thrown the cobs to the fish, and was beginning on the
doughnuts, when a step on the planking above him
caused him to look up. A girl in a tam-o'-shanter
cap was leaning over the rail. The sun was behind
her, throwing her face into shadow--so blinding a
light that Oliver only caught the nimbus of fluffy hair
that framed the dark spot of her head. Then came
a voice that sent a thrill of surprise through him.

"Why, Mr. Horn! Who would have thought of
meeting you here?"

Oliver was on his feet in an instant--a half-eaten
doughnut in one hand, his slouch hat in the other.
With this he was shading his eyes against the glare of
the sun. He was still ignorant of who had spoken to
him.

"I beg your pardon, I--WHY, Miss Grant!" The
words burst from his lips as if they had been fired
from a gun. "You here!"

"Yes, I live only twenty miles away, and I come
here every year. Where are you staying?"

"At Pollard's."

"Why, that's the next clearing from mine. I'm
at old Mrs. Taft's. Oh, please don't leave your
luncheon."