along the beach."

Evadne lifted the golden whistle which hung at her girdle and blew the
call which the well-trained servant understood. "Fi, dearest!" she said,
"if there were no writing there would be no books, and what would become
of our beautiful evenings then? But I am glad you do not have to write
much, since it tires you so. What has it all been about, dear? Am I
never to know?"

"Some day, perhaps, little Vad. But do not indulge in the besetting sin
of your sex, or, like the mother of the race, you may find your apple
choke you in the chewing."

Evadne shook her finger at him. "Naughty one! As if you were not three
times as curious as I! And when it comes to waiting,--you should have
named me Patience, sir!"

Her father laughed as he kissed her, then he tied on her hat, threw on
his own, and hand-in-hand like two children they ran down the veranda
steps to where the groom stood waiting with the horses.



CHAPTER II.


A month full of happy days had flown by when Evadne and her father
returned one morning from a long tramp in search of specimens. A
delightful afternoon had followed, he in a hammock, she on a low seat
beside him, arranging, classifying and preparing their morning's spoil