And so it was settled that Roger was to stay "forever" as he said.

"He's stopped visiting!" cried the delighted Lydia, flying over to Friend Morris with the news. "He's stopped visiting, and he's going to be my brother. Isn't it nice?"

Friend Morris nodded.

"He setteth the solitary in families, little Friend Lydia," was her reply.

"Yes, Friend Morris," answered Lydia politely, though she didn't understand in the least what Friend Morris meant. "And I think we are all going home soon. Father's 'masterpiece' is finished, and Miss Puss is so fat she can scarcely walk. It's high time we went home, Mother says."

But before the last day came, Mr. Blake planned a farewell ride, a ride back in the country to see the famous waterfalls that people traveled from far and wide to view.

Friend Morris was invited, and Deborah and Alexander, and all Robin Hill, too. So, early on a bright, crisp autumn afternoon they started, three carriage loads-in deference to Friend Morris, who did not like automobiles-full of happy, chattering children, and grown folks, happy, too, if in a quieter way.

Deborah drove one carriage, with Mrs. Blake, on the back seat, watching over the safety of her special little flock. Alexander carefully drove Friend Morris, who had the quietest, best-behaved children placed in her charge, reliable children like Mary Ellen and Tom, wise, spectacled John and stolid English Alfie. The more harum-scarum boys and girls rode with Miss Martin and Mr. Blake, who took good care that Gus was placed next Miss Martin, and that Sammy sat beside him on the front seat.

"Are we going to see a real Indian woman, Mr. Blake?" asked Sammy, bouncing with excitement. "Lydia said you said so."

"She will be at the toll-gate where we hitch the horses," answered Mr.

Blake. "At least, she has been there for years, and I suppose she is here this summer, too. In fact, I think she lives near by all the year round."

Sammy possessed his soul in such patience as he could summon, and strained his eyes up the road for the interesting figure long before it was possible for her to be in sight.

Yes, the Indian woman was standing at the toll-gate, but Sammy was distinctly disappointed when he saw her. Neither did she improve upon closer inspection.

She was merely a swarthy-skinned, black-haired woman, dressed in a checked gingham dress and blue gingham ap.r.o.n, neither particularly clean, and she answered to the name of Mrs. Jones. Fancy an Indian named Jones! Sammy could scarcely conceal his indignation, and stared at the unconscious Mrs. Jones with such resentment in his eye that Miss Martin hurried him swiftly through the toll-gate, and past the cabin where Indian souvenirs were displayed for sale.

The party wandered along over the damp, mossy ground, and proceeded to survey the waterfalls, all of which were fortunately within easy walking distance.

"I choose High Falls," remarked little Tom, as they wended their way back toward the gate. "It's so big and high, and dashes down so hard."

Most of the children had been greatly impressed by the huge, foaming cataract, that continually dashed its white length downward with a dull, booming roar. But Mary Ellen and Polly cast their vote for the delicate Bridal Veil; while Lydia, echoed by Roger, thought Silver Thread Falls the most beautiful of all.

Near the gate were rough wooden tables and benches, and, once seated, Sammy thought somewhat better of Mrs. Jones when she served them with birch beer or sarsaparilla in thick mugs with handles.

"Now," said Mr. Blake, when the mugs were empty, "each one must choose an Indian souvenir, in memory of the day."

The delighted children crowded into the cabin, and critically surveyed the display placed before them. There were little birchbark canoes, and whisk-broom holders, also made of bark, beaded moccasins, strings of wampum, and small beaded pocketbooks. There were charming little pictures, not only of the Falls, but of Indian braves and maidens as well, and though it took a long time, at last every one had satisfactorily made his or her selection.

"Why are you so good to my children?" Miss Martin asked Mr. Blake, as, watching the boys and girls chattering happily over their treasures, they stood by the toll-gate waiting for a straggler or so.

"Think how good you have been to me," answered Mr. Blake promptly.

"Didn't you give us Lydia? And without Lydia, we might never have had Roger. No, I think I owe you a good many more parties before we are even, Miss Martin."

"Look, Father!" cried Lydia, running up with Roger at her heels. "I chose a pocketbook. Do you like it? And Roger took a canoe."

The Indian woman, with the proceeds of the party jingling pleasantly in her pocket, smiled upon the little pair before her.

"Good friends, eh?" she commented. "I see, they stay together always.

Good friends!"

"No," said Lydia shyly. "We are not friends; he's my brother."

"But you are my friend, too," returned Roger stoutly. "Friend Morris calls you that, and so do I."

On the drive home the children were tired and sleepy. They were content to sit quietly, and more than one stole a cat-nap on the way.

The Robin Hill party was safely deposited at their door, and Lydia and Mr. Blake drove slowly down the familiar road toward home. Mrs. Blake with Roger asleep on her lap, Deborah holding the reins, rode swiftly past them.

"Father," said Lydia, nestling close to him, "do you like the name that Friend Morris and Roger call me? Would you want to be called Friend Lydia?"

"I think it is a beautiful name," answered Mr. Blake, looking tenderly down at the little face gazing up into his. "And no matter how long you live, or wherever you go, I shall always hope that somebody in the world will call you little Friend Lydia."

The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE, Ma.s.sACHUSETTS U. S. A.