“Oh, I say!” exclaimed Gerald, “you didn’t take those in that little brook—­did you, Philip?  Well, wouldn’t that snare you!  I’m coming down here after luncheon; I sure am.”

“You will, too, won’t you?” asked Drina, jealous lest Boots, her idol, miss his due share of piscatorial glory.  “If you’ll wait until I finish my French I’ll come with you.”

“Of course I will,” said Lansing reproachfully; “you don’t suppose there’s any fun anywhere for me without you, do you?”

“No,” said Drina simply, “I don’t.”

“Another Phyllis in embryo,” murmured Eileen to Selwyn.  “Alas! for education!”

Selwyn laughed and turned to Gerald.  “I hunted high and low for you before I came to Silverside.  You found my note?”

“Yes; I—­I’ll explain later,” said the boy, colouring.  “Come ahead, Eily; Boots and I will take you on at tennis—­and Philip, too.  We’ve an hour or so before luncheon.  Is it a go?”

“Certainly,” replied his sister, unaware of Selwyn’s proficiency, but loyal even in doubt.  And the five, walking abreast, moved off across the uplands toward the green lawns of Silverside, where, under a gay lawn parasol, Nina sat, a “Nature book” in hand, the centre of an attentive gathering composed of dogs, children, and the cat, Kit-Ki, blinking her topaz-tinted eyes in the sunshine.

The young mother looked up happily as the quintet came strolling across the lawn:  “Please don’t wander away again before luncheon,” she said; “Gerald, I suppose you are starved, but you’ve only an hour to wait—­Oh, Phil! what wonderful trout!  Children, kindly arise and admire the surpassing skill of your frivolous uncle!” And, as the children and dogs came crowding around the opened fish-basket she said to her brother in a low, contented voice:  “Gerald has quite made it up with Austin, dear; I think we have to thank you, haven’t we?”

“Has he really squared matters with Austin?  That’s good—­that’s fine!  Oh, no, I had nothing to do with it—­practically nothing.  The boy is sound at the core—­that’s what did it.”  And to Gerald, who was hailing him from the veranda, “Yes, I’ve plenty of tennis-shoes.  Help yourself, old chap.”

Eileen had gone to her room to don a shorter skirt and rubber-soled shoes; Lansing followed her example; and Selwyn, entering his own room, found Gerald trying on a pair of white foot-gear.

The boy looked up, smiled, and, crossing one knee, began to tie the laces: 

“I told Austin that I meant to slow down,” he said.  “We’re on terms again.  He was fairly decent.”

“Good business!” commented Selwyn vigorously.

“And I’m cutting out cards and cocktails,” continued the boy, eager as a little lad who tells how good he has been all day—­“I made it plain to the fellows that there was nothing in it for me.  And, Philip, I’m boning down like thunder at the office—­I’m horribly in debt and I’m hustling to pay up and make a clean start.  You,” he added, colouring, “will come first—­”