ack, Aunt Peggy."

Peggy turned sharply. Down the stream floated the overturned canoe,
already at a distance which made its recapture hopeless. A little in
advance was a white straw hat, a pert bow acting as a sail. Not till
that moment had it occurred to Peggy that her troubles were not yet
over. Her gratitude for her escape from death was tempered by irritated
dismay.

"Why, Dorothy, we can't go back! We've got to wait till they come for
us. How provoking!"

Nothing was to be gained by fretting, however, and luckily other matters
were soon absorbing Peggy's attention. She wrung the water from
Dorothy's drenched hair and clothing, and set her in the sun to dry, a
forlorn little figure of a mermaid. And then she performed a like
service for herself, stopping at intervals to lift her voice in a
ringing "Hal-loo!"

"Oh, dear! We're going to be so late getting home," scolded Peggy.
"It'll be dark, and none of us know the roads very well." She looked
longingly at the point around which at any moment a canoe might appear.
"It's going to take some time to land us," she reflected, "as long as
these canoes can't carry any more than two. Oh, dear, Dorothy! How much
trouble you've made." And the pensive mermaid wept again, with the
submissive penitence which disarms censure.

Over in the west above the treetops, the sky grew pink, deepened to
crimson, paled to ashes-of-roses. The sparkling lights on the water were
snuffed out one by one. The air was full of sounds, shrill-voiced
insects cheeping, the pipe of frogs, the twittering of birds seeking
their nests.

The downward droop of the corners of Dorothy's mouth became more
pronounced.

"I don't like that noise," she protested. "It sounds as if things were
all crying."

Peggy hugged the little penitent close. She did not like the sound
herself. "You're pretty near dry, aren't you?" she said, trying to speak
lightly.

Dorothy's answer was a grieved whimper, "Aunt Peggy, when are they
coming for us?"

"I don't know, dear." The resolute cheerfulness of Peggy's tone gave no
hint of her inward perturbation. What did it mean, she asked herself.
What were the girls thinking of? It was growing dark. She tightened her
clasp about Dorothy and the disconsolate little maid snuggled her damp
head against Peggy's shoulder, and forgot her troubles in sleep.

Little flickering lights began to play about the island, as the
fire-flies lit their fairy lamps. Overhead the stars came