Julia went on discussing and
arranging; till her brother returned.

"Tom," said she cheerfully, "we've been talking over matters, and I'll
tell you what we'll do--if you won't go with us, we will go with you!"

"Where?"

"Why, to the Isles of Shoals, of course."

"You and mother!" said Tom.

"Yes. There is no fun in going about alone. We will go along with you."

"What on earth will _you_ do at a place like that?"

"Keep you from being lonely."

"Stuff, Julia! You will wish yourself back before you've been there an
hour; and I tell you, I want to go fishing. What would become of
mother, landed on a bare rock like that, with nobody to speak to, and
nothing but crabs to eat?"

"Crabs!" Julia echoed. Philip burst into a laugh.

"Crabs and mussels," said Tom. "I don't believe you'll get anything
else."

"But is Mrs. Wishart gone there?"

"Philip says so."

"Mrs. Wishart isn't a fool."

And Tom was unable to overthrow this argument.

CHAPTER XII.

APPLEDORE.

It was a very bright, warm August day when Mrs. Wishart and her young
companion steamed over from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals. It was
Lois's first sight of the sea, for the journey from New York had been
made by land; and the ocean, however still, was nothing but a most
wonderful novelty to her. She wanted nothing, she could well-nigh
attend to nothing, but the movements and developments of this vast and
mysterious Presence of nature. Mrs. Wishart was amused and yet half
provoked. There was no talk in Lois; nothing to be got out of her;
hardly any attention to be had from her. She sat by the vessel's side
and gazed, with a brow of grave awe and eyes of submissive admiration;
rapt, absorbed, silent, and evidently glad. Mrs. Wishart was provoked
at her, and envied her.

"What _do_ you find in the water, Lois?"

"O, the wonder of it!" said the girl, with a breath of rapture.

"Wonder! what wonder? I suppose everything is wonderful, if you look at
it. What do you see there that seems so very wonderful?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Wishart. It is so great! and it is so beautiful!
and it is so awful!"

"Beautiful?" said Mrs. Wishart. "I confess I do not see it. I suppose
it is your gain, Lois. Yes, it is awful enough in a storm, but not
to-day. The sea is quiet."

Quiet! with those low-rolling, majestic soft billows. The quiet of a
lion asleep with his head upon his paws. Lois did not say what she
thought.

"And you have never see