“He’d make friends, I know,” answered Phil. “He never bears malice; he’s a meek, gentle little chap; but I guess he’s had enough of us for a while. I vote we leave him in peace for to-day, and think of something jolly for to-morrow.” “What sort of thing?” “Oh, I don’t quite know; I must think a bit,” and Phil thrust both his hands into his tangle of curls. “Why, yes, I have it now! You know what we were going to do to-day—row to that odd rocky bay ten miles down the coast, where the sea-gulls live. Well, let’s go a regular picnic there. Uncle Fred can take some of us in the boat, and three of us can ride by the road,—Bertie loves to ride, and I’ve hardly ever lent him my pony, though I’ve often promised to,—and we’ll take heaps of food, and have a regular jolly day. Bertie will like that no end, and we’ll show him we want to make up for frightening him.” Phil’s plan was hailed with acclamation, and when Uncle Fred heard of it he gave his ready consent, and was pleased that the boys should have wished it themselves. He thought the change of the ride and the picnic would be very good for Bertie, and he made all plain with the children’s parents for the long day’s holiday upon the water. Phil and Queenie, it was decided, should be the two to ride with Bertie. The little girl submitted to this arrangement because she was not very fond of long journeys in the boat; its movement sometimes made her feel rather sick, and the glare of the sun upon the water often brought on a headache. She liked riding on the whole better than the long row; but, as she felt a little cross with Bertie, she was not quite pleased at being obliged to spend so much time in his company. Still, that could not be helped, and she was very anxious to visit the rocky bay; for she had heard a great deal about it that had raised her curiosity to a high pitch, and she had a secret hope of her own which she at last confided to Phil. “Phil,” she said, mysteriously that evening, as they wandered together about the garden,—“Phil, don’t people say that lots of young sea-gulls are hatched in that bay every year?” “Why, yes, to be sure. What of that?” “Phil, don’t you think,” sinking her voice to a very low whisper, “that we might find one or two little gulls if we searched very carefully, and bring them home in an empty basket? You know some people have tame sea-gulls in their gardens, and I should _love_ to catch some of my very own and keep them here always.” Phil seemed struck with the brilliancy of this idea. “What a capital thought, Queenie!” he cried. “It would be a tremendous lark to take a sea-gull’s nest—only, I fancy they’re pretty hard to get”—He paused suddenly, and then added, as if struck by an unwelcome thought, “But I’m afraid it’s the wrong time for sea-gulls. I think all the young birds are hatched in the spring. I don’t believe there will be any left now, you see it’s August—pretty nearly September too.” Queenie’s face fell.