The last days of summer are known as the Dog Days--the hottest, muggiest, most moquito-ridden days of the whole year. The whole world seems tired and parched and dusty--one wonders how the sun is able to muster the energy to rise and set. Cecilia and Leslie had enjoyed their time together for many weeks--but on these last days that were the dregs of summer, both girls found themselves overcome by a terrible ennuie. Although they would not have called it that at the time. They were just restless. Every game had been played a thousand times before, and every place had been visited until it was no longer new and exciting. They lay on the windowseat in the House of Dreams parlor day in and day out. It was cool there, looking out on the little garden. They would run and out dip their heads in the little brook when they got too hot and then run back inside before the gnats bit at them. Aunt Rilla found them there--sighing and heaving their shoulders, dripping water all over her new rugs and cushions.

"You'd think with ten children, five houses, and a whole world of wonderful things, you children would find something to do!" she said, shooing them out of her parlor. The girls could not find anything to do. They went to Ingleside, but Grandmother and Grandfather had gone to town to visit friends that day. They trudged up the hill to see Aunt Faith, but as usual her house was too hot --and too full of people. Finally they meandered up the lane toward the manse, tired and dusty, hoping Grandma Meredith would have some lemonade to give to them.

"We could go to Red Apple Farm," Leslie said. "There are shade trees in the back--I bet it's cool on the sun porch. If you weren't so stubborn." She said the last part with a scowl and Cecilia snapped back, before she knew what she was doing,

"Oh, shut your head!"

The girls stared at each other; they had never exchanged even mildly cross words ever before.

Grandma Rosemary was on the telephone with the grocer, placing an order. They did not want to bother her. Grandpa Meredith was sleeping on the sofa with a newspaper over his face, so that when he breathed the pages fluttered. Dejected, the girls tiptoed out.

"There are--so many--things I want to do," Leslie panted as they trudged up the road away from the manse. "if only it weren't so hot--I might have the energy to do them. But this hot spell's supposed to last until the end of next week--and I go home then. I suppose you'll be going home by then, too. School starts in only three weeks--I can't believe how the summer's flown by!"

"Actually," Cecilia's lip quivered, but only just so, "I'm going to be going to school here, Leslie. At least for the first part of the year. Even though Mother is getting better, Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe can't bear to part with me yet. They begged Father to let me stay on, and reluctantly, he said yes."

Leslie looked at Cecilia and opened her mouth. Then closed it, and looked away. She knew why Cecilia was staying on, or she thought she did, and she'd be willing to put her allowance on the fact that poor Auntie Una wasn't getting better.

"I'll miss you, Cee," she said then. "I wish I could stay with you, too. It won't be the same at school without you."

"Oh well, it won't be forever!" said Cecilia brightly, but her tone was contradicted by the little frown between her eyes. It was a secret fear of Cecilia's that it would end up being forever. It happened to some people. Jennie Brooke had been a girl in Cecilia's grade until her mother had fallen ill. Jennie was sent to live with relatives in Vancouver--only temporarily, everyone had thought. But then Jennie's mother had died and it had become permanent. But that was silly, Cecilia reminded herself. Mother wasn't dying. And even--if anything did happen to her--surely Father would want her back? But oh, nothing would happen to Mother! It was too horrible to think about. Nothin could.

Leslie seemed to discern what Cecilia was thinking without any words passing between them, and she took her cousin's hand. They girls went on in silence, not sure of where they were headed, and might have continued silently on like that until the reached the end of the road, if there hadn't been a honk and a sound of a motor suddenly behind them.

"Hey, chickies! Don't you two look dusty and down?"

"Uncle Bruce!" Leslie flounced to him for a kiss. "No one told me you were home for the summer!"

"I thought I'd drive to the shore," Uncle Bruce said. "Down by the Bay Shore, that's where the best beaches are. You kididoes look like you could use some cheering up---you want to come with?"

"Oh yes!" the girls clambered into Uncle Bruce's coupe, squeezing together on the other seat. They had their swimsuits on under their summer dresses, in case they had wanted a swim in the murky Glen Pond, but a trip to the shore was even better.

It was Uncle Bruce's idea to make it a picnic. They stopped off at Carter Flag's store for sandwiches and then went across to the soda shoppe for a pint of ice cream. Three separate pints, actually. Since Cecilia wanted strawberry, and Leslie vanilla, and Uncle Bruce pistachio. "This won't keep in the cooler," Uncle Bruce said in mock dismay. "We'll have to eat it on the way down, I suppose."

"Hurrah!" cried Cecilia and Leslie.

They met Joy and Merry coming in to the soda shoppe as they were leaving. "We're going to the beach!" Leslie cried excitedly. "We're having a picnic!"

"That sounds lovely," said Merry, and went to grab a booth before they were all taken. "I hope you'll have a good time!"

But Joy stayed behind, her lovely eyes narrowed.

"How come they get to go?" she asked Uncle Bruce. "I'd quite like a drive to the shore, too."

"Sorry, honey," Uncle Bruce said. "My car's only a two-seater, and after I've packed in these two they're won't be any room left over. Next time."

Truth be told, he might have fit another body in the car, if one of the girls was willing to sit in the back with the cooler. But there was something in Joy's eyes he didn't like. She seemed to feel like she was entitled--and she only wanted to go because she hadn't been asked. Whereas Leslie and Cecilia were pink with genuine delight. And Joy had a whole town of friends who were willing to take her out and show her a good time while these two wandered around like little lost ghosts. No, he'd much rather spend the afternoon with these two monkeys. Especially, Cecilia, who looked as sweet as pie with her face flushed like that. As sweet as Una had ever looked---but today was a holiday, of sorts. He wouldn't think of that.

The girls had already built a town out of shells, swam until their fingers and toes were blue, and buried Uncle Bruce up to his neck in the sand before the sun was at the highest point in the sky. As it began its descent, the lazy part of the afternoon began.

Uncle Bruce was reading from a thick book under their umbrella. Next to him, Leslie was asleep on the blanket. She slept as hard and thoroughly as she played---even the sounds of the crashing surf and of the waves couldn't wake her up. Uncle Bruce absentmindedly stroked her copper hair as she slumbered.

"I wonder if she's dreaming we're at the beach?" Cecilia wondered as Leslie's eyes fluttered.

"Probably," Uncle Bruce smiled. "Why don't you have quick nap, too? You're looking kind of tired."

"Oh I'm not!" Cecilia shook her head. "I'm just--bursting--with energy, Uncle Bruce. I think I'd rather take a walk."

She didn't expect for Uncle Bruce to let her go off by herself. Even though she was a big girl of fourteen, the other aunts and uncles treated her like a baby. But Uncle Bruce wasn't like the other grownups--he could remember what it was like to be fourteen himself.

"Sure," he said. "Don't go in the water unless there are other people around. And take your hat--if I bring you back with your face burned, Faith will skin me alive."

Cecilia stopped at one of the carts that lined the boardwalk and bought an ice cream---peppermint, to match her read and white striped bathing suit. When she'd shown it to Leslie last year, the girls had laughed because it made Cecilia look like the spitting image of a barber pole, all skinny and white and red. But this year--well, this year she didn't look like a barber pole anymore. Instead the stripes accented the curves of her figure that were just beginning to be apparent. Her skin wasn't pasty white anymore--after almost an entire summer out in the sun she'd gotten to be as brown as a toasted marshmallow. Her thick black hair was in two short little braids under the white canvas hat that Uncle Bruce had made her wear. She made a pretty picture, and many people appreciated her lithe figure against the backdrop of waves. Many of them were boys her age, and Cecilia blushed and dug her toes in the sand. She had never--had people--notice her before. There were many shouted invitations for her to join in their games, or for her to let them buy her a soda. Cecilia blushed and shook her head no shyly.

All the way down the beach, was a lone figure in swim trunks flying a kite. There was no one else around him and the bright, frenzied activity of the beach did not seem to touch him. He had a thatch of sandy hair and broad shoulders and was making the kite do the most fantastic dips and swoops. Cecilia clapped her hands with delight as she watched, and, without thinking, waved. The boy did not wave back, but turned his back on her and kept the bright paper kite dipping and swooping.

Cecilia made her way back to the beach umbrella, her cheeks crimson. Every so often she turned and saw the kite still flying. Why hadn't that boy waved back when she did? He was the only one who hadn't, on the whole stretch of the beach. She wished he'd waved. Cecilia played the scene a dozen times in her mind. Her wave---and then his turn away.

Thank you all so much for the reviews! Adrienne, you email meant so much to me! I am thinking about writing another Cecilia story after this one, and possibly one about Bertie, Di's daughter. We'll see how they all turn out. Marzoog, glad you're enjoying it, too. You have to update soon, though, because I need to read more of your work. Miri and Terreis, glad you guys liked Leslie. I like her too. I didn't plan for her to be so impetuous, but I thought of how Leslie West might have acted if her life hadn't been so tragic for so long. Plus, Persis Ford is her mother, and in Anne of Ingleside, Persis seems like a little firebrand. Plus, Carl, her father, is rather impish too.

I'll try to update again soon. Please forgive me for leaving the Juliet story alone for so long--I've hit a real writer's block for that one.

-Ruby aka Cathy