melancholy laugh.

"What is the matter, my dear?" exclaimed Mr. Archibald, suddenly turning
over in his bed. "Are you choking? Is the room too close? Shall I open the
door?"

"No, indeed," she said, "for that was a laugh you heard. I couldn't help
laughing at the thought that there should be two such idiots in the world
as you and myself."

"It is idiotic, isn't it?" said Mr. Archibald. "It is gloriously idiotic,
and it will do us both a world of good. It is such a complete and perfect
change that I don't wonder you laugh." Then he laughed himself, clearly
and loudly, and turned over on his side and went to sleep.

Mrs. Archibald felt certain that she would not sleep another wink that
night, but she did sleep seven hours and a half, and was awakened by
Margery singing outside her window.

CHAPTER VI

CAMP ROY

No thoughts of idiocy crossed the minds of any of the camping party during
their first breakfast under the great oak-tree. The air, the sunlight, the
rippling waters of the lake, the white clouds in the blue sky, the great
trunks of the trees, the rustling of the leaves, the songs of the birds,
the hum of insects, the brightness of everything, their wonderful
appetites--the sense of all these things more than filled their minds.

For the greater part of that day Mr. Archibald fished, sometimes in a
stream which ran into the head of the lake about a quarter of a mile above
the camp, and sometimes on the shores of the lake itself. Margery
sketched; her night in the studio had filled her with dreams of art, and
she had discovered in a corner a portable easel made of hickory sticks
with the bark on, and she had tucked some drawing materials into one of
her bags.

Mrs. Archibald was a little tired with her journey of the day before, and
contented herself with sitting in the shade in pleasant places, occupied
with some needle-work she had brought with her, and trying to discipline
her mind to habits of happiness in camp. This was not very difficult
during the first part of this beautiful day, but towards the end of the
afternoon she began to think less of the joys of a free life in the heart
of nature and more of the pleasure of putting on her bonnet and going out
to make some calls upon her friends. In this state of mind it pleased her
to see Phil Matlack coming towards her.

"Would you like a cup of tea, ma'am?" said he.

"No, thank you," she answered. "It would seem rather odd to have afternoon