“Like to see you try it!” said Ferguson.

“Anything to oblige!” replied Obadiah, rising with, alacrity.

“Don’t booby, boys!” said Roger, with quiet authority.  “Let other people have a chance to speak.”

“Hilda and I will make a pie!” said Bell; “‘which is werse,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘though sich were not my intentions.’”

“And I have gingerbread to make, and raspberries to pick,” said Gertrude, “so Kitty must help me.”

“But what do I see?” cried Gerald, in tragic tones.  “A vessel in the offing, headed in this direction.  Now who do you suppose has the cheek to come here?”

“Probably some lunatic is thirsty,” said Phil, “and wants a glass of water.  You know, Miss Hilda, they come here by the boatload, asking for water, and we show them the lake and tell ’em to help themselves.  It makes them hop with rage.  They say, ’What! do you drink this?’ Then, when we tell them that all their water supply comes from this lake, they grin like a dog and go about the city, —­I mean depart on their imbecile way.  But these people are all dressed up.  Oh, Momus and Comus!  There are girls on board!  Come on, Obadiah!”

The twins vanished, and the others looked curiously at the approaching craft.  It was a small steam launch, gayly adorned with paint and streamers; in the bow stood a light, girlish figure, waving a handkerchief and gesticulating with fervour.

“Who can it be?” asked Mrs. Merryweather.  “The boat is from Pollock’s Cove, isn’t it, Roger?”

“Yes; but I see no one on board that I know.  That young lady evidently thinks she is coming among friends, however.  Look! they are putting out a boat.  I will go and see what is wanted.”

He went to the wharf, and the rest waited in some amusement, thinking that a mistake had been made.  To their amazement they saw Roger, after a moment’s parley, help the young lady out of the boat, which straight-way returned to the launch; before they had time to exchange wonderments, she was advancing toward them with outstretched arms.

“My dearest, dearest Hildegarde!  Do I see you again, after so many years?  Quel plaisir! what joy!”

The young lady was dressed in the extreme of fashion, with little boots, and little gloves, and a dotted veil, and a chiffon parasol, and Hildegarde was folded in a perfumed embrace before she had fairly recognised her visitor.

“Madge!” she cried, “is it really you?”

“Myself, cherie! your own Madge.  I heard that you were in the wilderness and flew to you.  What a change, my dearest, from—–­”

“Mrs. Merryweather,” said Hildegarde, her cheeks burning, but her voice quiet and courteous, “this is Margaret Everton, an old school-mate of mine.  Mrs. Merryweather, Madge, with whom I am staying.  Miss Merryweather, Professor Merryweather, Miss Everton.”

“Oh, hum—­mum-m-m-m-m-m!” said Madge, or something that sounded like it.  The Merryweathers welcomed her courteously, and Mrs. Merryweather asked if she had come over from Pollock’s Cove.