lled, and recognizing her friend, set out
to meet her quite as eagerly.

"Oh, Miss Wynifred!" cried the boatman's daughter.

"Polly Jolly! This is Frank Cameron." She kissed Polly warmly. "How fine
you look, Polly! Tell me! will all we girls look as healthy and be as
strong as you are, by the autumn? You're a picture!"

"A pretty shabby one, I fear, Miss Wyn," protested Polly, yet smiling.
"I am in the very oldest clothes I have, for there is much dirty work to
be done around here. We have hardly got ready for the summer yet. Father
has been so lame."

"And you must introduce me to your father, Polly," Wyn said, quickly.
"We have something for him to do--if he will be so kind."

"All you need to do is to say what it is, Wynifred," responded Polly,
warmly. "If either of us can do anything for you we will only be too
glad."

The three girls walked to the spot where Mr. Jarley was engaged upon his
boat. He was not at all the sort of a person whom the girls from town
had expected to see. The boatmen and woodsmen who sometimes drifted into
Denton were rough characters. This man, after being ten years and more
in the woods, savored little of the rough life he had followed.

He was a small man, very neat in his suit of brown overalls, with
grizzled hair, a short-cropped gray mustache, and without color in his
face save the coat of tan his out-of-door life had given him.

There was a gentle, deprecatory air about him that reminded Wyn strongly
of Polly herself. But this manner was almost the only characteristic
that father and daughter had in common.

Mr. Jarley was low-spoken, too; he listened quietly and with an air of
deference to what Wyn had to propose.

"Surely I will come around and do all I can to aid you, Miss Mallory,"
he said. "You shall pick out the stores you think you will need, and we
will take a boat around to your camp. Your stores will be perfectly safe
here--if you wish to risk them in my care," he added.

"Of course, sir. And we expect to pay you for keeping them. If we have a
long spell of rainy weather the dampness would be bound to spoil things
in our tents."

"True. This corrugated iron shack will keep the stores dry, and the door
has a good padlock," returned Mr. Jarley. "Now, you young ladies pick
out what you wish carried over to the camp and I will soon be at your
service."

"Isn't he nice?" whispered Wyn to Frank, when Polly had run into the
house for something, and Mr. Jarley himsel