With the small boat pulled well upon the beach, Lois Sinclair stood for
a few moments looking out over the water. Her eyes were fixed upon a
little boat in the distance containing two people, an old man and a
young girl. The wind, which was steadily increasing, tossed her wavy,
luxuriant hair over her brow, while several tresses fell across her
cheeks, flushed by the recent rowing. She knew that she should be
home, for supper would be waiting and her father would be impatient.
But she hesitated. Her thoughts were out there on the water where she
loved to be. The twang of the wind as it swept through the trees along
the shore, and the beat of the surf upon the gravelly beach were music
sweet to her ears.

At length, with one more lingering glance out upon the river, she
turned and walked along a path leading from the shore. She moved
slowly, for she was not at all anxious to reach the house situated
about two hundred yards beyond. And yet it was an attractive house,
well-built, and cosy in appearance, designed both for summer and winter
use. A spacious verandah swept the front and ends, over which
clambered a luxuriant growth of wild grape vines. Large trees of ash,
elm, and maple spread their expansive branches over the well-kept lawn,
providing an excellent shade when the sun was hot. Altogether, it was
a most delightful spot to spend the summer months away from the smoke
and confusion of the city.

The place, however, did not altogether appeal to Lois Sinclair. If she
had needed rest, the situation would have been ideal. But it was
activity she desired, and not luxurious ease such as so many crave,
especially two young men lolling on the verandah awaiting her coming.
Even though one was her brother, she could not restrain a feeling of
contempt as she looked upon their white faces, soft hands, and