After a week of rest they began to make trips to various points of interest, sometimes stopping two or three days in a place, then returning to Manchester for a little season of quiet, when they would flit away again in another direction.

It was ideal.  There was never any friction or jar in the home or on the wing; an atmosphere of peace and love brooded everywhere, while, at the same time, a spirit of good-fellowship and jollity pervaded the entire household, particularly when Mr. Minturn made one of their number.

Katherine, who was quietly observant of her friend, was glad to see that there was no return of the absentminded moods or depression that had previously overshadowed her; but that she seemed care-free and happy, giving herself up heartily to the enjoyment of her vacation.

Only now and then, when a letter addressed in a bold, free hand came to her, did she seem to cast a backward glance or recall anything to mar her pleasure.

They had little visits at Newport and Narragansett Pier, a trip to the Thousand Isles, interspersed with outings at the Essex County Club at home; golf, tennis and drives, and, now and then, a run to Boston for sightseeing or shopping.

One morning—­the very last of July—­Katherine received a letter bearing a New Hampshire postmark.

“I wonder if it is from Mrs. Seabrook!  I have been wishing we might hear from Dorothy,” she observed, as she hastily cut the end of the envelope and drew forth a closely written sheet.  “Yes, it is,” she supplemented, glancing at the name appended, and then became absorbed in its contents, her face growing grave and wistful as she read.

“Mamma,” she remarked, when she had finished and was refolding the missive, “Mrs. Seabrook writes that Dorothy is not as well.  They have had to send for Dr. Stanley, and he thinks that the mountain air does not agree with her; that she would be better near the sea.  She has written to ask if we know of a cottage here that she could rent for the remainder of the season.”

“Why, yes; there is the Hunt cottage.  Mrs. Hunt told me yesterday that they are all going on a trip through the Canadas; but she was in a quandary about her help.  She does not like to let them go, neither does she feel quite like leaving them to run the house by themselves.  Perhaps she would be glad to rent it,” Mrs. Minturn returned.

’That would be delightful, for then we could have Mrs. Seabrook for a neighbor, and—­oh! mamma—­if we only could do something for that dear child,” said Katherine, yearningly.

“We could not interfere there, dear,” her mother gravely replied.  “We could do nothing, with Prof.  Seabrook so opposed to the treatment of Christian Science.  But I will go and talk with Mrs. Hunt and see what can be done for your friends.”

The result of her call was a cordial assent on the part of the Hunts to rent the cottage, if the Seabrooks, after learning the terms, desired to have it.