Spots of sunshine fell on the white cloth and blue china, the bees and an occasional stray butterfly came searching for food.  A rose-breasted grosbeak, released from a three hours’ siege of brooding, while his independent mate took her bath and recreation, mounted the top branch of a maple in the west woods from which he serenaded the dinner party with a joyful chorus in celebration of his freedom.  Philip’s eyes strayed to the beautiful cabin, to the mixture of flowers and vegetables stretching down to the road, and to the singing bird with his red-splotched breast of white and he said:  “I can’t realize now that I ever lay in ice packs in a hospital.  How I wish all the sick folks could come here to grow strong!”

The grosbeak sang on, a big Turnus butterfly sailed through the arbour and poised over the table.  Elnora held up a lump of sugar and the butterfly, clinging to her fingers, tasted daintily.  With eager eyes and parted lips, the girl held steadily.  When at last it wavered away, “That made a picture!” said Philip.  “Ask me some other time how I lost my illusions concerning butterflies.  I always thought of them in connection with sunshine, flower pollen, and fruit nectar, until one sad day.”

“I know!” laughed Elnora.  “I’ve seen that, too, but it didn’t destroy any illusion for me.  I think quite as much of the butterflies as ever.”

Then they talked of flowers, moths, dragonflies, Indian relics, and all the natural wonders the swamp afforded, straying from those subjects to books and school work.  When they cleared the table Philip assisted, carrying several tray loads to the kitchen.  He and Elnora mounted specimens while Mrs Comstock washed the dishes.  Then she came out with a ruffle she was embroidering.

“I wonder if I did not see a picture of you in Onabasha last night,” Philip said to Elnora.  “Aunt Anna took me to call on Miss Brownlee.  She was showing me her crowd—­of course, it was you!  But it didn’t half do you justice, although it was the nearest human of any of them.  Miss Brownlee is very fond of you.  She said the finest things.”

Then they talked of Commencement, and at last Philip said he must go or his friends would become anxious about him.

Mrs. Comstock brought him a blue bowl of creamy milk and a plate of bread.  She stopped a passing team and secured a ride to the city for him, as his exercise of the morning had been too violent, and he was forced to admit he was tired.

“May I come to-morrow afternoon and hunt moths awhile?” he asked Mrs. Comstock as he arose.  “We will ‘sugar’ a tree and put a light beside it, if I can get stuff to make the preparation.  Possibly we can take some that way.  I always enjoy moth hunting, I’d like to help Miss Elnora, and it would be a charity to me.  I’ve got to remain outdoors some place, and I’m quite sure I’d get well faster here than anywhere else.  Please say I may come.”

“I have no objections, if Elnora really would like help,” said Mrs. Comstock.