“I am sorry you are going,” I said.  “I hear that for the time being the crop of patients is diminishing.”

“It rather looks that way,” he answered, “and I must say I am glad of it.  It is only a lull, I suppose, and I’m going to take advantage of it.  Sammy reminded me to-day that September has come and that the stags are beginning to shed their velvet.  I think that your father and you would like some venison.  I shall enjoy it too, I can assure you.”

“Oh!  How I wish I could go,” I exclaimed, foolishly enough.

“But there could be nothing easier,” he explained, quietly.  “I have a very nice little tent which I brought with me when I came here, and you could take Susie Sweetapple with you.  The two men and I can build a little lean-to anywhere.  It is really worth trying.  I have explored a bit of that country, and I am sure you would enjoy a look at it.”

“It sounds very attractive, Daddy,” I said.

“If there is one thing I am longing for,” said the dear old man, “it is a decent bit of meat.  The cook on the yacht and the steward may possibly be able to fill Susie’s place for a day or two.  You go right along, daughter.”

And now, Aunt Jennie, I am recklessly going away to furnish more gossip for the ladies of the place, bless their poor old hearts.  I have been interviewing Susie, whose voluble conversation is often amusing, and find that she also entertains some queer ideas.  Of course I undeceived her at once.  Daddy doesn’t think there is the slightest impropriety in the trip, deeming Susie a sufficient chaperon.  The ladies here of course never indulge in such masculine pursuits as hunting, but none of them will consider my doing it as any more wonderful than my going fishing.  It will be but one more of the peculiar doings of them “Merikins.”

By the way, Harry Lawrence has written.  You know, Auntie dear, that he is one of the few very nice fellows to whom I have had to hint, as gently as possible, that I am awfully happy with old Dad.  He was the only one of them to put out his hand, like the good, strong, red-headed, football wonder that he is.  I can hear him now: 

“Shake, little girl,” he said, smilingly.  “You are not ready yet, are you?  I am not going to believe that this is your last word, and we’ll just pretend I didn’t speak, and go on being good old pals as before.  My chance may come yet.”

I remember that I felt quite gulpy and shaky when he said that, and that I wished at the time that I had been able to think of him otherwise than as a good old friend, just to see him grin happily again, as he so often does.  He tells me he has only just returned from abroad, having remained longer than he expected to.  He says that motoring in Norway is very interesting.  He also says he has half a mind to run up here and see what sort of a digging we are living in.  You know that Daddy thinks a lot of him, and that Harry dotes on Dad.  The boy thinks there is no one like him, which shows what a sensible fellow Harry is.