silent, migratory groups
of somber juncos, who fled at their approach. Here and there, they
surprised a squirrel adding another peanut to his well-buried winter
cache. But a little later, a pair of lovers on a narrow peninsula bank
separated awkwardly as the two sauntered up, and John laughed joyously.
The spirit of summer was as yet far from dead.

Still they wandered on as their fancy pleased them. Far to the south of
the park, John collected an armful of cat-tails from a bit of marshland,
and Mr. Fletcher pointed out to him a strange, spotted lizard, which
scurried for shelter from the intruders. As they returned, they loitered
by the green, verandaed club house to count the fast diminishing fleet
of yachts, and joined an ironic audience who watched the struggles of
two motorboat owners with their craft, and a pair of rickety wagon
trucks. Sunset found them climbing the home steps to sink into the easy
porch chairs and wait blissfully until Mrs. Fletcher announced that
supper was ready.

Now by all the laws of small boy nature, John's eyes should have closed
that night five minutes after his head had touched the pillow. But then
it was that the inexplicable happened. Louise forced a disturbing
entrance into his thoughts with a strange insistency. Was she sleeping
peacefully or was she thinking of her rescue from the mercies of the
gang? Perhaps she had already forgotten him. Still, the boys hadn't.
They would probably spread the details of the love affair all over the
juvenile neighborhood. Would she walk with him if they did?

The big clock in the hall of the house next door struck ten. He
discovered that a wrinkle in the sheet chafed his back and smoothed it
out half angrily.

Why couldn't he go to sleep? Had Louise's mother been vexed at the
broken eggs? How pretty the girl's long ringlets had looked as she stood
on the sunlit corner that morning. Did she like to fish? An expedition
for two could be arranged in spite of the late season. He'd bait her
hook and take the fish off if she wished. Lunch could be prepared
beforehand and they wouldn't have to worry about meal time.

Again the timepiece next door chimed its message. He counted the
strokes--seven--eight--nine--ten--_eleven_! Only twice before had he
remained awake so late--once on a railroad trip, and once when Uncle
Frank had come to visit them. He rubbed his clenched fists in his eyes
and wondered if he dared light the gas to read. He could keep his