“And noise!” put in Bell.  “We are a dreadfully noisy set, I fear.”

“Oh, noise is good,” cried Hildegarde, “such happy, healthy noise as this.  I love it, though it did startle me at first.  It seemed pleasant enough to have you all next door; but then came this last development,—­Cousin Wealthy’s illness, and her sending for mamma, and your mother’s kindness in bringing me out to this delightful place.  It is all like a fairy tale.  I used to hear of people’s camping out, but I always thought I should hate it.  Hate this!”

She looked up at the brilliant sky above her, and around at the shining lake, the dark trees drooping to the water’s edge, the green islands sleeping in the sunshine.  “Oh, pleasant place!” she sighed.

They were silent for a few moments; Bell was scouring dishpans till they shone like silver, while Hildegarde thoughtfully wrung out the dishcloths that she had been washing as she talked.

“I suppose,” said Bell, slowly, “life is always good, when we want to make it so.  There are so many different kinds of life,—­I have known so many in the short time I have been alive, and it didn’t seem to make much difference about the outside of them.  Some of the poorest and most suffering lives have been the happiest and blessedest, and again some that have money and health and everything that so many people sigh for, are miserable, for one reason or another.  I can’t bear to hear girls say, ’Oh, if I only had money!  I would do so much, and be so good, and all that sort of thing.’  I always want to say, ’Why don’t you begin with what you have?’ I did say it once to a girl, and she has hardly spoken to me since.  She had been wishing that she had a hundred dollars to give to the Mission Society, and when I asked her for ten cents (I was the collector) she said she had only one dime, and she must get some soda water, or she should die.”

“The creature! what did you say to her?”

“I said, ’Possibly the world would continue to revolve if you did!’ and stalked away.  Oh, I cannot stand that sort of thing, you know!  And if you are a girl, you can’t knock people down when they are cads.”

Bell spoke regretfully, and Hildegarde could not help laughing at her friend’s angry eyes and kindling cheek.  The strong white bare arms, the deep chest and square shoulders, looked as if Bell would be no mean antagonist.

“I should not like to have you knock me down, my dear!” said Hilda.

“You never would need it,” said Bell.  “But I can tell you, Hilda, there are times when I feel as if a blow from the shoulder would be the best argument in the world.  I love fighting! and I think I am rather a bonny fighter, as Alan Breck says.  Roger taught me to box.”

Hildegarde opened her eyes a little at this, boxing never having come within her horizon of feminine accomplishments.

“Does Professor Merryweather know how to do everything?” she asked.  “He seems to be the Admirable Crichton come to life again.”