her feet, her hat firmly tied on, her scrip packed, and her
staff in her hand. "Waiting till called for," she said, as her brother
passed her, late and yawning as usual. As the clock struck six the
carriage drove round, and Moor and Warwick came up the avenue in
nautical array. Then arose a delightful clamor of voices, slamming of
doors, hurrying of feet and frequent peals of laughter; for every one
was in holiday spirits, and the morning seemed made for pleasuring.

Mr. Yule regarded the voyagers with an aspect as benign as the summer
sky overhead; Prue ran to and fro pouring forth a stream of counsels,
warnings, and predictions; men and maids gathered on the lawn or hung
out of upper windows; and even old Hecate, the cat, was seen chasing
imaginary rats and mice in the grass till her yellow eyes glared with
excitement. "All in," was announced at last, and as the carriage rolled
away its occupants looked at one another with faces of blithe
satisfaction that their pilgrimage was so auspiciously begun.

A mile or more up the river the large, newly-painted boat awaited them.
The embarkation was a speedy one, for the cargo was soon stowed in
lockers and under seats, Sylvia forwarded to her place in the bow; Mark,
as commander of the craft, took the helm; Moor and Warwick, as crew, sat
waiting orders; and Hugh, the coachman, stood ready to push off at word
of command. Presently it came, a strong hand sent them rustling through
the flags, down dropped the uplifted oars, and with a farewell cheer
from a group upon the shore the Kelpie glided out into the stream.

Sylvia, too full of genuine content to talk, sat listening to the
musical dip of well-pulled oars, watching the green banks on either
side, dabbling her hands in the eddies as they rippled by, and singing
to the wind, as cheerful and serene as the river that gave her back a
smiling image of herself. What her companions talked of she neither
heard nor cared to know, for she was looking at the