s,
mercifully not too short--all our lives. But we aren't going to pretend
that we love him, because we don't. No more doesn't he love us.

"The love that's lost between us
Is not the love for me;
But there's a flood both fair and broad,
In which I'd duck my charming Claud
As gladly as could be!"

. . . . . . .

"Are you ready?" asked the Chief.

"Oh! no, Pater! not just yet. My rudder has got fouled with the cargo."

"Somebody lend me a safety-pin, please! my mainsail is coming loose."

"Has anybody got any ballast to spare? just one pebble!"

These cries and many others resounded from the float, where the campers
were gathered, and were putting the last touches to their toy boats.
Finally Mr. Merryweather declared that there should be no more delay.
The boats were carefully placed in the Ark, a great white rowboat manned
by the Chief and Phil, who proceeded to row out leisurely to a
white-flagged buoy at some distance from the shore. Gerald and Jack in
one canoe, Gertrude and Peggy in another, were stationed at either side
of the course; while Margaret and Claud Belleville, in a Rangeley boat,
were so placed as to take the time of the various boats as they came in.
This arrangement was not satisfactory to all the campers, but when
protests were made in the family council the night before, Mr.
Merryweather had calmly remarked that it was impossible to please
everybody, and that the visitors should be given the post of honor.
Gerald muttered that he did not see why Margaret should be butchered to
make a Claudian holiday; to which his father replied that the matter was
settled, and perhaps he, Gerald, would better be seeing to the lanterns.

"Aren't you a little hard on the boy?" asked Mrs. Merryweather, when she
and her husband were left alone together.

"He needs something to bite on!" was the reply. "He is going through a
kind of moral teething."

This regatta was the first that Margaret had ever seen, and she was
greatly excited.

"Tell us when we are just right!" she cried to the Chief as she passed
the Ark. "Oh! anchor by the red flag? yes, I remember, you told me
before. Now, Mr. Belleville, will you throw out the anchor, please?"

"Must I?" rejoined Mr. Belleville. "It seems a pity! So charming to row
about a bit, don't you think? oh! well, if you insist!"--as he met
Margaret's horrified gaze. "Here goes!"

The anchor splashed overboard, and the you