“What’s that?” asked Jack.

“On trial.  I might not do you credit, you know.”

The Arden Foresters refused to admit the possibility of this, and Belle and Rosalind began delightedly to enumerate their members.

They rowed homeward slowly, for it was up stream, and as they went they unwound the clover chain, and let it trail far behind them until it caught among the reeds and was broken.

When they passed the Gilpin place, on their way from the landing, a stop was made for a fresh supply of oak leaves from their favorite tree, and Rosalind pinned one on her uncle’s coat.

“I invite the Arden Foresters to meet with me to-morrow under the greenwood tree,” said Mr. Whittredge, surveying his badge.

“That’s poetry, go on,” said Jack.

“I’ll have to fall back into prose to finish.  At the foot of Red Hill, at half-past seven P.M.”

“What tree does he mean?” asked Katherine.

“Under the greenwood tree is a poetical figure,” Mr. Whittredge explained.

“It will be dark at half-past seven,” said Jack.

“Of course it will be, and that’s going to be the fun,” cried Belle.

“There will be a moon,” added Maurice, who was wise in such matters.

“And what are we to do there?” asked Rosalind.

“That remains to be seen,” was all the satisfaction her uncle would give her.

Anticipation was the order of the next day, and the hours of the afternoon rather dragged.  At dinner Rosalind could not keep her eyes from the clock, while her uncle ate in his usual leisurely manner, smiling at her quizzically now and then.

“It will not take more than twenty minutes to walk out,” he remarked, at length, when the hands pointed to seven o’clock.

Mrs. Whittredge looked inquiring.

“We are to have a little moonlight party at the creek to-night.  We shall not be late, Rosalind and I,” Allan added.

“You are making a new departure, are you not?  A picnic yesterday, another to-night.  You are really falling into the ways of Friendship.”

“I am only beginning again where I left off years ago, Rosalind is showing me how,” Allan smiled across the table, this time a smile of good-fellowship.

The August nights were cool, and Rosalind carried her cape with its pointed hood, when, the long ten minutes having passed, they set out.  Maurice and Katherine were watching for them, and farther down the street the Partons joined them.

Under the trees that grew so thick, it was already dim twilight, but when they reached the more open country react there was still a glow in the sky, and over Red Hill floated the golden moon, attended by a single star.  On the little sandy beach beneath the bridge, where the water rippled so pleasantly over the stones, a fire was burning, and before it on a log, with Curly Q. by his side, sat the magician, whittling.