CHAPTER I
"Next week Monday is the tenth," Alves announced, glancing at the calendar that hung beside the writing-table.
"Well?" Sommers answered. He was preparing to make the daily trip to the post-office on the other side of Perota Lake.
"The Chicago schools open this year on the tenth," Alves continued slowly.
"What difference does that make?"
For reply Alves took from the drawer of the table the old leather purse that was their bank. The mute action made Sommers smile, but he opened the purse and counted the bills. Then he shoved them back into the purse, and replaced it in the drawer.
"I don't know why I haven't heard about my horse," he mused.
"That would only put the day off another month or two," Alves answered. "We have had our day of play—eight long good weeks. The golden-rod has been out for nearly a month, and the geese have started south. We saw a flock yesterday, you remember."
"But you aren't going back to the school!" Sommers protested. "Not to the
Everglade School."
"I got the notices last week. They haven't discharged me! Why not?" she added sanely. "You know that it will be hard to build up a practice. And Miss M'Gann wrote me that we could get a good room at the Keystone. That won't be too far from the school."