“He looks mighty glad,” Pauline said.

“And isn’t it funny, bearing him called
Phil?” Patience curled herself up in the
cozy corner.  “I never’ve thought of father
as Phil.”

Hilary paused in the braiding of her long hair.  “I’m glad we’ve got to know him—­Uncle Paul, I mean—­through his letters, and all the lovely things he’s done for us; else, I think I’d have been very much afraid of him.”

“So am I,” Pauline assented.  “I see now what Mr. Oram meant—­he doesn’t look as if he believed much in fairy stories.  But I like his looks—­he’s so nice and tall and straight.”

“He used to have red hair, before it turned gray,” Hilary said, “so that must be a family trait; your chin’s like his, Paul, too,—­so square and determined.”

“Is mine?” Patience demanded.

“You cut to bed, youngster,” Pauline commanded.  “You’re losing all your beauty sleep; and really, you know—­”

Patience went to stand before the mirror.  “Maybe I ain’t—­pretty—­yet; but I’m going to be—­some day.  Mr. Dayre says he likes red hair, I asked him.  He says for me not to worry; I’ll have them all sitting up and taking notice yet.”

At which Pauline bore promptly down upon her, escorting her in person to the door of her own room.  “And you’d better get to bed pretty quickly, too, Hilary,” she advised, coming back.  “You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

Mr. Paul Shaw stayed a week; it was a busy week for the parsonage folk and for some other people besides.  Before it was over, the story-book uncle had come to know his nieces and Winton fairly thoroughly; while they, on their side, had grown very well acquainted with the tall, rather silent man, who had a fashion of suggesting the most delightful things to do in the most matter-of-fact manner.

There were one or two trips decidedly outside that ten-mile limit, including an all day sail up the lake, stopping for the night at a hotel on the New York shore and returning by the next day’s boat.  There was a visit to Vergennes, which took in a round of the shops, a concert, and another night away from home.

“Was there ever such a week!” Hilary sighed blissfully one morning, as she and her uncle waited on the porch for Bedelia and the trap.  Hilary was to drive him over to The Maples for dinner.

“Or such a summer altogether,” Pauline added, from just inside the study window.

“Then Winton has possibilities?” Mr. Shaw asked.

“I should think it has; we ought to be eternally grateful to you for making us find them out,” Pauline declared.

Mr. Shaw smiled, more as if to himself.  “I daresay they’re not all exhausted yet.”

“Perhaps,” Hilary said slowly, “some places are like some people, the longer and better you know them, the more you keep finding out in them to like.”

“Father says,” Pauline suggested, “that one finds, as a rule, what one is looking for.”