Before supper was over.  Captain’s deep-toned bark proclaimed a newcomer, or newcomers, seeing that it was answered immediately by a medley of shrill barks, in the midst of which a girl’s voice sounded authoritively—­“Quiet, Phil!  Pat, I’m ashamed of you!  Pudgey, if you’re not good instantly, you shall stay at home to-morrow night!”

A moment later, the owner of the voice appeared at the porch door, “May I come in, Mrs. Boyd?” she asked.

“Come right in, Miss Shirley.  I’ve a couple of young friends here, I want you should get acquainted with,” Mrs. Boyd cried.

“You ain’t had your supper yet, have you, Miss Shirley?” Mr. Boyd asked.

“Father and I had tea out on the lake,” Shirley answered, “but I’m hungry enough again by now, for a slice of Mrs. Boyd’s bread and butter.”

And presently, she was seated at the table, chatting away with Paul and Hilary, as if they were old acquaintances, asking Mr. Boyd various questions about farm matters and answering Mrs. Boyd’s questions regarding Betsy Todd and her doings, with the most delightful air of good comradeship imaginable.

“Oh, me!” Pauline pushed hack her chair regretfully, “I simply must go, it’ll be dark before I get home, as it is.”

“I reckon it will, deary,” Mrs. Boyd agreed, “so I won’t urge you to stay longer.  Father, you just whistle to Colin to bring Fanny ’round.”

Hilary followed her sister into the bedroom.  “You’ll be over soon, Paul?”

Pauline, putting on her hat before the glass, turned quickly.  “As soon as I can.  Hilary, don’t you like her?”

Hilary balanced herself on the arm of the big, old-fashioned rocker.  “I think so.  Anyway, I love to watch her talk; she talks all over her face.”

They went out to the gig, where Mr. and Mrs. Boyd and Shirley were standing.  Shirley was feeding Fanny with handfuls of fresh grass.  “Isn’t she a fat old dear!” she said.

“She’s a fat old poke!” Pauline returned.  “Mayn’t I give you a lift?  I can go ’round by the manor road ’s well as not.”

Shirley accepted readily, settling herself in the gig, and balancing her pail of milk on her knee carefully.

“Good-by,” Pauline called.  “Mind, you’re to be ever and ever so much better, next time I come, Hilary.”

“Your sister has been sick?” Shirley asked, her voice full of sympathetic interest.

“Not sick—­exactly; just run down and listless.”

Shirley leaned a little forward, drawing in long breaths of the clear evening air.  “I don’t see how anyone can ever get run down—­here, in this air; I’m hardly indoors at all.  Father and I have our meals out on the porch.  You ought to have seen Betsy Todd’s face, the first time I proposed it.  ‘Ain’t the dining-room to your liking, miss?’” she asked.

“Betsy Todd’s a queer old thing,” Pauline commented.  “Father has the worst time, getting her to come to church.”