“I wish we could take Cousin Arthur, Marian, and Hugh with us,” said Violet; “though they are not here to-night, they must still be in the city, I think.”

“Yes,” said her husband, “and I think we might manage to accommodate them also, should they care to go; but probably they will prefer having that much more time to spend at the Fair.”

It was a beautiful moonlight evening, and after a little more chat in regard to the arrangements to be made for the morrow’s journey, all except the children, who were already in bed, went together to the Court of Honor:  from there to the Midway Plaisance, then to the Ferris Wheel, in which everyone was desirous to take a ride by moonlight; nor were they by any means disappointed in it.

On leaving the Wheel they bade each other good-night and scattered to their several resting places—­the cousins to their boarding-house, the others to the yacht.

A little before eight o’clock the next morning there was a cheerful bustle on board the Dolphin.  The extra passengers arrived safely and in good season, with their luggage, and found everything on the boat in good trim, and an excellent breakfast awaiting them and the others.

The weather was all that could be desired; they were congenial spirits, and the day passed most delightfully.  But though the young people were very sociable, no one seeming to be under any restraint, neither Chester nor Percy found an opportunity for any private chat with Lucilla.  The fact was that the captain had had a bit of private talk with his wife and her mother, in which he gave them an inkling into the state of affairs as concerned the two young men and his eldest daughter, and requested their assistance in preventing either one from so far monopolizing the young girl as to be tempted into letting her into the secret of his feelings toward her.

They reached Pleasant Plains early in the evening, landed the cousins belonging there, with the single exception of Miss Annis Keith, then turned immediately and went down the river again, reaching the lake about the usual time for retiring to their berths.

The rest of their voyage was as delightful as that of the first day had been, and spent in a similar manner.  As they sat together on the deck, toward evening, Grace asked her father if Mackinaw had not been the scene of something interesting in history.

“There was a dreadful massacre there many years ago,” he replied; “it was in 1763, by the Indians under Pontiac, an Indian chief.  It was at the time of his attack on Detroit.  There is a cave shown on the island in which the whites took refuge, but the Indians kindled a fire at its mouth and smoked them—­men, women, and children—­to death.”

“Oh, how dreadful, papa! how very dreadful!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” he said, “those were dreadful times; but often the poor Indians were really less to blame than the whites, who urged them on—­the French against the English and the English against the Americans.