“Suppose you look in your pocket,” Chub suggested. Roy walked into the forward cabin with a frown on his face. Chub and Dick grinned across at each other. In a moment Roy returned with the letter in his hand and looking very sheepish. “It was in the pocket of my blue serge,” he announced. The others looked disgusted. “You’re a nice one!” exclaimed Chub. “Here we are with nothing on board for luncheon and no one to invite us to the Cottage.” “I’m awfully sorry,” muttered Roy. “I don’t know how I came to forget it.” “Well, there’s bacon and potatoes, isn’t there?” he added with an attempt at cheerfulness. “Bacon and potatoes!” growled Chub. “I’m sick of bacon and potatoes!” “And I’m sick of cooking ’em!” added Dick. “I thought we were going to get a good luncheon at the Cottage.” “Well, why not go up and call on the Doctor and Mrs. Emery?” asked Chub. “They’ll be certain to ask us to lunch.” “It looks too cheeky,” said Roy. “Think of your minding that!” murmured Chub. Then, “I know!” he exclaimed. “We’ll blow the whistle and maybe some one will come!” “Good idea!” Dick cried. He darted into the wheel-house and in a moment the whistle was screeching loudly. “That ought to fetch some one,” said he. _Toot-toot-! Toot-toot-toot!_ said the whistle. Dick kept up the racket for a full minute, and then they awaited results. Several more minutes passed. “What time is it?” asked Dick. Chub looked at his watch. “Almost a quarter past one,” he replied. “And they have luncheon at one.” Dick groaned. “Listen!” exclaimed Roy. From up the hill came a faint shrill cry. “It’s Harry!” Chub exclaimed. He scrambled down to the landing just as a white-clad figure came into sight up the path. “Ship ahoy!” she called, gleefully, using her hands as a megaphone, and there was an answering shout of joy in chorus from the boat. The next moment they were all shaking hands on the landing, laughing and talking together in a babel of sound. “I thought you weren’t coming!” cried Harry. “You promised to write and you never did it!” Harriet Emery, or Harry, as she preferred to be called, was the daughter of Doctor Emery, the Principal of Ferry Hill School. She was sixteen years of age, or would be very shortly, and a charming girl. She had pronouncedly red hair of a very pretty shade, a pair of sparkling blue eyes, a somewhat pert, little, uptilted nose, and a complexion which, in spite of the coat of tan which was beginning to overspread it was very attractive. “Well, you certainly have grown!” exclaimed Chub, backing off that he might get the full effect of the graceful figure in its white dress. “Skirts down and hair up,” he added with a shake of his head. “Harry, you must come to Class Day next year. Will you?” “Do you really think I’ve grown?” she asked, eagerly. “Grown!” echoed Roy. “You look a whole foot taller!” “That’s because she wears her hair that way,” said Dick. “Dick Somes, it is not!” Harry turned upon him indignantly.