Lora and Beatrice Sayre were of the "butterfly" type, and their
pale-coloured muslin gowns, broad hats, and fluttering scarfs made
the description appropriate. Jack Pennington was just what he
looked like, a college youth on his vacation; and his earnest face
seemed to betoken a determination to have the most fun possible
before he went back to grind at his books.

"Hello," cried Patty, who was not given to dignified forms of
salutation.

The trio responded gaily, and coming up on the veranda, selected
seats on the wicker chairs, or couches, or the porch railing, as
suited their fancy.

"I say," began young Pennington, conversationally, "we can't let
you go away, Patty. Why, week after next we're going to have the
Pageant, and there are forty-'leven other pleasant doings before
that comes off."

"Yes," chimed in Lora Sayre, "we can't get along without our
Pitty-Pat. DO don't go away, Sunshine!"

"But suppose I want to go," said Patty, bravely trying to treat the
subject lightly; "suppose I'm just crazy to go to that stunning big hotel
up in the White Mountains, and have the time of my life!"

"Suppose the moon is made of green pumpkins!" scoffed Jack. "You
don't want to go at all, and you know it! And then, think of the
girls,--and boys,--you leave behind you! Your departure is a