There was certainly something very refreshing about the swift motion in the June air.  Leaning against her husband’s shoulder, Charlotte began to rest.

It had been a busy week, the heat had been of that first unbearable high temperature of mid-June with which some seasons assault us, and young Mrs. Churchill had felt her responsibilities more heavily than ever before.  As the car flew down the river road she shut her eyes.

“Why, where are we turning in?” Charlotte opened her eyes.  She had been almost asleep, soothed by the cool and quiet.

“Look ahead through the trees,” Doctor Churchill said in her ear, and Charlotte sat up.

She saw on the river bank, far ahead, a low house with long porches, hung thickly with Chinese lanterns.  Each window glowed with one of the swinging globes, and long lines of them stretched off among the trees.  At one side gleamed two white tents, and in front of these burned bonfires.

“What is it?  It must be a lawn party.  But we’re not dressed for it!” murmured Charlotte, her eyes wide open now.

Just then a tremendous shout from the automobile in front rang through the grove.  Their own car ran up to the steps, where stood Doctor Forester and John Lansing Birch under the lanterns, both dressed from head to foot in white.

“Welcome to ‘The Banks!’” the doctor cried.  “Charlotte, my dear, why this expression of amazement?  You’ve only come to my house party, my woods party, my river party—­for a fortnight—­all of you.  Will you stay, or are you going to sit staring down at us with those big black eyes forever?”

“I think I’ll stay,” said Charlotte, happily, slipping down from the car into her brother’s outstretched arms.  “O Lanse!  O Lanse!  It’s good to see you. What a surprise!”

* * * * *

CHAPTER VIII

Charlotte swung herself up into the runabout as Doctor Churchill paused for her at the gateway of “The Banks.”  She had met him here at six o’clock every day since they came, and this was the seventh day.

It was impossible for him to get through his round of work earlier, but he was enjoying his evenings and nights in the country with a zest almost sufficient to make up for the daytime hours he missed.

Charlotte, however, although she joined merrily in all that went on through the day, was never so happy as when this hour arrived, and dressed in cool white for the evening, she could slip away and walk slowly down this winding road through the orchard and the grove to the gateway.  Here she waited in a shady nook for the first puff of the coming motor.  The moment she heard it she sprang out into the roadway, and stood waving her handkerchief in response to a swinging cap far up the road.

Then came the nearer salutation, the quick climb into the small car, assisted by the grip of Andy’s hand, and the eager greeting of two pairs of eyes.