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.

Roger Merryweather stood silent. The habit of giving way to others, of letting the youngsters have all the pleasure possible, and taking the workaday parts of life for himself, was strong upon him. And when had he refused his brother Miles anything?

Miles Merryweather nodded in satisfaction, and went into the house to get his letters.

"I am going to send Phil in with Hilda, instead of Roger," he announced, cheerfully. "Is there anything--"

"Oh, father, how could you?" cried Bell, springing to her feet.

"How could I what?" asked her father. "Miranda, have you any errands for Phil to do?"

He looked at his wife, and opened his eyes wide; for the placid woman was ruffling all over, like an angry partridge.

"Don't speak to me, Miles Merryweather!" she cried. "Don't dare to say a word to me! You are a great stupid, stupid,--and Roger is another! Why I ever married into such a family--"

She ruffled away out of the house; Bell hurried after her without a word, only casting a reproachful glance at her father as she went. Mr. Merryweather stood still in utter bewilderment.

"Are these people mad?" he said. "What on earth is the matter? Gerald, will you give these letters to Phil, and tell him--now what is the matter with you, I should like to know?"

For Gerald's bright face was clouded over with unmistakable ill- humour,--a circumstance so amazing that one might well wonder. He actually scowled at his father, whom he adored.

"Donki foolumque cano!" he said. "No disrespect to anybody, sir, but I am thinking of emigrating. This family is too much for me."

He stalked out again, leaving Mr. Merryweather more puzzled than ever.

"Decidedly, they are mad!" he murmured. "Thank goodness, there is one sensible head among all these feathertops! Oh, here you are, Roger! Give these letters to Phil, will you, please, and tell him not to forget the mail."

Roger took the letters, and laughed. His cheek was slightly flushed, and his eyes danced with something very unlike their usual calm intelligence. "All right!" he said. "Give me the letters, Miles. They shall be mailed." He took the packet, and started to leave the room, but turned back for a moment, to lay his hand affectionately on his brother's shoulder. "I am a codger, Miles," he said, "but--do you know--I think you are a bit of a codger, too. It runs in the blood, I suppose. Good-by, old fellow! and let the Keewaydin wait until to-morrow, will you?"

He ran out. His brother, now speechless, followed him: saw him put Phil aside with a word and a smile; saw him lift Hildegarde lightly into the wagon, and take his seat beside her; saw the girl, her face bright as a flower, leaning forward to say farewell, and the other faces crowding round her, eager, loving, sorrowful; saw handkerchiefs and caps waving, and heard the cries of "Good-by, dear Hilda! Come again! Oh, come back to us soon!"

Then the woods closed in behind the carriage and it was gone.

Gerald looked long after it; then he advanced to the middle of the piazza, and deliberately turned three back somersaults.

"Would anybody like to tread on the tail of my coat?" he said, joyously. "Phil, you are a double-barrelled, self-revolving idiot, but I love you. Join me, then, in three cheers for the Codger. Long may he wave! Now, then, hip, hip, hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" cried Phil, who had received enlightenment in some way, and was beaming like his brother.

"Hurrah!" cried Mrs. Merryweather and Bell in concert, fixing eyes of triumph on their husband and father.

"Hurrah it is, doubtless," said Mr. Merryweather, looking slightly nettled,--a rare thing in the most cheerful of men. "But MAY I ask why my arrangements are changed without a word to me? I intended that Phil should--"

"Dear Miles!" said his wife. "I am sorry I called you names."

"DEAR papa!" said the Merryweathers in chorus; "we all love you SO much!"

"And were you ever young?" asked Mrs. Merryweather, no longer swelling, partridge-like, but taking her husband's arm with her sweetest smile.

"And did you ever see a girl you liked, Miles Merryweather? and if you ever had, would you have let another boy drive her in town while the breath was in you? Would you?"

"Oh!" said Miles Merryweather.

THE END