the yard while she went back to her sewing. Susie was seven, so very
safe company for little four-year-old Tot. After a while over ran
Susie's brother, to summon her home to go with her mother to the
village.

Tot stood at the gate, looking down the long road. Sturdy maples threw
curving, interlacing boughs across, through which the sun-light filtered
and flickered. How cool and shady it was! Tot all at once felt the
little sunny yard grow hot and stupid, and then Susie's mamma drove out
of the gate and down the long shady arch over the sun-flecked road. Tot
wished she was going to the village, too. Tot wished she was going
to--to--Sugar River.


[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO SUGAR RIVER.]


"Run in to grandmamma, little Tot," whispered the still small voice. But
Tot never heeded. Tot was tired. Tot was hot. Tot was homesick. Tot
would walk down the road just a few little steps. What harm? How
delightful! How grateful the cool green shade! How alluring the long
level stretch of road under the arching maples! Where did it lead? It
led--O, Tot knew--it led to Sugar River.

Step by step, a little and a little further on the tiny white figure
glanced. A sense of happy freedom possessed the little girl. A cloud of
golden butterflies beckoned on before. Here a dark thread of water crept
down over the hills and splashed musically into the great stone trough.
All the way an invisible brooklet gurgled and kept her company. Only one
bird seemed to sing at a time--first one, then another. Wasn't it