stores and the post-office and the boathouse were built. A bend in
the lake hid the island from the town. The ten or so other islands
which Mr. Harley had mentioned were all further up the lake.

Mr. Harley had been mistaken in his estimation of the size of
Apple Tree Island. It was in reality one of the smallest and,
Father Blossom thought, less than two miles around its shoreline.
It was diamond shaped, and the Winthrop bungalow was now the only
building on it. Mr. Harley's shack no longer counted, and the
summer home of the invalid for whom Father Blossom made yearly
trips to the island, had burned to the ground during the winter.
So the Blossoms would be the only people on the island this year.

"Just like Swiss Family Robinson!" exclaimed Meg rapturously.
"Look at the funny stumpy trees!"

"We'll take a walk this afternoon and explore," her mother
promised. "Who is hungry enough to help me get lunch?"

They all were, it seemed, so they followed the worn path that led
through a grassy field to the Winthrop bungalow. This house was so
surrounded by trees that it could hardly be seen till one reached
the front door, though from the porch glimpses of the lake could
be had through the trees.

"What a perfectly darling house!" Meg exclaimed when she saw it.

Mr. Winthrop had built his house of gray fieldstone, and it was
truly charming. There was a deep porch around three sides, a huge
fireplace in the hall that also served as a living-room, and