To run around the shore line of the cove would have taken a good deal of time. However, had the tide been at flood there would have been no other way--excepting by boat--to reach the cottage. But the tide was out, and the narrowest portion of the creek, the stream connecting the cove with the ocean, was but knee deep. Through the water splashed the substitute assistant and clambered up the bank beyond. “Quick!” screamed the woman. “They'll eat us alive!” “Who? What?” panted Brown. “Wasps! They're in there! The room's full of 'em. If there's one thing on earth I'm scart of, it's . . . Don't stop to talk! Go IN!” She indicated the door of a room adjoining the living room of the little cottage. From behind the door came sounds of upsetting furniture and sharp slaps. Evidently the artists were having a lively time. But they must be curious chaps to be afraid of wasps. Brown opened the door and entered, partly of his own volition, partly because he was pushed by the stout woman. Then he gasped in astonishment. The wasps were there, dozens of them, and they had built a nest in the upper corner of the room. But they were not the astonishing part of the picture. A young woman was there, also; a young woman with dark hair and eyes, the sleeves of a white shirtwaist rolled above her elbows, and a wet towel in her right hand. She was skipping lightly about the room, slapping frantically at the humming insects. “Mrs. Bascom,” she panted, “don't stand there screaming. Get another towel and--” Then she turned and saw Brown. For an instant she, too, seemed astonished. But only for an instant. “Oh, I'm so glad you came!” she exclaimed. “Here! take this! you must hit quick and HARD.” “This” was the towel. The assistant took it mechanically. The young lady did not wait to give further orders. She rushed out of the room and shut the door. Brown was alone with the wasps, and they were lively company. When, at last, the battle was over, the last wasp was dead, the nest was a crumpled gray heap over in the corner, and the assistant's brow was ornamented with four red and smarting punctures, which promised to shortly become picturesque and painful lumps. Rubbing these absently with one hand, and bearing the towel in the other, he opened the door and stepped out into the adjoining room. The two women were awaiting him. He found them standing directly in front of him as he emerged. “Have you--have you killed them?” begged the younger of the pair. “Be they all dead?” demanded the other. Brown nodded solemnly. “I guess so,” he said. “They seem to be.” “Oh, I'm so glad!” cried the dark haired girl. “I'm--we--are so much obliged to you.” “If there's any critters on earth,” declared the stout woman, “that I can't stand, it's wasps and hornets and such. Mice, I don't mind--” “I do,” interrupted her companion with emphasis.