It was Dian singing as she spread the homely viands on the smooth, white rock which was to be their table on the Island in the center of the lake. The sheen of her hair was caught by the sunbeams as they danced across the still water, for she had thrown her sunbonnet down upon the rock, as she plied her homely tasks. The boys had caught some fish, and she was stooping over the camp fire to brown them for the coming meal. Her stately beauty was never more apparent than when some task of seeming ugliness brought the color ripe and rich to cheek and neck, and thus she bent above her tasks, every detail visible in that clear atmosphere to the watchers across the little lake. Dian sang to the accompaniment of her brother Harvey's concertina, all unconscious of the picture she made across those magic waters, so near and yet so far away from those who loved her best. The soul of her was still wrapped in dreams, and only half awakened to response by her friends or family. And as she stirred about or bent above the blazing fire, her voice swept poignantly over the distance as she sang "Kathleen Mavorneen" in the reckless abandonment of tone taught her by the little Italian music professor who loved to put his own fervid soul into the unconscious voices of these youthful, sylvan artists, whom he had so unexpectedly found in this strange country. "The Day Dawn is Breaking," sang Dian, the concertina wailing and mildly snorting in its brave efforts at complete harmony with Dian's sweet voice, and Ellen listened, her own heart beating in her throat with an admiration that was too generous to be envy. But oh, why could she not sing? "You people would better come over here if you want your dinner," called Charlie Rose. And as he spoke the odor of the frying trout made invitation almost needless. "Beside the lake their tryst they kept, And rested not, nor ate, nor slept," sang Charlie. But Diantha caught his words and added, "The fish was gone, the lovers wept; And wished their promise they had kept! "If you folks don't hurry, we'll have every scrap of the fish eaten up." The prosaic appeal reminded Ellen that she had left her friend alone with the work of preparation of the dinner, and so they hastened down to the other raft and soon paddled across to the island. The picnic dinner was scarcely over before Tom Allen was down on the narrow beach and calling for all hands to embark. The children followed him quickly, and he managed to secure both Charlie Rose and Diantha as his other passengers; just as Henry Boyle came running down the rocks, Tom called: "Get the pole and give us a push from shore." "Wait," called the young Englishman. Boyle seized the pole, and sprang for the raft, but in an instant he was waist deep in the icy water, and the raft was floating off beyond his reach.