f, Vanity!"

"Yes, but I _always_ wanted to get into mischief," replied Viola; "so
that made it a little hard for me, Peggy, you must admit it did,
especially when I adored the Snowy, and couldn't bear to have her look
grave at me. Mr. Merryweather, when the Snowy looked _really_ grave at
me, it froze my young blood, just like Hamlet's; didn't it, Peggy? I
used to go and sit on the radiator to get thawed out, didn't I, Peggy?"

"Oh, of course," said Peggy, laughing. "But all this time, Vanity, we
have not heard about the witchcraft that brought you to this part of the
world."

"Oh! so you haven't. Well, now you shall. You see I am eighteen this
summer, so Puppa said I should choose where we should go, whether to the
mountains, or to Newport, or to this lake, where he knew of a camp he
could have. So I thought I would say Newport, on account of my new
frills; I had some perfectly heavenly new frills, and of course Newport
is the best place to show them. But just as I was going to _say_
'Newport,' _something_ made me turn right round and say to come here. I
supposed it was partly because of course I knew Puppa hated Newport, and
he is such a perfect duck about going there; but now I know that it was
witchcraft, and something inside me, black cats or something, made me
know, without knowing anything about it, that you and the Snowy were
going to be here, Peggy. So now I am perfectly happy! Oh! Oh! Why, there
_is_ the Snowy! Oh, Snowy, you darling! It's me! It's Vanity! How _do_
you do? Isn't this _too_ perfectly entrancing for anything!"

With a graceful turn, Phil brought his boat alongside the wharf, where a
group of campers, Gertrude among them, were gathered to receive them.
Gertrude had Viola in her arms in a moment, and was welcoming her with a
warmth that made the emotional little creature sob with real pleasure
and affection.

"Oh, Snowy!" she cried, "I always liked you better than any one else,
Snowy. I never thought I was going to see you again."

"My dear, dear little Viola!" cried Gertrude. "Have you dropped from the
clouds? Why, this is too good to be true. But you are wet through! Come
in this moment with me, and get on dry things!"

She hurried Viola away to the tents, and Mr. Merryweather took
possession of her brother with the same hospitable intent, though Tom
Vincent protested that he was "no wetter than was entirely comfortable."

Phil, taking in his sail, turned an expressive eye on his twin, w