During the last few miles the girl had become unusually silent, and a close observer might have suspected her of being slightly worried. And now, at the landing, she seemed to have lost some of that self-possession that had served her so admirably during the trying times just passed. Possibly the joy of being restored to her anxious parents affected her. When the launch had been made fast, she was all ready to disembark, her colorful sweater over her arm and her bag in hand. ‘Well,’ she said, just a trifle breathlessly, Pud thought, ‘I’m awfully much obliged to you boys. I shall never forget what you did for me.’ ‘That’s all right,’ said Pud unemotionally. ‘How far’s this place where you live?’ ‘Oh, I wouldn’t think of troubling you any further,’ protested Gladys Ermintrude. ‘I live quite a ways from here. You mustn’t――’ ‘No trouble at all,’ replied Pud, climbing out. ‘We don’t mind a walk.’ ‘No,’ agreed Tim, ‘we’d like it. Let me take your bag.’ Gladys Ermintrude clung to her bag tightly, though. ‘No, you mustn’t,’ she declared. ‘It wouldn’t look right for me to be seen walking through town with you boys. And――Mother would be horribly shocked! Thank you so much!’ ‘I guess your mother can stand it,’ said Pud grimly. ‘Come on, Tim. Harmon, you stick here till we get back.’ Gladys Ermintrude bit her lip as she followed across the wharf, but presently she appeared to recover somewhat of her wonted composure and allowed the gallant Tim to take her bag. Then, a step or two in advance of her escort, she led the way. By the time they had crossed the main street of the town and were among the modest residences, she was walking with quite an air. Occasionally she bowed impressively to a passer or to some housewife engaged in sweeping a tiny front porch. On such occasions the persons addressed turned in their paths or paused in their labors to stare long and fixedly after her. The distance was not great, after all, for they had only walked four blocks when Gladys Ermintrude paused at a gate in a white picket fence, smiled gratefully, and held out her hand. ‘Well,’ she announced, ‘I’ll say good-bye. It has been most kind of you――’ But Pud, who had been observing the house, interrupted coldly. ‘Aw, come on,’ he said. ‘You don’t live here.’ ‘Why, I do, too!’ Gladys Ermintrude stamped her foot in a most unladylike manner. ‘You give me my bag!’ ‘Don’t you do it, Tim. Look at the name on the door; “Hopkins!” And look at the windows all closed up. Don’t any one live here, I guess.’ ‘You mind your own business,’ flared the girl. ‘And you give me my bag this instant!’ ‘_Tibbie! Tib-bie-e-e!_’ Two houses farther along a slight little woman was beckoning from the porch. The three turned and looked. Gladys Ermintrude’s manner underwent a remarkable change. She laughed joyously. ‘Why,’ she exclaimed, ‘there’s Mamma! Hoo-ee, Ma!’