"And next summer the 'S. W. F. Club' will continue its good work," Jack said. Going back, Pauline found herself sitting in the stern of one of the boats, beside her father. The club members were singing the club song. But Pauline's thoughts had suddenly gone back to that wet May afternoon. She could see the dreary, rain-swept garden, hear the beating of the drops on the window-panes. How long ago and remote it all seemed; how far from the hopeless discontent, the vague longings, the real anxiety of that time, she and Hilary had traveled. She looked up impulsively. "There's one thing," she said, "we've had one summer that I shall always feel would be worth reliving. And we're going to have more of them." "I am glad to hear that," Mr. Shaw said. Pauline looked about her--the lanterns at the ends of the boats threw dancing lights out across the water, no longer quiet; overhead, the sky was bright with stars. "Everything is so beautiful," the girl said slowly. "One seems to feel it more--every day." "'The hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made even both of them,'" her father quoted gravely. Pauline drew a quick breath. "The hearing ear and the seeing eye"--it was a good thought to take with them--out into the new life, among the new scenes. One would need them everywhere--out in the world, as well as in Winton. And then, from the boat just ahead, sounded Patience's clear treble,--"'There's a Good Time Coming.'"