“You can tell them that my weddin’ was a very hurried one and that I’m busy, and will be all summer,” added Betsy. The girl inspected the room. “I was here once before,” she said. “How different it looks!” Betsy smiled. “I guess Cap’n Salter kept the blinds shut a good deal,” she returned. “I calc’late to make it look real nice here before I get through.” Rosalie looked at her wistfully. “Isn’t it fun!” she said. “It’s a pretty cottage, and as for what you see from here—why, the inn has nothing like it.” A man’s step crunched the garden-path and a knock sounded at the door. Robert Nixon appeared. “May I come in?” he cried cheerfully. “Mrs. Betsy!” he added, as the hostess started up, “I thought it would be a good time to run over and pay my respects, for I knew you had company anyway, and I wanted you to know that I bear no malice for your unkindness in the past.” Betsy shook hands with him heartily. “Mrs. Pogram, this is Mr. Nixon,” she said. Mrs. Pogram’s eyes had found their greatest width, and they remained there, unwinking, while Robert bowed. “Any time’s a good time, Mr. Nixon,” went on the hostess. “The latch-string will be always out.” “Say, this is pretty nice, do you know it?” exclaimed Robert, looking about. “Such a corking view!” Seeing Betsy in her usual trim garb, and with no line of care in her forehead, the young man asked himself if she could bear any relation to that tragical Sunday morning. “You look as if you’d always been here,” he said. “I really feel that way,” replied Betsy. “Sit down, Mr. Nixon.” “I’d like to, but I can’t. I have to take this young lady and bear her off to my light canoe. Brute’s gone to Boston and it’s my innings.” Betsy saw Rosalie’s blush and the sudden gravity of her face. “She’s got ’em all cinched up there at the inn,” he rattled on. “Have to stand in line now to get an hour of her. Good-by, Betsy—I don’t have to call you Mrs. Salter, do I?” The bride laughed and reassured him, and with a few more words the young people disappeared. “Who’s he?” asked Mrs. Pogram sepulchrally. “A young man from Boston. We met him in the Yellowstone.” “Rosalie said—” began the visitor. “Yes,” interrupted Betsy, returning to her seat with a repressed sigh. “I’ll explain.” Then she told her caller the outline of Rosalie’s experience, foreseeing that much future heartburning would be averted by frankness. “Rosalie and I came pretty close out there,” she finished, “and this house’ll be her headquarters next winter if she has idle times; which I don’t think she will.” “But after Loomis is married—” began Mrs. Pogram. “Yes, but you see we didn’t know Loomis was goin’ to be married, and Cap’n Salter’s very fond o’ Rosalie, and we’ve made our plans.” “Oh!” said Mrs. Pogram reflectively. “She looks like a new girl. I didn’t know as she was so pretty.”