"Dear little Minty," said Sylvia, gratefully.
"The tears and affection were very genuine," said Thinkright smiling, "but the situation is more acute owing to the fact of your rowboat, and that she has been forbidden to use it without you."
"Poor little thing. I don't wonder. I'll take her soon, or she'll take me; but this afternoon can I stay with you a while? Have you time to talk to me, and read with me? I'm a heathen, and need a missionary."
"You're not; but I'll help you to know you're not. I was going to mend a fence, but"—
"Oh, no, mend me!" returned Sylvia.
Benny Merritt found that Mr. Dunham had spoken the truth, and that he was summoned early on the following day to take Miss Derwent to the Mill Farm; and when she appeared at the dock at the appointed hour, it proved that she was escorted by Judge Trent, rather grim of visage as he shot out sharp glances from beneath the earth-colored cap. He was not particularly fond of sailing; he greatly approved of Jenny's cooking; everything had been unusually comfortable and to his mind until Sylvia's foolish move upset everything and everybody. It was with reluctance that he accompanied Edna this morning, but her earnestness would not be gainsaid. He was forced to listen to assurances of his niece's gift, of the desirability of developing it, of the strength of the motive-spirit she had evidenced in the pains taken to carry out her desire. Then Edna unfolded to him the plans that had come to her during a wakeful night, and bespoke his coöperation. The judge scowled at the passing billows, and listened. Edna was tactful and diplomatic. She did not overdo the matter. She allowed silences to fall in which her taciturn listener might digest the food she had offered his family pride and ambition. She talked of other matters, and was just making a reference to the judge's gift to his niece of the rowboat, when Benny steered in toward the mill, and dropped his sail at the nearest spot which at this tide was practicable.
"There is the new boat, now," cried Edna; "and Sylvia and Minty are in it."
As she and the judge walked along the shore toward the little boathouse, she waved her handkerchief toward the occupants of the Rosy Cloud. It was Minty who first caught sight of the visitors.
"There's somebody a-wavin'," she said, and Sylvia stopped rowing and looked over her shoulder. She had been finding the lightness and responsiveness of her boat exhilarating, and her eyes were beaming until she caught sight of the visitors.
Even Minty saw the change that crossed her face. "I wish 't they hadn't come, too," she said regretfully. "Don't go in yet, Miss Sylvia."