“Oh,” said Hilda to all these good friends, “you know it is not because I don’t want to go to my blessed mother; of course you all know that—­”

“Of course we do, dear!” cried Bell and her mother, soothingly.  “Of course you want to go, and we ought to want you to go; but we don’t; and it has come so quickly, and all.”

“And we were going to the Painted Rocks to-morrow!” cried Phil.

Gerald began to mutter something under his breath about

    “Little Gerald was my brudder,
     Merry Mater was my mudder,
     Nebber heard ob any udder.”

But his adaptation was checked by a look from his mother, and he relapsed into gloom.  “It’s a horrid, atrocious shame!” he said.  “I can’t help it, and Hilda needn’t speak to me again if she doesn’t want to; but I cannot tell a lie, and I am not glad that Mrs. Grahame has come home, and I never shall be.”

“Dear Jerry!” said Hilda.  “We have had such good times, haven’t we?  And you will be coming back, you know, to town some day, and I shall hear all about the merrymakings—­”

But here her voice broke, and deeply ashamed of herself, she hurried into the house to put her things together.  The kind Merryweathers went with her, and vied with each other in helping her make her preparations.  Since it must be, it should be as cheerfully done as possible; so Bell packed her trunk, and Gertrude buttered bread with ardour, that Hilda might have luncheon before she went; a good many tears fell into the butter, but Hilda said she did not mind that.

Soon, too soon, alas! all was ready; the little trunk packed and strapped, and Hilda in jacket and hat—­the first time in a month that she had worn either—­smiling as well as she could, and kissing and shaking hands, almost in silence.

Mr. Merryweather had just come up from the boathouse, and joined his regrets to the general chorus.

“And who is the captain of this black-sailed ship that carries our little girl away from us?” he asked.  “Are you going to drive her in, Gerald?”

“No, father,” said Gerald, hastily.  “I think Roger is going in.”

“Yes,” said Roger; “I am going in, Miles.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Merryweather.  “Is there anything special you want to see to in town, Roger?”

“Why—­no; I am going for—­”

“Then, if it’s all the same, suppose you let Phil drive Hilda in.  I want your help this afternoon, very much, on the Keewaydin.  The boys aren’t quite strong enough to tackle her.  What do you say, Hilda?  You would just as lief have Phil, I dare say, and it will be a treat to him.”

What could our poor dear Hilda say?  What could she do but smile her assent, when she saw Phil’s honest face radiant with pleasure?

Gerald, after looking round in vain for his mother and Bell, who had gone into the house to get something, did indeed mutter that he wanted Phil dreadfully, to do something of great importance, it did not appear precisely what; but he was promptly set down by his father.