in the path, as I'm
luggin' some things up to the house, and all I does is to hoist the
basket up on my shoulder between me and her and push right along.

Then here the last morning just as we got under way for a run to
Damariscotta, she and Mrs. Hollister was up on the cliff seein' us off.
All the rest was wavin'; so just for sport I takes off my hat and waves
too, grinnin' humorous at Vee as I makes the play. But, say, next time
I looks back she's up on the veranda with the fieldglasses trained on
us. I keeps my hat on after that. My kind of red hair is prominent
enough to the naked eye at almost any distance--but with fieldglasses!
Good night!

It was a day for forgettin' things, though. Ever sailed up the Scotty
River on a perfect August day, with the sun on the green hills, a sea
breeze tryin' to follow the tide in, and the white gulls swingin' lazy
overhead? It's worth doin'. Then back again, roundin' Ocean Point
about sunset, with the White Islands all tinted up pink off there, and
the old Atlantic as smooth as a skatin' rink as far out as you can see,
and streaked with more colors than a crazy cubist can sling,--some
peaceful picture.

But what a jar to find Aunty, grim and forbidding waitin' on the dock.
She never says a word until we'd landed and everyone but me had started
for the house. Then I got mine.

"Boy," says she icy, "take off that hat!"

I does it reluctant.

"Humph!" says she. "William! I thought so." That's all; but she says
it mighty expressive.

The programme for the followin' day included a ten o'clock start, and
I'd been down to the boat ever since breakfast, tidyin' things up and
sort of wonderin'. About nine-fifteen, though, young Hollister comes
wanderin' down by his lonesome.

"It's all off," says he. "Miss Verona and her aunt have gone."

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Gone?"

"Early this morning," says he. "I don't quite understand why;
something about Verona's being out on the water so much, I believe.
Gone to the mountains. And--er--by the way, Tucker is around again.
Here he comes now."

"He gets the jumper, then," says I, peelin' it off. "I guess I'm due
back on Broadway."

"It's mighty good of you to help out," says Payne, "and I--I want to do
the right thing in the way of----"

"You have," says I. "You've helped me have the time of my life. Put
up the kale, Hollister. If you'll land me at the Harbor, I'll call it
square."

He don't want to let it sta