Sin Saxon, as they called her, was so bright and odd and fascinating; was there any harm—­because no special, obvious good—­in that?  There was a little twinge of doubt, remembering poor Miss Craydocke; but that had seemed pure fun, not malice, after all, and it was, hearing Sin Saxon tell it, very funny.  She could imagine the life they led the quiet lady; yet, if it were quite intolerable, why did she remain?  Perhaps, after all, she saw through the fun of it.  And I think, myself, perhaps she did.

The Marie Stuart net went on to-night; and then such a pretty muslin, white, with narrow, mode-brown stripes, and small, bright leaves dropped over them, as if its wearer had stood out under a maple-tree in October and all the tiniest and most radiant bits had fallen and fastened themselves about her.  And, last of all, with her little hooded cape of scarlet cashmere over her arm, she went down to eat cream biscuit and wood strawberries for tea.  Her summer life began with a charming freshness and dainty delight.

There were pleasant voices of happy people about them in hall and open parlor, as they sat at their late repast.  Everything seemed indicative of abundant coming enjoyment; and the girls chatted gayly of all they had already discovered or conjectured, and began to talk of the ways of the place and the sojourners in it, quite like old habituees.

It was even more delightful yet, strolling out when tea was over, and meeting the Routh party again half way between the cottage and the hotel, and sauntering on with them, insensibly, till they found themselves on the wide wing-piazza, upon which opened the garden bedrooms, and being persuaded after all to sit down, since they had got there, though Mrs. Linceford had demurred at a too hasty rushing over, as new comers, to begin visits.

“Oh, nobody knows when they are called upon here, or who comes first,” said Mattie Shannon.  “We generally receive half way across the green, and it’s a chance which turns back, or whether we get near either house again or not.  Houses don’t signify, except when it rains.”

“But it just signifies that you should see how magnificently we have settled ourselves for nights, and dressing, and when it does rain,” said Sin Saxon, throwing back a door behind her, that stood a little ajar.  It opened directly into a small apartment, half parlor and half dressing-room, from which doors showed others, on either side, furnished as sleeping-rooms.

“It was Maud Walcott’s, between the Arnalls’ and mine; but, what with our trunks, and our beds, and our crinolines, and our towel-stands, we wanted a Bowditch’s Navigator to steer clear of the reefs, and something was always getting knocked over; so, one night, we were seized simultaneously with an idea.  We’d make a boudoir of this for the general good, and forthwith we fell upon the bed, and amongst us got it down.  It was the greatest fun!  We carried the pieces and the mattresses