When she reached Mr. Whittaker's, everybody was out in the yard ready to start. "Hurry up, Jane Lavinia," said Mr. Whittaker. "Blest if we hadn't begun to think you weren't coming at all. Lively now." "I am not going," said Jane Lavinia calmly. "Not going?" they all exclaimed. "No. I'm very sorry, and very grateful to you, Mr. Stephens, but I can't leave Aunt Rebecca. She'd miss me too much." "Well, you little goose!" said Mrs. Whittaker. Mrs. Stephens said nothing, but frowned coldly. Perhaps her thoughts were less of the loss to the world of art than of the difficulty of hunting up another housemaid. Mr. Stephens looked honestly regretful. "I'm sorry, very sorry, Miss Slade," he said. "You have exceptional talent, and I think you ought to cultivate it." "I am going to cultivate Aunt Rebecca," said Jane Lavinia. Nobody knew just what she meant, but they all understood the firmness of her tone. Her trunk was taken down out of the express wagon, and Mr. and Mrs. Stephens drove away. Then Jane Lavinia went home. She found Aunt Rebecca washing the breakfast dishes, with the big tears rolling down her face. "Goodness me!" she cried, when Jane Lavinia walked in. "What's the matter? You ain't gone and been too late!" "No, I've just changed my mind, Aunt Rebecca. They've gone without me. I am not going to New York--I don't want to go. I'd rather stay at home with you." For a moment Aunt Rebecca stared at her. Then she stepped forward and flung her arms about the girl. "Oh, Jane Lavinia," she said with a sob, "I'm so glad! I couldn't see how I was going to get along without you, but I thought you didn't care. You can wear that chiffon hat everywhere you want to, and I'll get you a pink organdy dress for Sundays." [Illustration: SHE EYED CHESTER SOURLY.] Mackereling Out in the Gulf The mackerel boats were all at anchor on the fishing grounds; the sea was glassy calm--a pallid blue, save for a chance streak of deeper azure where some stray sea breeze ruffled it. It was about the middle of the afternoon, and intensely warm and breathless. The headlands and coves were blurred by a purple heat haze. The long sweep of the sandshore was so glaringly brilliant that the pained eye sought relief among the rough rocks, where shadows were cast by the big red sandstone boulders. The little cluster of fishing houses nearby were bleached to a silvery grey by long exposure to wind and rain. Far off were several "Yankee" fishing schooners, their sails dimly visible against the white horizon. Two boats were hauled upon the "skids" that ran from the rocks out into the water. A couple of dories floated below them. Now and then a white gull, flashing silver where its plumage caught the sun, soared landward.