is no happiness in floating across a placid lake in a flat-bottomed
boat if you find yourself continually turning your head toward the
shore, thinking that you hear some one shouting, "Extra."

There were many things that made it hard to leave the place where we
had spent so many happy hours. There was the rustic seat we had made
ourselves, which faced the lake, and on which we had sat and seen the
storms gather on Blueberry Island. It was a comfortable seat with the
right slant in its back, and I am still proud of having helped to make
it. There was the breakwater of logs which were placed with such feats
of strength, to prevent the erosion of the waves, and which withstood
the big storm of September, 1912, when so many breakwaters were
smashed to kindling-wood. We always had intended to make a long box
along the top, to plant red geraniums in, but it had not been done.
There was the dressing-tent where the boys ran after their numerous
swims, and which had been the scene of many noisy quarrels over lost
garments--garters generally, for they have an elusive quality all
their own. There was also the black-poplar stump which a misguided
relative of mine said "no woman could split." He made this remark
after I had tried in vain to show him what was wrong with his method
of attack. I said that I thought he would do better if he could manage
to hit twice in the same place! And he said that he would like to see
me do it, and went on to declare that he would bet me a five-dollar
bill that I could not.

If it were not for the fatal curse of modesty I would tell how eagerly
I grasped the axe and with what ease I hit, not twice, but half a
dozen times in the same place--until the stump yielded. This victory
was all the sweeter to me because it came right after our sports day
when I had entered every available contest, from the nail-driving