"Poor little thing. I don't wonder. I'll take her soon, or she'll take me; but this afternoon can I stay with you a while? Have you time to talk to me, and read with me? I'm a heathen, and need a missionary." "You're not; but I'll help you to know you're not. I was going to mend a fence, but"-- "Oh, no, mend me!" returned Sylvia. Benny Merritt found that Mr. Dunham had spoken the truth, and that he was summoned early on the following day to take Miss Derwent to the Mill Farm; and when she appeared at the dock at the appointed hour, it proved that she was escorted by Judge Trent, rather grim of visage as he shot out sharp glances from beneath the earth-colored cap. He was not particularly fond of sailing; he greatly approved of Jenny's cooking; everything had been unusually comfortable and to his mind until Sylvia's foolish move upset everything and everybody. It was with reluctance that he accompanied Edna this morning, but her earnestness would not be gainsaid. He was forced to listen to assurances of his niece's gift, of the desirability of developing it, of the strength of the motive-spirit she had evidenced in the pains taken to carry out her desire. Then Edna unfolded to him the plans that had come to her during a wakeful night, and bespoke his cooperation. The judge scowled at the passing billows, and listened. Edna was tactful and diplomatic. She did not overdo the matter. She allowed silences to fall in which her taciturn listener might digest the food she had offered his family pride and ambition. She talked of other matters, and was just making a reference to the judge's gift to his niece of the rowboat, when Benny steered in toward the mill, and dropped his sail at the nearest spot which at this tide was practicable. "There is the new boat, now," cried Edna; "and Sylvia and Minty are in it." As she and the judge walked along the shore toward the little boathouse, she waved her handkerchief toward the occupants of the Rosy Cloud. It was Minty who first caught sight of the visitors. "There's somebody a-wavin'," she said, and Sylvia stopped rowing and looked over her shoulder. She had been finding the lightness and responsiveness of her boat exhilarating, and her eyes were beaming until she caught sight of the visitors. Even Minty saw the change that crossed her face. "I wish 't they hadn't come, too," she said regretfully. "Don't go in yet, Miss Sylvia." "You see, Uncle Calvin gave me the boat, and he has never been inside of it," returned Sylvia, beginning to row toward shore. "You shall take her again, Minty, as soon as we are through." She was surprised that Edna had come so promptly. She could still see the cold disapproval in her friend's face the last time she had looked upon it. What a contrast she saw now in its beaming expression!