It proved that Luella's lawn mower was an antique whose working days were over; and she indicated to the young people a house where one could be borrowed. It was not Miss Barry's cottage! When they had traversed some distance across the field on the errand, a demurely stepping figure approached them. It was a very young girl in a blue frock, bareheaded, and carrying with great solicitude a bowl covered with a napkin. As she approached, Whitcomb recognized her, and it was with some relief that she recognized him, bareheaded, and in khaki trousers and sweater, with a general appearance of being long for this world. He was laughing and talking with Luella's boarder in a reassuring manner, and when his eyes fell upon her, he spoke. "Why, good-morning, Blanche Aurora." "Good mornin', Mr. Whitcomb," she responded loudly in her best manner and with a sharp glance at the dark young lady in the rose gown. "Whither away, Blanche Aurora?" "I'm carryin' jell to the king," she announced. "What's this?" Fred's eyes lighted curiously on the snowy napkin. "Something nice for King, eh? Bertram the first?" "Lemon jell," announced Blanche Aurora, with a proud accession of lung power, and an evident desire not to be delayed. "Well, Mr. King's over there in a hammock," said Whitcomb, looking doubtful. "I don't believe I need to go back." "Go back? Of course not!" cried Madge.--"Ask for Mrs. Lindsay when you get to Miss Benslow's and she'll see to it. Come on, Fred." Blanche Aurora gave the young lady one look, as cold and impersonal as china-blue optics are capable of bestowing, and moved on her way. Call for Mrs. Lindsay! Not likely, now that she knew the king was easy prey in a hammock. "But poor King," protested Whitcomb, as he followed Madge's determined march. "Is it fair? No cotton for his ears." "Oh, she probably won't see him at all. The young one will give the jelly to Mother and she'll attend to it." Little Madge Lindsay knew of the swelling heart beneath the blue gingham frock. Blanche Aurora's confused and excited meditations had conferred royalty upon the mysterious stranger, and should she find him informally wearing a crown in his hammock, it would not astonish her in the least. Arriving at the Benslow house, she cast glances askance toward piazza and windows, fearing that some one might inquire her business; but it was ten-thirty in the morning, a busy time for housekeepers, and she proceeded unmolested toward the Balm-of-Gilead trees. One hammock hung empty, its fringes stirring but lightly in the protected nook to which the trees owed their life. The visitor caught sight of fair hair on the pillow of the second swinging couch, and continuing from the head a long black chrysalis. She approached eagerly. King, glancing around at a sound, suddenly saw beside him a blue-clothed figure with long, white, pipe-stem legs, and white sneakers. The newcomer's red braided hair glinting in the sun was surmounted by a voluminous blue bow.