But Zip, having the spirit of a dog, would bark.

The whole party reached Willow-brook in safety, and had a joyful welcome.

“Prudy, my aunt Louise is the handsomest lady there is in this world,” said Dotty, privately.

“O, Dotty, how can you think so,” exclaimed Prudy, “when there’s only one woman can be THAT!”

“Who’s she?”

“Mother, of course!”

When Dotty was called to supper, she was found beside Pincher’s green grave, telling her “brother Zip” the story of that dog’s death, and trying to impress upon his mind the importance of keeping his paws out of fox-traps.

It was delightful to be at grandma Parlin’s once more.  The summer-house, the seat in the tree, and the swing, were all in their old places, and had been waiting a whole year for the children.  A few things had been added:  a hennery,—­called by Dotty “a henpeckery”—­and a graceful white boat, named the Water-Kelpie.  This boat was kept chained to a stake on the bank, and no one could have a sail in it without first obtaining the key, which hung over the bird-cage, in the back parlor.

Susy was charmed with the boat.  It was lighter and nicer than the old canoe, which had so long been used by the family.  She and Lonnie Adams, her aunt Martha’s nephew, took daily lessons in rowing; but Susy, who had for years been accustomed to the water, knew how to manage a boat far better than did Master Lonnie.  The boy strained every nerve, to very little purpose, while Susy would lightly dip in the paddle, and turn it with perfect ease.

“I don’t care,” said Lonnie; “guess you can’t drive a nail any better than I can, Susy Parlin, and I can row her some, anyhow.  Now, Abner, can’t I row her?”

“Yes, my boy, I think I’ve heard you roar,” replied Abner, with a provoking smile.

“Well, can’t I row her this way?”

“Middlin’ well,” returned Abner, cautiously; “but little Sue, here, is the water-man for me.”

Susy’s cheeks glowed, and there was a proud flash in her eyes as they met Lonnie’s.  At that moment she felt equal to the task of steering a ship across the Atlantic Ocean.

Not long after this praise from Abner, aunt Martha said that she and Master Lonnie were going over the river, after some wild-flower roots, and would be glad to have the boat sent for them at five o’clock.

“Mayn’t I be the one to go?” asked Susy.

“If you like,” replied the grandmother; “that is, if Abner is willing.”

Susy knew perfectly well that her grandmother had no idea of allowing her to go alone; but it so happened, when she reached the river-bank with the boat-key, that Abner was nowhere to be seen.

“Seems to me,” thought Susy, “Abner is generally somewhere else.”

“Where you goin’, all alone, ’thout me?” cried Dotty Dimple, from the top of the bank.

“You here?  What did you come for?” said Susy.