"It must be lovely to _live_ in the country," Shirley said, dropping down on the grass before the doctor's favorite _La France_, and laying her face against the soft, pink petals of a half-blown bud. Edna eyed her curiously. She had rather resented the admittance of this city girl into their set. Shirley's skirt and blouse were of white linen, there was a knot of red under the broad sailor collar, she was hatless and the dark hair,--never kept too closely within bounds--was tossed and blown; there was certainly nothing especially cityfied in either appearance or manner. "That's the way I feel about the city," Edna said slowly, "it must be lovely to live _there_." Shirley laughed. "It is. I reckon just being alive anywhere such days as these ought to content one. You haven't been over to the manor lately, have you? I mean since we came there. We're really getting the garden to look like a garden. Reclaiming the wilderness, father calls it. You'll come over now, won't you--the club, I mean?" "Why, of course," Edna answered, she thought she would like to go. "I suppose you've been over to the forts?" "Lots of times--father's ever so interested in them, and it's just a pleasant row across, after supper." "I have fasted too long, I must eat again," Tom remarked, coming across the lawn. "Miss Dayre, may I have the honor?" "Are you conductor, or merely club president now?" Shirley asked. "Oh, I've dropped into private life again. There comes Hilary--doesn't look much like an invalid, does she?" "But she didn't look very well the first time I saw her," Shirley answered. The long supper table was laid under the apple trees at the foot of the garden, which in itself served to turn the occasion into a festive affair. "You've given us a bully send-off, Mr. President," Bob declared. "It's going to be sort of hard for the rest of us to keep up with you." "By the way," Tom said, "Dr. Brice--some of you may have heard of him--would like to become an honorary member of this club. Any contrary votes?" "What's an honorary member?" Patience asked. Patience had been remarkably good that afternoon--so good that Pauline began to feel worried, dreading the reaction. "One who has all the fun and none of the work," Tracy explained, a merry twinkle in his brown eyes. Patience considered the matter. "I shouldn't mind the work; but mother won't let me join regularly--mother takes notions now and then--but, please mayn't I be an honorary member?" "Onery, you mean, young lady!" Tracy corrected. Patience flashed a pair of scornful eyes at him. "Father says punning is the very lowest form of--" "Never mind, Patience," Pauline said, "we haven't answered Tom yet. I vote we extend our thanks to the doctor for being willing to join."