It was the middle of October now, but Indian summer dwelt in the Connecticut hills. The days were warm and languorous, sweet-scented with drying grasses and late blossoms; and while coolness came with twilight, the evenings were frequently so mild that the Lyles’ porch, which caught the last rays of the sun, was comfortable until, perhaps about nine o’clock, a little chill breeze wandered across the clover meadows. Then Mrs. Lyle would say: “Betty, don’t you think it’s getting―― Father, I think perhaps we’d better go in now.” And then, raising her voice a trifle: “Father! It’s time to go in. It’s getting quite――” Whereupon Mr. Lyle, sound asleep in the hammock in the darkest corner, would respond brightly with: “Eh? Yes, yes, Mother! I was――er――just about to suggest it.” Now that Barry had virtually ceased his evening visits to Clyde, he was at liberty to join the gathering after supper. Always there were Mr. and Mrs. Lyle, Betty, and Peaches; frequently Toby as well. Mr. Benjy, having finished reading the afternoon paper, acquainted them with the happenings in the outside world, adding personal comments. Mrs. Lyle supplied the simple gossip of the neighborhood and narrated the domestic episodes of the day. Something thrilling was always occurring to Mrs. Lyle; such as the overturning of a quart of milk by Miss Muffet, the white cat, or the failure of a batch of jelly to jell. Betty brought the news of the high school, and the boys drew on their day’s experiences for items of interest. Mr. Benjy, having unburdened himself of information and opinions, stretched out in the hammock and quietly fell asleep. Barry enjoyed those evenings at home. The Saturday night of the Wessex game was especially warm, and Barry and Peaches went to the village and returned with ice-cream. Mrs. Lyle supplied cake, and Peaches summoned Mill and Zo to the feast. Toby tore himself from his defunct snails at the first hail of “Toby! Oh, Toby! Ice-cream!” Zo had brought his violin along and later he played for them. And when, after several classic selections, he rendered “Sunny Days,” Toby joined the others in singing the words of the school song. Toby sang very earnestly, with a voice like that of one of his pet frogs! When the violin was laid back in its case, conversation took the place of music. Peaches inquired about the snails, and Betty, not having heard the sad tidings, asked if Toby was going to train them. Peaches replied reprovingly: “Only ignorance can excuse such a――a callous question, Betty. The snails are――the snails―― You tell her, Barry. I haven’t the heart to, myself.” “Dead,” said Barry, solemnly. “Dead!” echoed Betty. “You mean they were dead when―― Why, then, that was what――” Betty sought for a delicate phrase. “It was,” affirmed Peaches. “Barry and I noticed it, too――shortly after leaving the campus.” “Aw, get out!” Toby protested. “Why, they don’t hardly smell at all. Gee, there’s only eight of ’em, Mrs. Lyle!”