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“But some people like their work, don’t they?” May Nell persisted. She was exploring strange country.,

And Billy, suddenly remembering who was being cheered, slid to his seat sheepishly, a cold feeling down his back, uncomfortable heat in his cheeks.,

Now in the silence and fragrance his tightened springs began to relax. Presently he found himself in a dream of possibilities of the island,—Ellen’s Isle, he always called it; of what might be done with the smooth places in the river, the hills, Sunol Creek not far away, boiling and tumbling in boisterous beauty; of hidden nooks, piled boulders, and tiny meadows, vine-enclosed and flower-fragrant.,

The heat was awful; yet it was growing less, for the fire was nearly spent, but Billy was so exhausted he did not perceive it. He began to stumble, to see double. Everything seemed to be on fire,—trees, rocks, even the water gleaming from overhead flames. His blood felt hot in his veins; and long afterward he saw red in his sleep. At length his foot caught in a root, and he fell heavily.

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“Flash and Tom wouldn’t touch meat left on the table alone with them for a day,” Edith said as she replenished the plate, shook and folded away the paper, and called her cats.,

“Why, Billy, what has happened to make you think so?”,

A scream from “the shack” stopped further quotations. Billy ran up the hill to learn the trouble. Only Evelyn was there in the little house built, half of boards, half of willow twigs woven lattice-wise, against a huge smooth rock. Beside this rock also ascended a cobble chimney; and the fireplace, roughly plastered, served its purpose well. Billy had made it all, and Edith wished the house fireplace would draw as well.,

“O, Dadsie,” was the reply, “this is recital afternoon, you know.”