Sometimes Pauline would enclose one or two of Hilary’s snap-shots of places, or persons.  At one of these, taken the day of the fishing picnic, and under which Hilary had written “The best catch of the season,” Mr. Paul Shaw looked long and intently.  Somehow he had never pictured Phil to himself as middle-aged.  If anyone had told him, when the lad was a boy, that the time would come when they would be like strangers to each other—­Mr. Paul Shaw slipped the snap-shot and letter back into their envelope.

It was that afternoon that he spent considerable time over a catalogue devoted entirely to sporting goods; and it was a fortnight later that Patience came flying down the garden path to where Pauline and Hilary were leaning over the fence, paying a morning call to Bedelia, sunning herself in the back pasture.

“You’ll never guess what’s come this time!  And Jed says he reckons he can haul it out this afternoon if you’re set on it!  And it’s addressed to the ‘Misses Shaw,’ so that means it’s mine, too!” Patience dropped on the grass, quite out of breath.

The “it” proved to be a row-boat with a double set of oar-locks, a perfect boat for the lake, strong and safe, but trig and neat of outline.

Hilary named it the “Surprise” at first sight, and Tom was sent for at once to paint the name in red letters to look well against the white background and to match the boat’s red trimmings.

Its launching was an event.  Some of the young people had boats over at the lake, rather weather-beaten, tubby affairs, Bell declared them, after the coming of the “Surprise.”  A general overhauling took place immediately, the girls adopted simple boating dresses—­red and white, which were their boating colors.  A new zest was given to the water picnics, Bedelia learning to know the lake road very well.

August had come before they fairly realized that their summer was more than well under way.  In little more than a month the long vacation would be over.  Tom and Josie were to go to Boston to school; Bell to Vergennes.

“There’ll never be another summer quite like it!” Hilary said one morning.  “I can’t bear to think of its being over.”

“It isn’t—­yet,” Pauline answered.

“Tom’s coming,” Patience heralded from the gate, and Hilary ran indoors for hat and camera.

“Where are you off to this morning?” Pauline asked, as her sister came out again.

“Out by the Cross-roads’ Meeting-House,” Tom answered.  “Hilary has designs on it, I believe.”

“You’d better come, too, Paul,” Hilary urged.  “It’s a glorious morning for a walk.”

“I’m going to help mother cut out; perhaps I’ll come to meet you with Bedelia ’long towards noon.  You wait at Meeting-House Hill.”

“I’m not going to be busy this morning,” Patience insinuated.

“Oh, yes you are, young lady,” Pauline told her.  “Mother said you were to weed the aster bed.”