how could she have been so? It
was doing him no end of good. Painting a little, sketching a little,
reading and idling a good deal, and through it all, immensely amused at
the enthusiasm with which his daughter threw herself into the village
life. "I shall begin to think soon, that you were born and raised in
Winton," he had said to her that very morning, as she came in fresh
from a conference with Betsy Todd. Betsy might be spending her summer
in a rather out-of-the-way spot, and her rheumatism might prevent her
from getting into town--as she expressed it--but very little went on
that Betsy did not hear of, and she was not one to keep her news to
herself.

"So shall I," Shirley had laughed back. She wondered now, if Pauline
or Hilary would enjoy a studio winter, as much as she was reveling in
her Winton summer? She decided that probably they would.

Cherry time _was_ merry time that afternoon. Of course. Bob fell out
of one of the trees, but Bob was so used to tumbling, and the others
were so used to having him tumble, that no one paid much attention to
it; and equally, of course, Patience tore her dress and had to be taken
in hand by Mrs. Boyd.

"Every rose must have its thorns, you know, kid," Tracy told her, as
she was borne away for this enforced retirement. "We'll leave a few
cherries, 'gainst you get back."

Patience elevated her small freckled nose, she was an adept at it. "I
reckon they will be mighty few--if you have anything to do with it."

"You're having a fine time, aren't you, Senior?" Shirley asked, as Mr.
Dayre came scrambling down from his tree; he had been routed from his
sketching and pressed into service by his indefatigable daughter.

"Scrumptious! Shirley, you've got a fine color--only it's laid on in
spots."

"You're spattery, too," she retorted. "I must go help lay out the
supper now."

"Will anyone want supper, after so many cherries?" Mr. Dayre asked.

"Will they?" Pauline laughed. "Well, you just wait and see."

Some of the boys brought the table from the house, stretching it out to
its uttermost length. The girls laid the cloth, Mrs. Boyd provided,
and unpacked the boxes stacked on the porch. From the kitchen came an
appetizing odor of hot coffee. Hilary and Bell went off after flowers
for the center of the table.

"We'll put one at each place, suggestive of the person--like a place
card," Hilary proposed.

"Here's a daisy for Mrs. Boyd," Bell laughed.

"Let'