with her head in the sea-caverns and came back quite excited over purple starfish. But since the fog she has been a different person. It fogged tremendously yesterday afternoon for a while, and whether or not that was what did it, I don't know, but I saw no other visible cause! Garth dragged her out into the thickest of it, and when she came in there was a queer gentle look about her. She is still rather stiff with Garth, but she almost wept last night when Jim sent him to Coventry. He'd broken his word, and Jim put him in the service-room to ponder.

Quimpaug is quite excited. When we sailed in for the mail today, we found that a Russian Count—no less—had arrived and is staying with Schmidt the butcher, because the hotel is full. I don't know what his name really is, but Jim calls him Fishashki! He appears to be an artist, for he was sketching on the wharf when we came in, and stared at us over his paint-box. He is quite an interesting-looking personage; and of course Quimpaug thinks he's very romantic and runs to its windows to see him.

J. Kirkland is superintending Garth's supper. She offered to, so I slipped away to write to you. I can hear their conversation, which seems to be quite interesting. I'll take it down.

J. K.: But how do you know there were pirates anywhere near Trasket Rock?

Garth: There were pirates everywhere then. They might just as well have buried treasure on Trasket Rock as anywhere else. Some more marmalade, please.

J. K.: (That's the third time, Garth. Take an-