As a rule, she was content to sit and gaze out to sea and "pretend." The name, "widows' walk," opened up so many avenues of imaginings. She often saw the ghosts of the poor distracted women of long ago, pacing up and down, their eyes always turned toward the sea, searching for a familiar masthead. Old Chester had once been a famous fishing village, and the roof of every house along the shore was topped by some sort of observatory. Sometimes it was a square glass cupola, but more often it was a wooden walk, such as crowned the Page house, and because in so many, many cases the looked-for boats never did return to harbor, these walks unhappily came to be called "widows' walks." To-day, however, Janet had no time for fancy. Something inside her head and her heart was demanding to be put into words. "I wonder what is the matter with me!" she said again. "I feel awfully different. I suppose I'm unhappy. Am I, do you think!" If any one had accused Janet of talking to herself she would have resented it hotly, but it was characteristic of her to pour out her troubles to the ever-patient and understanding Boru. "I'm lonely, for one thing," she confided as she pulled one velvety soft ear. "Of course any one but you would say that was silly, for I have Harry to play with, and then there are the Blake children." Two well-behaved, very clean and very shiny girls filled her imagination for an instant, but she dismissed them with a frown. "They don't count, because they simply won't play the way I want to. Harry is a boy, and I do--no, I did like him a little better, but you know, old fellow, that after the way he acted to-day about the snake, I just--well, he is a scare-cat and that's all there is about it." Boru's eyes, almost as brown as his mistress's, looked up in solemn confirmation of her last remark. Her thoughts wandered for a minute and then came back to the original idea. "I guess lonely isn't just exactly the word, but it's something a lot like it. I want some one to be with who is more like me--" She broke off suddenly, "I wish I had a sister," she whispered softly. Her arm tightened around Boru's neck, and she buried her head in his shaggy coat. Then quite suddenly she sat bolt upright, and her eyes flashed. "I'm mad, too; mad all the way through at everything and everybody except you,"--Boru acknowledged the exception with an affectionate lick--"and I think the person I'm the very maddest at is my big brother Thomas. He's not a bit the kind of a brother to have." She jumped up suddenly, and the breeze coming in from the water took the skirt of her gingham dress and flapped it as it would a sail. "Boru, do you know what I am going to do!" she demanded very seriously. Boru was a little surprised and disturbed at being so unceremoniously upset but he cocked one ear expectantly. "I'm going to write and tell him so," she announced defiantly.