gs, no long tiresome plannings of ways and means beforehand.
Suppose--when Uncle Paul's letter came--they could set off in such
fashion, with no definite point in view, and stop wherever they felt
like it.

"I can't think," Shirley went on, "how such a charming old place came
to be standing idle."

"Isn't it rather--run down?"

"Not enough to matter--really. I want father to buy it, and do what is
needed to it, without making it all new and snug looking. The sunsets
from that front lawn are gorgeous, don't you think so?"

"Yes," Pauline agreed, "I haven't been over there in two years. We
used to have picnics near there."

"I hope you will again, this summer, and invite father and me. We
adore picnics; we've had several since we came--he and I and the dogs.
The dogs do love picnics so, too."

Pauline had given up wanting to hurry Fanny; what a lot she would have
to tell her mother when she got home.

She was sorry when a turn in the road brought them within sight of the
old manor house. "There's father!" Shirley said, nodding to a figure
coming towards them across a field. The dogs were off to meet him
directly, with shrill barks of pleasure.

"May I get down here, please?" Shirley asked. "Thank you very much for
the lift; and I am so glad to have met you and your sister, Miss Shaw.
You'll both come and see me soon, won't you?"

"We'd love to," Pauline answered heartily; "'cross lots, it's not so
very far over here from the parsonage, and," she hesitated,
"you--you'll be seeing Hilary quite often, while she's at The Maples,
perhaps?"

"I hope so. Father's on the lookout for a horse and rig for me, and
then she and I can have some drives together. She will know where to
find the prettiest roads."

"Oh, she would enjoy that," Pauline said eagerly, and as she drove on,
she turned more than once to glance back at the tall, slender figure
crossing the field. Shirley seemed to walk as if the mere act of
walking were in itself a pleasure. Pauline thought she had never
before known anyone who appeared so alive from head to foot.

"Go 'long, Fanny!" she commanded; she was in a hurry to get home now,
with her burden of news. It seemed to her as if she had been away a
long while, so much had happened in the meantime.

At the parsonage gate, Pauline found Patience waiting for her. "You
have taken your time, Paul Shaw!" the child said, climbing in beside
her sister.

"Fanny's time, you mean!"

"It ha