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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52110 ***</div>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Key Note, by Clara Louise Burnham</h1>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10">
<tr>
<td valign="top">
Note:
</td>
<td>
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
<a href="https://archive.org/details/keynotenovel00burniala">
https://archive.org/details/keynotenovel00burniala</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p> </p>
<hr class="full" />
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div>
<hr />
<p class="bold2">THE KEY NOTE</p>
<hr />
<h1>THE KEY NOTE</h1>
<p class="bold2"><i>A Novel</i></p>
<p class="bold space-above">BY</p>
<p class="bold2">CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM</p>
<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/i003.jpg" alt="logo" /></div>
<p class="bold space-above">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br />HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br />The Riverside Press Cambridge<br />1921</p>
<hr />
<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM<br />ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p>
<hr />
<p class="center">TO<br />JOSEPHINE</p>
<hr />
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<table summary="CONTENTS">
<tr>
<td>I.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Rapscallion</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>II.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Veronica</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>III.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Friendly Pact</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>IV.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Biography</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>V.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Firelight Interview</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>VI.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Haunted Farm</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>VII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Another Wound</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>VIII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Sketches</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>IX.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Working Plan</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>X.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Nicholas Gayne Confides</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XI.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Newport Letter</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Cousin Herbert</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XIII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Law</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XIV.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Will</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XV.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Sudden Journey</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XVI.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The New Client</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XVII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Heir</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XVIII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Diana's Ideal</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XIX.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Moonlight</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_293">293</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XX.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Reunion</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XXI.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Good-byes</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XXII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Dinner Party</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>XXIII.</td>
<td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Moon-Goddess</span></td>
<td><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
<p class="bold2">THE KEY NOTE</p>
<div class="center"><img src="images/dec.jpg" alt="decoration" /></div>
<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">THE RAPSCALLION</span></h2>
<p>The sea glittered in all directions. The grassy field, humpy with knolls
and lumpy with gray rock, sloped down toward the near-by water. Bunches
of savin and bay and groups of Christmas trees flourished in the fresh
June air, and exhilarating balsamic odors assailed Miss Burridge's
nostrils as she stood in the doorway viewing the landscape o'er and
reflectively picking her teeth with a pin.</p>
<p>"It's an awful sightly place to fail in, anyway," she thought.</p>
<p>Her one boarder came and stood beside her. She was a young woman with a
creamy skin, regular features, dark, dreaming eyes, and a pleasant, slow
smile.</p>
<p>"Are you gathering inspiration, Miss Burridge?" she asked, settling a
white tam-o'-shanter on her smooth brown locks.</p>
<p>"I hope so, Miss Wilbur. I need it."</p>
<p>"How could any one help it!" was Diana Wilbur's soft exclamation, as she
took a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> deep breath and gazed at the illimitable be-diamonded blue.</p>
<p>Priscilla Burridge turned her middle-aged gaze upon the enthusiasm of
the twentieth year beside her.</p>
<p>"Do you know of any inspiration that would make me able to get the
carpenter to come and jack up the saggin' corner of that piazza?" she
asked. "Or get the plumber to mend the broken pipe in the kitchen?"</p>
<p>Miss Wilbur's dreaming gaze came back to the bony figure in brown
calico.</p>
<p>"It seems almost sacrilege, doesn't it," she said in a voice of awe, "to
speak of carpenters and plumbers in a place like this? Such odors, such
crystal beauty untouched by the desecrating hand of man."</p>
<p>Miss Priscilla snorted. "If I don't get hold of the desecrating hand of
man pretty soon, you'll be havin' a stream o' water come down on your
bed, the first rain."</p>
<p>The girl's attitude of adoration remained unchanged.</p>
<p>"I noticed that little rift," she said slowly. "As I lay in bed this
morning, I looked up at a spot of sapphire that seemed like a day-star
full of promise of this transcendent beauty."</p>
<p>Miss Wilbur's pretty lips moved but little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> when she spoke and her slow
utterance gave the effect of a recitation.</p>
<p>Miss Priscilla, for all her harassment, could not forbear a smile.</p>
<p>"I'm certainly glad you're so easily pleased, but you don't know Casco
Bay as well as I do, or that day-star would look powerful stormy to you.
When it rains here, all other rains are mere imitations. It comes down
from the sky and up from the ground, and the wind blows it east and
west, and the porch furniture turns somersets out into the field, and
windows and doors go back on you and give up the fight and let the water
in everywhere, while the thunder rolls like the day o' judgment."</p>
<p>The ardent light in the depths of the young girl's eyes glowed deeper.</p>
<p>"I should expect a storm here to be inexorably superb!" she declared.</p>
<p>Miss Priscilla heaved a sigh, half dejection, half exasperation, and
turned into the house.</p>
<p>"Drat that plumber!" she said. "I've only had a few days of it, but I'm
sick of luggin' water in from that well."</p>
<p>"Why, Miss Burridge," said her boarder solicitously, "I haven't fully
realized—let me bring in a supply."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><p>"No, no, indeed, Miss Wilbur," exclaimed Miss Priscilla, as she moved
through the living-room of the house into the kitchen, closely followed
by Diana. "It ain't that I ain't able to do it, but it makes me darned
mad when I know there's no need of it."</p>
<p>"But I desire to, Miss Burridge," averred the young girl. "Any form of
movement here cannot fail to be one of joy." She seized an empty bucket
from the sink and went out the back door.</p>
<p>Small groves of evergreen dotted the incline behind the house, and on
the right hand soon became a wood-road of stately fir and spruce, which
led to a sun-warmed grassy slope which, like every hill of the lovely
isle, led down to the jagged rocks that fringed its irregular shore.</p>
<p>"My muscular strength is not excessive," panted Diana, struggling up to
the back door with her heavy bucket. "I'll fill it only half-full next
time."</p>
<p>"You ain't goin' to fill it at all," declared Miss Priscilla
emphatically, taking the pail from her. "That'll last me a long time,
and when it's gone, I'll get more myself. 'T ain't that it does me a bit
of hurt, but it riles me when I know there ain't any need of it."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p><p>She set the pail down beside the sink, filled the kettle from it, and
set it on the oil stove while Diana sat down on the back doorstep. Then
she proceeded:</p>
<p>"One o' the most disagreeable things about this world is that we do seem
to need men. They're strong and they don't wear skirts to stumble on,
and when they're willin' and clever, they certainly do fill a need; but
it does seem as if they were created to disappoint women. They don't
know any more about keepin' their promises than they do about the other
side o' the moon."</p>
<p>Diana nodded. "It is observable, I think," she said, "that men's natural
regard for ethics is inferior to that of women."</p>
<p>Miss Priscilla sniffed. "Now it isn't only the plumber and the
carpenter. I came here and saw 'em both over a month ago and explained
my needs; explained that I ain't calc'latin' to take in boarders to
break their legs on broken piazzas, or drown 'em in their beds. I
explained all this when I rented the house, and when I arrived this week
I naturally expected to find those things attended to; and there's Phil
Barrison, too. I've known him most of his life. He has relatives here on
the island, and when I heard he was comin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> to stay with 'em on his
vacation, I asked him if he wouldn't be a kind of a handy-man to me and
he said he would. He got here before I did, but far as I can make out
he's been fishin' ever since. A lot of help he's been. Oh, I knew well
enough he was a broken reed. If ever a rapscallion lived, Phil's it.
'Tain't natural for any young one to be so smart as he was. Do you
believe in school he found out that by openin' and shuttin' his
geography real slow, he could set the teacher to yawnin', and, of
course, she'd set the rest of 'em off, and Phil just had a beautiful
time. His pranks was always funny ones."</p>
<p>Diana Wilbur gave her slow, rare smile. "What an interesting bit of
hypnosis!" she remarked.</p>
<p>"Hey? Well, when that boy got older, he was real ambitious to study.
He's got one o' those voices that ought to belong to a cherubim instead
of a limb like him, and he wanted lessons. So he got the job of janitor
in our church one winter. I got onto him later. When he'd oversleep some
awful cold mornin' and arrive too late to get the furnace to workin'
right, that rascal would drive the mercury up and loosen the bulb of the
thermometer so that when the folks came in and went over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> to it to see
just how cold they <i>was</i> goin' to be, they'd see it register over
sixty-five and of course they'd take their seats real satisfied."</p>
<p>Miss Wilbur smiled again. "Your friend certainly showed great resource
and ingenuity. When those traits are joined to lofty principle, they
should lift him to heights of success. Oh,"—the speaker's attitude and
voice suddenly changed, and she lifted her finger to impose silence on
the cooking utensils which Miss Burridge was dropping into the
sink,—"listen!"</p>
<p>Mingled with the roulade of a song sparrow on the roof, came the flute
of a human voice sounding and approaching through the field.</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"Thou'rt like unto a flower,</div>
<div>So pure, so sweet, so fair—"</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>The one road of the island swept over a height at some distance behind
the house and the singer had left it, and was striding down the incline
and through the meadow toward Miss Burridge's. The still air brought the
song while the singer was still hidden, but at last the girl saw him,
and the volume of rich tone increased. At last he came bounding up the
slope over which Diana had struggled with her heavy bucket a few minutes
before, and then paused at sight of the stranger.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>He was a tall, broad-shouldered youth in a dark-blue flannel shirt and
nondescript trousers. He was bareheaded, and locks of his thick blond
hair were tumbling over his forehead. He looked at Diana with curious,
unembarrassed blue eyes, and, lips parted, stopped in the act of
speaking.</p>
<p>Miss Burridge came to the door. "Well, at last, Phil," she remarked.</p>
<p>"I only just heard this morning that you had come," he said. "Here's a
peace offering." He lifted the two mackerel that were hanging from his
hand.</p>
<p>"Beauties," vouchsafed Miss Burridge. "Are they cleaned?"</p>
<p>"Well, if you don't look a gift horse—"</p>
<p>"Well, now, I ain't goin' to clean 'em," said Miss Burridge doggedly.
"I've been rubbed the wrong way ever since I landed—"</p>
<p>Philip laughed. "And you won't do it to them, eh? Well, I guess I can
rub 'em the wrong way for you—" His unabashed eyes were still regarding
Diana as impersonally as though they had both been children of five.</p>
<p>"Excuse me, I am obstructing the passage," said the girl, rising.</p>
<p>"This is Miss Diana Wilbur, Phil. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>suppose you're Mr. Barrison now
that you have sung in New York."</p>
<p>The young fellow bowed to the girl who acknowledged the greeting.</p>
<p>"What is the name of those beautiful creatures?" she asked with her
usual gentle simplicity of manner.</p>
<p>"These? Oh, these are mackerel."</p>
<p>"Jewels of the deep, surely," she said.</p>
<p>"They are rather dressy," returned Philip.</p>
<p>Diana bathed him in the light of her serene brown gaze.</p>
<p>"I am so ignorant of the names of the denizens of the sea," she said. "I
come from Philadelphia."</p>
<p>Philip returned her look with dancing stars in his eyes. "I'd have said
Boston if you only wore eyeglasses."</p>
<p>"Oh, that <i>is</i> the humorous tradition, is it not?" she returned.</p>
<p>"Now, don't you drip 'em in here," said Miss Burridge, as the young
fellow started to enter the kitchen door. "If you're really goin' to be
clever and clean 'em, I'll give you the knife and everything right
outdoors."</p>
<p>"Then I think I would better withdraw," said Diana hastily. "I cannot
bear to see the mutilation of such a rich specimen of Nature's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
handiwork; but, oh, Mr. Barrison, not without one word concerning the
heavenly song that floated across the field as you came. Miss Burridge
calls you Phil;—'Philomel with melody!' <i>I</i> should say. Au revoir. I
will go down among the pebbles for a while."</p>
<p>She vanished, and Philip regarded Miss Burridge, who returned his gaze.</p>
<p>"<i>Good night!</i>" he said at last.</p>
<p>"Sh! Sh!" warned Miss Priscilla, and tiptoed across the kitchen. When
she had looked from a window and seen her boarder's sweater and tam
proceeding among the grassy hummocks toward the sea, she returned,
bringing out the materials for Philip's operations on the fish.</p>
<p>"I'll bring a rhetoric instead of finny denizens of the deep, the next
time I come," he continued, settling to his job.</p>
<p>Miss Priscilla took her boarder's deserted seat on the doorstep.</p>
<p>"Going to open a young ladies' seminary here, and got the teacher all
secured?"</p>
<p>"Nothing of the kind, Phil, and there's only one explanation of her,"
declared Miss Priscilla impressively. "You've been in art galleries and
seen these statues of Venus and Apollo and all that tribe?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><p>"I have."</p>
<p>"Well, sir, all I can think of is that one o' their Dianas got down off
her perch some dark night, and managed to get hold o' some girl clothes,
and came here to this island. She <i>says</i> she has come to recuperate from
unwise vigils caused by vaulting ambition at school. I said it over to
myself till I learned it."</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> should say her trouble might be indigestion from devouring
dictionaries," remarked Philip.</p>
<p>"Well, anyway, she's a sweet girl and it's all as natural as breathing
to her. At first I accused her in my own mind of affectation, but,
there! she hasn't got an affected bone in her body, and she's willin'
and simple as a child. You'd ought to 'a' seen her luggin' water up the
hill for me this mornin'. That reminds me. You promised to give me a
lift this summer when I needed it."</p>
<p>"At so much a lift," remarked Philip.</p>
<p>"Of course. Well, the first thing I want you to do is to get the
carpenter and the plumber and knock their heads together, and then bring
'em here, one in each hand, so's I can have my house ready when the
folks come. Why, my new stove ain't even put up. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> Buell, the
plumber, promised me faithful he'd come this mornin'. I'm cookin' on an
old kerosene stove there was here and managin' to keep Miss Wilbur from
sheer starvation."</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur? Is that the fair Diana? Where did you get the 'old
master'? Did she find you waiting when she got off the pedestal?"</p>
<p>"No, I found her waiting. She came to the island on a misunderstandin'.
There wasn't any one ready so early in the season to make strangers
comfortable, and it seems she took a fancy to this place and I found her
here sittin' on the steps when I arrived. She said she had been on the
island a week and had walked up to this piazza every pleasant day, and
she'd like to live here."</p>
<p>"Did she really say it as plain as that?"</p>
<p>"Well—I don't suppose those were her exact words, but she made me
understand that she was willin' to come right in for better or for worse
just so's she could have a room up there in front where the dawn—yes,
she said something about the dawn, I forget whether it was purple or
rosy—"</p>
<p>"Mottled, perhaps," suggested Philip.</p>
<p>"Well, anyway, I told her the dawn came awful early in the day this part
o' the year,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> and that probably she'd be better satisfied in one o' the
back rooms; but she was firm on the <i>dawn</i>, so she's got it. But I draw
the line at her gettin' midnight shower-baths, and that's what she will
get if that wretch of a Matt Blake don't get here before the next storm
and put on the shingles."</p>
<p>"And I have to tell the plumber that you have to 'haul water' too. Is
that it? The well is some little distance. Rather hard on the statue,
wasn't it, to do the hauling? She'll wish she'd stayed in the gallery.
I'll bring in a lot before I go."</p>
<p>"Don't go, Philip," begged Miss Priscilla. "Supposin' you don't go, not
till you can leave me whole-footed. The men'll come sooner and work
better if they know there's a man here. Your grandma won't care if her
visit's interrupted for a little while. I'll feed you with your own
mackerel and you can bet I know how to cook 'em."</p>
<p>"Do you think Matt Blake realizes that I'm a man?" The teeth Philip
showed in his smile were an asset for a singer. "He helped teach me to
walk, you know."</p>
<p>"Well, now, you teach <i>him</i>" retorted Miss Priscilla. "Show him how to
walk in this direction. I don't want to make a fizzle of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> this thing. I
found there wa'n't anybody goin' to run the place this summer, so I
thought it might be a good job for me. I never took a thought that it
was goin' to be so hard to get help. They tell me there ain't any
servants any more; and there are enough folks writin' for rooms to fill
me up entirely. I can do the <i>cookin'</i> myself—"</p>
<p>"Now, Miss Burridge, you aren't leading up to asking me to put on an
apron and wait on table, are you? You must remember I'm recuperating
also from a too vaulting ambition."</p>
<p>"Recuperatin', nothin'! You're the huskiest-lookin' thing I ever saw.
No, I ain't goin' to ask you to wait on table; but I've got an idea.
We're too out o' the way here for me to get college boys. They'd rather
go to the mountains and so on—fashionable resorts. But I've got a
niece, if she don't feel too big of herself to do that sort of thing;
she might come. I'm goin' to ask her anyway. I haven't seen her for
years 'cause her mother's been gone a long time and her father went out
to Jersey to live, but I've no doubt she's a nice girl. Her name's
Veronica. Isn't that a beater? I told my sister I couldn't see why she
didn't name her Japonica and be done with it."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>"It's the name of a saint," remarked Philip.</p>
<p>"Well, I hope she's enough of one to come and help me out. I'm goin' to
ask her."</p>
<p>"Better get Miss Wilbur to write her about the rosy dawn and the jeweled
denizens. I'm afraid you'll be too truthful and tell about the leaks.
With an 'old master' and a saint, you ought to get on swimmingly."</p>
<p>"Well, will you stay with me a few days?" said Miss Priscilla coaxingly.
"If I had a rapscallion to add to the menagerie—"</p>
<p>"Do you mean ménage, Miss Burridge?"</p>
<p>"I'll call it anything in the world you like, if you'll only stand by
me, Phil."</p>
<p>"All right." The young fellow tossed the second cleaned fish on to the
plate. "Let me wash my hands and I'll go and throw out a line for the
plumber."</p>
<p>"You're a good boy," returned Miss Burridge, relieved. "I do think,
Philip, that in the main you are a good boy! Who's that comin' over?"
Miss Burridge craned her neck and narrowed her eyes the better to
observe a bicycle which appeared across the field.</p>
<p>The apparition of any human being was exciting to one responsible for
the comfort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> others in this Arcadia, where modern conveniences could
only be obtained by effort both spasmodic and continuous.</p>
<p>"Oh, it's Marley Hughes from the post-office."</p>
<p>A youngster of fourteen came wheeling nonchalantly over the bumps of the
field, and finally jumped off his machine and came leisurely up the rise
among the trees.</p>
<p>"I hoped you might be Matt Blake," said Miss Priscilla. "He's got as far
as to have the shingles here."</p>
<p>"Well, I ain't," remarked Marley in the pleasant, drawling, leisurely,
island voice.</p>
<p>"What you got for me?" inquired Miss Burridge.</p>
<p>"Telegram." The boy brought the store envelope from his pocket.</p>
<p>"Oh, I hate 'em," said Miss Burridge apprehensively.</p>
<p>Marley held it aggravatingly away from Philip's extended hand. "Take it
back if you want me ter," he said with a grin. "It's ten cents anyway,
whether you take it or not."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, I've got the money right here." Miss Priscilla turned to a
shelf over the sink and took a dime from a purse which lay there.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><p>"Here." She gave it to Marley, who without more ado jumped on his wheel
and coasted down among the trees and off over the soft grass.</p>
<p>"You open it, Phil. My spectacles ain't here anyway," said Miss
Priscilla anxiously.</p>
<p>So Philip tore open the envelope. The look of amazement which overspread
his face as the message greeted him caused Miss Burridge to exclaim
fearfully: "Speak out, speak out, Phil."</p>
<p>"They must have taken this down wrong at the store," he said. Then he
read the scrawled words slowly. "'Look in broiler oven for legs.'"</p>
<p>The cryptic sentence appeared to have a magical effect upon Miss
Priscilla. Her face beamed and she threw up her hands in thanksgiving.</p>
<p>"Glory be!" she exclaimed devoutly.</p>
<p>"What am I stumbling on?" said Philip. "Have you taken to wiring in
cipher?"</p>
<p>"You <i>see</i>" said Miss Priscilla excitedly, reaching for the telegram
which Philip yielded, "it <i>came</i> without any <i>legs</i>. Mr. Buell himself
looked it over on the wharf and said he couldn't find 'em anywhere; and,
of course, it was a terrible anxiety to me and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> wrote to them right
off, and I was goin' to get Mr. Buell to set it up without the legs if
necessary and stick somethin' else under. Come and help me look, Phil."</p>
<p>Miss Burridge seized the young fellow's arm and dragged him into the
kitchen, where in one corner reposed the new stove in its shining
newness, its parts piled ignominiously lop-sided. Talking all the time,
its owner pulled open one door after another, as Philip disengaged them,
and at last she laid hands on the missing treasure.</p>
<p>"Now I'll give you as good a dinner as ever comes off this stove if
you'll go and get those men and bring 'em up here," she said. "Don't
leave me till I'm whole-footed, Phil."</p>
<p>"Want feet as well as legs, do you?" he chuckled. "All right. See you
later if I can get Blake and Buell. If I can't, I suppose I'd better
drown myself."</p>
<p>"No, no, don't do that, Phil. <i>You're</i> better than nothing, yourself."</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">VERONICA</span></h2>
<p>For the next few days the right moment for Philip to desert Miss
Burridge never seemed to arrive, and by that time the new establishment
had come to be in very good running order, which was fortunate, as the
expected boarders' dates were drawing near.</p>
<p>Diana approached Philip one morning with a pleased countenance. He was
encouraging the hopeful little sweet peas that stood in a green row
below the porch. She came and sat on the rail above and watched him.</p>
<p>"Miss Burridge is going to allow me to name our domicile," she
announced.</p>
<p>"Brave woman!" said Philip, coaxing the brown earth up against the line
of green with his trowel.</p>
<p>"Which of us is brave?" asked Diana, smiling,—"Miss Priscilla or
myself?"</p>
<p>"What are you going to call it? Olympus?"</p>
<p>"Why should I?" Diana gave a soft, gurgling laugh.</p>
<p>"I thought perhaps it might bring happy memories and prove a palliation
of nostalgia."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><p>"I always have a feeling that you are amusing yourself with me, Mr.
Barrison."</p>
<p>"Have you any objection to my seeing that you are a goddess? What have
you done with Apollo, by the way? Couldn't you persuade him to leave the
gallery?"</p>
<p>"To what gallery do you refer? I do not particularly care for handsome
men," was Miss Wilbur's thoughtful response.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry I'm so beautiful, then," said Philip, extending his little
earth barricade.</p>
<p>Diana looked down from her balcony on his tumbling blond hair.</p>
<p>"You have a very good presence for your purpose," she said.</p>
<p>"What is my purpose?"</p>
<p>"The concert stage, is it not? Perhaps even opera, later?"</p>
<p>"Yes, divine huntress, if I ever succeed in making it."</p>
<p>"You will make it unless you are unpardonably dilatory and neglectful.
Every time you utter a musical tone it sends a vibration coursing
through my nerves with a pleasant thrill."</p>
<p>Philip looked up at the speaker with his sea-blue, curious gaze, which
she received serenely.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p><p>"Bully for you, Miss Wilbur. That's all I can say. Bully for you."</p>
<p>"I am glad if that encourages you," she said kindly. "It is quite
outside my own volition."</p>
<p>"Then I don't need to thank you, eh?"</p>
<p>"Oh, not in the least."</p>
<p>Philip laughed and stooped again to his job.</p>
<p>"Let me see, Apollo—he struck liars and knew how to prescribe for the
croup, didn't he, besides being a looker beyond all comers?"</p>
<p>Diana smiled. "You think of everything in terms of humor, do you not?"
she rejoined.</p>
<p>"Perhaps—of most things, but not of you."</p>
<p>"Oh, I think of me most of all."</p>
<p>"Far from it," said Philip. "I wouldn't dare. If my voice gives you a
thrill, yours gives me a chill."</p>
<p>"I can't believe that really," said Diana equably, watching Philip's
expert handling of the trowel. "You are always laughing at me. I don't
in the least understand why, but it doesn't matter at all. I think it is
a quite laudable mission to make people laugh. What a good gardener you
are, Mr. Barrison."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, isn't he, though!" exclaimed Miss Priscilla, emerging from the
house. "Think of my luck that Phil really likes to fuss with flowers.
Ox-chains couldn't drag him to do it if he didn't like to."</p>
<p>"Really?" returned Diana. "Is she not maligning you, Mr. Barrison? Are
you really the slave of caprice?"</p>
<p>"I deny it," said Philip. "It doesn't sound nice."</p>
<p>"It would be a dire thing for you," declared the girl. "But you do not
ask me what I am naming the Inn."</p>
<p>"Oh, it is an Inn, is it?"</p>
<p>"Yes," put in Miss Priscilla. "Since the leaks are mended, both pipes
and roof, and the stove's up and the chimney draws, I think we can call
it that."</p>
<p>"What is it, then? 'The Dew Drop'?" inquired Philip.</p>
<p>"I particularly dislike puns," said Diana quietly. "I like 'The
Wayside.' Why shouldn't we call it 'The Wayside Inn'?"</p>
<p>"You have my permission," said Philip.</p>
<p>"We do not need anything original, but we do need a name that is lovely.
'The Wayside Inn' is lovely."</p>
<p>"So be it," said Philip.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>"And you're not forgettin' what you are goin' to do to-morrow, are you,
dear boy?" said Miss Priscilla ingratiatingly.</p>
<p>"Not if it isn't to go again for the plumber," replied Philip. "His
wrenches and hammers are too handy; and I'm sure one more call up here
would render him dangerous."</p>
<p>"Mr. Buell is a very pleasant man," said Diana. "So is Mr. Blake, the
carpenter. I have learned such interesting expressions from them. Mr.
Blake was showing me the fault in one of the gables of this house. He
said the builder had given the roof a 'too quick yank.' Is not that
quaint?"</p>
<p>"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Philip up into the girl's serious face. "Bully for
Matt. You may get the vernacular, after all."</p>
<p>"I'm not quick," said Diana. "I'm afraid I should not prove an apt
pupil."</p>
<p>"But, Philip," said Miss Priscilla, "about to-morrow. You know you'll
have to get the early boat to go to meet Veronica. It's perfectly
splendid of you to go, dear boy. I don't know how I could spare the
time. I've got to get several rooms ready for to-morrow, and the child
is such an utter stranger in this part o' the world."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, yes, I'll go," said Philip carelessly. "I think the Inn will be
relieved that I can get a hair-cut. My tresses are nearly ready to braid
now."</p>
<p>Diana smiled pensively. "I think you are very amusing, Mr. Barrison,"
she said.</p>
<p>Philip vaulted up over the railing and took a seat beside her, regarding
his earth-stained hands and then her serene countenance, whose gaze was
bent upon him. He shook his head to toss the blond forelock out of his
eyes.</p>
<p>"So my voice gives you a thrill, eh?"</p>
<p>"Oh, decidedly," was the devout response.</p>
<p>"That's a good thing. I thought perhaps you couldn't really be roused
from your dreaminess before the fourth of July, but I have some tones
that in that case will be warranted to set you and the echoes going at
the same time."</p>
<p>Diana clasped her hands. "Oh, utter them," she begged.</p>
<p>"Can't," laughed Philip, wiping his warm forehead with his shirt-sleeve.
"The stage isn't set."</p>
<p>Diana continued to look imploringly ardent. "'Drink to me only with
thine eyes,'" she suggested.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>"That's the only way they'll let you do it nowadays," responded Philip,
kicking the heels of his sneakers gently against the railing.</p>
<p>Miss Burridge looked over her spectacles at Diana in her beseeching
attitude, and her eyes widened still further as the girl went on slowly
with her brown gaze fixed on Philip's quizzical countenance:</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"How can I bear to leave thee!</div>
<div>One parting kiss I give thee—"</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>"Dear me," thought Miss Priscilla. "I'd never have believed it of her."
And it occurred to her for the first time that Philip Barrison was a
handsome man.</p>
<p>"Fare<i>well</i>," went on Diana, with soft fervor. "'Farewell, my own true
love—'"</p>
<p>"Farewell," sang Philip, falling into the trap and finishing the phrase.
"'Farewe-ell, my own—true—love.'"</p>
<p>"Oh," breathed Diana, and the way her clasped hands fell upon her heart
caused Miss Priscilla much embarrassment.</p>
<p>"I can scarcely wait," said the girl slowly, "to hear you sing a real
song with a real accompaniment. There is such rare penetrating richness
in the quality of your voice."</p>
<p>Miss Burridge cleared her throat. "I shouldn't wonder if Miss Wilbur was
a real<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> help to you, Phil," she said. "Young folks need encouragement."</p>
<p>"And soap-suds," added Philip, regarding his earthy hands and glancing
merrily up at Diana, who was still standing in her attitude of
adoration; but there was no answering merriment in those brown orbs. Her
brain might tell her later that Miss Burridge's patronizing remark had
been amusing, but she would be obliged to think it over.</p>
<p>Philip jumped off the railing, whistling, and followed Miss Priscilla
into the house and to the sink, while Diana, reminiscently humming "The
Soldier's Farewell," descended the steps and wandered away.</p>
<p class="space-above">When, the next day in town, Philip stood in the Union Station waiting
for Veronica's train, he wondered how he was to know her, but
remembering that Miss Burridge spoke of having instructed her to go the
first thing to the transfer office about her trunk, he turned his steps
thither as the crowds poured off the train. All Boston seemed to have
decided to come to Maine for the summer.</p>
<p>Soon he saw her—he felt at once it was she—looking about undecidedly
as she came. She was a short, plump girl of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>seventeen or eighteen, at
present bent a little sideways from the weight of the suitcase she was
carrying. Philip strode forward and seized the suitcase with one hand
while he lifted his hat with the other.</p>
<p>"Here, you let that alone!" said the girl decidedly, her round eyes
snapping.</p>
<p>"Isn't this Miss Trueman?"</p>
<p>"Why, yes, it is," she returned, but she still looked suspicious and
clung to her suitcase. Nobody need think she wasn't up to all the
tricks. "Did my aunt send you to meet me?"</p>
<p>"She certainly did."</p>
<p>"Then you know her name. What's her name?" The upward look was so
childlike in its shrewdness that it stirred the spirit of mischief.</p>
<p>"Why—let me see, Lucilla, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"You give me that suitcase this minute." The girl pulled on the handle
with a muscular little hand.</p>
<p>"Why, Veronica," Philip's smile became a laugh. "Santa Veronica, what a
very unsaintlike voice and expression you're using."</p>
<p>She laughed, too, then, and relinquished her burden. "You do know me.
Who are you?"</p>
<p>"Miss Burridge's man-of-all-work. Name, Philip Barrison."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><p>"So she gave you such a job as this. How did you pick me out?"</p>
<p>"That wild look around for the transfer office." They were now moving
toward it.</p>
<p>"It wasn't wild. I didn't need you at all. Aunt Priscilla needn't have
bothered. I have a tongue in my head and money in my pocket, and Puppa
said that's all anybody needs if she has any brains."</p>
<p>"But I have to do what my employer orders, you see," replied Philip.</p>
<p>Veronica looked him over. Fresh from the barber and in correct summer
garb, he was an extremely good-looking object.</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, it isn't your fault," she returned generously, "but is it a
swell place Aunt Priscilla's got?" She looked him over again while he
stopped at the transfer window and checked her trunk.</p>
<p>"The Wayside Inn," replied Philip with dignity.</p>
<p>"Well, I've come to help her," said the girl. "But I've never done any
serving. I haven't any uniform or anything like that."</p>
<p>"It isn't necessary. Look at me. I don't look like a footman—or a
butler—or anything like that, do I?"</p>
<p>"No," said Veronica, her round eyes very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> serious. "You look like
a—like a common—gentleman."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Miss Trueman. I'll try to deserve your praise."</p>
<p>Philip took her and her suitcase across town in a cab, and aboard the
little steamer, and found the best spot he could for them to sit.</p>
<p>"Puppa says this bay is noted for its picturesqueness," said Veronica,
when they were settled.</p>
<p>"Quite right," returned Philip, putting in her lap one of the magazines
he had bought on the wharf.</p>
<p>"No, thank you," she returned. "I shan't read. I'm going to look.
Puppa'll expect me to tell him all about it. He was delighted at my
having a chance to come to the seashore. He thought it would do my
health so much good."</p>
<p>Philip regarded her round cheeks, round eyes, and round, rosy mouth.</p>
<p>"Your health? You look to me as though if you felt any better you'd have
to call the doctor."</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm not really ailing—but I freckle. Isn't it a shame?" She put
one hand to her nose which had an upward tilt.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, that's all right," laughed Philip. "Call 'em beauty spots."</p>
<p>She sat, pensively continuing to cover her nose with her silk-gloved
hand.</p>
<p>"Perhaps you're hungry. I ought to have bought you some chocolates,"
said Philip. "Perhaps there's time still." He looked at his watch.</p>
<p>Veronica smiled. It was a pleasant operation to view and disclosed a
dimple. "Did Aunt Priscilla give you money to buy me candy? Don't
bother. I have some gum. Would you like some?" As she spoke, she opened
her handbag.</p>
<p>Philip bent a dreadful frown upon her. "Do you chew gum?" he asked
severely.</p>
<p>"Yes, sometimes, of course. Everybody does."</p>
<p>"Then you deserve to freckle. You deserve all the awful things that can
befall a girl."</p>
<p>"Well, for a hired man," said Veronica, her hand pausing in its
exploration, "you have the most nerve of any one I ever saw."</p>
<p>She seemed quite heated by this condemnation, and instead of the gum
drew out a vanity box and, looking in the mirror, powdered her nose
deliberately.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>Philip opened his magazine. The whistle blew and the boat began to back
out of the slip. Veronica regarded her companion from time to time out
of the tail of her eye, and at a moment when his manner indicated
absorption in what he was reading, she replaced the vanity case in her
bag and when her hand reappeared, it conveyed something to her mouth.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't," said Philip, without looking up. She colored hotly.</p>
<p>"Nobody asked you to," she retorted.</p>
<p>Then all was silence while the steamer, getting its direction, began
moving toward the islands that dotted the bay.</p>
<p>The girl suddenly started.</p>
<p>"If there aren't those people!" she ejaculated.</p>
<p>"What people?" asked Philip.</p>
<p>"They came on in the same car with me from Boston. See that dark man
over there with a young boy? I couldn't help noticing them on the train.
You see how stupid the boy looks. He seemed so helpless, and the man
just ignored him when he asked questions, and treated him so mean. I
just hate that man."</p>
<p>Philip regarded the couple. They presented<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> a contrast. The man was
heavily built with a sallow, dark face, his restless eyes and body
continually moving with what seemed an habitual impatience. The boy,
perhaps fourteen years of age, had a vacant look, his lips were parted,
and his position, slumped down in a camp-chair, indicated a total lack
of interest in his surroundings.</p>
<p>"Tell me about Aunt Priscilla," said Veronica suddenly. "I haven't seen
her since I was twelve years old. My mother died then. She was Aunt
Priscilla's sister and Aunt Pris was willing to take me if Pa wanted her
to, but he didn't and we moved away, and I've never seen her since. Of
course, she writes sometimes and so do I. Has she many boarders?"</p>
<p>"Only one so far, but then she's a goddess. You've read your mythology,
haven't you? This is the goddess Diana."</p>
<p>"Say, you're awfully fresh, do you know that?" remarked Veronica. "You
treat me all the time as if I was a baby. I've graduated from high
school and very likely I know just as much as you do."</p>
<p>"I shouldn't doubt that," returned Philip. "On the level, you'll see
when you get to the Inn that I'm telling the truth. Diana is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> passing
for the present under the title of Miss Wilbur."</p>
<p>"One boarder!" exclaimed Veronica with troubled brow. "Why, Aunt
Priscilla doesn't need two helpers like you and me."</p>
<p>"Oh, there are plenty more boarders coming," said Philip. "This boat may
be full of them for all we know. She is expecting people to-night. Let's
look around and decide who we'll take up there with us."</p>
<p>"I'll tell you one person I'd choose first of all. See that woman with
her back to us with a blue motor veil around her shoulders? I noticed
her just when I was pointing out that devil and the boy to you."</p>
<p>"You use strong language, Miss Trueman. Couldn't you spare my feelings
and call our dark friend Mephisto?"</p>
<p>"Sounds too good for him. I'd like to use me-fist-o on him, I know
that." Veronica giggled, and went on: "Do you see her?"</p>
<p>"I do. My vision is excellent."</p>
<p>"Well, she was on the train, too, and once I saw her smile at that poor
shy boy and show him how to get a drink of water. We were all in a day
car. Chair car crowded. You can't see her face, but she's the sweetest
thing." Then with a change of voice: "Oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> wouldn't it jar you! There's
fuss-tail. See that dame with the white flower in her hat, looking over
the rail? I suppose she's watching to see if the fishes behave
themselves. She was on the train, too, and nothing suited her from
Boston to Portland. She was too hot, or she felt a draught, or she
didn't like the fruit the train-boy brought, or something else was
wrong, every minute."</p>
<p>"We won't take her, then," said Philip.</p>
<p>"I should say not. She'd sour the milk. What's the island like?"</p>
<p>"Diana says it resembles Arcadia strikingly, and she ought to know."</p>
<p>"But I never was in Arcadia," objected Veronica.</p>
<p>"Well, it is just a green hill popping right up out of the Atlantic,
with plenty of New England rocks in the fields, and drifts of daisies
and wild roses for decoration, and huge rocky teeth around the shore
that grind the waves into spray and spit it up flying toward the sky."</p>
<p>"What kind of folks? Just folks that come in summer?"</p>
<p>"Not at all. Old families. New England's aristocracy. These islands are
the only place where there are no aliens, just the simon-pure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
descendants of Plymouth Rock. As I say aristocrats. I was born there."</p>
<p>"You were?" returned Veronica curiously.</p>
<p>"I were."</p>
<p>"Well, I was born in Maine, in Bangor. I guess that's just about as
good."</p>
<p>"No, it's not as good," said Philip gravely. "Nevertheless, I forgive
you."</p>
<p>"Tell me more about the island."</p>
<p>"Well, it has one road."</p>
<p>"Only one street?"</p>
<p>"No, no street. Just one road which has its source in a green field on
the south and loses itself in the beach on the north after it has passed
the by-path that leads to the haunted farm."</p>
<p>"Oh, go away!" scoffed Veronica.</p>
<p>"I can't. The walking won't be good for another hour."</p>
<p>"Who lives at the farm?"</p>
<p>"The ha'nts."</p>
<p>"Nobody else?"</p>
<p>"No, it isn't likely. It's at the head of Brook Cove where the pirates
used to come in at a day when it was laughable to think that passenger
boats would ever touch at this island."</p>
<p>Veronica's eyes grew rounder than before.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p><p>"Do you suppose there's gold packed in around there if people could
only find it?"</p>
<p>"I don't, but a great many people thought there might be. It is much
more fun to hunt for pirate gold than to go fishing in squally weather,
and it has been hunted for, faithfully."</p>
<p>"And not any found?" said Veronica sympathetically.</p>
<p>"That's the mournful fact."</p>
<p>"But who were the farmers, and why did they stop farming? Was it the
ghosts?"</p>
<p>"No, I think it was the rocks. It was found more profitable to farm the
sea. You know abandoned farms are fashionable in New England, anyway, so
the ghosts have a rather swell residence at the old Dexter place. I
spent the first eight years of my life on the island. Then it was an
undiscovered Arcadia. Now—why, you will go up to The Wayside Inn in a
motor—that is, if I can get hold of Bill Lindsay before somebody else
grabs him. Lots of people know a good thing when they see it, and lots
of people have seen the island."</p>
<p>The wharf was full of people to welcome the little steamer as it drew
in, and there was a grand rush of passengers for the coveted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> motor. It
seemed to Veronica that she heard her aunt's name on many lips, and
Philip found himself feeling responsible for the trunk checks of
everybody who was seeking Miss Burridge.</p>
<p>The upshot of it all was, by the time he had safeguarded the baggage of
the arrivals and sent them on their way, he and Veronica were left to
climb the road and pursue the walk toward home.</p>
<p>"Didn't that old hawk-nose say he was going to Aunt Priscilla's?"</p>
<p>"It's a very good-looking nose," remarked Philip. "But so far as I could
see, all your friends of the train were bound for the same place."</p>
<p>"He'll be lucky," said Veronica viciously, "if I don't put Paris green
in his tea. Oh, what a beautiful view of the sea!" she exclaimed as they
reached the summit of the hill.</p>
<p>They had not walked far when Bill Lindsay's Ford came whirring back over
the much-traveled road, and he turned around for them.</p>
<p>"After all," said Philip, as the machine started back up the island,
"your lady of the blue veil should set off the affliction of Mephisto's
presence."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p><p>"Did she come?" asked Veronica delightedly.</p>
<p>"Yes, didn't you see me pack her in with the woman whose halo won't fit?
The dull boy sat between them."</p>
<p>"Well," said Veronica, "then there's no great loss without some small
gain."</p>
<p>When the motor reached the Inn, Miss Priscilla was pleased with the way
Veronica dropped her hat and jacket in the kitchen, and after drinking
the one cup of cocoa upon which her aunt insisted, was ready to help her
carry in the late supper for the new guests with whom Philip sat down at
table. Veronica, coming and going, tried to make out his status in the
house.</p>
<p>"That Mr. Barrison you sent to meet me," she said to her aunt when the
meal was over, "told me he was your man-of-all-work. He don't act much
like it."</p>
<p>"Law, child," Miss Priscilla laughed. "He has been lately. Phil's a dear
boy when he isn't a wretch, and he's helped me out ever since I came. I
won't ever forget how good he's been. Now, let's sit down and let me see
you eat this fresh omelette and tell me all about yourself. I see you're
just like your mother, handy and capable, and let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> me tell you, it takes
a big load off me, Veronica."</p>
<p>Just as she finished speaking, Diana Wilbur came in from the twilight
stroll she had been taking.</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur, this is my little niece, Veronica Trueman," said Miss
Priscilla. "She has come to help me, and high time, too. Four people
came to-night and there will be more to-morrow."</p>
<p>Diana approached the newcomer and looked down upon her kindly after
taking her offered hand.</p>
<p>"You must have had an inspiring ride down the bay, Miss Veronica," she
said. "I have been taking a walk to see the sun set. It was heavenly
to-night. Such translucent rose-color, and violet that shimmered into
turquoise, and robin's-egg blue. How fortunate for the new people to get
that first impression! Well, Miss Burridge," Diana sighed. "Of course we
must be glad to see them, but it has been a very subtle joy to retire
and to waken with no human sounds about us. I shall always remember this
last two weeks."</p>
<p>"I'm glad you feel that way," said Miss Priscilla. "I thought, though,
that you'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> heard lots o' sounds. Phil makes enough noise for a regiment
when he is dressin' in the mornin'."</p>
<p>"You can scarcely call such melodious tones noise, can you?" replied
Miss Wilbur gently. "His flute is more liquid than that of the hermit
thrush."</p>
<p>"I never heard him play the flute." Miss Priscilla looked surprised.</p>
<p>"I refer to the marvelous, God-bestowed instrument that dwells within
him," explained Diana.</p>
<p>"I think myself," said Miss Priscilla, clearing her throat, "that it's
kind o' cozy to hear a man whistlin' and shoutin' around in the mornin'
while he's dressin'. I suppose he'll be leavin' us pretty soon now. I
hate to see him go, he's gettin' the plants into such good shape; and
wasn't he good about scythin' paths so we wouldn't get wet to our knees
every time we left the house? I don't know how you ever had the courage
to wade over to this piazza before I came, Miss Wilbur."</p>
<p>"Mr. Barrison certainly did smooth our paths."</p>
<p>"He told me he was Aunt Priscilla's man-of-all-work," said Veronica,
busy with her omelette.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>"So he has been," replied Diana seriously: "out of the goodness of his
heart and the cleverness of his hands; but he is a great artist, Miss
Veronica, or at least he will be."</p>
<p>"Do you mean he paints?"</p>
<p>"No, he sings: and it is singing—such as must have sounded when the
stars sang together."</p>
<p>"Dear me," said Veronica, "I wish I'd asked him to pipe up when we were
on the boat."</p>
<p>Diana let her gaze rest for a moment of silence on the sacrilegious
speaker, then she excused herself, saying she would go up to her room.</p>
<p>As soon as the door had closed behind her, Veronica looked up and
bestowed upon her aunt a meaning wink.</p>
<p>"She's got it bad, hasn't she?" she said.</p>
<p>Miss Burridge put her finger to her lips warningly. "Sh!" she breathed.
"Sometimes I think she has: but, law, Phil's nothing but a boy."</p>
<p>"And she's nothing but a girl," said Veronica practically. "That's the
way it usually begins."</p>
<p>Miss Burridge laughed. "What do you know about it, you child?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p><p>"Not so much as I'd like to. Puppa would never let anybody stay after
ten o'clock, and you don't really get warmed up before ten o'clock."</p>
<p>"Why, Veronica Trueman, how you talk!"</p>
<p>"Don't speak of how I talk!" said Veronica. "Hasn't that Miss Wilbur got
language! I guess Mr. Barrison likes her, too. He told me she was a
goddess."</p>
<p>"Oh, Phil's just full of fun. He always will be a rapscallion at heart,
no matter how great he ever gets to be."</p>
<p>"Well, he doesn't want anybody else to stop saying prunes and prisms. He
didn't even want me to chew gum. Anybody that's as unnatural as that had
better marry a goddess. Now, let's go for those dishes, Aunt Priscilla."</p>
<p>"You good child!" said Miss Burridge appreciatively. "I can't really ask
Genevieve to stay in the evenin'. She's the little girl who comes every
day and prepares vegetables and washes dishes. Now, one minute,
Veronica, while I get the names o' these new people straight. I've got
their letters here." Miss Priscilla took them down from the
chimney-piece. "There's Mrs. Lowell, <i>she</i>'s alone, and Miss Emerson,
<i>she</i>'s alone, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> Mr. Nicholas Gayne and his nephew, Herbert Gayne. I
wonder how long I'll remember that."</p>
<p>"I know them all," said Veronica sententiously. "The whole bunch came on
in the same car with me from Boston. It's my plan to poison Mr. Gayne."</p>
<p>"Don't talk that way, child."</p>
<p>"You'll agree to it when you see how mean he is to his nephew. The boy
isn't all there."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Has rooms to let in the upper story, you know." Veronica touched her
round forehead. "Mrs. Lowell is a queen and Miss Emerson isn't; or else
Miss Emerson is a queen and Mrs. Lowell isn't. I'll know which is
t'other to-morrow."</p>
<p>"You seem to have made up your mind about them all."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes!" said Veronica. "You don't have to eat a whole jar of butter
to find out whether it's good. All I need is a three-minute taste of
anybody, and I had three hours and a half of them. Now, come on, Aunt
Priscilla, let's put some transparent water in the metal bowl, and the
snowy foam of soap within it." She rolled up her naughty eyes as she
spoke.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p><p>Miss Burridge gave the girl a rebuking look, and then laughed. "Don't
you go to makin' fun of her now," she said. "She's my star boarder, no
matter who else comes, I'm in love with her whether Phil is or not.
She's genuine, that girl is,—genuine."</p>
<p>"And you don't want me to be imitation," giggled Veronica. "I see."</p>
<p>Then the two went at the clearing-up and dish-washing in high
good-humor.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">A FRIENDLY PACT</span></h2>
<p>"You, Veronica," said Miss Burridge one morning, looking out of the
kitchen window. "I feel sorry for that young boy."</p>
<p>"I told you you would. Old Nick should worry what his nephew does with
himself all day."</p>
<p>"Veronica!" Miss Priscilla gave the girl a warning wink and motioned
with her hand toward the sink where Genevieve, her hair in a tight braid
and her slender figure attired in a scanty calico frock, was looking
over the bib of an apron much too large for her, and washing the
breakfast dishes.</p>
<p>"Excuse me," said Veronica demurely. "I meant to say Mr. Gayne.
Genevieve, you must never call Mr. Gayne 'Old Nick.' Do you hear?"</p>
<p>"Veronica!" pleaded Miss Burridge.</p>
<p>"Oh, we all know Mr. Gayne," said Genevieve, in her piercing, high voice
which always seemed designed to be heard through the tumult of a storm
at sea.</p>
<p>"He has been here before, then?" asked Miss Burridge.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>"Pretty near all last summer. He comes to paint, you know."</p>
<p>"No, I didn't know he was an artist."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, he paints somethin' grand, but I never saw any of his
pitchers."</p>
<p>"Was his nephew with him last summer?"</p>
<p>"No, I don't believe so. I never saw anybody around with him. He spent
most of his time up to the Dexter farm. He said he could paint the
prettiest pitchers there. It was him seen the first ghost."</p>
<p>"What are you talking about, Genevieve?" asked Miss Burridge, while
Veronica busied herself drying the glass and silver.</p>
<p>"Oh, yes," she put in. "That is the haunted farm. Mr. Barrison was
telling me about it."</p>
<p>"Yep," said Genevieve. "Folks had said so a long time and heard awful
queer noises up there, but Mr. Gayne was the first who really seen the
spook."</p>
<p>"I'm not surprised that he had a visitor," said Veronica. "Dollars to
doughnuts, it had horns and hoofs and a tail."</p>
<p>"That's what Uncle Zip said," remarked Genevieve. "He said 't wa'n't
anything but an old stray white cow."</p>
<p>Veronica laughed, and her aunt met her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> mischievous look with an
impressive shake of the head. "Mind me, now," she said, and Veronica did
not pursue the subject.</p>
<p>The long porch across the front of the Inn made, sometimes a sunny, and
sometimes a foggy, meeting-place for the members of the family. It
boasted a hammock and some weather-beaten chairs, and Miss Myrna Emerson
was not tardy in discovering the one of these which offered the most
comfort. She was a lady of uncertain age and certain ideas. One of the
latter was that it was imperative that she should be comfortable.</p>
<p>"I should think Miss Burridge would have some decent chairs here," she
said one morning, dilating her thin nostrils with displeasure as she
took possession of the most hopeful of the seats.</p>
<p>The remark was addressed to Diana who was perched on the piazza rail.</p>
<p>"Doubtless they will be added," she said, "should Miss Burridge find
that her undertaking proves sufficiently remunerative."</p>
<p>"She charges enough, so far as that goes," declared Miss Emerson curtly,
but finding the chair unexpectedly comfortable, she settled back and
complained no further.</p>
<p>Philip was out on the grass painting on a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> long board the words "Ye
Wayside Inn." Herbert Gayne stood watching him listlessly. His uncle was
stretched in the hammock. Mrs. Lowell came out upon the porch. Mr. Gayne
moved reluctantly, but he did arise. Men usually did exert themselves at
the advent of this tall, slender lady with the radiant smile and
laughing eyes.</p>
<p>"Perhaps you would like the hammock, Mrs. Lowell," he said
perfunctorily.</p>
<p>"Offer it to me some time later in the day," she responded pleasantly,
and he tumbled back into the couch with obvious relief.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell approached the rail and observed Philip's labors.</p>
<p>"Where are you going to hang that sign?" she asked in her charming
voice. "Across the front of the house, I judge."</p>
<p>"Oh, no," replied Philip. "We can't hope to attract the fish. I am going
to hang it at the back where Bill Lindsay's flivver will feel the lure
before it gets here."</p>
<p>"Across the back of the house," cried Miss Emerson in alarm. "I hope
nowhere near my window."</p>
<p>"The sign will depend from iron rings," explained Diana.</p>
<p>"I know they'll squeak," said Miss <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>Emerson positively; "and if they do,
Mr. Barrison, you'll simply have to take it down."</p>
<p>No one replied to this warning. So Miss Emerson dilated her nostrils
again with an air of determination and leaned back in her chair.</p>
<p>The eyes of both Mrs. Lowell and Diana were upon the young boy whose
watching face betrayed no inspiration from the fresh morning. He had an
ungainly, neglected appearance from his rough hair to his worn shoes.
His clothes were partially outgrown and shabby.</p>
<p>"Bert," called his uncle from the hammock. The boy looked up. "Come
here. Don't you hear me?" The boy started toward the piazza steps with a
shuffling gait.</p>
<p>"You're slower than molasses in January," said Mr. Gayne lazily. "Go up
to my room and get my field-glasses. They're on the dresser, I think."</p>
<p>Without a word the boy went into the house and Diana and Mrs. Lowell
exchanged a look. Each was hoping the messenger would be successful and
not draw upon himself a reprimand from the dark, impatient man smoking
in the hammock.</p>
<p>The boy returned empty-handed. "They—they weren't there," he said.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p><p>"Weren't where, stu—" Mr. Gayne encountered Mrs. Lowell's gaze as he
was in the middle of his epithet. Her eyes were not laughing now, and he
restrained himself. "Weren't on the dresser, do you mean?" he continued
in a quieter tone. "Well, didn't you look about any?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir. I looked on the—the trunk and on the—the floor."</p>
<p>Mr. Gayne emitted an inarticulate sound which, but for the presence of
the ladies, would evidently have been articulate. "Oh, well," he
groaned, rising to a sitting posture on the side of the hammock, "I
suppose I shall have to galvanize my old bones and go after them
myself."</p>
<p>His nephew's blank look did not change. He stood as if awaiting further
orders, and his listless eyes met Mrs. Lowell's kindly gaze.</p>
<p>"It is good fun to look through field-glasses in a place like this,
isn't it, Bertie?" she said.</p>
<p>The boy's surprise at being addressed was evident. "I—I don't know," he
replied.</p>
<p>His uncle laughed. "That's all the answer you'll ever get out of him,
Mrs. Lowell. He's the champion don't-know-er."</p>
<p>The boy's blank look continued the same.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> It was evident that his
uncle's description of him was nothing new.</p>
<p>"I don't believe that," said Mrs. Lowell. "I think Bertie and I are
going to be friends. I like boys."</p>
<p>The look she was giving the lad as she spoke seemed for a moment to
attract his attention.</p>
<p>"You won't—you won't like me," he said in his usual wooden manner.</p>
<p>"Children and fools," laughed his uncle, rising from the hammock.</p>
<p>"Mr. Gayne!" exclaimed Diana, electrified out of her customary serenity.</p>
<p>The man's restless, dark eyes glanced quickly from the face of one woman
to another, even alighting upon Miss Emerson whose countenance only gave
its usual indication that the lady had just detected a very unpleasant
odor.</p>
<p>He laughed again, good-naturedly, and as he passed his nephew gave him a
careless, friendly pat on the shoulder. The unexpected touch startled
the boy and made him cringe.</p>
<p>"Bert believes honesty is the best policy," he said. "Don't you, Bert?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," replied the boy automatically.</p>
<p>"Sit down here a minute, won't you, Bertie?" asked Mrs. Lowell, making a
place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> beside her on the piazza rail. The boy obeyed. "Have you ever
seen this great ocean before?"</p>
<p>"No. Yes. I don't know."</p>
<p>"Why, yes, you do know, of course," said Mrs. Lowell, with a soft little
laugh, very intimate and pleasant. "You know whether you have seen the
ocean before."</p>
<p>The boy regarded her, and in the surprise of being really challenged to
think, he meditated.</p>
<p>"No," he said, at last. "I've never been here before."</p>
<p>"Isn't it a beautiful place?" asked Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"I don't know," returned the boy after a hesitation. Then he looked down
on the grass at Philip.</p>
<p>"Do you want to go back and watch Mr. Barrison paint?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"All right. Run along. We'll talk some other time."</p>
<p>The boy rose and shuffled across the porch and down the steps.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Lowell, it is heart-breaking!" exclaimed Diana softly.</p>
<p>Her companion nodded.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>"The situation is incomprehensible," said Diana. "It seems as if Mr.
Gayne had some ulterior design which impelled him to stultify any
outcropping of intelligence in his nephew. Have you not observed it from
the moment of their arrival?"</p>
<p>"Yes, and before we arrived. I noticed them on the train."</p>
<p>"If there's anything I can't bear to have around, it's an idiot," said
Miss Emerson. "It gives me the creeps. If he hangs about much, I shall
complain to Miss Burridge."</p>
<p>The sweep of the ocean and the rush of the wind made her remark
inaudible beyond the piazza. Mrs. Lowell turned to her.</p>
<p>"I think we all have a mission right there, perhaps, Miss Emerson. The
boy is not an idiot. I have observed him closely enough to be convinced
of that. He is a plant in a dark cellar, and I wonder how many years he
has been there. His uncle's methods turn him into an automaton. If you
keep your arm in a sling a few weeks you know it loses its power to act.
The boy's brain seems to have been treated the same way. His uncle's
every word holds the law over him that he cannot think, or reason, and
that he is the stupidest creature living."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>"That is true," said Diana. "That is just what he does."</p>
<p>Miss Emerson sniffed. "Well, I didn't come up to Maine on a mission. I
came to rest, and I don't propose to have that gawk prowling around
where I am."</p>
<p>Nicholas Gayne appeared, his binoculars in his hand. "Would you ladies
like to look at the shipping?" he said, approaching. His manner was
ingratiating, and Diana conquered the resentment filling her heart
sufficiently to accept the glasses from his hand. He was conscious that
he had not made a good impression. "The mackerel boats are going out to
sea after yesterday's storm," he remarked. "You will see how wonderfully
near you can bring them."</p>
<p>Diana adjusted the glass and exclaimed over its power. Miss Emerson
jumped up from her chair.</p>
<p>"That's something I want to see," she said, and Diana handed her the
glass while Nicholas Gayne scowled at the spinster's brown
"transformation." He was not desirous of propitiating Miss Emerson, who,
however, pressed him into the service of helping her adjust the screws
to suit her eyes, and was effusive in her appreciation of the effect.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>"You surely are a benefactor, Mr. Gayne," she said at last, with
enthusiasm.</p>
<p>"Let me be a benefactor to Mrs. Lowell, too," he returned, and the lady
yielded up the glass.</p>
<p>"That is the great Penguin Light beyond Crag Island," he said, as Mrs.
Lowell accepted the binoculars. "The trees hide it in the daytime, it is
so distant, but at night you will see it flash out."</p>
<p>"It is so interesting that you are familiar here, Mr. Gayne," said Miss
Emerson. "You must tell us all about the island and show us the
prettiest places."</p>
<p>The owner of the binoculars stirred restlessly under the appealing smile
the lady was bestowing upon him.</p>
<p>"For myself, I just love to walk," she added suggestively.</p>
<p>"I don't do much walking," he returned shortly. "I come here to sketch."</p>
<p>"Oh, an artist!" exclaimed Miss Emerson, clasping her hands in the
extremity of her delight. "Do you allow any one to watch you work? Such
a pleasure as it would be."</p>
<p>"It isn't, though," said Nicholas Gayne with an uncomfortable
side-glance at his admirer. "My daubs aren't worth watching."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, that will do for you to say," she returned archly. "I have done
some sketching myself. Perhaps I could persuade you to take a pupil."</p>
<p>"Nothing doing," returned the artist hastily. "We all come up here to
rest, don't we?" he added.</p>
<p>"Oh, I suppose so," sighed Miss Emerson. "But I do hope you will give me
the great pleasure of seeing your work sometime." She sank back into her
chair with a sigh.</p>
<p>"That is a very fine glass," remarked Mrs. Lowell as she returned it to
its owner. His brow cleared as he received it.</p>
<p>"Well, I must be off," he said. "I mustn't waste time under these
favoring skies."</p>
<p>"Oh, Miss Wilbur," said Miss Emerson, addressing the young girl.
"Wouldn't it be lovely if Mr. Gayne would let us go with him and watch
him sketch?"</p>
<p>"I am quite ignorant of his art," returned Diana, rising from her seat.
"And I still have a great deal of exploring to do on my own account."</p>
<p>Nicholas Gayne cast an admiring glance at the statuesque lines of her
face and figure.</p>
<p>"Perhaps you will let me make a sketch of you one of these days, Miss
Wilbur." He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> approached the piazza rail as he spoke and his voice
carried down to where Philip was painting under the eyes of the silent,
watching boy.</p>
<p>Philip looked up, and, catching the expression with which Gayne seemed
to be appraising the young girl, he ruined one of the <i>n</i>'s in Inn so
that it had to be painted out and done over.</p>
<p>Veronica, her duties finished for the time being, sallied out of doors
and approaching Philip looked curiously at his work.</p>
<p>"There's nothing the matter with that," she said encouragingly, and the
others came down from the piazza to praise the painter. Miss Emerson
followed, but she looked at the sign doubtfully.</p>
<p>"One can't help being sensitive, can one?" she said to Gayne. "And the
wind blows so hard all the time up here, I'm afraid that sign is going
to squeak."</p>
<p>"Show me your window," said Philip good-naturedly, "and I'll see if we
can't avoid it."</p>
<p>So they all went around to the back of the house where Philip had his
ladder waiting and the sign was finally placed to the satisfaction of
everybody except Miss Emerson, who considered it on probation.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>Nicholas Gayne was still conscious that he had not made a pleasing
impression in his treatment of his nephew and it was no part of his
programme to attract attention. He approached the boy now.</p>
<p>"What are you going to do with yourself, Bert?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," was the answer.</p>
<p>"Want to come with me?"</p>
<p>"No, sir."</p>
<p>"Well, that's plain enough," said Gayne, laughing and looking around on
the company.</p>
<p>"He's a very foolish boy," said Miss Emerson, "when he has an
opportunity to watch you sketch."</p>
<p>"Oh, Mr. Gayne!" cried Veronica. "Don't go until you tell us about the
haunted farm."</p>
<p>"Where did you ever hear about that?" asked the artist, looking with
some favor on Veronica's round and dimpled personality. "I thought you
were a stranger here."</p>
<p>"I am, but Genevieve Wilks has just been telling me that you really saw
the spook."</p>
<p>Gayne laughed. "When I came up here last summer, I was told about the
haunted farm, and, of course, I was interested in it at once. There are
some particularly good views from there. So, naturally, I became one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
the ha'nts myself and spent a lot of time with them."</p>
<p>"Oh, but tell us what it looked like," persisted Veronica. "Did you
really think you saw one?"</p>
<p>"What a subject for this time of a clear, sunny day," said Gayne,
lightly. "Wait until the thunder rolls some stormy night," and, lifting
his cap, he hurried away through the field, his sketch-book under his
arm.</p>
<p>Diana looked after his receding form.</p>
<p>"It is odd how little like an artist Mr. Gayne looks," she said.</p>
<p>"You mean he should have long hair and dreamy eyes?" asked Philip.</p>
<p>"I think it is the eyes," replied Diana thoughtfully. "I cannot picture
his looking with concentration and persistence at anything."</p>
<p>"Oh, I've seen him make a pretty good stab at it," said Philip dryly,
thinking of the manner in which he had on several occasions seen him
stare at Diana.</p>
<p>At this point the dull boy found his tongue.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't go up there," he said haltingly.</p>
<p>"Up where?" asked Mrs. Lowell encouragingly.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>"Up to that farm. It's full of nettles that sting, and then, when it's
dark, ghosts."</p>
<p>The group exchanged glances.</p>
<p>"Who told you that?" asked Philip.</p>
<p>"Uncle Nick."</p>
<p>It did not increase the general admiration of Mr. Gayne that he should
take such means for securing safety from his nephew's companionship.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell took the boy's arm. "I want to go down to the water," she
said. "Will you go with me?"</p>
<p>"Are you afraid to go alone?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I should like it better if you went with me."</p>
<p>He allowed himself to be led around the house, then on among the grassy
hummocks and clump of bay and savin and countless blueberry bushes.</p>
<p>"Do you see what quantities of blueberries we are going to have?" asked
Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"Are we?"</p>
<p>"Yes. These are berry bushes. Do you like blueberries?"</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell laughed and shook the arm she was still holding. "You do
know, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>Bertie," she said. "You must have eaten lots of blueberries." Her
merry eyes held his dull ones as she spoke. "I don't like to hear you
say you don't know, all the time."</p>
<p>"What difference does it make?" he returned.</p>
<p>"All the difference in the world. The most important thing in life is
for us to <i>know</i>. There are such quantities of beautiful things for us
to know. This day, for instance. We can know it is beautiful, can't we?"</p>
<p>When they reached the stony beach, she released his arm and sat down
among the pebbles. He did not look at them or at the sea; but at her.
She wore a blue dress and her brown hair was ruffling in the wind.</p>
<p>"Do you like stones?" she asked.</p>
<p>"I—" he began.</p>
<p>She lifted her hand and laughed again into his eyes. "Careful!" she
said. "Don't say you don't know."</p>
<p>The boy's look altered from dullness to perplexity. "But I don't—" he
began slowly.</p>
<p>"Then find out right now," she said, lifting a hand full of the smooth
pebbles while the tide seethed and hissed near them. She held out her
hand to him.</p>
<p>"Pick out the prettiest," she said, and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> began pulling them over with
his forefinger.</p>
<p>"I love stones," she went on. "See how the ocean has polished them for
us. Years and years of polishing has gone to these, and yet we can pick
them up on a bright summer morning and have them for our own if we want
them."</p>
<p>"There's one sort of green," said Bertie. "Green. That's like me. Uncle
Nick says I'm green."</p>
<p>"Uncle Nick doesn't know everything," said Mrs. Lowell quietly, as she
took the pebble he had chosen and, laying her handkerchief on the beach,
placed the green pebble upon it. "Now, see if we can find some that you
can see the light through. There is one now. See, that one is almost
transparent. It is translucent. That is what translucent means. Isn't it
a pretty word—and a pretty stone? Hold it up to your eye."</p>
<p>The boy obeyed, a slight look of interest coming into his face. Mrs.
Lowell studying him realized what an attractive face his might be. It
was as if the promising bud of a flower had been blighted in
mid-opening.</p>
<p>"Let us put all the best pebbles on my handkerchief and take them home
with us. Have you a father and mother, Bertie?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>"No."</p>
<p>"Do you remember them?"</p>
<p>The boy hesitated and glanced into the kind face bent toward him. Its
expression gave the lonely lad a strange sensation. A lump came into his
throat and moisture suddenly gathered in his eyes. He swallowed the
lump.</p>
<p>"Uncle Nick doesn't want me—to talk about her," he stammered.</p>
<p>"Your mother, do you mean, Bertie?"</p>
<p>The tender tone was too much for the boy. He had to swallow faster and
nodded. In a minute two drops ran down his cheeks. He ignored them and
began throwing pebbles into the water.</p>
<p>The figure that he made in his outgrown trousers and faded old sweater,
trying to control himself, moved his companion, and the sign of his
emotion encouraged her. Perhaps he was not so stupid as he seemed.</p>
<p>"I think it would be nice to make a collection of stones while we are
here," she said. "I'm sure Miss Burridge will let us have a glass jar.
See this one."</p>
<p>Bertie dashed the back of his hand across his eyes and turned to look at
the small pebble she offered.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>"Isn't that a little beauty?"</p>
<p>"I—"</p>
<p>"Careful!" his companion smiled as she said it and pretended to frown at
him in such a merry way that the hint of a smile appeared on his face.</p>
<p>"Uncle Nick likes to have me say I don't know. He says it's honest."</p>
<p>"Well, no two people could be more different than Uncle Nick and me. I
want you to <i>know</i>, and I want you to say so, because it's what we all
have a right to. It is what God wants of us; and, Bertie, if you ever
feel like talking about your mother to me, you must do so."</p>
<p>The boy glanced up at her, then down at the pebbles which he pulled over
in silence.</p>
<p>"Where do you and your uncle live?"</p>
<p>"In Newark."</p>
<p>"Do you go to school there?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Where do you go to school?"</p>
<p>"Nowhere."</p>
<p>"Where did you learn to read and write then, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"In school. I went when—when <i>she</i> was here."</p>
<p>"Your mother?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>"And have you brothers and sisters?"</p>
<p>"No. Just Uncle Nick."</p>
<p>"Does he give you studies to learn?" Mrs. Lowell's catechism was given
in such gentle, interested tones that the answers had come easily up to
now.</p>
<p>Now the boy hesitated, and she began to expect the stereotyped answer
which he had learned was most pleasing, and the easiest way out with his
uncle.</p>
<p>"I—" he began, and caught her look. "Sometimes," he added. "But Uncle
Nick says it isn't any use—and I don't care anyway, because—she isn't
here."</p>
<p>Again Mrs. Lowell could see the spasm in his throat and face. It passed
and left the usual dull listlessness of expression.</p>
<p>"Your mother was very sweet," said Mrs. Lowell quietly, and some
acknowledgment lighted his eyes as he suddenly looked up at her. "I know
that because she made such a deep impression on the little boy she left.
How old were you, Bertie, in that happy time when she was here?"</p>
<p>"I—it was Christmas, and there have been—five Christmases since. I
remember them on my fingers, and one hand is gone."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell met his shifting look with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> steady, kind gaze which was
so fraught with sympathy that his forlorn, neglected soul turned towards
its warmth like a struggling flower to the sun.</p>
<p>"I'll tell you what I think would be beautiful, Bertie," she said. "And
it is for you to do everything you do for her, just as if she were here,
or as if you were going to see her to-morrow. Did she ever talk to you
about God?"</p>
<p>"Yes. I said prayers that Christmas—and I got a sled."</p>
<p>"Do you ever say prayers now?"</p>
<p>"No. It—it doesn't do any good if you—if you live with Uncle Nick.
He—he won't let God give you—anything."</p>
<p>"Let me tell you something wonderful, Bertie. Nobody—not even Uncle
Nick—can stand between you and God. You know the way your mother loved
you? God loves you that way, too. Like a Father and Mother both. So,
whenever you think of your mother's love, think of God's love, too. It
is just as real. In fact, it was God, you know, who made her love you."</p>
<p>The boy looked up at this.</p>
<p>"Yes. So, whenever you think of God, remember that 'I don't know' must
never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> come into your thought. You <i>do</i> know, and you <i>can</i> know better
every day."</p>
<p>"Uncle Nick won't like it if I know anything."</p>
<p>"Dear child!" burst from Mrs. Lowell at this unconscious revelation of
blight. "We will have a secret from Uncle Nick. I am so glad you have
told me about your dear mother, and now you are going to start doing
everything in the way you think would make her happy if she were here. I
am sure she loved everything beautiful. She loved flowers and birds and
this splendid ocean that is going to catch us in a minute if we don't
move back. What do you say to letting it catch us! Supposing we take off
our shoes and stockings and wade. Doesn't that foam look tempting?"</p>
<p>Color rose in the speaker's cheeks as she finished, and the vitality in
her voice was infectious.</p>
<p>"It's—it'll be cold," said the boy.</p>
<p>"Let it. Come on, it will be fun."</p>
<p>She was already taking off her shoes and he followed suit. It gave her a
pang to see the holes in his faded socks, but she caught up her skirts
and he pulled up his trousers and shrinkingly followed her. The June
water was still reminiscent of ice, and she squealed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> as the foam curled
around her ankles, and Bertie hopped up and down until color came into
his face, too. The incoming tide, noisier and noisier, drove them
farther and farther up the beach, until finally they sat down together
on a rock at a safe distance from the water, and the sunlight fell hotly
on their glistening feet.</p>
<p>"That was fun!" said Mrs. Lowell, laughing and breathing fast. "Do you
know how to swim, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"I—no, I don't."</p>
<p>"That would be a nice thing to learn while you are here. You learn and
then teach me."</p>
<p>"Me? Teach you?"</p>
<p>"Of course. Why not? There's a cove in the island where they all swim."</p>
<p>Bertie looked off on the billows. "Would my mother like that?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I'm sure she would, and she would like the collection of stones we are
going to make, and she would like you to help Miss Burridge by weeding
the garden that they have started. There are so many delightful things
to do in the world, and you are going to do them all—for her."</p>
<p>"All for her," echoed Bertie. "And not tell Uncle Nick," he added.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><p>"No. You and I will keep the secret."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell looked at him with a smile, and the neglected boy, his dull
wits stimulated by this amazing experience of comradeship, smiled back
at her, the smile of the little child who in that far-away happy
Christmas had received a sled.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">BIOGRAPHY</span></h2>
<p>"Well, good-bye, Miss Priscilla," said Philip, coming into the kitchen a
few mornings afterward. "This landlubber life won't do for me any
longer."</p>
<p>Small Genevieve was at the sink washing dishes and Veronica was drying
them.</p>
<p>Miss Burridge slid her last loaf of bread into the oven and then stood
up and faced him.</p>
<p>"Philip Barrison," she said emphatically, "you have been a blessing for
these weeks. I hate to see you go. Now, how much do I owe you for all
the good things you've done for me?"</p>
<p>Philip laughed and, throwing his arms around her, gave her a hearty
smack on the cheek.</p>
<p>"What do I owe you for popovers and corn fritters?" he rejoined. "Just
don't let Veronica chew gum, nor let Genevieve flirt with Marley Hughes
and we'll call it square."</p>
<p>Genevieve turned up her little nose and giggled, and Veronica looked
scornful.</p>
<p>"Now, don't you tell me that Puppa liked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> it," he continued to her.
"Besides, anybody that lives with your Aunt Pris has so many nicer
things to chew there is no excuse. Oh, Miss Priscilla, how I hate to say
adieu to the waffles!"</p>
<p>"Well, you must come real often, Phil. I heard you was goin' to give us
a concert at the hall sometime this summer. Is that so? I do hope you
will."</p>
<p>"I shouldn't wonder. My accompanist is coming to-day and we shall do a
little work and a lot of fishing."</p>
<p>"Is he a young feller? You must bring him up to play croquet with the
girls."</p>
<p>"Well, I don't know whether he has any experience as an Alpine climber
or not."</p>
<p>"Why, I don't think it's such an awful bad ground. Do you, Veronica?"</p>
<p>"Not if he's real nice and hasn't any whiskers," replied the girl.
"Heaven knows he'll be better than nothing. Such a place as this and not
a beau! It's a crime."</p>
<p>"How about me?" inquired Philip modestly.</p>
<p>Veronica lifted her upper lip disdainfully. "Oh, you, with your lectures
and your goddesses! What earthly good are you?"</p>
<p>"Cr-rushed!" exclaimed Philip.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>"Talked to Mrs. Lowell all last evening on the piazza in that lovely
moonlight. The idea of wasting it on a <i>Mrs.</i> I suppose there's a <i>Mr.</i>
to her."</p>
<p>"Yes, and he's coming before the summer is over. The worst of it is she
seems to like him."</p>
<p>"Children, children," said Miss Burridge, and she winked toward the back
of Genevieve's head. Well she knew the alertness of the ears that were
holding back those tight braids of hair.</p>
<p>"Yes, my accompanist, Barney, is a broth of a boy, but I shall tell him,
Veronica, that ten o'clock is the limit, the very extreme limit."</p>
<p>The girl flushed and laughed. "You mind your business now, Mr. Barrison,
and I'll attend to mine. I'm perfectly capable of it."</p>
<p>"Very well. I'll simply keep Puppa's address on my desk, and I won't use
it unless I really have to," said Phil, in a conscientious tone which
nearly caused Veronica to throw a cup at him.</p>
<p>"Go along now if you must, Philip," said Miss Priscilla. "And I do thank
you, dear boy. We shall miss you every minute. Give my love to your
grandmother. I wish she could get up as far as this. You tell her so."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>"All right, I will. Do you know where Miss Wilbur is?"</p>
<p>"Aha!" said Veronica softly.</p>
<p>"I don't want to go without saying good-bye to her."</p>
<p>"I should hope not," jeered Veronica. "I suppose you won't see her again
all summer."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, I shall, unless Barney Kelly cuts me out."</p>
<p>"Sure, it's Oirish he is, thin?"</p>
<p>"Faith, and he is, and a bit chipped off the original blarney stone at
that. Trust him not, Veronica."</p>
<p>"I only hope I'll get the chance, but if you're going to set him on the
goddess, what sort of a look-in will I have? I've got five on my nose
already."</p>
<p>"Five what, woman?"</p>
<p>"Freckles. Can't you see them from there? It will be fulsome flattery if
you say you can't."</p>
<p>Philip squinted up his eyes and came nearer to examine.</p>
<p>"You remember what I said. Tell Barney they're beauty spots—'golden
kisses of the sun.'"</p>
<p>"Oh, ain't that pretty!" shouted Genevieve. "I'm speckled with 'em jest
like a turkey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> egg, but I don't mind 'em the way Veronica does. I've got
some powder at home and I powder over 'em."</p>
<p>"At your age, Genevieve!" exclaimed Philip sternly. "What shall I do
with the extravagance and artificiality of this generation! Don't you
know, Genevieve, that the money you spend for powder should go into the
missionary box? You poor, lost, little soul!"</p>
<p>Genevieve giggled delightedly, and Miss Burridge, at the window,
exclaimed:</p>
<p>"There's Miss Wilbur now, Phil, looking at the garden bed."</p>
<p>"If I were she," said Veronica, "I wouldn't have a word to say to you
after the way you wasted last evening."</p>
<p>"If only she thought so, too!" groaned Philip. "But I'm not in it with
her astronomy map for June. She is a hundred times more interested to
know where Jupiter and Venus are than where I am—natural, I
suppose—all in the family." He threw open the kitchen door and,
standing on the step, threw kisses toward the group within.</p>
<p>"Good-bye, summer!" he sang. "<i>Good-bye, good-bye.</i>"</p>
<p>The beauty of his voice had its usual effect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> on Diana, who stood by the
strip of green, growing things, looking in his direction, her lips
slightly parted over her pretty teeth.</p>
<p>"You see I'm good-bye-ing," he said, approaching her.</p>
<p>"Are you leaving us?" she returned, allowing her clasped hands to fall
apart. "See how well the sweet peas are doing."</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm leaving you all in good shape. Do you think you can go on
behaving yourselves without my watchful guardianship and Christian
example?"</p>
<p>"I think we shall miss you. Mr. Gayne is not a fair exchange."</p>
<p>"Thank you. Mrs. Lowell was talking to me about that outfit last
evening. She is quite stirred up about the boy."</p>
<p>"Yes," rejoined Diana. "I think she is a wonderful woman. She has taken
him down to the beach with her again this morning. She believes that Mr.
Gayne is his nephew's enemy rather than his guardian. She believes he
has some reason for desiring to blight any buddings of intelligence in
the boy, and uses an outrageous method of suppression over him all the
time. It would be so much easier to let it go, and most of us would, I'm
sure, rather than spend vacation hours in such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> insipid company, or have
any dealings with that—that impossible uncle; but Mrs. Lowell will not
relinquish her efforts."</p>
<p>"Yes, she is a brilliant, fearless sort of woman," said Philip. "I
shouldn't wonder if she gave Gayne a disagreeable quarter of an hour
before she gets through with him."</p>
<p>"One has to exercise care, however," returned Diana, "lest the man
become angered and visit his ill-humor on the boy. I am often obliged to
constrain myself to civility when I yearn to hurl—" she hesitated.</p>
<p>"Plates? Oh, do say you long to throw a plate at him!"</p>
<p>Diana gave her remote moonbeam smile.</p>
<p>"I must admit that 'invective' was in my mind. A rather strong word for
girls to use."</p>
<p>"A splendid word. A good long one, too. You might try hurling
polysyllables at him some day and see him blink."</p>
<p>Diana shook her head. "That sort of man is a pachyderm. He would never
flinch at verbal missiles. Since you must go, I wish some other
agreeable man would join our group and converse with him at table."</p>
<p>Philip smiled. "Surely you have noticed that Miss Emerson is not averse
to assuming all responsibility?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>"Mr. Barrison," said Diana gravely, "I hope when I am—am elderly and
unmarried, that I shall not seek to attract men."</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur," returned Philip, with a solemnity fitting hers, and
regarding the symmetry and grace of her lovely head, "don't spend any
time worrying about that; for some inner voice assures me that you will
never be elderly and unmarried."</p>
<p>"The future is on the knees of the gods," she returned serenely.</p>
<p>"Then I don't need to lose any sleep on account of your posing for one
of Mr. Gayne's wonderful sketches?"</p>
<p>Diana brought the brown velvet of her eyes to bear fully upon him. It
even seemed hopeful that a spark would glow in them.</p>
<p>"I loathe the man," she said slowly.</p>
<p>"Forgive me, divine one. Well, I must go now. Why won't you take me
home? I should like you to meet my grandmother, and think of the
pitfalls and mantraps of the island road if I risk myself alone: Bill
Lindsay's Ford! Marley Hughes's bicycle! Lou Buell's gray mare taking
him to mend somebody's broken pipe! Matt Blake's express wagon! Come and
keep my courage up."</p>
<p>"You have a grandmother on this island?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p><p>"I'll prove it if you'll come with me."</p>
<p>Diana smiled and moved along beside him. "It doesn't seem a real,
mundane, earthly place to me yet," she said. "It must be wonderful to
have a solid <i>pied-à-terre</i> here. They tell me there are many summer
cottages, but they are far from our Inn and I haven't realized them yet.
I am hoping my parents will consent to purchasing some ground here for
me."</p>
<p>"Where do you usually go in summer?"</p>
<p>"Our cottage is at Newport, but I like better Pittsfield, where we go in
the autumn."</p>
<p>Philip looked around at her as she moved along through the field beside
him. "Is your middle name Biddle?" he asked.</p>
<p>"No, I have no middle name."</p>
<p>"I thought in Philadelphia only the descendants of the Biddles had
cottages at Newport and Pittsfield."</p>
<p>Diana smiled. "I know that is a stock bit of humor. What was that about
an Englishman who said he had seen Niagara Falls and almost every other
wonder of America except a Biddle? He had not yet seen one."</p>
<p>"When do you laugh, Miss Wilbur?" asked Philip suddenly.</p>
<p>"Why, whenever anything amuses me, of course."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>"Yet you like the island, although it has never amused you yet. I have
lived in the house with you for two weeks and I haven't heard you
laugh."</p>
<p>Diana looked up at him and laughed softly. "How amusing!" she said.</p>
<p>He nodded. "It's very good-looking, very. Do that again sometime. How
did you happen to run away from family this season?"</p>
<p>"I was tired and almost ill, and some people at home had been here and
told me about it. So I came, really incontinently. I did not wait to
perfect arrangements, and when I arrived in a severe rainstorm one
evening, I found great kindness at the house my friends had told me of,
but no clean towels. They were going to have a supply later, but
meanwhile I lost my heart to the view from our Inn piazza and Miss
Burridge found me there one day and took me in for better or for worse.
That explains me. Now, what explains your having a grandmother here?"</p>
<p>"Her daughter marrying my father, I imagine. My grandfather was a
sea-captain, Cap'n Steve Dorking. He had given up the sea by the time I
came along."</p>
<p>"Here? Were you born here?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>"That explains the maritime tints in your eyes. Even when they laugh
the sparkle is like the sun on the water. Continue, please."</p>
<p>"Well, my father, who came here to fish, met my mother, fell in love,
married her, and took her away. He was very clever at everything except
making money, it seems, so my mother came home within a year to welcome
me on to the planet. My grandfather had a small farm, and I was his
shadow and one of his 'hands' until I was eight years old."</p>
<p>"Was it a happy life?"</p>
<p>"It was. I remember especially the smell of Grammy's buttery,
sweet-smelling cookies, and gingerbread, and apple pies with cinnamon.
It smells the same way now. Do you wonder I like to come back?"</p>
<p>"You stimulate my appetite," said Diana.</p>
<p>"Oh, she'll give you some. There were many jolly things in those days to
brighten the life of a country boy. The way the soft grass felt to bare
feet in the spring, and in the frosty autumn mornings when we went to
the yard to milk and would scare up the cows so those same bare feet
could stand in the warm place where the cows had lain. Then came winter
and snowdrifts—making snow huts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> and coasting down the hills. Sliding
and skating on the ice-filled hollows. It was all great. I'm glad I had
it."</p>
<p>"You test my credulity, Mr. Barrison, when you speak of ice and snow in
this poetic home of summer breezes."</p>
<p>He looked down at her. "We will have a winter house-party at Grammy's
sometime and convince you."</p>
<p>"So at eight years of age you went out into the world?"</p>
<p>"Yes, at my dear mother's apron strings. My father had spent some time
with us every year and at last secured a living salary and took us to
town. The first thing I did in the glitter of the blinking lamp-posts
was to fall in love. I prayed every night for a long time that I might
marry that girl. She had long curls and I reached just to her ear. I
received her wedding cards a year or so ago. I was always praying for
something, but only one of my prayers has ever been answered. I was
always very devout in a thunderstorm, and I prayed that I might not be
struck by lightning and I never have been yet."</p>
<p>"When was your wonderful voice discovered?"</p>
<p>"Look here, Miss Wilbur, you are tempting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> me to a whole biography, and
it isn't interesting."</p>
<p>"Yes, I am interested in—in your mother."</p>
<p>"My poor mother," said Philip, in a different tone. "When I was twelve
years old my father was taken ill and soon left us. My mother had to
struggle and I had to stop school and go to work. The first job I got
was lathing a house. I walked seven miles into the country and put the
laths on that house. I worked hard for a whole week and received twelve
dollars and seventy-five cents. It was a ten-dollar gold piece, two
silver dollars, fifty cents, and a quarter."</p>
<p>Diana lifted sympathetic eyes.</p>
<p>"I bought a suit of clothes and gave up the gold piece. The perfect lady
clerk failed to give me credit for it and six months afterward the store
sent the bill to my mother. I put up a heated argument, you may be sure,
and before the matter was settled, the perfect lady clerk skipped with
another woman's husband. So the powers inclined to believe me rather
than her."</p>
<p>"Poor little boy," put in Diana. "But your music?"</p>
<p>"Yes. Well, our minister's wife took an interest in me and gave me
lessons on the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>organ. I never would practice, though. I would pick out
hymns with one finger while I stood on one foot and pumped the pedal
with the other. It was results I was after; but the cornet allured me,
and I learned to play that well enough to join the Sunday-School
orchestra.</p>
<p>"A cousin of my mother's came to our rescue sufficiently to let me go to
school, and in all my spare time I did odd jobs, some of them pretty
strenuous; but I was a strong youngster, and evidently bore a charmed
life, for I challenged fate on trains, on top of buildings, and in
engine rooms. But I'll spare you the harrowing details. At the spring
commencement of the high school, I was invited to sing a solo. I warbled
good old 'Loch Lomond' and forgot the words and was mortified almost to
death, but the audience was enthusiastic, I have always believed out of
pity."</p>
<p>"No no," breathed Diana.</p>
<p>"Well, at any rate, they insisted on an encore, and I was so braced up
by the applause and so furious at myself that I gave them 'The Owl and
the Pussy Cat."'</p>
<p>"Oh."</p>
<p>"I see you don't know it. Well, next day I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> met a lady on the street who
was very musical, it seemed, and she invited me to come to her house and
talk over studying music. She said I had a great responsibility. Oh, you
don't want to hear all this!"</p>
<p>"I do, I do."</p>
<p>"My mother passed away soon afterward, and the musical friend in
need—good friend she was, and is—told me of a town a hundred miles
away where there were vacancies she knew of in choir positions. She
would give me a letter of introduction and she believed I could qualify
for one of them. I didn't tell her the slimness of my cash after my dear
mother's funeral expenses were paid, and she didn't know. So I traveled
that hundred miles on a freight train. When I first boarded it, I
crawled into the fire-box of a new engine that was being transported
over that line. It grew very cold before we had gone far, and I crawled
out and climbed over the coal tender and opened the hole where they put
the water in. I climbed down into that empty place and lighted a match
only to find that there were about twenty bums there ahead of me. I
didn't stay there long, for I was good and plenty afraid; some of them
looked desperate. I climbed out again and went along the train<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> till I
came to a flat-car loaded with a new threshing machine. I saw a brakeman
coming along with a lantern, and I knew if he saw me he'd put me off. So
I climbed into the back of the threshing machine and down into its very
depths, and after a while, when I had become chilled to the marrow, the
train came to a halt. I crawled out and down to the ground and ran
around to get warm. They were doing some switching and I saw they added
two cars to the train. One had stock in one end and hay and grain in the
other. They had to leave the door open to let in air for the stock, and
up I climbed and hid under the straw and slept soundly the rest of the
journey. Oh, I was dirty when I arrived! But my precious letter was safe
in an inside pocket, and with the contents of the little bundle I had,
and the expenditure of part of my small stock of money, I made myself
decent and presented my letter of introduction. The organist of one of
the churches tried me out. He liked my voice so much that he engaged me
and was even interested enough to let me live at his house; but three
dollars a Sunday was the salary and the voice lessons I engaged would be
four dollars a week, so, of course, I had to go to work at once, and I
got a job in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> big sash and door factory where I worked like a horse
ten hours a day."</p>
<p>"Why, Mr. Barrison," sighed Diana, "you are a hero."</p>
<p>Philip laughed. "I had no leisure to think about that. Times grew very
slack and there began to be great danger that I would lose my job in the
factory. They said they would have to lay me off unless I would
whitewash an old building they had bought to store lumber. So I was
given a brush and a barrel of lime-water and told to go at it. If I lost
my job, I wouldn't be able to live. So I wrapped my feet in sacks to try
to keep warm—it was late November—and went at it: and there were
girls, Miss Wilbur, girls! And I couldn't put it over them after Tom
Sawyer's fashion. Well, I had sung there just thirteen Sundays when the
blow fell. The committee told me very kindly that they wanted to try
another tenor. I went home from that talk with a heart heavy as lead. I
could not sleep, and near midnight I began to cry. Yes, I did cry. I was
twenty-one and I had voted, but I was the most broken-hearted boy in the
State. I must have cried for two or three hours, pitying myself to the
utmost, up three flights of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> stairs in that little attic room, with the
rain pouring on the roof over my head, when all at once I jumped out of
bed as dry-eyed as if I'd never shed a tear and, lifting my right hand
as high as possible, I made a vow. I said—So help me, God, I will
become a singer if I have to walk over everybody in the attempt. I will
learn to sing, and these mutts will listen to me and pay to hear me,
too. Then I jumped back into bed and fell asleep instantly."</p>
<p>"Splendid!" said Diana. "And how did you keep the vow?"</p>
<p>"Well, next morning I began to figure what I must do. I knew I hadn't
enough education. I remembered that three years before I had won a
scholarship for twenty weeks' free tuition in a business college in
Portland, and I decided that I would need fifty dollars. The same cousin
who had helped me before to go to school, came across. I quit my job,
paid my bills, and left for Portland, getting there at Christmas. I sang
at the Christmas-tree exercises in my home church. I went to school as I
planned, took care of the furnace for the rent of my room, took care of
three horses, got the janitorship of a church—"</p>
<p>Diana looked up with a sudden smile. "And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> forced up the thermometer
when you overslept."</p>
<p>Philip burst into a hearty laugh. "Did Miss Burridge give me away? I
tell you I saved that church lots of coal that winter."</p>
<p>"Oh, continue. I did not mean to interrupt you, for now you are coming
to the climax."</p>
<p>"Nothing very wonderful, Miss Wilbur, but I found I had that to give
that people were willing to pay for, and I began going about in country
places giving recitals, mixing humorous recitations in with the groups
of songs, playing my own accompaniments and sometimes having to shovel a
path through the snow to the town hall before my audience could come in.
I wonder if Caruso ever had to shovel snow away from the Metropolitan
Opera House before his friends could get in to hear him! After that I
worked my way through two years at college, studying with a good voice
teacher. Then came the war. I got through with little more than a
scratch and was in one of the first regiments to be sent home after the
armistice was signed. The lady who first discovered my voice had
influential musical friends in New York. She sent me to them, and, to
make a long story a little shorter, last winter I was under an
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>excellent management, obtained a church position, and have sung at a
good many recitals. The coming winter looks hopeful." Philip put his
hand on his heart and bowed. "Thanking you for your kind attention—here
we are at Grammy's."</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">A FIRELIGHT INTERVIEW</span></h2>
<p>Their path had led away from the main road across a field toward a
buff-colored house set on a rise of ground like a billow in a green sea.
Where the hill descended beyond, there grew a flourishing apple orchard.</p>
<p>"Since my grandfather's death, the little farm is overgrown," said
Philip. "My grandmother gets a neighbor to cut the hay and milk her cow,
and so leaves the cares of the world behind her."</p>
<p>A climbing rosebush nearly covered one side of the cottage, and
old-fashioned perennials clung about its base. Nothing was yet in bloom;
but soon the daisies in the field would lie in white drifts and the wild
roses, large and of a deep pink, would soften the ledges of rock
cropping out everywhere in the sweet-smelling fields.</p>
<p>Philip opened the door and ushered his companion into a small hallway
covered with oilcloth, then into a sunny living-room, shining clean,
with a floor varnished in yellow and strewn with rag rugs. An old lady,
seated in one of the comfortable rocking-chairs, rose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> to meet them. Her
face, the visitor thought, was one of the sweetest she had ever seen.</p>
<p>"What a pretty girl she must have been!" she reflected.</p>
<p>Around her neck the old lady wore a string of gold beads, and the thick
gray hair growing becomingly around her low forehead was carried back
and confined in a black net. The simple charm of her welcome to the
young girl was the perfection of good manners and her voice was low and
pleasant.</p>
<p>"I'm glad you've brought my boy back, Miss Wilbur, I've been missing
him."</p>
<p>"That's right, Grammy. Give me a good character," said Philip hugging
her and kissing her cheek. "I must have waffles, though. I'm spoiled."</p>
<p>Here a woman appeared at the door of the passageway that led to the
kitchen. She was very wrinkled and care-worn in appearance, yet
sprightly in her movements and manner. Many of her teeth were missing
and her thin hair was strained back out of the way. She wore a large
checked apron over her calico dress.</p>
<p>"Hello, there, Aunt Maria," said Philip. "This is Miss Wilbur, one of
the guests at Miss Burridge's."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>"Happy to meet you," said Aunt Maria, but casually, in the manner of
one who has but slight time for trivial things like social amenities.
Then she fixed Philip with a severe stare. "Is this the day you was
expectin' the New York man?"</p>
<p>"It is, Aunt Maria. Don't tell me you weren't sure and haven't plenty on
hand for two man-sized appetites."</p>
<p>"Well, I thought 'twas. I guess I can feed you." Aunt Maria's severity
lapsed in a semi-toothless smile. "How's Priscilla Burridge gettin'
along?"</p>
<p>"Famously," replied Philip. "She's given me waffles every morning."</p>
<p>"H'm!" grunted Aunt Maria. "I guess I can cook anything Priscilla
Burridge can, give me the ingregiencies."</p>
<p>"The principal ingredient is a waffle iron. I'll send for one for you."</p>
<p>Diana had meanwhile been placed in a seat near her hostess, where she
faced the line of cheerful red geraniums on the window-sill.</p>
<p>"Your first visit to the island, Miss Wilbur?" asked the old lady.</p>
<p>"Yes, Mrs. Dorking; but not the last, I assure you."</p>
<p>"You like it, then?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>"I think it is a fairy-tale place."</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur has been accustomed to a summer home where the hand of man
has been very busy and the foot of man has trodden out nearly all of
Nature's earmarks. She finds she likes the raw material better," said
Philip, leaning against the mantelpiece where odd shells and quaint
China objects, half-dog, half-dragon, stood as memorials to Captain
Steve Dorking's cruises. The swords of two swordfishes, elaborately
carved, leaned near him.</p>
<p>"The island's filling up," said the old lady. "A lot of the summer
people came yesterday and from now on they'll flock in."</p>
<p>"Are you glad to see them come?" asked Diana.</p>
<p>"Yes," returned Mrs. Dorking, a rising inflection in her kindly voice.
"They're most of them good friends of mine."</p>
<p>"I should say she is glad," remarked Philip. "She sits here in state and
receives them all, don't you, Grammy?"</p>
<p>"I don't know as there's much state about it." The old lady smiled, and
leaned toward Diana. "Miss Wilbur, I guess you've found out already that
Philip is the foolishest boy that ever lived. We can't afford to mind
his talk, can we?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><p>"But his singing, Mrs. Dorking," Diana looked up at Philip's tow head
towering toward the low ceiling. "It doesn't greatly matter how he talks
when he can sing as he does."</p>
<p>"Yes," returned the old lady, again with the moderate rising inflection.
"I will say Philip's got a real pretty voice."</p>
<p>"And there is a piano!" said Diana, wistfully looking across the room at
the ancient square instrument.</p>
<p>"That is a very polite name for it," remarked Philip.</p>
<p>"Oh, Mr. Barrison, could you, won't you, sing some song of the sea?" The
girl clasped her hands in prospect. "I'm your guest, you know. It is not
quite possible to refuse."</p>
<p>"Of the sea, eh?" Philip looked at his watch. "I think we have time
before the boat comes. I'll make a bargain with you. I'll sing you a
song if you will go down to the boat with me and meet my accompanist."</p>
<p>"Oh, is your accompanist coming?"</p>
<p>"Even so. But when is an accompanist not an accompanist? Answer: When he
comes to the sea to fish. I've lured you far from home and dinner, so
you come to the boat with me and I'll send you home in Bill Lindsay's
chariot."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><p>"Very well, but—please sing!"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes. A song of the sea is the order, I understand. Meanwhile, I
accompany myself on the harp."</p>
<p>Philip moved over to the piano. It was placed so he could look over the
case at his listeners. He ran his fingers over the yellow keys which
gave out a thin, tinkling sound, and then plunged into song:</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"The owl and the pussy cat went to sea</div>
<div>In a beautiful pea-green boat,</div>
<div>They took some honey and plenty of money</div>
<div>Wrapped up in a five-pound note.</div>
<div>The owl looked up to the stars above</div>
<div>And sang to a small guitar,</div>
<div>'Oh, lovely Pussy, Oh, Pussy, my love,</div>
<div>What a beautiful Pussy you are!'"</div>
</div></div></div>
<p class="center">* * * * * *</p>
<p>Philip had never seen Diana look as lovely as when he finished and rose.
There was no doubt now that she could laugh. His enunciation was
perfect, and the alternations of sentimentality and fire with which he
had delivered the nonsense made it thrilling in the little room where
his velvet, vibrant tones at moments shook the shells on the
mantelpiece, while they flowed around the listener's heart.</p>
<p>"That was delectable," laughed Diana, applauding, her eyes moist with
excitement.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, ain't that a funny tune?" said Mrs. Dorking, looking with
affectionate pride at her grandson as he emerged around the end of the
piano.</p>
<p>"We have to be off, Grammy," he said, "or Barney will be lost in the
shuffle."</p>
<p>Mrs. Dorking rose and urged Diana warmly to come again, and the girl
promised that she would do so. When they were outside she spoke:</p>
<p>"Is your Aunt Maria your grandmother's sister?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no." Philip laughed. "She is a good village-aunt who helps in the
home. She likes to look harassed and overworked, but she adores having
charge of the house since my grandfather's death, and is devoted to
Grammy. Barney Kelly will have to look out for himself, for Aunt Maria
is an excellent cook and Kelly would be inclined to umbumpum if he
didn't mortify the flesh. He's a Canuck and one of the best fellows
going."</p>
<p>"And are those summer cottages?" asked Diana, her glance sweeping over
an adjacent field. It was high ground sloping gradually to the sea, and
was dotted with shingled cottages of varying shapes and sizes.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, that was my grandfather's pasture, and many a time I've gone
there for the cows. But one woman after another besieged him for the
ground, and he sold it off."</p>
<p>"If I had some land here, I would prefer to be more isolated," said
Diana.</p>
<p>"Then you would better speak quick," said Philip. "The country seems to
have its eye on Casco Bay. There comes the boat around the point now."</p>
<p>They hastened their pace and went down a flight of steps which led to
the wharf. It was a busy spot full of people and trunks and barrels and
boxes. Everybody greeted Philip and looked at Diana, and Philip
presently descried the peering face of a man on the upper deck of the
approaching boat. He was dressed in a double-breasted suit of a fine
check and carried a stick which, presently descrying Philip's blond
head, he shook in his direction and, picking up his bag, turned and went
downstairs at the call: "Land from the lower deck." The newcomer was
evidently alive all over and impatient of the delay to the moment when
he could run up the gangplank. From time to time he shook his stick
toward Philip, and gazed at the girl beside him. At last he gained the
wharf, set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> down his bag and shook hands with Philip. Being presented to
Miss Wilbur, he took off his hat and disclosed tight curly hair,
close-clipped and groomed to the last degree of shine.</p>
<p>"Perfectly heavenly sail we've had down, or up, I don't know which it
is," he exclaimed with a burr to his <i>r</i>'s which increased the
enthusiastic effect of his speech.</p>
<p>"I told you it was paradise," said Philip.</p>
<p>"And you proved it by bringing one o' the angels with you," returned
Kelly, smiling at Diana.</p>
<p>She regarded him with her usual serenity. "I see that, like Mr.
Barrison, you enjoy using hyperbole," she said.</p>
<p>"Really," returned Kelly curiously. "Am I that clever? Yes, old chap,
here's my check. I have a box somewhere around these diggings."</p>
<p>"Now, wait a minute," said Philip. "I lured Miss Wilbur down here with
me to meet you and now I must return her honorably to her dinner. <i>Oh</i>,
Bill."</p>
<p>He pushed through the crowd to where the motor stood, the center of new
arrivals. "Save one seat, Bill," he said. "Lady for Miss Burridge's."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>There was some good-natured crowding, but there being two more
passengers for Miss Burridge's, Diana was squeezed in, and Barney Kelly,
his hat waving from his hand, quite eclipsed Philip in the attentiveness
with which he bade her godspeed.</p>
<p>"Who's the Vere de Vere?" he asked when Bill Lindsay had whipped up his
engine and moved off.</p>
<p>"A young lady from Philadelphia," returned Philip, a trifle stiffly.</p>
<p>"Aren't touchy about her, are you? Great Scott, boy, you haven't had
time! Now, if it had been me, a day's enough. Fire and tow. Fire and
tow. You'd supply the tow all right, old cotton-top, but I'll be hanged
if I can see where she'd provide the spark. Don't you touch that bag,
Barrison," for Philip had caught up his guest's suitcase. "Like a
condemned fool, I put the scores in it instead of in the box. There must
be some horse here that wouldn't take it quite so much to heart as I
do."</p>
<p>"All right," said Philip. "It can come up with your trunk. Here,
Matt,"—for the too-popular carpenter was expressman as well,—"this is
my friend Mr. Kelly. He aids and abets me when I shriek at the public
and he's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> loaded up his bag with music. Bring it along with his trunk,
will you? Here's the check. Mr. Blake, Barney."</p>
<p>The newcomer shook hands with the long-legged, long-armed thin man in
his shirtsleeves, and Matt Blake appraised the stranger out of his blue,
grave, shrewd island eyes.</p>
<p>"Just crazy about this place already, Mr. Blake, just crazy about it,"
the newcomer assured him, and Matt Blake nodded his old straw hat and
listed the volatile Barney as "another nut."</p>
<p class="space-above">It was about a week afterward that opportunity found Mrs. Lowell and
Nicholas Gayne together one evening in the living-room of the Inn. It
was cool and a wood fire blazed on the hearth, but the night was still
inviting and had lured the others to put on wraps and stay out of doors.</p>
<p>When Mrs. Lowell came in, Gayne was in a wicker rocker before the fire,
his legs stretched out, and, as the lady entered, he drew them in and
rose.</p>
<p>"You are choosing the better part, too, are you?" he said, not doubting
that his presence was proving as much of an attraction as the fire. Two
other men had arrived, teachers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> from a boys' school, Evans and Pratt by
name, and it was probable that Miss Emerson was figuratively sitting at
the feet of one of them and asking questions about the stars. At all
events, she was out of doors. Nicholas Gayne had looked up
apprehensively at Mrs. Lowell's entrance, fearing the worst; and his
relief caused him to be quite effusive in his welcome of the lady and
the manner in which he brought forward a chair for her.</p>
<p>"Have you had a good day?" she asked as she seated herself and he fell
back into his rocker.</p>
<p>"It has been a nice day, yes."</p>
<p>"I meant as to your work."</p>
<p>"My work?"</p>
<p>"Yes, your sketching."</p>
<p>"Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Fine. Very clear. Very good views."</p>
<p>"I suppose you elaborate these in your studio in town."</p>
<p>"What? Oh, well—it isn't much of a studio at that. It is more or less
on the side—my art work. I—I make no pretensions. Everybody's got to
have a fad to be truly happy, haven't they? I like to scrawl and daub a
little."</p>
<p>"You are modest. I've been expecting you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> would show us some of these
views. This place is surely one to tempt the artist. Doubtless you have
seen some of Frederic Waugh's canvases done from the sketches he made
here."</p>
<p>"Eh? Who? Oh, yes, of course," replied Gayne lamely. "Strange that that
Miss Wilbur should ever have struck this island. I understand she's the
daughter of the steel man. I suppose she's slumming." Gayne laughed.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell could not force a responsive smile. "She is a very charming
girl." After a pause: "I've had several talks with your nephew, Mr.
Gayne."</p>
<p>Her companion shook off the ash from his cigar into the fire.</p>
<p>"You did the talking, I'm sure," he responded dryly, and his manner made
her determined to be doubly careful how she proceeded.</p>
<p>"This place should build him up," she said. "He seems a rather fragile
boy."</p>
<p>"Yes. He grew too fast; makes him rather weedy. Too bad he didn't keep
pace mentally. He's weedy there, too."</p>
<p>"I should think it might be well to have him tutored for an hour a day
while he is here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> Mrs. Lowell tried to speak carelessly as she kept
her eyes on the blaze.</p>
<p>"How could you find a tutor in a place like this?" was the response.
"Surely Mr. Pratt and Mr. Evans—I understand they are
teachers—wouldn't take kindly to the task of trying to find Bert's
brains while they're on their vacation."</p>
<p>"No, I was thinking of a very simple plan. Miss Burridge's niece,
Veronica, would perhaps be glad to work with the boy an hour a day. She
has a good common education."</p>
<p>"Nothing doing, Mrs. Lowell." Nicholas Gayne sat up in his chair and
evidently put a constraint upon himself. "You come upon this problem as
a new one and you think you understand it, but you don't. You think it's
not hopeless, but it is. The boy began by being backward and he's got
worse and worse all his life. He couldn't keep up with any class in
school and I finally took him out. Oh, I've done my best, believe <i>me</i>.
I had a tutor come to the house for a while, but I was finally convinced
that Bert hadn't the equipment to think <i>with</i>. Of course, there's
schools for deficient children, but have you got any idea what they
cost? I'm a poor man. I couldn't pay what they tax you. Bert'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> end up
in an institution, that's the place for him; but I'm soft-hearted. I'll
keep him with me as long as I can. The doctors all warn you that it
isn't safe. That kind of weak intellect is liable to take a dangerous
turn any time. There's thousands of cases where relations have insisted
on keeping morons like Bert near them too long. I only hope I shan't.
Just take my advice, Mrs. Lowell, and don't have much to say to the boy.
He gets along best when he's left alone. It doesn't do to try to wake up
that kind of a brain. There's no normal balance there, and any
sharpening is liable to make it take a wrong shoot. I've been on this
problem five years, and, believe <i>me</i>, I know something about it."</p>
<p>The speaker's voice grew more and more blustering as he proceeded, and
Mrs. Lowell could feel her limbs trembling with the intensity of her own
feeling and the necessity for concealing her thoughts from him.</p>
<p>"He is your brother's child, I understand," she said quietly, when Gayne
had made his last emphatic gesture and sunk back in his chair, red in
the face.</p>
<p>"Yes, he is. These things are awful in a family."</p>
<p>"Awful," echoed Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>The next morning, after breakfast, she went to Diana's room and
knocked. The girl welcomed her in. She was shaking a blanket.</p>
<p>"I do enjoy making my bed so much," she said. "I learned how at school."</p>
<p>"Then let me watch you do it while I talk to you." The visitor sat down,
and Diana went on in the most earnest manner to tuck in sheets and pat
and smooth pillows as if her life depended on the squareness of corners.</p>
<p>"I had a talk with Mr. Gayne last night."</p>
<p>"I observed you through the window. I felt a certainty that you were not
happy."</p>
<p>"It was an ordeal, but I verified my suspicions—my worst suspicions.
The man is planning to get his nephew out of the way, to have him shut
up."</p>
<p>Diana left the flap of a pillow-case to its fate and faced her caller.</p>
<p>"To incarcerate him!"</p>
<p>"Yes. In an asylum. Some state institution. He has been training the boy
toward that end. You have seen it. I have seen it. What is his motive?
That is the question."</p>
<p>"Don't you think it may be merely to rid himself of a burden which
hampers his life?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>"But his own flesh and blood!" exclaimed Mrs. Lowell. "Does any one
live who would go to such lengths without a greater reason? Miss Wilbur,
let us see what the man does in these daily rambles of his. I am
convinced that his artistic pose is a cloak. He didn't even know who
Frederic Waugh was."</p>
<p>"Oh, but to accompany the creature!" protested Diana.</p>
<p>"No, of course, we shouldn't find out anything by accompanying him
except that he cannot sketch, and I'm sure of that already. But let us
go to walk this morning, and why not visit the haunted farm?"</p>
<p>"No reason except that he knows we are aware that he haunts the place,
which, if I were a ghost, would make it immune from my visits."</p>
<p>"Yes, but he cannot expect us to remember or care where he goes. I feel
I must be doing something about this, no matter how slight, and—and
don't let Miss Emerson join us as we go out."</p>
<p>"Perish the thought!" said Diana devoutly.</p>
<p>"God will not let this outrage take place," said Mrs. Lowell, her
thought leaping back from Miss Emerson to the neglected boy. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> wish I
could ask Bertie to go with us, but I feel I must be very careful not to
let his uncle suspect the depth of my interest."</p>
<p>"Miss Emerson is very timorous about horned cattle," said Diana. "We can
remember that. Sunburn, too. She has a great dread of becoming tanned."</p>
<p>With these encouraging considerations the two amateur detectives stole
downstairs. Mrs. Lowell went to the kitchen where Veronica was as usual
at this hour drying the breakfast dishes.</p>
<p>"Miss Veronica," she said, "would you do a little missionary work this
morning?"</p>
<p>"I'd like to hear about it first," was the cautious reply.</p>
<p>"Veronica is ready for every good word and work, Mrs. Lowell," put in
Miss Burridge, "but she's a busy child."</p>
<p>"I know that, but I wondered if she could give half an hour to playing a
game of croquet with Bert Gayne."</p>
<p>"Oh, land!" exclaimed the girl, aghast. "He won't want to."</p>
<p>"That's the point, Miss Veronica,"—Mrs. Lowell looked with her loving,
radiant gaze into the young girl's eyes. "We want to make him know that
young people don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> shrink from him. He knows that I don't. I want him
to know that an attractive young girl like you doesn't either. You can
see that his mind is sick. He has had great sorrow."</p>
<p>"Sure!" said Veronica. "It's sorrow enough to have that uncle of his."</p>
<p>"Ve-ronica!" exclaimed Miss Burridge with one of her warning looks at
the back of Genevieve's head.</p>
<p>"You know now what I meant by calling it missionary work," said Mrs.
Lowell. "Think about it if you have time. You will find the boy dull and
distrustful. I have great hopes of you. Try to make him bright and
trustful. I know it can't be done in a minute." The speaker again smiled
confidentially into the girl's eyes.</p>
<p>Diana appeared in the entrance.</p>
<p>"Miss Emerson is in the hammock," she said softly. "Shall we take the
back way?"</p>
<p>They slipped out the kitchen door and Veronica scrubbed a plate already
dry.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Lowell is the sweetest, prettiest, most darling woman I ever saw,"
she stated.</p>
<p>"But nothin' like that Miss Diana," uttered Genevieve in, for her, a
lowered voice. "She's so grand it scares me when she looks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> at me, and
Matt Blake says her father owns the whole of Pennsylvania."</p>
<p>Veronica turned up an already aspiring nose and grunted disparagingly.
It was hard to forgive Diana for being a goddess and not chewing gum.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">THE HAUNTED FARM</span></h2>
<p>"'Where every prospect pleases,'" said Diana, "'and only man is vile.'"</p>
<p>They had crossed the field and come up to the height of the road which
commanded an extensive view of the bay and other islands. They stood
still for a minute.</p>
<p>"Are you at all interested in metaphysics, Miss Diana?" asked her
companion.</p>
<p>"I think I am. I am interested in everything."</p>
<p>"I don't like the latter half of that quotation," said Mrs. Lowell. "It
stands to reason that God couldn't create anything vile."</p>
<p>"No, of course," agreed the girl. "It is man who makes himself vile."</p>
<p>"God's man couldn't do that either," returned Mrs. Lowell. "There is no
potentiality in him for vileness."</p>
<p>"Then," said Diana, "how do you explain Mr. Gayne and his like?"</p>
<p>"He is a man whose real selfhood is buried under a mass of selfishness
and cruelty, the beliefs of error and mortality. God doesn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> even know
what the poor creature believes, and all his mistakes and blundering
will have to be blotted out finally by suffering, unless he should learn
to turn to the Love that is always available; for God can't know
anything unlike Himself."</p>
<p>"Your ideas are quite new to me," said the girl. "I am an Episcopalian."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell smiled. She understood this final tone.</p>
<p>"Then you are satisfied, I see."</p>
<p>"So far as religion goes, yes."</p>
<p>"Religion goes all the way, my dear girl."</p>
<p>They turned to the right and continued their walk.</p>
<p>"The islanders call this direction 'up-along,' Mr. Blake told me," said
Diana. "If we had turned south we should have gone 'down-along.' Isn't
that quaint? Mr. Barrison's grandmother lives down-along. He took me to
see her the other day, the sweetest old lady."</p>
<p>"That refreshing young man hails from here, then?"</p>
<p>"Yes. He is the Viking type, is he not? I can picture him in the prow of
one of those strange Norse ships. Physically he seems an anachronism."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Lowell smiled. "Physically, perhaps, but colloquially he is
certainly an up-to-the-minute American."</p>
<p>"He is an eminent singer and has shown himself a hero in arriving at
that point."</p>
<p>"A hero, really?"</p>
<p>"Yes, but most unconsciously so."</p>
<p>"He is certainly as unaffected and straightforward as a child," said
Mrs. Lowell. "I hope he will sing for us."</p>
<p>"I have heard him once," said Diana. "It was merely a nonsense song,
because he had only an heirloom of a piano—a harp he called it, and I
imagine harpsichords did sound similar to that. Now, we are on a high
point of the island, Mrs. Lowell."</p>
<p>They paused again and, looking off, saw a vast ocean in all directions,
foam breaking on its ledges. Mrs. Lowell drew a long breath of delight.</p>
<p>"'Every prospect pleases,'" she said.</p>
<p>"Does it not seem a pity," returned Diana, "that it is our duty to hunt
for a vile, imitation man?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell laughed. "He is scarcely even an imitation," she replied.
"But come," she sighed, "let us go after him. I wonder what gave this
farm its reputation." They walked on.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>"I'll ask Mr. Blake," began Diana. "Oh, here he comes now."</p>
<p>The carpenter was returning down the island preparing to take up his
freight duties on the wharf. Diana accosted him and introduced him to
Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>The latter shook hands with Matt, her radiant smile beaming, "I am glad
to meet you, Mr. Blake," she said. "You seem to be Miss Wilbur's oracle.
She is always quoting you, and I am rather curious about this farm up
here. Why do they call it haunted?"</p>
<p>"Oh," said Blake, "let any place be left empty a few years, and windows
get loose, and blinds bang, and it's called haunted."</p>
<p>"I suppose that is often true," said Mrs. Lowell. "It is an abandoned
farm, then?"</p>
<p>"Yes, for many years."</p>
<p>"I don't know why I have never inspected it," said Diana, "when who
knows but it is the very homestead for me?"</p>
<p>Matt Blake shook his head and smiled. "The old house is crumbling away.
There is a part of it that'll keep the rain off, and there Mr. Gayne
keeps his stuff."</p>
<p>"Stuff?" echoed Mrs. Lowell interrogatively.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>"Brushes and paints and pencils and all his outfit," said Blake.</p>
<p>"Oh, oh, yes," replied the lady. "You know in the West a squatter claims
complete rights to the land he has settled on. I hope Mr. Gayne hasn't
established an ownership up there that will make us seem like intruders.
We thought we would like to see this exciting place."</p>
<p>"'Tain't exciting," said Matt Blake with another shake of the head.
"It's asleep and snoring, the Dexter farm is."</p>
<p>"Who does own the place?" asked Diana with interest.</p>
<p>"It would take a pretty smart lawyer to find that out," was the reply.
"It's been in litigation longer than it's been haunted. There's three
women, I believe, pullin' and haulin' on it."</p>
<p>"I think I might pull and haul, too, if I find I like it," said Diana
with her most dreamy serenity, and Matt Blake laughed.</p>
<p>"Well, you won't," he returned. "'Twould give a body the Injun blues to
live there. How Mr. Gayne can stand it even in the daytime is a mystery
to me; and there don't either o' the claimants really want it. They live
around the State somewheres. I s'pose it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> would be hard to buy 'em out
at that, because landowners here seem to think the island's goin' to
turn into a regular Newport and that they'll make a fortune if they only
hang on."</p>
<p>"Do not speak such desecrating words!" begged Diana. "Do not hint at
waking the island from its alluring, scented dream."</p>
<p>Matt Blake gave her a patient stare. "Just as you say," he returned. He
had already, as a fruit of many interviews with Diana, given her up as a
conundrum. He tipped his hat and continued on his way.</p>
<p>The two companions pursued theirs, and soon came to where a rather steep
hill led down to the northern beach.</p>
<p>"Now, we do not go down there unless we wish to be 'set across.' That is
what they call it: set across to the next island, our near neighbor."</p>
<p>"We must do it some day," replied Mrs. Lowell, looking at that other
green hill rising out of the sea.</p>
<p>As they stood gazing, they saw a man run across the rocks on its shore
and hail a rowboat which came to meet him.</p>
<p>"It is within rowing distance, isn't it?" said Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>"Yes. Little Genevieve told me, one can always find some fisherman who
is willing to act as a ferry." Diana looked about. "I think we shall be
obliged to ask our path to the farm. Let us go to that cottage over
there. It is probably on our way."</p>
<p>They proceeded to a house near the road where cats and chickens seemed
equally numerous, and knocked.</p>
<p>"Will you tell us how to get to the Dexter farm?" asked Diana of the
woman who answered the summons.</p>
<p>The woman pointed. "You go right up that way to Brook Cove and you'll
really be on the farm then if you keep to the right bank. You'll see the
old house near a big willow tree."</p>
<p>They thanked her and moved on.</p>
<p>"What pleasant voices these people have," said Diana. "They have not
been obliged to shout above clanging trolleys and auto horns."</p>
<p>"No; all except Genevieve," returned Mrs. Lowell. "I should guess that
she had been brought up in a boiler factory."</p>
<p>"Yet it is a piercing sweetness," protested Diana.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell laughed. "The island can do no wrong, eh?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p><p>"Perhaps I am somewhat partial," admitted the girl.</p>
<p>They sprang along over the rough hillside, and at last came to a deep,
precipitous cleft in its shore. The rocky sides of the hollow were
decked with clumps of clinging shrub and evergreen and the clear water
lapped a miniature beach.</p>
<p>"Why Brook Cove?" asked Mrs. Lowell. "I suppose there must be one about
here. What a mystery the springs are in the midst of all this salt
water. Miss Burridge says everybody has a well."</p>
<p>Diana gave her her most dreamy and seraphic look.</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"Angels fold their wings and rest</div>
<div>In this haven of the blest,"</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>she replied.</p>
<p>"I wish only angels did," sighed Mrs. Lowell. "You remind me of our
errand."</p>
<p>"Don't you think we might spare a few minutes for repose?" asked Diana,
looking wistfully at the bank where the grass grew close and green to
the very edge of the chasm.</p>
<p>"You want to sit down and let your feet hang over," laughed Mrs. Lowell.
"You may as well confess it."</p>
<p>As she spoke, a man appeared on the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> side of the cove. He skirted
it and, hurrying, passed them and disappeared in a grove of fir trees.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell looked at her companion with large eyes.</p>
<p>"All the Sherlock Holmes in me responds to that man," she said in a low
tone. "This is no time to let our feet hang over. He probably is the
very one who came across in the rowboat and he is on an errand. His
whole manner showed it. We're on the right bank. So we're on the farm
now. Let us go into those woods and see what happens."</p>
<p>"Shall we not be intruding?" said Diana, hesitating.</p>
<p>"I hope so," returned Mrs. Lowell valiantly, and she seized her
companion's hand and drew her toward the grove. There a winding path
greeted them, a lover's lane, between close-growing firs, and together
they sped along the scented aisle. The man was the swifter and, by the
time they emerged from the fir grove, he was approaching a huge willow
tree near the crumbling farmhouse built in a hollow with protecting
mounds of green hills and trees on three sides of it.</p>
<p>They saw Gayne come out of the house and shake hands with the man,
giving him a most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> effusive welcome, but before he had had opportunity
to do more than this, the host descried the other visitors.</p>
<p>The eyes of both young women being excellent, they were able to observe
the lightning change which took place in the pleased excitement of his
face. The ugly frown that appeared was banished as soon as he could
control himself. He said something to the other man, and the latter
walked on to a rise of ground where he stood to enjoy the view, and
Gayne came to meet the ladies.</p>
<p>"Ah, good-day," he said with as pleasant a manner as he could command.
"Your explorations are leading you far this morning."</p>
<p>"Is this the Dexter farm?" asked Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"The very same," replied Gayne lightly. "I see its creepy reputation has
aroused your curiosity. Too bad there isn't more here to gratify it. It
is a very tame place by daylight, as you see."</p>
<p>"The house is a ruin, they tell me. Doesn't it seem a pity that should
have been allowed? The place is full of possibilities, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"I should say not," returned Gayne, speaking curtly in spite of his best
efforts. "It is about the least attractive part of the island.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> Far from
the open ocean, no place to bathe, cuddled into a hollow, no views."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell met his impatient look.</p>
<p>"I thought the very reason you chose this for a sort of artist camp was
on account of the views," she said pleasantly.</p>
<p>"A headquarters. A headquarters only," said Gayne quickly. "I haven't
locomotor ataxia, you know," he added, laughing; "I can still get
about."</p>
<p>"I should like very much to see that old house," said Mrs. Lowell, her
gaze wandering over to it. "We interrupted your greeting of a friend.
Please don't let us detain you. We will just roam around here a bit."</p>
<p>Nicholas Gayne hesitated for an instant as the young women moved toward
the house, but he followed them.</p>
<p>"There is nothing to see, I assure you, and it's an unsafe place. The
floors are rotting; you are liable to fall through anywhere. I really
feel as if I ought to beg you to confine your curiosity to the outside."</p>
<p>"You speak quite like the owner of the place," said Mrs. Lowell, with an
access of dignity not lost upon Gayne. "We will absolve you if any
accident befalls us."</p>
<p>The man's frown at her reply was so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>unpleasant that Diana felt some
timidity and took her friend's arm.</p>
<p>"Another time, perhaps," she suggested.</p>
<p>"Why not now, since we are here," returned Mrs. Lowell calmly. "A
haunted house isn't to be seen every day." She smiled. "Do join your
friend, Mr. Gayne. He seems to have found some view well worth looking
at. We shall not stay long."</p>
<p>"Oh, take your time," returned Gayne, seeing that he could not prevent
the intrusion, and altering his manner to that of a host. "Perhaps you
would like to see my artist camp as you call it. I did find one spot
where there is a dry season and my canvases can be safe."</p>
<p>He led the way into the farmhouse. The paper on the little hallway in
oval designs of faded green landscapes had peeled and was hanging from
the wall. They passed into a living-room where tattered and splintered
furniture and a rusty stove met the eye. Back of this was the artist's
den evidently. A table stood in the center, on which reposed a palette,
some brushes, a couple of sketch-books, and a portfolio. Against the
side of the room were a few canvases leaning against the wall, and in
bold relief, supported against the table, stood a pickaxe and a shovel.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Lowell regarded Gayne's flushed countenance as he picked up the
tools and pushed them behind a screen.</p>
<p>"Your still-life studies, appropriate to an abandoned farm?" she
laughed.</p>
<p>"They don't look very artistic, I must say," returned Gayne. "Of course,
I'm an amateur of the amateurs," he went on, picking up the portfolio
(he pronounced it <i>amatoor</i>), "but a man is all the better for having a
fad, no matter how footless. Since you are here and have caught me
red-handed, you may as well know the worst."</p>
<p>He opened the portfolio and threw down a couple of crayon sketches of
woods, water, and rocks.</p>
<p>"But these are good!" exclaimed Mrs. Lowell, in a tone of such
astonishment that it could scarcely be considered complimentary.</p>
<p>Gayne shrugged his shoulders, as Diana, looking over her friend, added
her approval.</p>
<p>"I make no pretensions," he repeated. "I amuse myself."</p>
<p>His guests lingered a minute over the sketches, then looked about the
forlorn old homestead, but as each step was closely accompanied by
Gayne, they soon took their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> departure, passing the stranger on his
knoll as they walked toward the sea, over grassy hill and fragrant
spruce-filled hollow. The stranger, as they passed, kept his hands
folded behind him and stared stolidly ahead.</p>
<p>"Were you ever more astonished?" asked Mrs. Lowell in a low tone as if
the balsamic breeze could carry her words back.</p>
<p>"Your suspicion that the man is sailing under false colors seems to be
incorrect," replied Diana.</p>
<p>"He's a rascal!" declared Mrs. Lowell with conviction.</p>
<p>"Artists often are, I believe," returned Diana.</p>
<p>"I wish with all my heart I could know what he and his visitor will talk
about during the next half-hour, and what that pick and shovel meant.
Why was he so sorry to see us?" Mrs. Lowell's brows drew together in
perplexity.</p>
<p>"Perhaps they are going to search for smugglers' treasures, or pirate
gold," suggested Diana.</p>
<p>Her companion smiled. "Perhaps so. The man has some reason for promoting
the foolish ghost talk and resenting visitors to his preserves. Of
course, the treasure idea is as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> foolish as the phantoms, and just as
little likely to fool a modern man in his senses."</p>
<p>Diana shook her head. "It is certainly rather irritating to have him
assume jurisdiction over that ruin which is open and free to all," she
said. "I dislike his personality extremely, but his pencil has a sure
touch and those sketches showed an appreciation of values."</p>
<p>"If he did them," said Mrs. Lowell thoughtfully.</p>
<p>Diana smiled. "You surely are consistent."</p>
<p>Her companion drew a deep breath. "A man who can treat that fragile,
sensitive, lonely boy as he does—his own brother's son at that—can
plan to crush him and sweep him out of his way as he would an
insect—that man is dangerously wicked, and so long as the matter has
come to my notice, I must share in the responsibility."</p>
<p>"He would be a merciless enemy," said Diana warningly.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell shook her head. "I shall pray for the wisdom of the serpent
and the harmlessness of the dove," she said.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">ANOTHER WOUND</span></h2>
<p>Meanwhile Veronica, her morning work finished, had started out to oblige
Mrs. Lowell. As she tripped around the house in search of the
unfortunate boy, she suspected herself of hoping she should not find
him. She summoned recollections of the Boston train and of various
occasions since, when her sympathy for him had been roused, and by the
time she espied him lying against a rock in the sunshine, her courage
had risen sufficiently to address him.</p>
<p>"Good-morning, Bertie," she said.</p>
<p>He started, as was his habit when addressed, and turned his apathetic
face toward her.</p>
<p>"Do you like to play croquet?"</p>
<p>The boy rose to a sitting position.</p>
<p>"I—" he began, then some recollection came to him. "I never did play,"
he finished; then, his stolid eyes meeting the fresh young face: "You
don't need to be kind to me," he added bluntly.</p>
<p>Much disconcerted, Veronica flushed.</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" she returned. "I like to play croquet. I'll teach
you."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>"No," said the boy. "Uncle Nick said—said this morning that—that when
people were—were kind to me, it was because they—they pitied me
because I was a fool." The boy swallowed. "You can—go away, please."</p>
<p>Veronica's round eyes snapped with indignation. "Your Uncle Nick's the
fool to say such a thing," she returned, her cheeks growing very red.
"Don't you believe him. You and I are the youngest people here. Don't
you think we ought to play together a little?"</p>
<p>"No. You pity me. Go away, please."</p>
<p>"Now, Bertie, I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that."</p>
<p>He averted his head and was silent, and Veronica stood there,
uncertainly.</p>
<p>"I wonder if you are stronger than I am," she said at last.</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>"The grass is too long on the croquet ground. I want to mow it. The
lawnmower is pretty heavy. Do you think you could help me?"</p>
<p>The boy lay still for a minute more without meeting her eyes again. Then
he pulled himself up slowly and walked beside her back to the shed.</p>
<p>"Mr. Barrison makes fun of our croquet ground because it is rough. I
want him to see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> an improvement when he comes again." Veronica led the
way to where the mower stood, and the boy took hold of it and drew it
after him back to the desired spot.</p>
<p>"I'll pull up all the wickets," said the girl eagerly, and, as she did
so, she cast a side-glance at her companion, waiting, and she thought
his face the most hopeless and sad she had ever looked upon. She could
feel her own eyes sting.</p>
<p>"None of that, none of that," she told herself.</p>
<p>"Now, don't you get too tired," she said. "Let me take my turn." She
followed him as he went across the ground once and back again. She
chattered of the weather, the sea, the song sparrows, and he answered
never a word, just pushed the clicking little machine until the
perspiration stood out on his forehead.</p>
<p>"Now, you must let me take it," said Veronica. "I didn't mean that I
couldn't do any of it. I just felt it would be tiresome to do it all."</p>
<p>She insisted, and the boy yielded the lawnmower to her, and, standing
still, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.</p>
<p>Veronica pushed the mower valiantly up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> and down the ground. It was a
cumbrous one and somewhat rusty. So the effort she let appear was not
all assumed. When she returned, the boy took it from her and went to
work again. He was on the last lap when Mrs. Lowell and Diana appeared,
coming up from the sea, having returned from their ramble by the rocky
shore instead of by the road. Mrs. Lowell's face lighted as she saw what
was going on, and she cast a grateful look at Veronica as she
approached.</p>
<p>"Good for you, Bertie," she said, as he at last dropped the mower and
again wiped his hot face. "It is fine of you to help Veronica."</p>
<p>He looked at her for a second mutely, and then turned away.</p>
<p>"Thank you," called Veronica as he moved off. "I'll bring you an extra
large piece of pie this noon. I must go in and set the table now," she
added to the others, and she winked at Mrs. Lowell who followed her into
the house.</p>
<p>"You succeeded better than I hoped," said Mrs. Lowell. "Activity is what
that boy needs."</p>
<p>"I wish whipping-posts hadn't been abolished," said Veronica. "I could
see Uncle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> Nick tied up there and enjoy the activity that followed."</p>
<p>Then she told Mrs. Lowell of the reception Bertie had given her and all
he had said.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell shook her head in silence and laid her hand on the girl's
shoulder. "You can see we have work to do there," she replied. "We must
not be discouraged."</p>
<p>Diana had heard the recital. "What an extraordinary circumstance it is,"
she said, "that strangers should be endeavoring to build for the boy
while his next of kin systematically tears down."</p>
<p>"That is what I was telling you," replied Mrs. Lowell. "The man is
pursuing a system." She shook her head again, and added as if to
herself: "But he cannot defy Omnipotence."</p>
<p>It was probably a very good thing for Mr. Gayne that he did not return
to-day to the noon dinner. The waitress would have been likely to give
him cool soup, warm water, and the undesirable portions of meat and
vegetables. She served the boy with the best of everything. In the
chatter about the table, he was never included, so his silence was not
noticeable, but Mrs. Lowell observed the pallor under the sunburn, the
hopeless droop of the mouth, and the languid appetite that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> should have
been voracious in a growing boy fresh from exercise.</p>
<p>After dinner she stopped him, the others all having gone out on the
piazza. He was moving toward the stairway.</p>
<p>"Where are you going, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"Upstairs."</p>
<p>"I don't think we ought to waste this weather in the house. Do you?"</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>"Well, I do. It is liable to change any time now. We have had so much
sunshine. We ought to make the most of it."</p>
<p>"You go out, then," said the boy.</p>
<p>"But I would rather you came, too."</p>
<p>"No. You pity me, that's all."</p>
<p>"No," returned Mrs. Lowell quietly. "I pity your uncle, not you."</p>
<p>The boy stared at her, unmoved.</p>
<p>"I pity him because he doesn't know how to make you happy."</p>
<p>"You don't need to—to take any trouble," was the stolid reply.</p>
<p>"It isn't a trouble. I like you. I like to have you with me. I went up
to the farm this morning—the haunted farm."</p>
<p>"Did—did you see anything?"</p>
<p>"Yes. Supposing we go down to the beach<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> and I'll tell you about it. You
shall carry two cushions for us; then if you want to take a nap you can
do so while I read."</p>
<p>"I would rather—rather be alone."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell met his wretched eyes with her irresistible smile which had
in it selflessness, love, and courage.</p>
<p>"No, you wouldn't, dear boy. Besides, it is an impossibility. We are
never alone. You know the Father we talked about the other day, the One
who showed your mother how to love you. He is with us all the time, and
no one and nothing can separate us from Him, no matter what seems to
be."</p>
<p>"Could I see Him if I—if I died? Because I'd like to—to die and
see—my mother."</p>
<p>"You will see her at the right time," said Mrs. Lowell. "You have a
great deal to do for her first. Were you going upstairs to sleep? No
doubt you are sleepy after all that mowing. It was very kind of you to
do it for Veronica."</p>
<p>"I didn't do it for her." There was no stammering in the declaration.
"She thought I did, but I didn't."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell smiled again and nodded. "I understand," she said. "I'm
sorry I didn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> know your mother. I believe she would like you to go
outdoors with me now."</p>
<p>"You don't—don't need to—to have me. I'm—I'm all right."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell could see the wound throb.</p>
<p>"I know I don't need to. I should think you could see that I really want
you."</p>
<p>He hesitated and looked away.</p>
<p>"Now," she went on, "I will go up to my room and get some cushions and
my books and we will have a nice read or a nice snooze, and perhaps get
some more stones for our collection. Perhaps you have some book you
would like to bring."</p>
<p>"I haven't any books—except a paper one."</p>
<p>"Bring it," said Mrs. Lowell with interest. "I would like to see it. Let
us meet down here in five minutes, then."</p>
<p>She went up the stairs and the boy followed.</p>
<p>When she came down again, the corridor and living-room were empty.
Perhaps the lad had decided against her plan after all. She sank down in
a chair by the door and closed her eyes.</p>
<p>"Dear Father," she prayed, "Thy will be done, and may my thought be ever
ready to separate between the real and the unreal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> Let me not be
discouraged by the seeming, but may I remember every moment what Thy
will is, and that Thine omnipotent Love is ever present. Let me reflect
Thine intelligence and take my human footsteps wisely. Let me know that
Thy Truth will uncover the error that is to be met, and that I cannot be
dismayed, for Thou art with me, and underneath are the everlasting
arms."</p>
<p>Footsteps sounded on the uncarpeted stairs and she looked up and saw
Bertie.</p>
<p>"I thought I wouldn't come," he said. "Then I thought you—you might
wait—"</p>
<p>"You see I did," said Mrs. Lowell, "and here are the cushions. Will you
take them, please?"</p>
<p>The boy picked them up and they set forth.</p>
<p>As they crossed the piazza, Mrs. Lowell nodded to Miss Emerson and the
two men with her. These followed the pair with their eyes as they
descended the steps, and started across the field.</p>
<p>"By Jove, that young nut is in luck," said Mr. Evans, a short, thick-set
man, with spectacles.</p>
<p>"Why, do you think Mrs. Lowell is so attractive?" asked Miss Emerson.</p>
<p>"Of course. Don't you?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p><p>"Why, I think she's a very good-looking woman," was the reply. "Her
husband is coming up later."</p>
<p>Mr. Evans shook his head mournfully. "I'm afraid it won't make any
difference to me. I've tried to prattle to her a little, but she doesn't
hear me, or, if she does, I've been weighed and found wanting. I talked
to her quite a while my first morning here. As soon as I saw her I
determined to make hay while the sun shone, but I soon found I couldn't
make any, or even cut any ice either. So, since then, I just look at her
from afar."</p>
<p>"I'm sure you're too easily discouraged," said Miss Emerson with some
acerbity. "You underrate your own attractiveness, Mr. Evans. Any woman
who would rather spend her time with that poor, forlorn image of a boy
than with men of intellect, cannot be so very interesting, herself."</p>
<p>Mr. Pratt, a tall, slender, long-necked gentleman, here spoke: "I judge
from what Mr. Gayne says that the boy is pretty far gone mentally. He
said he supposed he really shouldn't have brought him up here. Gayne has
a heavy burden on his hands evidently. It's naturally hard to bring
one's self to shutting up any one who is your own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> kin, and, as Gayne
says, you're between the devil and the deep sea, for you may put it off
too long. It looks like a case of dangerous melancholia to me."</p>
<p>Miss Emerson shuddered. "All I know is that if Mrs. Lowell was as
sensitive as I am, she never in the world could bear to have that boy
around with her as much as she does. Mr. Gayne, an artist as he is! What
he must suffer in that constant association!"</p>
<p>"He doesn't seem to be much with his nephew," remarked Mr. Evans.</p>
<p>"Well, I should think rooming with him was enough," retorted the lady.
"He has a cot for the boy right in his own room."</p>
<p>"Well, it isn't my business," yawned the other. "Come on, Pratt. I hear
they've taken a horse-mackerel and it's down on the wharf. Let's go and
see it."</p>
<p>"Oh, I think those giant fish are so interesting!" exclaimed Miss
Emerson, sitting up alertly.</p>
<p>Mr. Evans nodded at her over his shoulder as the two friends started
off.</p>
<p>"After your siesta you ought to get Miss Wilbur and come down," he said.</p>
<p>"I don't want any siesta," thought the lady crossly. "Why did I get into
this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>hammock? They would probably have asked me if I hadn't been lying
down."</p>
<p>She had not yet discovered the domestic status of the two men, although
she had put out many a feeler to learn whether they were unprotected
males. She was wearing one of her prettiest dresses since their arrival,
but the emergency sport suit of baronet satin would not come forth from
its hanger on any such uncertainty.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">SKETCHES</span></h2>
<p>"Our pebbles are getting a good washing, aren't they?" said Mrs. Lowell,
when she and her protégé had reached the shore.</p>
<p>The tide was high and she had Bert put the cushions in front of a rock
which sprang from the grass on the edge of the stony beach. He followed
her directions apathetically.</p>
<p>"Put your pillow against the rock. See, there is a nice slanting place.
Perhaps you will take a little nap. The sea is making a rather
thunderous lullaby. Try it. I shan't mind; for here are my books and my
writing-paper and pencils galore."</p>
<p>The boy sank down beside her in the place she indicated and looked at
the materials in her lap. She had opened a leather case and showed a
tablet of paper fitted at the side with a case for pencils.</p>
<p>"Do you ever write letters, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"I—no."</p>
<p>"When you and your uncle leave home, is there no one for you to write
back to?"</p>
<p>"There's Cora."</p>
<p>"Your housekeeper?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>The boy nodded, his eyes still on the books and materials in his
friend's lap. She, alert to meet any show of interest on his part, took
up one of the books.</p>
<p>"Do you ever read the Bible, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"I don't—no, I never did."</p>
<p>"Didn't your mother ever read it to you?"</p>
<p>The boy looked up into her eyes. "Yes, about the shepherd."</p>
<p>"I'm so glad that you know that psalm," she returned gently. "Can you
say it? The Lord is my shepherd?"</p>
<p>He shook his head, and again his eyes dropped to the contents of her
lap.</p>
<p>"It is like a game of magic music," she thought. "There is something
here I should do. Divine Harmony, Divine Love, show me what it is!"</p>
<p>"Are you looking at this?" She took up the other book and pointed to the
gold cross and crown on its cover. Then she offered it to him.</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>"Veronica told me that your uncle hurt your feelings this morning," went
on Mrs. Lowell, laying the book down.</p>
<p>The boy's brows drew together and his gaze sought the ground.</p>
<p>"You know the Bible is the most beautiful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> book in the world. It has
hundreds of verses as lovely as those about the shepherd. This is one:
Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that
fear him. Fear Him means fear to displease Him on account of our love
for Him and His love for us."</p>
<p>It was so long since the boy had heard any mention of love that he
looked up at her, still gloomily.</p>
<p>"You know how unhappy you always were when you displeased your mother,
and you know how she pitied you for your mistake and drew you back to
her—and forgave you."</p>
<p>"Yes—yes, I do."</p>
<p>"That is the way God does with us. So you see it isn't a bad thing to be
pitied with love. If you ever think again of what your uncle said, just
turn away from it and know that Love is taking care of you every minute.
God is always here, waiting to bless us."</p>
<p>"I'd—I'd rather see Him," said the boy.</p>
<p>"Your friends are His messengers," said Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"What—what friends have I?"</p>
<p>"Me, for one," replied his companion. As she leaned toward him with her
spontaneous grace, he met her affectionate regard with his piteous eyes.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>"Did God—did God send you to—to me?"</p>
<p>"I'm sure He did," she returned slowly.</p>
<p>"Then—then can I—take one of your pencils?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell looked down at her writing-tablet.</p>
<p>"Certainly," she said, passing the whole affair to him.</p>
<p>A remarkable transformation took place in the boy's face. He took the
folding case with its complete outfit and his companion regarded him in
surprise. His eyes lighted and color came stealing up over face and
brow. He looked over his shoulder apprehensively, then back at her.</p>
<p>"You won't tell him?" he said.</p>
<p>"Who? Your uncle?"</p>
<p>"Yes. He would beat me."</p>
<p>"Why? Doesn't he like you to write letters?"</p>
<p>The first smile she had ever seen on the boy's face altered it now as he
looked at her, and her heart beat faster in a mystified sense that some
cruelly bolted door had been pushed ajar.</p>
<p>"You can have that portfolio for your own, Bertie," she said.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>"No, no, he'd kill me."</p>
<p>"What can you mean, dear child?"</p>
<p>The boy started up from his cushion and perched on top of the rock,
glancing along the shore. Mrs. Lowell leaned forward and saw his hand
with the pencil move swiftly here and there on the blank sheet. She said
not a word, but watched the slender young face with the new alertness in
the eyes.</p>
<p>The tide was making its splendid slow retreat, the gulls were wheeling
and crying, and white as their wings the daisy drifts were beginning to
appear on the uplands. Activity, growing, unfolding, all about her, the
watcher felt this waif to be part of it. One of God's little ones who
could not be kept in bondage.</p>
<p>At last the boy came down again and gave her his work. She looked at it
in amazement. The curve of the shore, the groups of spruces, a distant
cottage, the light clouds on the blue were all sketched in with a sure
touch.</p>
<p>"Who taught you this, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"Nobody—but I watched my mother. She was an artist. She let me draw
beside her. She knew I could. She said so. I'll show you. You won't
tell?"</p>
<p>"Never."</p>
<p>The boy drew from his pocket a small<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> folded paper. He took off the
paper and revealed oiled silk. He unfolded this and a small pen-and-ink
sketch came to view. It was of a woman's face, slightly smiling. There
was expression in the long-lashed eyes, eyes like the boy's own. The
hair waved off the forehead. Bertie held the treasure for Mrs. Lowell to
see, but did not relinquish it.</p>
<p>"Is this your mother?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Who did it?"</p>
<p>"I did."</p>
<p>"When, Bertie, when?"</p>
<p>"After—afterward," he answered, and his companion could hear that some
obstruction stopped his speech.</p>
<p>"It is very—very lovely," said Mrs. Lowell slowly, and the boy looked
over his shoulder again, apprehensively.</p>
<p>"Did you say your uncle forbade you to sketch?"</p>
<p>The boy folded the little picture back carefully in its wrappings and
replaced it in his pocket.</p>
<p>"Why do you suppose your uncle did that?" asked Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>"Don't you really, Bertie?" she asked,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> dreading the signs of dullness
she perceived altering his face as the brightness died away.</p>
<p>"I guess it was because he said it—it wasted my time. He took
everything except this." The boy's hand rested on the pocket that held
the treasure. "He didn't find this."</p>
<p>"Took what? Your materials, your sketching things?"</p>
<p>"Everything. He gets very—very angry if I take a pencil. Twice he has
whipped me for it."</p>
<p>"But, Bertie, please try to make me understand. Mr. Gayne is an artist
himself, he says."</p>
<p>"Yes. He says he—has money enough to live and I haven't. He says I just
hang on him. So I must chop wood and—and wash windows, and Cora makes
me scrub the floors. He says if he wants to waste time painting he can,
but I must not."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell regarded the boy closely. "Your uncle showed me some very
charming sketches up at the farm this morning."</p>
<p>"Did he?" returned the boy listlessly. "He never was an artist
when—when she was here."</p>
<p>"That is strange, isn't it?" said Mrs. Lowell. "Strange that he should
be able suddenly to do such good things?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>"No," said Bertie simply. "It is easy."</p>
<p>They were both silent for a time. The portfolio lay on the stones
between them. The boy suddenly picked it up.</p>
<p>"I must tear this," he said.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell caught his hand just as he started to pull the sketch from
the tablet.</p>
<p>"Won't you give it to me, Bertie?" she asked.</p>
<p>He hesitated. "He'll find it."</p>
<p>"Indeed he will not. It will go into the bottom of my trunk."</p>
<p>The boy took his hand away and she recovered the portfolio. He had
replaced the pencil in the case.</p>
<p>"I should so like to give you the pencil," she said.</p>
<p>The boy shook his head decidedly. "No. He'd find it," he answered.</p>
<p>"I am very much interested about your mother being an artist," said Mrs.
Lowell. "You know you are going to do everything you can to please her.
She would be very sorry that your uncle has not made you happy. I am
sure she wanted you to use your talent. So, very often we will take
walks and I will get better materials for you than this, and you shall
make many sketches."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>The boy's brows drew together. It was evident that he was in such
fetters of fear that the prospect was a mixed pleasure.</p>
<p>"Do you remember your father? When did he die?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. It was before—"</p>
<p>"Was he a kind father, and kind to your dear mother?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. Everybody was angry with her, all the rich people,
because she—she ran away to marry him. Then she was left all—alone
with me and—and she sold pictures and we were—" The voice stopped.</p>
<p>"Yes, I know you were happy. Then when she went away your uncle took
you?"</p>
<p>"Yes, and Cora."</p>
<p>"And wasn't Cora kind to you?"</p>
<p>Bertie shook his head. "I don't know," he said. It seemed as if the
recollection of his uncle's housekeeper made him retreat at once into
the protective shell.</p>
<p>"Just let me ask you one more question. Your Uncle Nick was here at the
island last summer. He didn't bring you with him. Where were you then?"</p>
<p>"Home."</p>
<p>"Alone?"</p>
<p>"No, with Cora."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>"But wouldn't Cora like you to draw a pretty picture for her?"</p>
<p>"No. She knows Uncle Nick would hit her."</p>
<p>"What did you do all summer?"</p>
<p>"Helped Cora. Then, when she was drunk, I went in the park. Sometimes I
slept there."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell shook her head. "I'm glad your uncle brought you this time."</p>
<p>"Cora wouldn't stay. They had the worst fight of all. They were always
fighting."</p>
<p>"Bertie, dear," said Mrs. Lowell tenderly, "try to know all the time
that God is taking care of you and leading you. We know He will. Uncle
Nick must know it, too, sometime."</p>
<p>"Know what?" exclaimed the boy with a start.</p>
<p>"That God takes care of His children. Your uncle is one, and I am one,
and you are one. We shall have to keep some secrets from Uncle Nick
until he grows kinder and knows that the only way to be happy is to
love. I should like to know your mother's people."</p>
<p>"Uncle Nick says they're all dead."</p>
<p>"Do you know their name?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Think, Bertie. What was your mother's name?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p><p>"Helen."</p>
<p>"What else? Can't you remember—the name on her paintings, perhaps?"</p>
<p>The boy was silent and his brow was puzzled. He reached into a pocket.</p>
<p>"I brought my book," he said, drawing forth a worn and much-thumbed
pamphlet.</p>
<p>"I'm so glad you did," she returned.</p>
<p>He did not offer it to her, but she looked over his shoulder as he
turned the leaves of the catalogue of an exhibition of paintings.</p>
<p>"There are two of my mother's," he said. He indicated the small
reproductions of two landscapes and Mrs. Lowell studied them with
interest.</p>
<p>"I can see that they must be charming," she said. "Have you any of her
pictures?"</p>
<p>"There was one," said the boy, and he had to wait for a time before he
could add: "Uncle Nick sold it."</p>
<p>"Let us see if there may be a list of the exhibitors," said Mrs. Lowell.
"May I take it a minute?"</p>
<p>Bertie yielded the pamphlet and she turned to the front of the book.
Yes, there was the list and her eye quickly caught the name: Helen
Loring Gayne.</p>
<p>"Your mother's name was Loring, then."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>"It's my name, too. Herbert Loring Gayne."</p>
<p>"Where did her people live, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"In Boston. I can always remember that because—because—when Uncle Nick
is angry at what I—I do, he says don't try any Boston on me, and
then—then I know he means my mother, because he—he didn't like—"</p>
<p>The boy's voice hesitated and stopped.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell called his attention to some of the other pictures in the
pamphlet, speaking of the artists whose names were known to her, and he
finally restored his treasure to his pocket.</p>
<p>When they again reached the Inn, they found Nicholas Gayne walking up
and down the piazza. He came to the head of the steps.</p>
<p>"This is too much, Mrs. Lowell," he said with an effort at bluff good
nature, "for you to burden yourself with a young hobble-de-hoy like Bert
when you take your rambles."</p>
<p>"If I like it I suppose you have no objections," she returned
pleasantly. "I assure you I had to urge him to accompany me. Too bad
there aren't some young people of his own age here."</p>
<p>"He wouldn't know what to say to them if there were, would you, Bert?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p><p>"No, sir," was the reply, and the boy started to go into the house.</p>
<p>"Here, what are you doing?" said his uncle, catching him roughly by the
arm. "You haven't said good-bye to the lady after her kindness in
dragging you around."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell controlled herself to speak calmly. "I tell Bert it would be
a good thing for him to learn to swim while he is here."</p>
<p>"That's the talk!" ejaculated his uncle, throwing the arm off as roughly
as he had grasped it. "Go in and win, Bert. I'll get you a bathing suit.
Show 'em you ain't any milk sop. Take the dives with the best of them."</p>
<p>The boy stood with his eyes downcast.</p>
<p>"And don't sulk," went on his uncle with exasperation. "For Heaven's
sake, don't sulk. That's the way it is, Mrs. Lowell, if you try to think
up some jolly thing for him to do, he stands like an image. No more
backbone than a jellyfish."</p>
<p>"Everybody doesn't like the water," returned Mrs. Lowell, moved now by
the dread that the man might suspect her influence and remove the boy.</p>
<p>"Well, how did you like the farm?" he pursued.</p>
<p>"What a pleasant place it is," she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>returned, seating herself on the
piazza rail. "No wonder you like to spend time there. I haven't
forgotten those charming sketches you showed me, either."</p>
<p>Gayne made a clumsy bow. "You flatter me," he said. "I make no claims."</p>
<p>The lady looked down on the garden border.</p>
<p>"The sweet peas look thirsty, Bertie," she said. "Let's water them."</p>
<p>The boy followed her in silence to where the coiled hose lay, and his
uncle looked after them, a thoughtful frown gathering on his dark brow.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER IX</span> <span class="smaller">A WORKING PLAN</span></h2>
<p>Mrs. Lowell knocked for admittance at Diana's door that evening, and
entering found the girl sitting at the little desk she had added to Miss
Burridge's furnishings, surrounded by books and papers.</p>
<p>"Is it an inopportune time?" asked the caller, hesitating.</p>
<p>Diana rose smiling. "That can never be for you," she replied.</p>
<p>"Thank you, dear child. I am so full, I long to talk to you. You may
have a helpful suggestion."</p>
<p>"I shall be pleased to act as your confidante. Sit here, Mrs. Lowell. I
was just writing my mother how fortunate I am in the fact that you are
here. I encounter a good deal of difficulty in persuading my mother that
I am not in a desert place and am not doing penance. I am very desirous
of restraining her from coming to see for herself. I should be aghast at
the prospect of taking care of her and her maid here. Yet, when I pile
up superlatives, she decides that I have fallen in love with an Indian
and is increasingly disturbed."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>The girl looked very pretty in the peach-colored negligee she was
wearing, its precious laces falling over Miss Burridge's cheap chairs
and matting, and her thick bright-brown hair in disorder.</p>
<p>"Oh, tell her he isn't an Indian; tell her he is a Viking."</p>
<p>Diana's serene gaze did not falter, though her color rose.</p>
<p>"I do not mind your badinage," she returned, "for when I fall in love,
it is going to be with a supremely unattractive man externally. I shall
be the only woman who knows and understands his charm, then other women
will not infringe my rights. After you hear Mr. Barrison sing, you will
understand that in his career, women will bow before him like flowers in
an irresistible gust of wind. I cannot imagine a worse fate for a girl
than to share that career; the more brilliant it might be, the more
crushing to her happiness. But this interview is getting turned about. I
was to be the confidante, not you."</p>
<p>"Then this is my tale, my dear," said Mrs. Lowell. "I have discovered
who did those sketches Mr. Gayne showed us this morning."</p>
<p>"Then you were right, and they were not his own?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>"Bertie's mother did them, and he inherits her talent: this poor child
whom the man is trying to blot out of normal life."</p>
<p>"What makes you certain?"</p>
<p>"Because he did one before my eyes down by the shore to-day, with a
swift, sure touch, and that thin, sad face of his lighted till he looked
like a different being. His parents are dead. His mother was an artist.
He worked with her. As soon as she left the child, his uncle forbade him
to draw, and took all his materials away from him, whipped him if he
found a pencil in his possession. Those sketches we saw were done either
by the boy or his mother. There is no doubt of it. She eloped with his
father, estranging her family from her. She was a Loring of Boston."</p>
<p>Diana regarded the speaker with admiration. "How wonderful for you to
obtain so much information from such a source."</p>
<p>"Oh, it was little by little, of course. I told him his uncle had shown
us some good sketches and asked him if it was not strange that Mr. Gayne
could do them, taking up the art so late in life; for it seems he took
it up only as Bertie laid it down; and the boy's reply was significant.
He said: 'Oh, no, it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> is easy.' He seemed to have no suspicion, but then
he hasn't life or interest enough to harbor suspicion. He just endures."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell went on to tell of Cora and the drudgery of the boy's dull
and dulling existence, and her listener's eyes lost their customary
serenity.</p>
<p>"It must not be," said the girl at last, as her companion ceased. "Have
you made a diagnosis?"</p>
<p>"I only feel that the 'root of all evil' must be at the bottom of it,"
replied Mrs. Lowell. "The Old Nick, as Veronica calls him, must believe
there is money to be secured, and that if he can only prove that his
nephew is incompetent, he can gain charge of it. Bertie told me that his
mother's people were rich."</p>
<p>"Of course, then, that is the key; but it does not explain what the man
is doing with pickaxe and shovel up at my farm."</p>
<p>"Your farm, my dear?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps," said Diana carelessly. "But that is not interesting us now.
Mrs. Lowell, I adore the unselfishness which has caused you to give your
time to this boy. I have tried to converse with him, but his lack of
responsiveness seems to obscure the clarity of my mental processes. I
wish, however, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> have a hand in his salvation. The thing to do now, it
appears to me, is to discover this Loring family. That will take money
and I will supply it."</p>
<p>"My dear Miss Diana!"</p>
<p>"Drop the Miss, please. I feel honored by your friendship. Do you know
of a good lawyer?"</p>
<p>"My husband is a lawyer."</p>
<p>"Then, please, ask him to proceed at once."</p>
<p>The girl's dignity and beauty added charm to the sense of power in an
emergency which money sometimes gives. "It is galling that we cannot
take the boy away from that brute immediately," she added.</p>
<p>"Oh, we must be so careful," exclaimed Mrs. Lowell. "Rather than let us
do one thing to clear and brighten Bertie's mind his uncle would send
him off the island. We must not show dislike or suspicion; and God will
guide us in the footsteps we must take. He is taking care of the child
now, through us."</p>
<p>"Really, Mrs. Lowell, your faith is very beautiful," said Diana.</p>
<p>"Everybody should have it. Why go alone while the Bible is right there
with its marvelous promises? God's children are not puppets<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> pulled by
wires, and so people complain that the promises are not kept. We are
made in His image and likeness, tributary only to Him—every good thing
is possible to us if we turn toward Him instead of away from Him."</p>
<p>"Mr. Gayne appears to have turned away," said Diana dryly.</p>
<p>"Yes, he made me shudder this afternoon when he talked of Bertie's
learning to swim. It was as if he hoped it might be the child's end."</p>
<p>Diana shook her head. "He doesn't want that."</p>
<p>"No, so I consoled myself afterward, but his malignant spirit bursts
forth in spite of him occasionally."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell rose and the girl followed her example. The older woman
approached and placed her hands on Diana's shoulders.</p>
<p>"I thank God," she said, "for your cooperation. I will write to my
husband to-night."</p>
<p>"Is he as—as religious as you are?"</p>
<p>"Not perhaps in the same way. He does not see quite as I do, but he is a
good man and loves everything good." Some recollection made the speaker
smile. "I try his soul<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> at times by not doing what he calls minding my
own business. For instance, once I saw a young fellow at an elevated
station in New York, dazed by drink. I was in haste and on an important
errand, but I couldn't take my train and leave him there. So I went and
sat down beside him and asked him where he was going. He said, to the
Brooklyn ferry, but he was thick and helpless. I called a little colored
boy carrying a large milliner's box, and I asked him if his errand
needed to be done immediately. He was pretty doubtful, but he finally
said no. So I told him I would check his box and leave a dollar with it
for him when he returned, if he would take this young man straight to
the Brooklyn ferry and see that he did not go in anywhere on the way. He
said he would do so, and I gave him his check and car fare and some
nickels for telephoning, and asked him to call me up that evening. I
wrote my telephone number and left it with the box. He promised, and my
train came along and I had to leave them. About six o'clock that
afternoon, the telephone rang. It was my messenger. He said that when he
got the young man downstairs to go to the train for the ferry, his
charge became violently sick. After<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> that, he came to himself and gave a
different direction to the boy. The address of an office building. He
was pale and shaky. So the boy stayed with him. They went up in an
elevator and into an office where the young man said that he had brought
the money. They sent for some one from another office, and to this
person the young man gave a roll of a thousand dollars.</p>
<p>"Of course, I was quite excited, and happy over this news, and I thanked
my messenger and said: 'See what God has helped us to do to-day. That
young man might have been robbed, and would have been suspected of theft
by his employer and lost his character and his position.' My husband was
sitting near by, reading the paper, and he looked up and said: 'Who on
earth are you talking to?' I just answered: 'A little darky boy!' and
went on, while my husband stared. When I told him the whole story, he
laughed and shook his head. 'Hopeless,' he said, 'hopeless.' He is quite
conservative, and he would like me to stay in the beaten track."</p>
<p>"That was fine," said Diana. "Mr. Lowell will be in sympathy with this
case, I hope, and undertake it with his whole heart. I am going to give
you a check to send him as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> retainer. Then he will know that this is a
serious business matter."</p>
<p>The girl sat down at her desk and wrote the check and Mrs. Lowell took
it thankfully. She went to her room and wrote her letter. In due time
she received a reply.</p>
<blockquote><p><i>Dear One</i>,</p>
<p>I see you have again ceased minding your own business and I am
really very proud of you in spite of your obstinacy. I thought in
the wilds of Casco Bay, you might get away from responsibilities
for awhile, but I might have known that, unless I set you adrift on
an iceberg, you would find some lame, or halt, or blind, to succor.
Even then, I think the iceberg would melt at your presence, and in
short order you would be down among the mermaids explaining to them
that it was error to get out on the rocks to do their hair and sing
to sailors.</p>
<p>Your story is very interesting, and while I believe that Boston is
as full of Lorings as it is of beans, Miss Wilbur has made it
possible to ring every Loring doorbell and ask down which steps ran
the eloping daughter. Rest assured, as her lawyer I shall do my
best in this affair. Owing to Mr. Wilbur's prominence in the public
prints, his connections are pretty well known, and I thought I
associated Herbert Loring, the railroad president, with him. I
suppose Miss Wilbur would have told you if there were anything in
that.</p></blockquote>
<p>The remainder of the letter dealt with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>different subjects, and, when
Mrs. Lowell had finished it, she hastened to her friend, and put her
question.</p>
<p>"I will send my father a telegram at once," responded the girl.</p>
<p>That form of speech was not strictly accurate, as it was rather an
elaborate operation to send a telegram from the island. However, it was
finally accomplished. This was the message to her father:</p>
<blockquote><p>Have you any friends named Loring? Have we any relatives or
connections by marriage of that name?</p>
<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Diana</span></p></blockquote>
<p>The day after the girl had given her check to Mrs. Lowell, Bertie Gayne
was not seen about the Inn all the morning. At dinnertime he returned
with his uncle. Mr. Gayne's manner was disarmingly bluff and hearty. He
had a cheerful word for everybody. The boy's silent manner and
uninterested look were just as usual. Mrs. Lowell managed to catch his
eye once or twice, but he gave no sign of understanding.</p>
<p>The horse-mackerel were running and the island population was all
excited. The taking of one of the huge fish was an event, and very
lucrative for the captors. The talk of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> table was all on this
subject, and Nicholas Gayne entered into it with zest.</p>
<p>After dinner everybody went out in front of the house to view the
telltale disturbances in the waters of the bay, where numerous small
boats were hanging about awaiting their opportunity. Veronica eagerly
joined the watchers as soon as she was at liberty.</p>
<p>"Let us walk down nearer the water," proposed Diana.</p>
<p>Mr. Gayne's field-glasses were being handed about, and she was afraid
they would be offered to her. So she and Veronica moved down across the
field and seated themselves on the grass against a convenient rock.</p>
<p>"Where do you think Bertie was this morning?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Uncle took him off with him."</p>
<p>"Up to the farm?"</p>
<p>"I suppose so. Mr. Gayne seems to think that farm might get away if he
didn't see it for twenty-four hours."</p>
<p>"I wonder if he will not be wishing to purchase it one of these days,"
said Diana.</p>
<p>"I'd buy some clothes for Bert first if I was in his place. Everything
the boy has seems to have been bought for his little brother."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>"Did you ever read 'Nicholas Nickleby,' Veronica?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I have." The younger girl looked around brightly. "I know who
you're thinking of—Smike. I've thought of Smike ever since they came."</p>
<p>Diana received her look with a smile. One touch of nature made them kin
for the moment, and Diana, all unconscious of her companion's mental
reservations, did not know that at this moment she was nearer than she
had ever been to being forgiven for her various perfections.</p>
<p>"All my childhood," said Diana, "I used to wish I could have done
something for Smike."</p>
<p>"I've wished that, too," said Veronica.</p>
<p>"Now we have an opportunity," returned Diana. "You are young and
sportive and you made a good beginning."</p>
<p>"Oh, I did—<i>not</i>," returned Veronica. "You might as well try to sport
with a hearse. Everything you say to him he turns his eyes on you all
darkened up with those lashes, regular mourning, and you don't know
where to look, yourself, nor what to say. Yes, I did want to help Smike,
but so long as the law won't let us string Mr. Gayne up somewhere, lots
of times I wish they'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> gone to some other island. Isn't it a pity he
hasn't got spunk enough to run away? Even Smike ran away."</p>
<p>"I am glad this boy is not inclined to do that," returned Diana, "for I
feel that he has friends here and that something good should come of his
summer."</p>
<p>"Not if Mr. Gayne can help it," declared Veronica. "He was afraid Mrs.
Lowell was giving Bert too good a time with these walks and talks." She
nodded her head. "Believe me, that is the reason—"</p>
<p>"Well, we have found you," said a voice behind them. It was a voice
which made color steal up into Diana's cheeks. The girls both looked
around quickly.</p>
<p>Philip Barrison was approaching, and with him a shorter man. Both were
bareheaded.</p>
<p>"The blarney stone!" thought Veronica. She had been wondering when Mr.
Barrison would bring him, and now she gave him what she herself would
have described as the "once-over" as he smiled at Diana and lifted his
hand to his tightly waved hair in salute.</p>
<p>What Veronica saw caused her to lift her hand to the bridge of her nose
and cover its small proportions with two fingers, from both sides of
which her round eyes gazed seriously.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER X</span> <span class="smaller">NICHOLAS GAYNE CONFIDES</span></h2>
<p>"Are you interested in the horse-mackerel, too?" asked Diana.</p>
<p>The two men sat down on the grass near the girls as Barney Kelly
answered: "Moderately, Miss Wilbur. Moderately interested. Being allowed
to witness anything from <i>terra firma</i> invests it with a certain charm.
Barrison has been merciless, I assure you, simply merciless."</p>
<p>"The man came here to fish," said Philip, "and I've only tried to be
hospitable."</p>
<p>"Deep-sea fishing," groaned his friend. "If you ever hear any tenderfoot
express ambitions to go deep-sea fishing, tell him to see me if
possible, otherwise write or wire me before he embarks."</p>
<p>"Did you find the motion disconcerting?" asked Diana.</p>
<p>Barney looked at Philip. "Don't you think I might admit as much as
that?"</p>
<p>Philip laughed and bit the red clover he had pulled from a bunch near
him.</p>
<p>"First," said Kelly, "you are waked at an hour when all men should
sleep; then you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> are forced to eat at a time when your soul rebels at
such outrage; after that, you go aboard beneath the stars, and you chug,
chug, miles into the darkness; but the chug-chugging you soon find to be
the best part of it for when you arrive midway between here and
Liverpool, you anchor. The sky and the sea begin to get hopelessly mixed
up. Why should I try to describe the writhings of all nature! They put a
heavy rope into your hands, it slides through your fists and removes the
skin before any one remembers that you have no gloves on. Oh, let Dante
try! I can't!"</p>
<p>Philip laughed. "Then I took him out next day to the pound and let him
help draw the net."</p>
<p>"The smell of that boat, Miss Wilbur!" Kelly's eyes rolled fiercely.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid you won't like the island," volunteered Veronica, who, when
she laughed had forgotten her nose and dropped her hand.</p>
<p>"My dear Miss Trueman, how can I tell, when I am never allowed to stay
on it? This man, when he couldn't think of anything else hydraulic to
do, has made me go in bathing in water at a temperature which no humane
person will credit when I tell them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> To-day, I struck. I said to him,
do for Heaven's sake do something to show that you are at least
amphibious. So he consented to bring me up here to meet his friends, and
I shall be pleasantly surprised if you young ladies don't turn into
mermaids right before my eyes, as they do in the movies, and pop off
that beach into the water."</p>
<p>Veronica giggled so joyously that the speaker turned away from Diana's
serene smile and regarded her. "I assure you," he added slowly and
solemnly, "that if you do, I shall not follow you. So if you wish the
pleasure of my society you won't unfold any graceful, glittering tails."</p>
<p>Veronica giggled again, and, if she had only known it, her dimples were
warranted at any time to divert attention from those afflicting little
freckles.</p>
<p>"I can see that Kelly will be fruit for you, Veronica, on that croquet
ground," said Philip.</p>
<p>The guest clasped his hands rapturously. "Do you guarantee, Miss
Veronica, that croquet at this island is unfailingly played on land?"</p>
<p>"Hold on, Barney, don't go too fast; it's the kind of croquet you play
with an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>alpenstock in one hand and a mallet in the other."</p>
<p>"It is not, Mr. Barrison," declared Veronica stoutly. "Bert has mowed
it."</p>
<p>"That poor little chap? Did you work him in? Good for you. It's what he
needs."</p>
<p>"When are you going to have Mr. Barrison sing for us, Mr. Kelly?" asked
Diana.</p>
<p>Barney shrugged his shoulders. "A poor worm of an accompanist can't
answer that, Miss Wilbur."</p>
<p>"But I suppose you will be practicing, or rehearsing at times, will you
not?"</p>
<p>"Yes. I understand there is a piano in the little Casino that was
pointed out to me. I understand—eh, Barrison?"</p>
<p>Philip nodded. "Yes, they have allowed me to engage an hour a day on
that piano for a while, for some work we have to do."</p>
<p>Diana's face lighted beautifully. "And may one—may one sit on the
piazza?" she asked beseechingly.</p>
<p>"I should advise one not to," said Philip, "unless one has been
inoculated for strong language."</p>
<p>"I should not in the least mind what you said."</p>
<p>"But you would what Barney says, at times."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p><p>"The verdure about the hall is free," said Diana doubtfully.</p>
<p>"Yes, if you don't mind a baseball in the eye once in a while. That is
where the boys do congregate."</p>
<p>"He's a most ungrateful ass—Barrison," said Barney warmly. "Of course
you shall sit on the piazza if you care about it. I promise to restrain
my <i>penchant</i> for calling him pet names in private. I have to do it, you
see, to strike a balance. At performances, who so meek as the
accompanist! Barrison stands there, dolled up in his dress-clothes,
probably a white carnation in his buttonhole; the women down front
gazing at him and ruining their best gloves. I gaze at him, too,"—Kelly
looked up with meek worship,—"like a flower at the sun, waiting for the
sultan to throw the handkerchief, or, in other words, give me a careless
nod, indicating that I may come to life. At last he does so, and I begin
to play—subserviently, unostentatiously. Very few in the house know
that I am there. He reaches his climax, he finishes with a pianissimo
that curls around all the women's hearts, draws them out and strings
them on a wire before him. Then the applause bursts forth. He bows over
and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> over again, until he looks like a blond mandarin, and I rise, but
nobody knows it, and when he has passed me on his way off the stage, I
come to heel like a well-trained dog, and—there we are!"</p>
<p>As Kelly finished his harangue with a gesture of both hands, the girls
were laughing and Diana was quite flushed.</p>
<p>"What a fool you are, Barney," said Philip calmly, still biting the
honey out of the red clover. "He plays like a house afire," he added,
turning to the girls. "You will be delighted."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes," said Kelly. "On the road I get a group. I play the Chopin and
Grieg things that the girls practice at home, and they get out their
vanity cases and prink and wait for Barrison to come on again."</p>
<p>"Oh, cut it out, you idiot!" exclaimed Philip, jumping up. "I don't
believe they're going to get one of those mackerel. Let's amuse little
Veronica and go up and have a game of croquet."</p>
<p>Meanwhile Mr. Gayne had again taken his nephew with him to the farm.</p>
<p>"In spite of all I say," he told the boy, "you will bother those ladies
at the Inn. So if you come along with me, I'll know where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> you are." And
the lad answered him not at all, but plodded up the road.</p>
<p>He did, however, think of some of the things Mrs. Lowell had said to
him. Some of the love and courage that emanated from her gave him a
novel certainty that he was not altogether friendless, and the wild
roses that began to peep at him from the roadside suggested the idea
that she would like it if he brought some home to her. In the idle hours
of the afternoon he might gather some, and some of the myriad daisies
and Indian paintbrush that decked the fields. But his heart sank at the
prospect of what his uncle would say if he attempted to carry back a
bouquet when they returned.</p>
<p>Gayne forbade the boy to enter the house when they reached their
destination, just as he had done in the morning. So Bertie, his hands in
his pockets, wandered about the surrounding fields and in the spruce
groves, and picked up the shells the crows had dropped and emptied. Once
he found a ridge of grass unusually long and green, and heard a
whispering, and investigating found a narrow brook which murmured as it
flowed. He followed along its bank until he came to the cove it had
named, and watched the sparse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> stream cascade over the granite and fall
thinly down its steep wall. The wet rock glistened in the sun, it seemed
to the boy as if with tears. He threw himself down beside it and,
leaning on his elbow, rested his head on his hand. Through the cut
between this island and the next, boats were passing coming in from the
foaming waves of the sea to the quiet waters of the sound. Life, beauty,
peace. The boy closed his eyes. The longing to portray it all rose in
him like an anguish. He felt his old torpidity to be better than this.
Why should his new friend stir up a craving for the impossible? She
meant to be kind. She seemed really to like him; and she had liked his
drawing and had wanted him to do more. She would find that it was
impossible, and he hoped that she would make no more effort. He squeezed
his eyelids together to keep back stinging drops. He felt shame at his
own weakness. Uncle Nick had said he had no more backbone than a
jellyfish and he felt this was true. He had no physical strength to
defend himself, none to take his fortunes into his own hands, as he felt
most boys would do, run away and do something to keep himself from
starvation.</p>
<p>For years he had been fed as an animal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> might have been fed: at any hour
that suited Cora, and with anything she might happen to have in the
house. He was undernourished, neglected, crushed, and spiritless. He
despised his weakness as much as his uncle despised him, and he was
conscious that it was a new estimate of himself that he was now making,
an estimate due to the awakening of thought that had come to him through
that lady who meant to be kind. He felt very bitterly toward her as he
lay there, his eyes closed to the loveliness of sea and sky.</p>
<p>He had lain there half an hour when Matt Blake came across from the road
and passed near him.</p>
<p>"Poor youngster," he thought. "I guess it's true he ain't all there."
The feeling that the boy was not capable of responding kept him from
calling out some sort of greeting as he passed, and he went on through
the spruce grove to the farm-house. "Hello the house," he called.</p>
<p>"That you, Blake?" came from within. "Yes, I'm out here at the back.
Come in."</p>
<p>The carpenter made his way through to the studio, and there Nicholas
Gayne rose from an armchair to meet him, and swayed slightly as he
stood.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>"You sent for me," said Blake, regarding the other's red-rimmed eyes.</p>
<p>"Yes, and you'll be glad I did when you see this, eh, old man?"</p>
<p>Gayne lurched toward the screen and took a bottle from behind it, and
held it out triumphantly. "Kind o' dizzy 'cause I been asleep and you
waked me sudden. 'Twas the shock, you see, the shock." He lurched back
toward the table where there was a glass. He filled this half-full and
offered it to his caller. "It's the real thing, the real thing," he
said.</p>
<p>"I smell that it is," returned Blake dryly. "That's too stiff for me.
No, no, Gayne," he added as the latter started to raise it to his own
lips, and he took the glass from him, "you've had too much now. If you
want anything of me, tell me while you've got sense enough to talk."</p>
<p>"You insult me, Blake," said the other with dignity. "I'm a gentleman
and I know when I've had enough, and I know when I've had too much. Some
folks never know that, but I do."</p>
<p>The carpenter regarded him impassively, and set the bottle and glass out
of his reach. "Now go ahead. Tell me what you want."</p>
<p>"Want you to shingle the kitchen so's I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> can—can cook there. Come and
I'll show you." He opened a door in the studio which led into a damp
room where the rain had fallen unmolested. "Want you to shingle this
room."</p>
<p>"Nothing doing," said the carpenter.</p>
<p>"You won't say that when I show you what I've got here." Gayne's speech
was thick and he took Blake's arm and led him across to a large covered
stone crock sitting on a bench. "Home brew, Matt. Home brew. We can have
many a cozy evening here when this gets into shape."</p>
<p>"Going to keep a horse?" asked the carpenter, lifting up what appeared
to be a nosebag.</p>
<p>"No, no, that's strainer. You leave it to me, Matt. I'll give you
something'll make your hair curl. All you got to do is shingle—"</p>
<p>"You ain't going to pay for having somebody else's property shingled?"</p>
<p>"'Tain't going to be somebody else's. Going to be mine. I'm going to buy
the farm. There's a fortune on it." The speaker's legs were planted far
apart to preserve his equilibrium, but even at that he swayed so far
toward his visitor that Blake put up his hand to hold him off.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>"Which have you found, gold or oil?" he asked, laughing.</p>
<p>His host assumed an impressive dignity. "Not gold, not oil. Spring."</p>
<p>"A spring? Of course you have. They're all over the lots. You'd better
patronize 'em, too. You certainly need to put more water in it."</p>
<p>"I'm goin' tell you secret, Blake," said Gayne.</p>
<p>"Better not," said the carpenter good-naturedly.</p>
<p>"Goin' tell you. I've found mineral spring here."</p>
<p>"That so?" was the unperturbed reply.</p>
<p>"Great and won-wonderful water. Don't tell anybody."</p>
<p>"All right."</p>
<p>"Had chemist 'zamine it. Says it's got everything in it to cure you.
Fortune in it. Fortune. You don't b'lieve me."</p>
<p>"Sounds a little fishy," remarked Blake.</p>
<p>"Lemme take your arm—I'll lead you to it."</p>
<p>The visitor supplied the arm and Gayne's heavy weight hung upon it. They
went out of doors and Gayne stopped and looked around cautiously.
"Where's that brat?" he demanded.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>"Do you mean the boy? He's over there by the cove. Asleep, I think."</p>
<p>"Then come on. Can't trust him 'cause they're the kind that speak the
truth. Fools, you know. Can trust you, Blake. Trust you anywhere."</p>
<p>"Thank you," returned the visitor dryly.</p>
<p>At some distance from the house, in a hollow overhung with rocks, the
heavy weight on Matt's arm became heavier and Gayne pushed away some
turf and stones with his foot, disclosing a puddle of dark-colored
water. He stooped and, picking up a rusty tin cup, half-filled it, and
presented it to his companion whose arm he released.</p>
<p>"There, if you don't b'lieve me!" he said triumphantly.</p>
<p>The carpenter accepted the cup doubtfully and smelled of it. "Phew!" he
exclaimed with a grimace.</p>
<p>"'Course," said the other. "Sulphur. Won'ful sulphur spring. Cure you of
ever'thing. Had it an'lyzed. Drink it."</p>
<p>Blake took a cautious sip.</p>
<p>"Tell you, Matt," said Gayne, speaking slowly and nodding with tipsy
solemnity, "'twas m' guardian angel guided me to that spring."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p><p>The carpenter glanced at him with disfavor. "One sniff's enough to
convince anybody o' that," he remarked. "At that, it's better for you
than the stuff you've got in there on the table. Now, look here, Gayne,
you're going to be sorry to-morrow you told me about this—"</p>
<p>"Wouldn't tell anybody else," vowed Gayne, solemnly, seizing his
companion by the arm and pushing back the concealing turf and stones
with his foot. "Nobody else on this earth. Fools own the farm put up the
price if they knew."</p>
<p>"But what I was going to say is you needn't be sorry," went on Blake.
"I'm not going to tell a soul. I don't want to be mixed up in your
affairs, but do you think you can understand if I talk to you?"</p>
<p>"Un'stand! Well!" exclaimed Gayne. "I'm a man o' brains I'll have you
know."</p>
<p>"Well, if you've got any, use 'em now," said Blake impatiently. "There
ain't any money in a mineral spring unless you've got piles o' dough to
put it on the market. Don't you know that?"</p>
<p>"I sh'd say so," nodded Gayne, triumphant again. "That's just what I'm
goin' to have: piles o' dough. Bushels."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>"Where are you goin' to get it?"</p>
<p>"Well, I'll tell you, Matt, 'cause you're a good friend and you know how
to hold your tongue. That boy out there, that poor numskull is the heir
to a big enough fortune to f'nance twenty springs."</p>
<p>"He is?" returned Blake, astonished. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"His grandfather is one of the richest men in Boston. Went to see him
once. Took my proofs with me. Wouldn't look at 'em. Turned me out. He's
sick as the devil. Always travelin' 'round tryin' to get well. I
wouldn't—I would not give him one cup o' this water." Gayne gestured
impressively as he made the ferocious declaration. "Just come home from
Europe now. Saw it in the paper," he added.</p>
<p>"Then he'll leave his money where it won't do you any good," said Blake.</p>
<p>"I'll break the will. I've thought it all out. I'm a man o' brains.
Bert'll get the money."</p>
<p>"Perhaps the boy won't want to spend it on springs."</p>
<p>A crafty change came over Gayne's face and he smiled. "He won't have any
say. I'm his guardian, ain't I? And he's non compos,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> ain't he? He'll be
put where he belongs, believe me."</p>
<p>"You'll shut him up, do you mean?" asked Blake, frowning.</p>
<p>"F'r his own good. You understand?"</p>
<p>"Your guardian angel suggested that to you, too, probably."</p>
<p>"Prob'bly did, Matt," was the pious reply. "If all his kind was shut up
there'd be less crime in the papers. I put it off and put it off, but I
ought to do it and do it soon."</p>
<p>The carpenter regarded the speaker in silence for some moments. Gayne's
eyes were closing and opening sleepily.</p>
<p>"Now, see here, man. You go in the house and sleep this off. I'll take
the boy down-along with me."</p>
<p>"I won't allow it," Gayne shook his head. "Women at the house pamperin'
him. I won't have it. He'll stay where I am till I get him settled for
life."</p>
<p>"I'm goin' to take the boy along with me," repeated Blake, speaking
louder. "You're in no state for him to see you. Where'd you get your
stuff, anyway?"</p>
<p>"Chemist p'esc'iption," said Gayne, as his companion drew him along at
as swift a pace as possible.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>"Well, next time, drink out o' your own mud puddle. I think it comes
from the lower regions, anyway. You might as well be getting used to
it."</p>
<p>Gayne laughed, but rather feebly. He was beginning to wonder just what
he had said to his friend.</p>
<p>Matt got him into the house and into the lop-sided armchair where he had
found him, and he fell asleep at once. Then the carpenter took the
partly filled glass from the table and held it up to the light.</p>
<p>"I'd like it," he mused, "but, by thunder, that loafer's worse 'n a
temperance lecture." And he threw the whiskey out of an open window.</p>
<p>The bottle he placed behind the screen; then, with one last disgusted
look at his host, whose head was hanging sideways with the mouth open,
he left the house.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XI</span> <span class="smaller">THE NEWPORT LETTER</span></h2>
<p>Blake went back through the grove of firs to the cove bank and there he
saw the boy again. He had sunk down on his back and, as Blake
approached, appeared to be asleep. The man stooped over him.</p>
<p>"Hello, kid," he said.</p>
<p>As the boy did not move, Matt shook him gently by the shoulder. Bert
jumped up with a start.</p>
<p>"I didn't—didn't hear you," he said. Then, looking up and seeing that
it was a stranger, he got to his feet.</p>
<p>"Does—does Uncle Nick want me?" he asked.</p>
<p>Blake shook his head. "No, he's busy. You better go down the road with
me."</p>
<p>"He told me—told me to wait for him," said the boy.</p>
<p>"Well, he doesn't want you now. He wants you to go along with me. I've
just left him."</p>
<p>Upon this the boy followed obediently, and they walked together over the
field to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> road. Blake occasionally looked at the unsmiling young
face as he cogitated on Gayne's plans for the lad.</p>
<p>"Like it pretty well here?" he asked.</p>
<p>"No—yes—I don't know," was the answer.</p>
<p>The delicacy and refinement of the boy's face, and the utter
hopelessness of it, stirred his companion, as he considered the one he
had left in the tattered armchair. They walked on in silence until they
had nearly reached the little island cemetery. Then the boy's long
lashes lifted. He seemed to be gazing at the shafts and headstones.</p>
<p>"Uncle Nick says the—the ghosts don't have far to walk," he remarked.</p>
<p>The carpenter put his hand on Bert's shoulder. "Stuff and nonsense," he
said. "You're too big a boy to believe that foolishness."</p>
<p>The dark eyes regarded him. "That's what Mrs. Lowell says. She says God
takes care of us."</p>
<p>The carpenter nodded. "That's right," he returned emphatically. "I hope
He's got His eye on you right now and will see you through. You tie to
Mrs. Lowell and you believe what she says."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p><p>"Uncle Nick doesn't want me to. He says I'm—I'm better off alone."</p>
<p>"You're the best judge of that, I should say," remarked Matt bluntly.
"We're all entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I
hope you'll get 'em, kid. Stand up for yourself. Do you like Mrs.
Lowell?"</p>
<p>"I—I don't know.—It isn't any use for me to—to like her. Uncle Nick
doesn't." They began to pass hedges of wild roses. "She likes—likes
flowers," added the boy.</p>
<p>"Take her some, that's right, take her some," said Blake, stopping and
going to the side of the road.</p>
<p>"You won't tell Uncle Nick?" said Bert anxiously.</p>
<p>"No, blast him, I won't tell him. Here, I've got a knife. They know how
to defend themselves all right, don't they?"</p>
<p>Bert gathered some of the flowers, amazingly large and deep of color
they were, and Matt cut more, and a charming bunch was in the boy's hand
at last. Blake noted that the sight of it brought color into the pale
face.</p>
<p>"This must be another secret," said Bert. "Mrs. Lowell and I have some
already."</p>
<p>They plodded on again.</p>
<p>"That's right," said Blake. "Hold 'em<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> tight. That Mrs. Lowell and Miss
Wilbur are friends worth having, I'm thinking." The man frowned at his
own thoughts. The creed of the island had, as its first article: Mind
your own business. Matt wished he could go to Mrs. Lowell and pour out
to her all he had learned this afternoon, but had his pledged word not
prevented, his own habit and training would have made it difficult.</p>
<p>When they reached the field which divided the road from the Inn, Blake
parted from the boy, who started off for home with his prize. He
stumbled over the knolls while looking at the blossoms, and inhaling
their delicious fragrance.</p>
<p>When he had nearly reached the house, he met the quartette of croquet
players, the girls escorting the men to the road.</p>
<p>Veronica and Barney Kelly came first and Diana and Philip followed.</p>
<p>"Oh, how lovely, Bertie!" exclaimed Veronica, stopping and stooping the
five sun-kisses to smell deep of the roses.</p>
<p>"They are not—they are not for you," said the boy hastily.</p>
<p>"You've no taste, then," said Kelly, while Veronica laughed. "Have you a
better girl than this one?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p><p>Bertie pushed on in nervous haste, and Diana's smile did not detain
him.</p>
<p>"Not for you either, apparently," remarked Philip.</p>
<p>"No," said Veronica. "I'm <i>good</i>, Miss Wilbur is <i>better</i>, but his
<i>best</i> girl is at home on the porch."</p>
<p>There the boy found her, and luckily alone. He advanced holding out his
gift without a word. She colored with pleasure as she accepted it,
holding it in one hand and caressing it with the other as from time to
time she took the sweet breath of the roses.</p>
<p>"Thank you so much, Bertie!" she exclaimed. "It must have taken you a
long time to gather so many."</p>
<p>"No—he had a knife."</p>
<p>"Who, your uncle?"</p>
<p>"No—Mr. Blake. Uncle Nick mustn't know. You won't tell him?"</p>
<p>"No, dear child, I won't tell him." She looked in the boy's face for a
reflection of her own pleasure, but there was none. He remained
standing.</p>
<p>"Sit down, Bertie, you have had a long walk."</p>
<p>He did so with some reluctance. "This is the last—last time I'll sit
with you," he said.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>"Are you going away?" she asked, much concerned.</p>
<p>"No, but—but Uncle Nick doesn't—doesn't want me to speak to you—and
you make me sad."</p>
<p>"How do I make you sad, Bertie?"</p>
<p>"Talking about—about things," he said vaguely. "If I don't think and
don't talk, then—then it's better. Uncle Nick says so and—and I—it is
so."</p>
<p>"Very well, Bertie," returned Mrs. Lowell quietly. "All I want is what
is best for you."</p>
<p>He looked at her sweet face with the affection in the eyes. She was
wearing a white dress and the blossoms were a roseate glow against it.
He struggled against all that he blindly felt she represented: all he
had lost, all that would have kept the present and the future from being
blank. His face suffused with color, his eyes with tears.</p>
<p>"I can't bear it!" he said suddenly, with more force than she had
supposed was in him, and rising with an energy of movement that sent his
chair over with a crash, he fled into the house.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell bent her head over the flowers for minutes, and, when she
raised it, there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> was dew upon them. She looked off a moment in thought,
then rose, went into the house and upstairs to the Gayne room. The door
was ajar. She could hear the boy sobbing. Entering, she saw him
stretched on his cot, and she approached, drawing a chair beside it.</p>
<p>Seating herself, she put a hand on his tightly doubled arm and looked at
the averted, dark head, its face buried in the pillow.</p>
<p>She spoke to him quietly: "Bertie, I am going to do just as you plan and
not ask you to go about with me any more, but I want you to remember all
the time that I love you and am thinking of you, and knowing that better
times are coming for you. No human being can have as much power over us
as God has. He isn't going to forget His own children whom He has
created. So the more you think about Him, knowing that He is
all-powerful and all-loving, the sooner you will feel His help coming to
you. We don't know just how or when, but be sure it will come if you
won't listen to discouragement. Discouragement is like a cloud that
hides the sun, and God is the sun of the whole universe. You are trying
to hide away from Him when you weep and let thoughts of grief and
despair come in."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>Her voice carried through the nervous, dry sobs, and they lessened as
she talked. When she finished, the dark head lay still on the pillow.
She patted the thin arm.</p>
<p>"Now I will leave you, Bertie," she went on. "Try to think about the
Shepherd. 'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.' Say that over and
over to yourself, and know that it is true. Some day all these things
that seem barriers to everything that you feel makes life worth living,
will melt away. Think about it, and be hopeful, dear child. Remember I
am in the house when you want me, and remember that I love to help you.
Good-bye, dear."</p>
<p>She stooped over the averted face and kissed the boy's temple. Then she
passed out and down the stairs.</p>
<p class="space-above">The answer to Diana's telegram came from her mother, and read as
follows:</p>
<blockquote><p>Your father away on the yacht. Be cautious socially. No Loring
relatives or friends in this country. Letter follows.</p></blockquote>
<p>The letter did follow with great promptness. It was the old story of the
worried hen who had hatched a duck.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p><blockquote><p><i>My dear child</i>:</p>
<p>You say you are feeling very well again, sleeping soundly and
eating with good appetite. Then do come home at once. I have
submitted to your wild-goose chase because the doctor approved, and
it was evidently working well, but I haven't really had an easy
minute since you left. When you said that even taking a maid with
you would make you nervous, and I allowed you to go off to a
strange island quite alone, I put a great constraint upon myself.
Your wire shows me that you are encountering some of the
circumstances which I feared, and which will lead to future
embarrassment. Some people are evidently trying to claim
acquaintance or even relationship with our family. I wired you that
there were no Lorings connected with us in this country. It was an
odd coincidence that just after I sent the message to you, I picked
up a newspaper and saw that Herbert Loring had returned from Paris
and was staying at the Copley-Plaza. I am quite certain <i>he</i> has
not emigrated to your island. So my message is true enough. He is a
distant cousin of your father's and though not an old man is a very
broken one, owing to family troubles. Seeing his name in the paper
brought up sad memories and made me thankful for a good,
conscientious daughter who will always remember what is due her
family, and now, when you are thrown among ordinary people, such as
you have never come in contact with, is a good time to speak of
such a tragedy. Mr. Loring's only child was a daughter, a pretty,
artistic girl of whom he was inordinately proud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> and fond. She
became infatuated with a man whom her father forbade her even to
see. She eloped with him. Oh, the agony she caused that father, who
had lost his wife years before. Of course, he did the only thing
possible in such a case—forbade her name to be mentioned. He
became very ill, and, as soon as he was convalescent, gave up
business and went abroad. He has spent all the years since—about
fifteen, I think—in traveling about, trying to recover his health
and divert his mind. Now the poor, weary man has come back again. I
am wondering if he will open his house. He is wealthy, and, if his
health is restored, he may do so and take up life again. I am sure
your father will wish to communicate with Mr. Loring as soon as he
returns from his cruise. Perhaps the lonely man will accept an
invitation to visit us.</p>
<p>I think it a grave question whether the artistic temperament does
not furnish more sorrow than joy to the world. I am proud and
thankful that I have a daughter to whom an infatuation would be an
impossibility. Come back, Diana, if you feel strong enough. I
promise to preserve you from gayety if you wish me to do so. I do
not feel at all easy about you. Please write and set a date for
coming, explaining also all that lay behind your wire.</p>
<p class="right">Your affectionate<span class="s3"> </span><br />
<span class="smcap">Mother</span></p></blockquote>
<p>By the time Diana finished reading this letter, her hands were
trembling.</p>
<p>She hurried to Mrs. Lowell's room. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> rather stifled voice bade her
enter. Her friend was stooping over the washstand bathing her eyes. Her
face, as she looked up through the splashing, showed an April smile.</p>
<p>"I knew it was you," she said. "I recognized the step, and I knew you
wouldn't mind discovering that I cry once in a while."</p>
<p>"My dear Mrs. Lowell, I'm sorry for whatever distresses you."</p>
<p>"Oh, it is just that dear talented, wretched boy. I couldn't help
weeping a few little weeps; but what happy thing has happened to you, my
dear?" she added, catching the excitement in the girl's face. She dried
her own finally, and came forward and Diana put the letter into her
hands.</p>
<p>They both stood in silence until Mrs. Lowell had finished reading and
looked up. Her cheeks were as flushed as Diana's, and they exchanged a
radiant gaze and then sat down.</p>
<p>"One always weeps too soon," said Mrs. Lowell at last.</p>
<p>"I was thinking," said Diana, looking off, "that it might be a good plan
for me to go to Mr. Loring myself."</p>
<p>"You good girl! Do you know him?"</p>
<p>"Not at all, but any one can go to the Copley-Plaza, and I can tell him
I am his cousin."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>"You're a precious child. When had you thought of going?"</p>
<p>"Immediately," said Diana, with recovered serenity.</p>
<p>"Shall I go to Boston with you?"</p>
<p>"It will not be necessary, I think."</p>
<p>"But your mother would prefer it, I am sure. Yes, I see that I should
go," added Mrs. Lowell, casting a glance at the rich stationery in her
hand with its heading "Idlewild, Newport, R. I." She could feel the
probable disapproval of this move which Mrs. Wilbur would feel.</p>
<p>Nicholas Gayne did not come back to the Inn to supper that afternoon.
Bertie came to the table expecting his uncle would be there and not
daring to absent himself, but he showed the effect of his unwonted
outburst in such extra pallor and lassitude that Veronica was moved to
give him her choicest offerings. Mrs. Lowell thought it best for his
calm not to take any notice of him, but she and Diana found it difficult
to control the excitement that beset their hearts as they looked at him:
the drooping bird in the cage of a cruel and neglectful master, the key
that would unlock its door almost in their hands.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p><p>The next morning they took the early boat from the island, leaving word
that they were going to Boston for a few days. Miss Burridge gave them
their coffee and toast and bade them God-speed, little reckoning how
appropriate was the prayer for them.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XII</span> <span class="smaller">COUSIN HERBERT</span></h2>
<p>Arrived at the hotel in Boston, an inquiry for Herbert Loring revealed
that he was still there, but indisposed and not seeing visitors.</p>
<p>In the suite Diana engaged, the two friends discussed ways and means,
and it was decided that Diana should write a note to the invalid and
make herself known.</p>
<blockquote><p><i>My dear Mr. Loring</i> (she wrote),</p>
<p>I might perhaps call you Cousin Herbert, for I believe my father,
Charles Wilbur, claims relationship, and, if you grant me
permission, I certainly shall do so. I believe you and my father
had time to see something of one another before steel swallowed him
up and you became absorbed in railroads. My mother is at our
cottage in Newport, and is wondering whether you could be induced
to visit us when Father returns from a cruise he is taking. I am
here in the hotel for a short time, and would like very much to
call on you if there is some half-hour when you would feel like
seeing a relative, even though you could not grant a similar
privilege to an outsider. I shall be so glad if you can allow me to
make your acquaintance. It would be a satisfaction to my parents to
hear from you by word of mouth. My mother saw by the papers that
you were back in this country and she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> wrote me of it. I have been
on one of the islands in Casco Bay where one gets very near to
Nature's heart: the best thing that can happen to a tired
schoolgirl.</p>
<p>Kindly let me hear from you, and I shall be grateful if you will
see me. After all, though we are strangers, blood is thicker than
water!</p>
<p class="right">Yours cordially<span class="s3"> </span><br />
<span class="smcap">Diana Wilbur</span></p></blockquote>
<p>"This is most extraordinary, upon my word, it is most extraordinary,"
was Herbert Loring's comment when he had read this communication. His
words might have been addressed to thin air or to Marlitt, his man; and
Marlitt knew by experience that it was well not to appropriate them
until he had received some further hint. So he stood at attention and
looked with interest at the view from an opposite window.</p>
<p>His employer was a haggard man, with a white mustache and gray hair. He
was immaculately groomed and was seated in a reclining chair, his feet
supported on the footrest. He wore a rich dressing-gown of gray silk.
One noticed that his left arm was never raised, but with his right hand
he now stroked his mustache. There were pouches under the eyes he lifted
to his valet.</p>
<p>"Here is a schoolgirl in the hotel who wants<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> to come to see me; says
she's my cousin. I'm a nice figure to receive a schoolgirl."</p>
<p>Marlitt raised his eyebrows. "You are certainly in shape to receive
anybody, sir. But this young lady? May she be an impostor, sir?"</p>
<p>"No. I think not." Marlitt perceived that the note was an agreeable
incident. "She says she is the daughter of Wilbur, the Philadelphia
steel man. It's odd that they should not have forgotten me."</p>
<p>"Begging your pardon, sir, I think if you were not so determined to deny
yourself to friends, you would find that no one who had once known you
would have forgotten."</p>
<p>The sick man glanced back at the note in his lap. It escaped him on the
slippery silk and he made an involuntary effort with the useless arm to
recover it. He frowned, and Marlitt, stooping quickly, picked up the
sheet and restored it. The invalid read the letter once again.</p>
<p>"Send word to this young lady that I will see her at three-thirty
to-day," he said at last.</p>
<p>With much rejoicing, Diana, when she had received this word, arrayed
herself for the call. She wore a thin gray gown with a rose at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
girdle, and Mrs. Lowell, regarding her with admiration, thought no one
could be better equipped externally to win the fastidious masculine
heart.</p>
<p>Herbert Loring thought so, too, when at the appointed hour she entered
his room, and he received a swift impression of her fine quality.</p>
<p>"Welcome, my little cousin," he said as he met her eyes and the serene
and charming smile irradiating her youthful beauty. "I am a useless
hulk; can't get out of this chair without help. So you will pardon me."</p>
<p>She put her hand in the one he offered, and Marlitt placed a chair
beside him in such fashion that she faced him.</p>
<p>"That makes it the more gracious of you to receive me," she replied.</p>
<p>"I should never have known what I missed, had I refused," he said
gallantly. "My friend Wilbur has a very beautiful daughter."</p>
<p>Marlitt disappeared into the next room, and Diana blushed.</p>
<p>"Even in spite of sunburn?" she said.</p>
<p>"I was really touched, Cousin Diana, that your parents should remember
me sufficiently for you to take the trouble to come to see me. It is a
long time since anything has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> pleased me so much. I have been such a
rover that I am a stranger in my own land."</p>
<p>Diana had not expected to feel guilty of false pretences, but this
speech accused her even while it lent her increased courage, since his
was a heart that could be touched.</p>
<p>"I hope you will visit us," she said, "after I return to Newport."</p>
<p>"Are you on your way there now?"</p>
<p>"No, not quite yet. It is difficult to tear one's self away from Casco
Bay after one once falls under the spell."</p>
<p>Loring nodded. "I know the environment. Very piney and fresh and all
that. Cold water though, very cold."</p>
<p>"Yes, but we all take dips in it."</p>
<p>"Youth!" said the sick man, shaking his head. "Youth!"</p>
<p>"If one does not swim, I know it is quite too cold," said Diana. "I am
glad you are familiar with that country, for then you can sympathize
with my enthusiasm. I long to have a place there of my own and, perhaps
with such congruity of taste, you and I together can persuade my parents
that it would not be too erratic in me to buy a part of that green hill
and be there a little while every year."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>The invalid nodded. "I'll say Amen to anything you indicate," he
returned readily.</p>
<p>How devoutly Diana hoped this promise might be kept!</p>
<p>"I have another reason for being glad to meet a man relative just now,"
she went on. "There are some people at the Inn where I am staying who
present such a strange problem. When injustice is obviously being done,
one longs to help."</p>
<p>Her companion nodded. "That is natural, but usually futile," he said.
"It is a very good rule to 'keep off the grass.'"</p>
<p>"Yes, but this affair makes me very unhappy, Cousin Herbert."</p>
<p>"A shame," he returned, and he would like to have patted her pretty
hand, but she was on his left side. "Too bad there is always some
serpent in paradise. Don't be too tender-hearted, my dear. Don't be too
tender-hearted. It doesn't pay. Of course, where-ever you go people will
try to lay you under tribute. You must learn to wear an armor, a full
suit of chain armor under your dainty costumes."</p>
<p>"This is not a question of money," said Diana, her heart beating faster
and, for the first time, she quaked at the full realization<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> of her
errand. "Would you let me tell you about it, Cousin Herbert?"</p>
<p>"Why, of course, my child, if it is any satisfaction to you to confide
in such a useless old cripple as I have become."</p>
<p>"You are far from that," returned the girl, steadying the voice which
threatened to waver. "Your opinion on the subject will be very valuable
to me."</p>
<p>The sick man lifted his heavy eyebrows and smoothed his mustache. "Then
proceed, by all means," he said. "One thing I have in tragic abundance
is time; and I am flattered."</p>
<p>"There is a man at our Inn," began Diana, her fingers tightly
intertwined in her lap, "who has a young boy in his power. The lad is
his nephew. He shows every sign of years of neglect. The uncle
continually betrays himself, and scarcely tries to hide the fact that he
is looking forward to incarcerating the boy in some institution for the
deranged."</p>
<p>"Simply to get rid of him?"</p>
<p>"No; there is money back in the family somewhere, and we—I have come to
the conviction that this man believes the boy will fall heir to it, and
that, if he is safely out of the way, the uncle as guardian will get
control of this money."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>"What sort of mentality does the boy seem to have?"</p>
<p>"He is a sensitive, fine-grained lad with just the sort of nature which
persistent brutality will blight and paralyze. He has been so neglected
that he has little physical resistance and one can see him being
gradually crushed with as little hope of escape as the fly in the
spider's web."</p>
<p>"And you take it greatly to heart, eh?" said the invalid, regarding the
girl's flushed face and appealing eyes.</p>
<p>"Wouldn't any one?" she asked.</p>
<p>"A confounded nuisance to have such a circumstance mar your vacation."</p>
<p>"Oh, think of the boy's side of it, Cousin Herbert!"</p>
<p>"You want my opinion? I think the law could take a hand there."</p>
<p>"Yes; but the law is so slow!" Diana swallowed. "So near a relative as
an uncle, own brother to the boy's father, can put up a hypocritical
fight and establish a very strong claim."</p>
<p>Herbert Loring shook his head. "My dear child, in your position, if you
begin on this Quixotic business, there will be no end to it, believe me.
You can't right all the wrongs in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> the world, and you will have the pack
in full cry after you if it is known that you have let down the bars.
You can state this case to a lawyer, and put it in his hands with the
understanding that you will pay the bills, but your identity must be
kept secret. Then let them fight it out. You can't do any more than
that. A pity I didn't know you were here this morning. My lawyer was
with me." The speaker's tired eyes smiled and the corners of his
mustache lifted slightly. "I have celebrated my return by destroying my
will and the new business was to have been finished this morning, but I
was uncertain about some matters that the lawyer is looking up to-day.
He will come to-morrow morning to draw up the new will, and before he
goes I will send for you and you shall tell him about your boy and his
ogre of an uncle."</p>
<p>Diana's heart was beating fast now. She summoned all her courage. "What
is so exciting to me, Cousin Herbert," she began,—and he wondered to
hear the wavering in her voice,—"is that lately I have learned that
this lad is related to some one rich and powerful who could rescue him
at once."</p>
<p>A puzzled frown came in Loring's forehead.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p><p>"Any one I know?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Surely, or I should not trouble you at a time when you are not feeling
strong. Cousin Herbert, this neglected boy belongs to you. He is your
grandson." Diana unconsciously stretched her clasped hands toward him.</p>
<p>A strange white change came over her listener's face and the expression
that awoke in the eyes that met hers was terrible to her.</p>
<p>"This is the explanation of your desire to make my acquaintance," he
said in a changed voice.</p>
<p>She was so frightened that she seemed to hear her own heartbeats. "The
boy's name is Gayne. Herbert Loring Gayne," she went on, desperately.</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur, you have ventured in where angels would fear to tread,"
said the sick man sternly, "but you awake no memory. That room where you
intrude is bare and empty. You—"</p>
<p>"He is talented," pleaded Diana. "Very talented as an artist. Any family
might be proud to own him and bring him out of a cellar into the
sunshine. Think of the interest in life it would give you. Think it
over, Cousin Herbert. Just be willing to see him once—"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p><p>While she was talking, her companion touched the bell on the table
beside him and the words died on her lips as the valet came into the
room.</p>
<p>"I am tired, Marlitt," said the invalid huskily. "Miss Wilbur is ready
to go." His head fell back against a down pillow. "Pardon my not
attending you to the door," he added, ignoring the girl's wet-eyed
confusion. She gathered herself together and rose.</p>
<p>"Thank you for allowing me to come in," she said, inclining her head;
then she turned toward the door which Marlitt held open.</p>
<p>She continued to hold her head high until she reached her own apartment,
where Mrs. Lowell was waiting. The latter started to her feet as she
viewed her friend's entrance and noted her excited color and trembling
lips.</p>
<p>Diana succeeded in uttering one word, "Hopeless," then she succumbed
into Mrs. Lowell's arms and fell into wild weeping on her shoulder.</p>
<p>Led to a couch, she lay upon it and continued weeping while Mrs. Lowell
sat beside her and held her hand comfortingly.</p>
<p>"We did right to come, however," she said, when, after a time, the girl
was quiet, "and you fulfilled your duty bravely in going to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> him. You
cannot tell what fruit your visit may bring forth. Don't try to tell me
about it now. He has suffered a terrible wound to his pride and heart,
and even after many years it could smart when touched. We mustn't be
discouraged. Our mission is a righteous one and so God is on our side,
and if we don't accomplish the child's deliverance in this way, we shall
in some other way. I am going to read to you one of the most inspired
and inspiring poems ever written," and, taking up her Bible, Mrs. Lowell
turned its pages and read aloud the ninety-first psalm.</p>
<p>At seven o'clock they had dinner served in their room, and Diana
recounted her experience with the invalid before they retired for the
night. Mrs. Lowell again talked to her calmly and comfortingly and the
girl's mortified pride and disappointed heart finally quieted and she
slept.</p>
<p>The next morning the two friends discussed plans over the breakfast
which was served in their room. When later the waiter arrived to carry
away the tray, he was so full of news that he was obliged to speak.</p>
<p>"Big excitement in the house," he said. "Gentleman dead in his bed. Big
man, too. Used to be president of big railroad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> Wouldn't wonder if the
papers had extrys out in a few minutes."</p>
<p>Diana caught Mrs. Lowell's hand and the latter spoke to the man: "What
name?"</p>
<p>"Why it's Herbert Loring. I guess that'll make some stir."</p>
<p>It certainly made some stir in Diana's heart. It was throbbing. When the
waiter had left the room, she lifted horrified eyes to her friend.</p>
<p>"Do you think I killed him?" she murmured.</p>
<p>"No, no, dear child."</p>
<p>"I noticed he was paralyzed on one side," said the girl, "but the valet
will tell them that I excited him so that he dismissed me. Shall I pay
our bill and we go away at once?"</p>
<p>"Just as you like, dear."</p>
<p>"I couldn't do that," said Diana suddenly. "I cannot be a coward."</p>
<p>"Then let us stay right here," said Mrs. Lowell quietly. "You may be
questioned, and it will be better to be found easily. I suppose there
will have to be an inquest or some such formality."</p>
<p>"Oh, it is dreadful!" exclaimed the girl. "If my mother knew this, she
would never allow me to escape from under her wing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> again. She has a
horror of anything even unconventional."</p>
<p>"Just be calm and strong in the right, Diana, and if any one comes to
question you, try not to lose your self-control. I know you have a great
deal. I shall stay beside you."</p>
<p>"Yes, I beg of you not to leave me. Poor Mr. Loring. Poor Cousin
Herbert. How much sorrow he must have had. So proud a man to become
helpless."</p>
<p>Only five minutes later two cards were presented at the door. One was
that of a doctor, the other of a lawyer. Mrs. Lowell sent word that the
men were to be admitted.</p>
<p>Diana had on the peach-colored negligee and, when the two callers were
ushered into the living-room of her suite, they found a pale, large-eyed
girl standing with their cards in her hand.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII</span> <span class="smaller">THE LAW</span></h2>
<p>One of the cards which Diana held read Ernst Veldt, M.D., the other was
that of Luther Wrenn, Attorney at Law.</p>
<p>"Be seated, gentlemen," said Diana. "I know the urgency of your errand
and, therefore, I would not detain you while I dressed. This is my
friend, Mrs. Lowell. We were just finishing breakfast when the shocking
news was brought to us. Mrs. Lowell, Dr. Veldt and Mr. Wrenn."</p>
<p>The portentous expression in the face of the two visitors did not
lighten as they bowed and took possession of the chairs Diana indicated.
Thrills of dread were coursing down her spine and her knees were weak
enough to cause her to be glad to take her own seat. She felt a horrible
uncertainty as to her own responsibility in the tragedy.</p>
<p>The physician, as the most aggrieved party, spoke first: "Mr. Loring was
my patient," he said, speaking with some accent. "From what his valet
tells us you should be able to throw some light on what has occurred."
The speaker's frown darkened as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> spoke. This wretched girl had robbed
him, no one could tell of how much. "Mr. Loring did not know you, had
never seen you—"</p>
<p>"Let me question the young lady," interrupted the lawyer. If this girl
in the rich garments and the luxurious suite were an adventuress
planning to get money from the sick man, she had staged herself well.
She was beautiful and her eyes now were large with horror, perhaps with
guilt.</p>
<p>"How did you manage to get into Mr. Loring's apartment?"</p>
<p>"I wrote him a note requesting him to see me," faltered Diana. "He
is—he is a sort of relation of mine."</p>
<p>"It would be a little difficult to tell just what relation, I dare say,"
put in the doctor, nodding. "Odd that you couldn't let a sick man get a
bit acclimated on his return before you forced yourself, an utter
stranger, into his rooms—"</p>
<p>"Wait a bit, Dr. Veldt," said the lawyer, interrupting again. "Let us
have your full name, please," he added, turning to the culprit.</p>
<p>"Diana Wilbur," said the girl. "Did you not find the note I wrote Mr.
Loring?"</p>
<p>"No. The valet followed his master's orders and destroyed the note as
soon as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> were gone. Marlitt is completely unstrung. He couldn't
remember anything about your communication except that Mr. Loring told
him that he was about to have a visit from a schoolgirl. Marlitt said
that you finally left the room in tears and that his master collapsed."</p>
<p>"And it looks like manslaughter, that's what it looks like,
manslaughter," said the doctor angrily.</p>
<p>Diana's very lips grew pale. "Oh, gentlemen," she said, and her quiet
voice trembled, "please be very careful what you say. Supposing anything
about me should get into the papers."</p>
<p>"Yes, Dr. Veldt," said the lawyer quickly, "we should be careful in our
accusations. Remember that Mr. Loring had sustained two strokes before
his return. His interview with me yesterday morning was a draught upon
him."</p>
<p>Diana turned toward the lawyer and clasped her hands. "Oh, yes," she
said. "He told me he had destroyed his will—"</p>
<p>"Aha," said the doctor, nodding his big gray head again, "we begin to
see light. His will. That is what you were interested in, eh? A sort of
relation, eh?"</p>
<p>"Gentlemen," said Mrs. Lowell suddenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> taking part in the interview, "I
think it might help you in your judgments to know that Miss Wilbur is
the only child of Charles Wilbur, the steel man of Philadelphia."</p>
<p>Her announcement had a dramatic effect. The doctor's mouth opened mutely
as he stared. The lawyer's brow cleared and he looked curiously at Diana
and bowed.</p>
<p>"You see," said the girl unsteadily, "it would be dreadful if anything
about me in connection with this shocking occurrence should get into the
papers, for I meant no harm. Mr. Loring was a distant connection of my
father's and I went to him in behalf of some one else—" she hesitated.</p>
<p>"Can you tell why your visit should have so excited him?" asked the
lawyer.</p>
<p>"Yes. It was because I spoke of his daughter."</p>
<p>"Will you repeat to us just what you said to him?"</p>
<p>"I will tell <i>you</i>. It is a matter for a lawyer."</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur," said Dr. Veldt, rising and speaking in a voice which he
strove not to make too unlike his previous manner, "we cannot tell,
until the post mortem takes place, just what caused this death, but I
hope the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> result of the investigation may be enlightenment that will set
your mind at rest. Since you wish to speak with Mr. Wrenn, I will leave
you and hope that he will be able to assist you in your problem,
whatever it may be. Good-morning." And with what grace he could muster,
the physician left the room.</p>
<p>Diana sank back in her chair and Mrs. Lowell saw her exhaustion.</p>
<p>"Shall I tell our story to Mr. Wrenn?" she asked.</p>
<p>The girl nodded.</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur has generously thrown herself into the thick of a problem
which has been absorbing me in the last weeks," she began, and then she
proceeded to tell the details of their experience.</p>
<p>The lawyer listened with close attention. "So, on the impulse of the
moment, we came to Boston, arriving yesterday morning, and Miss Wilbur's
request to see Mr. Loring was met by an appointment by him for
three-thirty, which she kept."</p>
<p>"He was very gracious to me," said Diana, "and I was very hopeful at
first." She stopped to control the quivering of her lips.</p>
<p>"How did you proceed?" asked the lawyer kindly.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>"I told him the boy's story, and he advised me to keep out of that sort
of entanglement in another's affairs. I was frightened then, but I
continued because, of course, I could not relinquish the matter there,
and finally, I told him that the boy was his grandson." Diana's voice
stopped again, and she shook her head.</p>
<p>"He became excited, heated?" asked the lawyer encouragingly.</p>
<p>"No; cold, stern. He—he repulsed me and utterly repudiated the whole
matter. He said there was not even the—the echo of a memory left."
Diana lifted her handkerchief to her eyes.</p>
<p>"Poor little Helen. I knew her well," said the lawyer thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"You did know Bertie's mother?" said Mrs. Lowell with interest. "Then
you will be able to judge of the sketch a lonely little boy made of
her."</p>
<p>"We had put this matter into the hands of Mrs. Lowell's husband, who is
a lawyer in New York," said Diana. "We expected to have a long search
for Bertie's grandfather, but, as Mrs. Lowell has told you, my mother,
all unconsciously gave us the information we needed, and then—Oh, Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
Wrenn, how could I do otherwise, and yet it is—so dreadful to think—"
Again Diana covered her eyes.</p>
<p>"Don't think it, Miss Wilbur," said the lawyer decidedly. "You did what
was womanly and brave. Had you come to me, instead of going directly to
Mr. Loring, it might possibly have been better, but how can we know? My
client and old friend was immovably set against the daughter who defied
him, and if the intense feeling which your plea roused in him was a
boomerang that laid him low, that is not your fault, and couldn't
possibly have been foreseen. Now, dismiss that fear from your thoughts.
A condition has arisen which perhaps has not occurred to either of you
ladies. From what you tell me, it looks as if the boy who has interested
you may really be Herbert Loring's grandson. That will have to be
proved, and doubtless the avaricious uncle has the proofs if they exist.
That once accomplished, this lad will be sole heir to a considerable
fortune, for there is no will."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell and Diana exchanged a look.</p>
<p>"Mr. Wrenn," said Mrs. Lowell quickly, "Mr. Gayne is capable of any
brutality. He will see Mr. Loring's death in the papers—"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>"But he does not know that there is no will," the lawyer reminded her,
"and he will probably come to me with proofs that the boy should
inherit. That would naturally be his next step. Do you think the boy's
mentality has been hopelessly impaired?"</p>
<p>"I do not," said Mrs. Lowell, and her face grew radiant. "When once the
slave is freed, God will take care of Bertie's mentality."</p>
<p>The lawyer bent his heavy brows upon her gravely. "Young Herbert has a
good friend in you," he said.</p>
<p>"Oh, Mr. Wrenn," exclaimed Diana fervently, "if you can get Mrs. Lowell
to supervise his life for the next five years, you will do the best
thing that could be done for him in all the world."</p>
<p>The lawyer nodded, still with thoughtful eyes on Mrs. Lowell's speaking
face. She was thanking God as she sat there that the crushing burden was
being lifted from one of His little ones.</p>
<p>"Mr. Loring's funeral will be a rather sad and perfunctory ceremony,"
said Mr. Wrenn. "For several years he has absented himself from this
country most of the time. He is not rich in even poor relations. I
remember a few names which were mentioned in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> will which was
destroyed yesterday, and I am sure he would wish me to respect his
wishes and give moderate sums to those beneficiaries, for he stated that
he should not change that clause. I wonder if you ladies might be
willing to stay over for the funeral. I am certain that Mr. Gayne will
attend it and see me afterward."</p>
<p>A compassion that swept through Diana at remembrance of the tired eyes
and the helpless figure in its rich wrappings caused her to give her
consent to remain for the funeral.</p>
<p>She wired her mother that, being in Boston for a few days, she should
attend that ceremony, and was disconcerted to receive a return message
stating that her mother would also attend, her father not having
returned from his cruise. She showed this to Mrs. Lowell, and the latter
was privately amused at the consternation betrayed by the girl at the
prospect of welcoming a parent.</p>
<p>"Of course, it won't be necessary to trouble her with any details," said
Mrs. Lowell, and Diana pressed her hand in token that she appreciated
the comfort of her perception.</p>
<p>The first thought Mrs. Lowell had, upon seeing Mrs. Wilbur, was: "What a
handsome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> man Diana's father must be," for the girl did not get her
beauty from this plump little lady with the short nose, wide mouth, and
small eyes. Even Mrs. Wilbur's grand air, erect carriage, and perfect
dress could not make her a stately figure, although it was her habit to
consider herself one, and her plump little jeweled hand wielded a
lorgnette in a manner which entitled her to a Roman nose and impressive
height. Her maid, Léonie, was with her, and looked after her mistress
with what seemed to Mrs. Lowell an amazing knowledge of her needs and
wishes.</p>
<p>"Look at your hands!" was Mrs. Wilbur's greeting of her daughter. "I
know you have not worn gloves."</p>
<p>Diana bent down to her in all meekness. "Not continuously, Mamma," she
said. "They will very soon blanch again."</p>
<p>"You're coming right home with me after this sad, sad affair, of
course," continued Mrs. Wilbur. "How strange that you happened to be in
Boston, and fortunate, too. Your father would have liked us to show this
attention." By this time they were in Mrs. Wilbur's suite in the hotel,
and she turned to Mrs. Lowell. "I am grateful to you for taking care of
this child of mine," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> "I don't like to tell her how well she
looks, for it encourages her in such a prank as this island summer."</p>
<p>"It has proved a good plan for her, I'm sure," responded Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"But enough is enough," said Mrs. Wilbur. "She is rested now and our
friends are always asking for her. No more island."</p>
<p>"Dear Mamma, do not be so determined, for Mrs. Lowell and I just came
here for a few days and I shall have to return and gather my belongings
together at least."</p>
<p>"Very well, then I will go with you and look at it myself."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell could with difficulty repress a smile at the way Diana's
eyes enlarged with apprehension.</p>
<p>"You would not like it, dear, you would not like it," she said
earnestly.</p>
<p>"Then why do you?" responded her mother defiantly.</p>
<p>"Because I like roughing it. I like camping."</p>
<p>"Well," sighed Mrs. Wilbur, "I am so near, I may as well look at it."</p>
<p>"What would you do in a house without a bathroom?" asked Diana.</p>
<p>The blank, incredulous look with which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> Mrs. Wilbur met her daughter's
question made Mrs. Lowell expect her parted lips to utter: "There ain't
no such animal." But the lady merely said, reproachfully: "How can you
like it there, Diana?"</p>
<p>"My ancestors had no bathtubs," replied the girl. "Then, besides, we
have the ocean."</p>
<p>"Well," sighed Mrs. Wilbur, "the funeral comes first. I suppose Mr.
Loring was confined to his room so you couldn't happen to see him about
the hotel."</p>
<p>Diana cast a glance at Mrs. Lowell before she replied: "I did see him,
though, Mamma." The girl felt very certain that the episode could never
be finished without this fact transpiring.</p>
<p>"You did?" Mrs. Wilbur sat up with great interest. "That explains why
you have seemed to me a little sad ever since I came. You saw the poor
man. How did it happen?"</p>
<p>"I wrote him a note and asked him if I could call. I reminded him that
we were related—" She hesitated.</p>
<p>"Why, Diana Wilbur, I never heard of anything so extraordinary! You dear
lamb, how pleased your father will be! Mrs. Lowell," she turned to that
lady, "do you wonder I'm proud of this child? Do you believe that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> one
young girl in a thousand would take the trouble to pay such an attention
to an elderly relative whom she had never seen?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell was saved from the embarrassment of replying, for Diana
spoke hurriedly:</p>
<p>"It isn't what you think, Mamma. I went to him on an errand—some one
else's errand."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur put up her lorgnette the better to view her daughter's
crimsoning cheeks and quivering lips.</p>
<p>"Tell me what it was, at once," she commanded. "Who dared to make use of
you in such a way?"</p>
<p>"No one," protested the girl. "It was my own idea, but please don't ask
me to tell you of it now. I have had such a shock—I am really not able
to talk about it yet."</p>
<p>"Very well, then, I will wait." Mrs. Wilbur's dilated nostrils expressed
her displeasure. "But this proves that you are, just as I have felt, too
young to be wandering about on your own. I should not have allowed you
to leave me." As she finished, the mother swept Mrs. Lowell with a
condemning glance in which she withdrew all her previous approval of
that lady.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Lowell understood it, but she spoke pleasantly: "When the right
time comes for you to learn what brought us to Boston, you will find
that your daughter deserves only approval," she said in her quiet,
cheerful manner.</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur's nostrils still dilated and she used her fan in a majestic silence.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV</span> <span class="smaller">THE WILL</span></h2>
<p>Herbert Loring's funeral was conducted in the church to which he had
been a contributor for many years. Distant connections of the family,
old business friends, and curiosity-seekers made a gathering of average
size, and among those seated, toward the back of the audience, was
Nicholas Gayne.</p>
<p>The astute lawyer's expectation of a visit from him was not
disappointed. Indeed, Luther Wrenn came to his office at an earlier hour
than usual the following morning, entirely in honor of that gentleman.</p>
<p>On the drive to the cemetery the day of the funeral, Mr. Wrenn had
placed Diana, her mother, and Mrs. Lowell in the motor with himself.
There was little said on the way out. The lawyer was well known by
reputation to Mrs. Wilbur, and the only drawback to her satisfaction in
the arrangement was Diana's preoccupation and the knowledge that
interesting information was being kept back from her. Mrs. Wilbur had
not only sent lavish gifts of flowers to the church, but, there seeming
to be no one but paid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> workers to attend to the decorations, she had
personally supervised them, and, coming back from the cemetery, the
lawyer expressed his appreciation of her kindness and her presence in a
manner to apply much balm. However, he turned directly from his
respectful laudation of Mrs. Wilbur to her daughter.</p>
<p>"How long can you and Mrs. Lowell stay on?" he asked, and the mother
became alert. His manner signified previous acquaintance with Diana.</p>
<p>"Just as long as is necessary," was the girl's surprising reply.</p>
<p>"I am certain that Gayne will call on me the first thing to-morrow
morning, and I should like you to remain near the telephone if you
will."</p>
<p>"Certainly," replied Diana.</p>
<p>"Mr. Wrenn, I don't understand what you are asking of my daughter," said
Mrs. Wilbur crisply.</p>
<p>"Ah,"—the lawyer bowed gravely. "Perhaps you have not been told of the
surprising turn events have taken. It is a matter which requires secrecy
until identities are established and evil-doers circumvented. Let me
congratulate you, Mrs. Wilbur, on a remarkably fine and intelligent
daughter. She is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> credit to your bringing-up. Not many mothers can
boast of having instilled such prudence."</p>
<p>The lady leaned back in her corner, not certain whether to accept this
disarming, or to insist immediately upon her rights. She decided to
compromise and wait until they reached the hotel.</p>
<p>"My daughter tells you she can wait in Boston as long as is necessary,"
she said at last, "and her mother will have to understand the
necessity."</p>
<p>"Certainly, Mrs. Wilbur," responded the lawyer. "We have found ourselves
in a totally unexpected situation. Mr. Herbert Loring destroyed his will
and died before he could make another."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur exclaimed. Mr. Loring was known to be wealthy and she was
interested in fortunes. Her brain began working actively on the
probabilities of the heirs.</p>
<p>"The next strange event is that your young daughter has probably found
the heir."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur raised her lorgnette and regarded Diana, drooping opposite,
as if she were a new discovery.</p>
<p>"I wish to understand," she said with dignity.</p>
<p>"It seems that Mr. Loring's disobedient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> daughter left a son whose
existence has been unsuspected unless Mr. Loring himself knew of it,
which he never betrayed. Your daughter and Mrs. Lowell have found the
boy."</p>
<p>"Not I," protested Diana. "Mrs. Lowell, in her sweet unselfishness,
deserves all the credit. I should have paid no attention to him, but
I—it was through your letter, Mamma, that I found the boy's
grandfather."</p>
<p>"We all had a hand in it, then, it seems," said Mrs. Wilbur.</p>
<p>"The boy's uncle has possession of him. His father and mother are both
dead, and, according to these ladies, the uncle can qualify as the
world's meanest man. So we proceed carefully until the proofs which he
is supposed to have are in hand. You, Mrs. Wilbur, will aid us in
silence on the subject until the right time for speaking."</p>
<p>"How old is he, Diana?" burst forth the lady. "What does he look like?
Is he clever and worthy of such a heritage?"</p>
<p>"He is a poor, shabby, ill-treated boy about fourteen years old. He has
never had a chance, but I scarcely know him. Mrs. Lowell is the one who
discovered him and cared for him."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur glanced at Mrs. Lowell, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> she could not bring herself to
ask her a question. She felt a vague jealousy and sense of injury at
finding this stranger in her child's confidence and aiding and abetting
her in so much independence of action.</p>
<p>As soon as possible after the reception of Mrs. Wilbur's enlightening
letter at the island, Mrs. Lowell had wired her husband that the search
was ended before it had begun, and he returned Diana's check with
congratulations.</p>
<p>"What an amazed boy that will be, Mr. Wrenn," remarked Mrs. Wilbur.
"What is his name?"</p>
<p>"Herbert Loring Gayne."</p>
<p>"H'm. I suppose his mother had all sorts of hope that with a son of that
name she could placate her father."</p>
<p>"Doubtless she did," replied the lawyer, "and I wish it might have
proved so. Perhaps they would both have been alive to-day had she
succeeded, but my old friend Loring never mentioned her to me and I
don't know what efforts she made. There must be a good deal of delay
before the young heir can come into his own."</p>
<p>"I suppose so," sighed Mrs. Wilbur. "That tiresome law moves slowly."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>Diana looked up with sudden attention. "But we must not be dilatory in
rescuing the boy."</p>
<p>Mr. Wrenn nodded. "If he is proved to be the right one."</p>
<p>"There can be no doubt of it," said Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"Not to charming, sympathetic ladies, of course," returned the lawyer
with a smile.</p>
<p>"I feel that every day counts," said Mrs. Lowell. "He must be removed
from that mental malaria as soon as possible."</p>
<p>"I will—" began Diana, and then she glanced at her mother,—"I mean
Mamma will gladly finance him, I'm sure, for the present."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," said Mrs. Wilbur with dignity, "when you see fit to tell me
the whole story. I'm sure I haven't it yet."</p>
<p>"There is no reason to burden you, Mamma, with disagreeable
considerations," said Diana meekly. "I can myself look after the boy's
needs."</p>
<p>"Yes, she can," said Mrs. Wilbur in an offended tone. "What do you
think, Mr. Wrenn, of a father who insists on giving a young girl an
unlimited check-book, not requiring her to give any account of what she
does with money?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>The lawyer smiled at the embarrassed culprit. "I think that your
husband has proved himself a very good reader of character all through
his career."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur bounced back into her corner. She didn't intend to bounce;
she intended to lean back gracefully, with an air of renouncing all
interest in this matter which had proceeded so far without her
coöperation, but just at that moment the car went over a
"thank-you-ma'am."</p>
<p>As has already been said, Luther Wrenn, the following morning, sought
his office at an earlier hour than was customary, and Nicholas Gayne was
there before him.</p>
<p>He did not keep him waiting long, and the stocky figure and dark face
soon appeared in the private office.</p>
<p>The lawyer regarded the stranger over his eye-glasses.</p>
<p>"I didn't have any card," said the visitor. "My name is Gayne, Nicholas
Gayne."</p>
<p>"Be seated, sir. What is your errand?"</p>
<p>"I would like to be present at the reading of the Herbert Loring will."
The speaker's manner was confident, and he seemed endeavoring to repress
excitement.</p>
<p>"Indeed? Are you a relative?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>"No, but my nephew is. I have a great surprise for you, Mr. Wrenn. My
nephew is Herbert Loring's grandson and namesake." Nicholas Gayne
marveled at the self-control of a lawyer, for Luther Wrenn's expression
did not change. "I visited Mr. Loring before he went abroad the last
time, but he would not listen to me or look at my proofs. So I suppose
he has not mentioned his grandson in his will, and, if that is the fact,
I wish to retain you to break the will." This declaration was made with
great energy and a flash of the speaker's dark eyes.</p>
<p>"You have proofs, then," said Mr. Wrenn, after a short hesitation,
perhaps to make sure of the retention of that self-control.</p>
<p>"Yes, right here." Gayne caught up from the floor a small black leather
bag, and opened it. "Here are the letters Bert's mother wrote her father
to try for a reconciliation. Returned unopened, you see. Here is her
picture. Perhaps you knew her."</p>
<p>Luther Wrenn took the small card photograph and gazed at it long.</p>
<p>"My brother was an irresponsible sort of chap. At the time he met Miss
Loring, he had put through a good deal and was riding on top of the
wave. She was artistic in her tastes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> and he met her through the artist
set at Gloucester, where she was that summer, and she took a fancy to
him that her father couldn't break off. Unfortunate, you'll say, but
Lambert was a stunning-looking chap and she decided firmly on her
course. So now here is this boy and the law should protect his rights.
Here's the record of his birth fourteen years ago, in her own writing;
perhaps you know her writing." Gayne was talking fast and excitedly, and
Wrenn took from his hand one after another of the proofs he offered and
laid them on his desk with no change of countenance.</p>
<p>"What sort of a boy is your nephew?" he asked. "A bright boy?"</p>
<p>Gayne's face changed. He looked away. "Well, no. I can't say he is. Bert
is delicate. He needs all sorts of care, care that takes heaps of money
to pay for. I haven't been able to do for him what I'd like to. As soon
as you get his money for him, I shall engage professional care and see
that he has the best. I'm a good business man, if I do say it, and I'll
see that his funds multiply until he is able to look after his fortune
himself."</p>
<p>Luther Wrenn nodded. "I see," he said; and he did, very plainly. "Now,
there will be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> no reading of the will, Mr. Gayne. That is all attended
to. So you may leave this matter with me."</p>
<p>"Was the boy mentioned?" asked Gayne eagerly.</p>
<p>"No; no mention of him."</p>
<p>"You think you can get some money, though, don't you?"</p>
<p>"Possibly. I'll see you again."</p>
<p>"There ain't any kind of doubt that he's the genuine grandson," said
Gayne, rising reluctantly, as the lawyer got to his feet.</p>
<p>"Your proofs seem to be convincing," was the grave reply.</p>
<p>"Well, could you—couldn't you advance me something now for Bert's care?
He needs a lot of things, that boy does."</p>
<p>"You go too swiftly, Mr. Gayne. Come back here at three o'clock day
after to-morrow."</p>
<p>Gayne looked at the papers and picture strewn on the lawyer's desk. "I
don't know about leaving the only proofs of our rights that I've got."</p>
<p>Luther Wrenn turned to the desk and gathered them up. "Certainly. Take
them to some lawyer in whom you have confidence."</p>
<p>"Oh, pshaw, no," said Gayne sheepishly. "I didn't mean that. You were
Mr. Loring's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> lawyer. You're the one to handle the case."</p>
<p>"Good-day, then, Mr. Gayne."</p>
<p>"Good-day," and Nicholas took his departure.</p>
<p>As soon as the door had closed behind him, Wrenn seated himself at the
desk and called up the Copley-Plaza. Diana was waiting.</p>
<p>"Miss Wilbur?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Mr. Wrenn speaking. Mr. Gayne has been here. Please wire at once to the
island and get some one to bring the boy to your hotel as soon as
possible."</p>
<p>"Yes, Mr. Wrenn."</p>
<p>"I think Mr. Barrison is the one to ask," said Diana to Mrs. Lowell, who
was waiting near.</p>
<p>So it was that an hour later Philip Barrison was called to the telephone
at the island store to receive a telegram.</p>
<p>"I know what it is!" exclaimed Barney Kelly. "'All Saints' is going to
outbid 'The Apostles' for you. You're the rising young beggar."</p>
<p>He wandered down with Philip to the store and loitered about outside
talking to Matt Blake. When Philip reappeared, it was with a hurried
air.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p><p>"Want anything in Boston?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Of course, we do—the Brahms, but what's up?"</p>
<p>"I've got to go. Wire from Miss Wilbur."</p>
<p>"Aha," said Kelly, following Philip's long strides to the express wagon
which Blake was just mounting.</p>
<p>"No, no, no," returned Philip. "Naught personal. No such luck. Hello,
Matt, going up-along?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"See you later, Kelly, I have to go up to Miss Burridge's." And Philip
jumped into the seat beside the driver.</p>
<p>"No, you guessed wrong. You're going to see me right along," returned
Barney, hopping up on the tail of the wagon and letting his feet hang
over, while he whistled cheerily.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XV</span> <span class="smaller">A SUDDEN JOURNEY</span></h2>
<p>"I have to get the afternoon boat, Matt," explained Philip. "Miss Wilbur
wants me to bring the Gayne boy to Boston in a hurry."</p>
<p>Blake looked around alertly as his horse pulled slowly up the hill to
the road. "Miss Wilbur?" he repeated. "Why didn't his uncle send for
him? He is there."</p>
<p>"Is he?" asked Philip carelessly. "I didn't know the island had been
deprived of his artistic presence."</p>
<p>"Yes. You bet he lit out when he saw by the paper that the millionaire
he's had his eye on was dead." Blake shook his head. "There must be
something doing or Miss Wilbur wouldn't be sending for the kid."</p>
<p>"Oh, you know she and Mrs. Lowell made a protégé of him. My idea is they
want to give him some kind of a treat, but I must say I'm surprised at
the importance she seems to put on my bringing him—dead or alive, as
you might say. She says if he holds back, through fear of his uncle's
displeasure, to tell the boy his uncle is there."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, he's there, believe me. Keep it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> under your hat, but that old
souse has got it all fixed that the boy is the grandson of that Herbert
Loring who has just died, and that he's going to get a slice o' the
money. Now you might as well know, Phil, as long as you're doing the
errand, that Gayne's a skunk. He's counting on shutting that boy up and
gettin' the money himself. He told me so one time when he was half-seas
over. Believe me, I feel sorry for that kid. If he ever had any spirit,
he's had it squeezed out of him. By George, I'd like to have those
ladies know Gayne's plans."</p>
<p>"They certainly must be greatly interested in the boy to take all this
trouble," said Philip. "I knew they were very much stirred up over
Gayne's treatment of Bert, but I don't know whether they're aware of how
far he intends to carry it. I'm glad you've told me this. I fancy we
shall find that their plan is to give the boy a show or two and some
ice-cream instead of a fortune. Bert Gayne, Herbert Loring's heir!"
scoffed Philip. "Don't make me laugh. My lip's cracked. However, I'll
oblige those two corking women and bring him to them, by the scruff of
the neck, if necessary. Ever see the Copley-Plaza, Matt? If you did, you
can make a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> picture of me making a grand entrance there with Bert."</p>
<p>"I do feel sorry for that kid," repeated Blake with feeling.</p>
<p>"So do I, and after what you say, I'm wondering why Gayne is keeping
himself in the background and letting the goddess Diana take charge."</p>
<p>"I wish her luck," said Matt emphatically. "I wish her luck."</p>
<p>Arrived where the road branches away to the Inn, Philip and his friend
left the wagon and struck off through the field. Halfway across they met
Miss Emerson, walking triumphantly between Mr. Pratt and Mr. Evans, a
parasol over her shoulder. It is not well to sun soft ripples of hair,
when the head that grew them is far across the seas.</p>
<p>"Good-morning," she cried gayly; "we're going to the post-office. Can we
do anything for you?"</p>
<p>"Thank you," said Barney. "We've just come from there. You might write
me a letter or two, Miss Emerson, while you're waiting. I've been
neglected since I've been here."</p>
<p>"I shall be delighted," she returned, regarding his tanned face and
permanent wave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> with high approval. "I love to write. I even like pencil
and paper games, verbarium, and crambo, and all those. I've been trying
to convert these men. I wish you would both come up and spend the
evening and let me show you how much fun it is."</p>
<p>There was a wild look in the grave faces of her escorts which advised
caution.</p>
<p>"You're always so kind, Miss Emerson," said Kelly.</p>
<p>"Shall we see you at dinner?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Depends on how good your eyes are," said Philip pleasantly. "We dine at
home and then I'm off for Boston."</p>
<p>"Really? How can you bear to leave here!" Miss Emerson waved her parasol
as the young men nodded and passed on.</p>
<p>"I think that Mr. Kelly is perfectly delightful," she said as they
pursued their way. "So full of fun always." Then she proceeded to tell
her captives how many words could be made from the one: c-a-r-p-e-t.</p>
<p>Philip and Barney walked around to the front of the Inn and there were
Veronica and the unconscious young Herbert, leaning over the sweet-pea
bed. Veronica was using the trowel and the boy was weeding. He glanced
up under his lashes, then went on with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> work. Veronica rose and
welcomed the arrivals.</p>
<p>"You see, Aunt Priscilla keeps us at it, Mr. Barrison. She isn't going
to have your garden neglected, and just look at the buds."</p>
<p>"Fine. In another week they'll be a show."</p>
<p>"And a smell," said Barney fervently. "I adore them. You look rather
sweet-peaish yourself, Miss Veronica," he added, regarding her gingham
gown of fine pink-and-white checks. "Do you know you're going to have me
on your hands the next few days?"</p>
<p>"What's going to happen?" asked Veronica.</p>
<p>"There is going to be a dance at the hall to-night," suggested Barney.</p>
<p>"I know it," returned Veronica. "Can you dance?"</p>
<p>Barney looked at her reproachfully. "It's a land sport. How can you ask?
A duck can swim and Kelly can dance. Will you take me? I'm shy."</p>
<p>"If Mr. Barrison will allow it," said Veronica with a demure glance at
Philip.</p>
<p>"Not a word to Puppa. I promise," he said.</p>
<p>"What a pity Miss Diana isn't here!" she exclaimed.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>"I shall see her to-morrow," returned Philip.</p>
<p>"You going to Boston?"</p>
<p>"'M-h'm."</p>
<p>"That's what I'm telling you," said Kelly. "You mustn't allow me to get
lonely. We'll row in the cove."</p>
<p>"Really go near the water?" replied Veronica, laughing incredulously.</p>
<p>"Yes. Aunt Maria is stuffing me like a Thanksgiving turkey. No tennis, I
just natchelly had to get a boat—without a motor, be it well
understood."</p>
<p>"That's fun," said Veronica, her eyes shining. She hoped Philip would
stay away indefinitely. "If Mr. Kelly could really dance—"</p>
<p>Meanwhile Philip had stood watching the boy's slender hands pulling out
weeds.</p>
<p>"Aren't you going to speak to me, Bert?"</p>
<p>"I—yes. How do you do?" The lad was so used to being overlooked by
everybody except Mrs. Lowell and Diana that Philip's question surprised
him and he rose and looked at him.</p>
<p>"Do you miss Mrs. Lowell and Miss Wilbur?" asked Philip.</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>"His uncle has gone, too," said Veronica. "We have had some good times
all alone, haven't we, Bert? He is learning to play croquet and he helps
me with the garden."</p>
<p>The boy regarded her in silence and with no change of expression. Philip
thought or imagined that in his dull, undeveloped way he resented the
girl's kindly tone of patronage. He caught the lad's eye again.</p>
<p>"I am going to see Mrs. Lowell and Miss Wilbur. Would you like to go
with me to see them?"</p>
<p>Color stole up into Bert's face and he brushed the clinging soil from
his hands.</p>
<p>"Yes.—No," he said.</p>
<p>"I am going to Boston this afternoon," continued Philip, in a quiet,
matter-of-fact tone. "The ladies would like to have you come with me."</p>
<p>"No," returned the boy. "I have to—to wait here for—for Uncle Nick."</p>
<p>"Oh, he is there, too," returned Philip. "They have made some plan. We
shall be all together there just as we were here. It won't take you long
to get ready. I'll help you."</p>
<p>"No," said the boy breathlessly. "Uncle Nick—"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p><p>"But Mrs. Lowell wants you."</p>
<p>"No. Uncle Nick doesn't want—Mrs. Lowell—"</p>
<p>"Oh, boy, you know Mrs. Lowell wouldn't ask you to do anything that
would get you into any trouble," said Philip pleasantly. "Perhaps your
uncle has decided not to come back to the island. At any rate, they want
you there in Boston and they sent me a telegram asking me to bring you.
So it is up to us to do what they say. Don't you think so? Come upstairs
and I'll help you get ready."</p>
<p>The boy's stolid habit of obedience stood Philip in good stead now. With
heightened color, but no other change in his face, he followed to his
room, washed his face and hands, and got into his shabby best while
Philip found a comb and brush and toothbrush, and put them into a paper
parcel. Returning downstairs, they found Veronica consuming with
curiosity, but considerably entertained by her future dance partner, who
was teaching her a new step by means of his blunt finger-tips on the
porch rail.</p>
<p>"I'm going to take Bert home to dinner with me, Veronica. So say
good-bye and expect us when you see us. Where's Miss Burridge?"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, Aunt Priscilla!" shouted Veronica at the kitchen door. "Come out.
Bertie Gayne is going to Boston with Mr. Barrison."</p>
<p>Miss Burridge emerged wiping her hands on a towel. The other went to
meet her.</p>
<p>"How nice!" she said, beaming. "What a nice outing for Bertie. That's
real clever of you, Philip. How did you happen to think of it?"</p>
<p>"Well, his friends in Boston want him," said Philip, and he administered
a wink which Miss Burridge understood sufficiently to postpone a
catechism until later. The boy allowed her and Veronica to shake his
passive hand in bidding him good-bye and then he went away with his
companions with no further questioning.</p>
<p>When they were gone, Miss Burridge exclaimed her astonishment.</p>
<p>"Mr. Barrison received a wire, that's all I know," said Veronica. "The
youngster's in mortal terror of his uncle, but Mr. Barrison told him his
uncle was there and it was all right. Miss Wilbur or else Mrs. Lowell
sent the telegram. Sort of queer they should be hobnobbing with old
Nick, but perhaps he let them send the wire to save expense."</p>
<p>Philip made conscientious efforts to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>entertain his young charge on
their trip. In Portland, where they spent the night, he bought some
magazines, naturally guessing that the more filled with pictures they
were the better, and he was puzzled at the evident shrinking from the
illustrations that the boy displayed.</p>
<p>"Something seriously off with the poor little nut," he thought. "Any boy
likes to look at pictures."</p>
<p>So he left him in peace and let him stare apathetically from the car
window all the way to Boston, or doze in his corner.</p>
<p>Philip wired Diana just before they took the train, and she ordered
luncheon to be served in her rooms. She wished very much that some kind
turn of Fortune's wheel would call her mother forth to the shops that
morning, but by reason of the fragments Mrs. Wilbur overheard passing
between her child and Mrs. Lowell or the lawyer, her curiosity as to
this waif who might be going to carry on the Loring fortunes became
sufficiently vivid to determine her to remain where she could oversee
all that her daughter did.</p>
<p>"Who did you say is bringing the boy on?" she asked Diana that morning.</p>
<p>"His name is Barrison."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p><p>"You wired him to do this?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Mamma."</p>
<p>"How could you ask it? Is he a servant?"</p>
<p>"No, Mamma, he is a professional singer taking his vacation at the
island."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur looked at the girl closely. "You must have become rather
friendly with him to ask such a favor?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell glanced up from a glove she was mending. "Everybody is
friendly at the island, Mrs. Wilbur. It is one of the assets of the
simple life. As one of the men at the Inn said: 'Every time you go out
the door, you wade up to your knees in the milk of human kindness.'"</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur regarded her coldly. "An inexperienced schoolgirl cannot
discriminate," she said. "I felt all the time that Diana should not go
there."</p>
<p>Her dominating tone was significant of the relation she, contrary to the
experience of most American mothers, had succeeded in retaining with her
daughter. The average American girl of Diana's age would have had no
difficulty in telling her mother that the expected boy would be
embarrassed by the presence of a stranger and requesting her, more or
less agreeably, to return to her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>apartments. Not so Diana. Her mother
plied her now with additional questions about Herbert Loring's heir.</p>
<p>"For mercy's sake," said Mrs. Wilbur at last, "I should judge from what
you say that the boy isn't far off melancholia."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell sighed unconsciously. Mrs. Wilbur heard her, but did not
understand the reason for it.</p>
<p>"Well, don't ask me to lunch with him. I am sure he would make me
nervous," added the lady.</p>
<p>"I think it quite likely he would, Mamma," said her daughter dutifully,
one of her problems disappearing. "There certainly will be an
interesting evolution observable in him very soon, but just at first his
limitations might annoy you."</p>
<p>"Well, I'll just stay long enough to look at him and then I will go,"
returned Mrs. Wilbur.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XVI</span> <span class="smaller">THE NEW CLIENT</span></h2>
<p>She used her lorgnette upon the pair of guests when they were ushered
in, but her interest in the silent boy was quickly transferred to the
tall, attractive blond man with the flashing smile and sparkling eyes,
who greeted her daughter with such accustomed friendliness.</p>
<p>"Mamma, may I present Mr. Barrison," said Diana serenely.</p>
<p>Philip's smile vanished and he bowed. His manner, Mrs. Wilbur thought,
was unpleasantly good.</p>
<p>"And this is Herbert Gayne, Mamma," went on Diana.</p>
<p>The boy's eyes roved to the plump lady, who came forward and took his
hand.</p>
<p>"I knew your grandfather, my dear child," she said, and she glanced over
his shabby figure, appalled that the name of Loring could ever fall so
low.</p>
<p>Bertie said nothing. What did the lady mean by talking about his
grandfather? No one but his mother had ever done that.</p>
<p>A slight smile touched his lips as Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> Lowell greeted him, and then he
looked over his shoulder and all about the flower-strewn room.</p>
<p>"Your uncle is not here," she said quietly. "He isn't coming, Bertie. We
are going to have lunch alone."</p>
<p>The boy's melancholy eyes lifted to hers questioningly. She nodded
reassuringly.</p>
<p>"Mr. Barrison, this is the key to Bert's room," said Diana. "Will you go
up with him and then return here? Luncheon will be ready."</p>
<p>Philip took the key, and, wondering, escorted his charge to the
elevator. "Bert's room," he said to himself. When they arrived there,
the flowers on the dresser caused him to remember Matt Blake's absurd
account, and he felt his first questioning as to whether ice-cream and a
show or two did really cover the plans of these ladies for the boy. "But
where is Uncle Nick?" was his mental query.</p>
<p>Herbert, second, looked about his bathroom. He had never seen anything
in the slightest degree like it.</p>
<p>"Treating you pretty well, aren't they, old man?" said Philip, opening
his bag and taking out the boy's worn brush and broken comb.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p><p>"Uncle Nick will be mad," said Bert.</p>
<p>"I heard Mrs. Lowell say that he wasn't coming," remarked Philip.</p>
<p>"Of course—he'll come," returned the boy. "And he'll—he'll beat me."</p>
<p>"Bet you a thousand dollars he won't," said Philip. "Have you any money
with you?"</p>
<p>The boy felt in his pockets and brought forth a penny.</p>
<p>"That's all right," said Philip gayly. "If your Uncle Nick beats you,
I'll give you a thousand dollars. If he doesn't, you are to give me that
penny. Understand?"</p>
<p>Philip's smile was infectious. The corners of the boy's mouth twitched a
little. The flowers on the dresser smelled sweet, so did the soap he was
using. It was all like a wonderful dream, but over its brightness hung a
dark cloud: Uncle Nick.</p>
<p>"All right," he said vaguely.</p>
<p>"Say, make it snappy, boy. I'm as hungry as a bear, aren't you? Here's a
nailbrush. Better use it."</p>
<p>Bert hurried, and finally dried his hands and brushed his hair
obediently. As much as he noticed anybody he had always noticed and
liked Philip from the day that he watched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> him paint the Inn sign, and
now, in spite of his apprehensions, he felt some stimulation from the
company of this big strong man who was going to give him a thousand
dollars if Uncle Nick should beat him.</p>
<p>While he was brushing his hair, the telephone rang. Philip answered it.
It was Diana speaking.</p>
<p>"I want to thank you so much for doing this errand for us. I know you
must be mystified by the urgency of my wire, and this is my best way to
tell you in a few words what has occurred. You can see that the matter
is confidential, for time and labor and the law will be necessary to
adjust matters, but I feel we owe it to you to tell you all. Of course,
the boy knows nothing as yet—"</p>
<p>When Philip finally turned from the telephone, he met his companion's
troubled gaze, the hairbrush hung suspended in the air.</p>
<p>"Was it Uncle Nick?" he asked.</p>
<p>"No," returned Philip. He continued to sit still for a minute, regarding
the unconscious millionaire with the penny in the pocket of his outgrown
trousers. "It's all right, old man. Miss Wilbur wants us to come down to
lunch, that's all."</p>
<p>As they went to the elevator to descend,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> the boy spoke again: "Uncle
Nick hates—he hates Mrs. Lowell," he said.</p>
<p>"Good thing he isn't coming, then, isn't it?" returned Philip.</p>
<p>"But he'll—he will come sometime," said Bert with conviction.</p>
<p>Arrived at Diana's suite, they found luncheon ready to be served. Mrs.
Wilbur had vanished, not without some uneasy comments upon Philip, which
Diana had answered with such utter serenity as to quiet any suspicion
she might have entertained that there was something personal in her
child's extraordinary attachment to the wilderness.</p>
<p>The four sat down to the charming little meal, and, in spite of the
boy's unconquerable apprehensions, he ate pretty well, as he sat there
opposite Philip and between Mrs. Lowell and Diana.</p>
<p>The former asked him about the garden and the croquet ground, while
Philip addressed himself to Diana, who wore the gray gown with a rose at
the belt, although she had felt she could never put it on again. The
contents of a suitcase do not admit of much variety of costume.</p>
<p>"I'm almost dumb with surprise at your news," he said.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>"Of course you would be."</p>
<p>"Does the ogre know of the arrival of relatives?"</p>
<p>"He has not the least suspicion of it. He will be told to-morrow."</p>
<p>"Can a can be tied to him?"</p>
<p>Bert was telling about weeding the garden with Veronica, and Diana
leaned a little toward Philip. "What—what was your question?"</p>
<p>Philip smiled. "I asked if it would be possible to eliminate the
gentleman."</p>
<p>"I think so. Mr. Loring's lawyer is, of course, attending to the whole
matter and is to see him for the second time to-morrow. Does any one
doubt that truth is stranger than fiction?"</p>
<p>"No." Philip looked across at Mrs. Lowell and the sweet regard she was
bending upon the boy, who was trying in his hesitating way to tell her
something about the beach.</p>
<p>Bert put his hand in his pocket, and Philip wondered if he were going to
produce his capital, but instead he drew forth a little yellow stone and
offered it to his friend.</p>
<p>"That is unusually lovely," she said, and held it up to the light before
she handed it back.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>"No, it is for you," said the boy. Sad as he may have maintained that
it made him to be in this lady's company, her gentle presence was
irresistible to him, and his face, as he handed back to her the little
stone, had a more interested expression than his friends had ever seen
it wear.</p>
<p>"It is to go—with the others in—in a bottle," he said.</p>
<p>"It is almost too nice for that. I think this is a little gem. Supposing
I take it to a lapidary, a man who polishes stones, and have it made
into a scarf-pin for you."</p>
<p>"No, for you," said the boy.</p>
<p>Philip and Diana exchanged a look.</p>
<p>"There is 'the greatest thing in the world' working again," he said.</p>
<p>They had just finished dessert when Miss Wilbur was called to the
telephone.</p>
<p>"Ask him to come up to my room," she answered.</p>
<p>"Is it—Uncle Nick?" asked Bert, his light extinguished.</p>
<p>"No," returned Mrs. Lowell, smiling reassuringly. "You must remember I
told you he is not coming."</p>
<p>Philip gave the boy his gay smile. "Bert thought he was going to make a
thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> dollars," he said; but the rusty springs of the lad's mind
could not respond quickly. He looked at the young man questioningly.
"Don't you remember," added Philip, "we have a bet up, one thousand
dollars to a cent?"</p>
<p>The boy did not answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Nothing
which could be said was able entirely to quiet the apprehension that his
uncle would walk in upon him, surrounded as he was by forbidden
companions, and a luxury which his tyrant had not been invited to share.</p>
<p>"The gentleman who is coming to call on us is one who knew your mother,"
said Mrs. Lowell. "You will like to meet him."</p>
<p>"Is he—is he angry with her, too?" asked the boy quickly.</p>
<p>"No, dear child," returned Mrs. Lowell, compassion surging through her
for this young life which knew so much of anger and so little of
anything else.</p>
<p>The noiseless waiters were removing all signs of the luncheon when the
door opened and Luther Wrenn entered.</p>
<p>As soon as he had greeted the ladies and Philip had been introduced, his
smooth-shaven, keen face at once centered on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> boy. Mrs. Lowell, her
hand on Bert's arm, guided him to stand.</p>
<p>"This is Herbert Gayne, Mr. Wrenn, and this is your mother's friend,
Bertie."</p>
<p>The boy's plaintive, spiritless gaze and the passive hand which the
lawyer took bore out all he had heard of him, but Mrs. Lowell's
expressive face was courageous and the lawyer sat down beside Herbert
Loring's heir determined not to be outdone by her in hopefulness. Of
course, he had been painstakingly told every detail concerning the boy
which Mrs. Lowell had discovered, and it was a very kindly look with
which he regarded his new client as they were seated near together.</p>
<p>"I brought my introduction with me, Herbert," he said, and feeling in a
breast-pocket he drew forth the card photograph which had yesterday been
put into his hands.</p>
<p>Color streamed over the boy's face when he saw it. "It is—it is like
one I lost," he said, and he held it between his hands, studying it.</p>
<p>"You shall have this one, then," said Mr. Wrenn. "I was fond of your
mother, Herbert."</p>
<p>"They were angry with her," said the boy, and his lip quivered at some
memory.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, her father felt very badly because she went away from him, but he
has gone to her now. Did you know that?"</p>
<p>The boy lifted his eyes to the thin, kindly face. "No," he said.</p>
<p>"Yes," went on Mr. Wrenn quietly. "Her father has gone to her in that
pleasant world where she is."</p>
<p>"I want to go," burst forth the boy, holding the picture tightly.</p>
<p>"All in good time," returned the lawyer. "You have some work to do for
her here first."</p>
<p>"Do you mean—weed the garden?"</p>
<p>"I mean quite a lot of very pleasant things. I'll tell you about them
later."</p>
<p>"But Uncle Nick won't—won't let me. He—I don't know whether I can hide
this picture." A sudden panic seemed to seize the boy, and he looked
toward the door. It was not possible that his uncle would not come in
upon all these totally forbidden proceedings.</p>
<p>"See here, Herbert,"—Mr. Wrenn leaned toward the lad, speaking very
kindly. "I think it quite likely that you will never see your uncle
again."</p>
<p>Some thought made the boy's eyes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>dilate. "He hasn't—gone where—where
my mother is—has he?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"I'm—I'm glad. He'd—he'd spoil heaven," declared Bertie earnestly.</p>
<p>Luther Wrenn nodded slowly. "An excellent description," he said. The
three observers of the interview smiled. "Do you think you might adopt
me in his place?" added the lawyer.</p>
<p>"He—he wouldn't let me. He'll come," said the boy with conviction.</p>
<p>"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn, with reassuring calm, "I know more about
this than you do. I talked with your uncle yesterday and I think he will
give you to me."</p>
<p>The boy's lips fell apart and he stared at the speaker gravely.</p>
<p>"To me, and to Mrs. Lowell. How would you like that?"</p>
<p>It was evident that this information could not be credited entirely, but
the boy glanced around at Mrs. Lowell, who still sat close beside him,
and she looked as if she believed this marvel. Unconsciously he pressed
the picture against his breast. Luther Wrenn regarded the thin wrists
and ankles protruding from the worn coat and trousers.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p><p>"Have you your sketch of your mother?" asked Mrs. Lowell. "Will you
show it to Mr. Wrenn?"</p>
<p>The boy put his hand in a pocket and drew out the small folded square,
and the lawyer felt some obstruction in his throat as he saw the worn
tissue paper and the morsel of oiled silk being so tenderly unrolled.</p>
<p>"When I lost the one like—like this, I tried to—to make another," the
boy explained.</p>
<p>Luther Wrenn put on his eye-glasses and examined the little sketch. He
looked at Mrs. Lowell and nodded. "Save this," he said to the boy. "Go
on being careful of it, for you will always be glad you made it, but you
need never hide anything again. Do you understand that? We will get a
case for this photograph so you can carry it in your pocket, and I can
have an enlargement made of it so you can have it framed on your wall."</p>
<p>"I haven't—haven't any money," said Bertie, overwhelmed by these novel
prospects, and convinced that this kindly visitor must be laboring under
some great delusion. "I just have—have one cent, but—but I have to
give that to—to Mr. Barrison if Uncle Nick doesn't—doesn't beat me. He
bet me a thousand dollars."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p><p>Luther Wrenn gave a queer broken sort of laugh and wiped his
eye-glasses. "Mr. Barrison has won," he said. "Always pay your debts,
Herbert."</p>
<p>"Do you mean I—I shall give him the cent?"</p>
<p>"Your last cent, yes. He was right, you see, and it belongs to him."</p>
<p>The boy took out the penny and, rising gravely, crossed to Philip and
proffered the coin.</p>
<p>Philip accepted it and bowed. "You are an honorable gentleman," he said.</p>
<p>Bert returned quickly to his chair and again possessed himself of the
picture which he had given Mrs. Lowell to hold during the financial
transaction.</p>
<p>"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn slowly, "I see that you were thinking
that photograph cases and frames cost money. You will be glad to know
that your grandfather—your mother's father, who has now gone to
her—has left you some of his money. If you think of anything especial
that you would like to have while you are here in Boston, you can buy
it."</p>
<p>No one present ever forgot the boy's face as he spoke, looking up into
the lawyer's eyes. "A pencil?" he said.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p><p>Luther Wrenn nodded and swallowed again. "Yes, pencils, paper,
sketch-blocks, brushes, paints, anything you want. Just tell Mr.
Barrison. I think he will take you out presently and get you the clothes
you need—" The boy looked down over his old suit, quite dazed, and more
than ever certain that all this must be a dream and that he should waken
on his cot at the island and find the familiar dark face bending over
him and some greeting, like "Get up, stupid," assailing his ears.</p>
<p>But he did not waken. Mrs. Lowell put her arm around his shoulders and
gave him a little squeeze, and when he looked up he found her smiling at
him.</p>
<p>Mr. Wrenn addressed her. "The more I see of the boy, the more I
recognize a resemblance to his mother." He rose and crossed to Philip,
who got to his feet. "Mr. Barrison, we are greatly indebted to you, and
we wish to be more so. Can you oblige us by dressing this young client
of mine this afternoon?"</p>
<p>"Delighted," replied Philip.</p>
<p>"What has he brought with him?"</p>
<p>"A brush and comb and toothbrush, all veterans, and all wounded."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p><p>"Very well. If you will get for him everything a boy needs for the
remainder of the summer only, I shall be greatly obliged. Mrs. Lowell
will make the list, I am sure, and you can help her if she gets lost.
Have everything charged to me. Here is my card with the order, and here
is a check for your traveling expenses on this trip."</p>
<p>"It is too much," said Philip as he saw the figure.</p>
<p>"Pretty accurate," said the lawyer. "I am calculating that you will stay
in town over one night at least. If there is a balance you might send
some roses to"—the door opened and a very dignified and extremely
curious little lady entered: a quite plump and not entirely pleased
little lady—"some roses to Mrs. Wilbur," finished the lawyer.</p>
<p>"Do you hear that, Mrs. Wilbur?" asked Philip. "Mr. Wrenn is telling me
I may send you roses. Is that one word for me and two for himself?"</p>
<p>The lady shrugged her marvelously fitted shoulders, but she smiled. Even
she could not help responding to Philip's vital spark. "It is my own
private feeling that some attention should be paid to me," she returned,
lifting her chin.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>Philip approached her. "Name your color!" he exclaimed with an air of
devotion.</p>
<p>"I think it will be a real pleasure to him, Mamma," said Diana, smiling,
"to turn from an immersion in sublunary matters like socks and neckties
to a poetic purchase."</p>
<p>"Why should Mr. Barrison be about to bathe in socks and neckties?"</p>
<p>"He is kind enough to take the matter off my hands, Mrs. Wilbur, and
make our young friend fit," said the lawyer.</p>
<p>The lady lifted her lorgnette and surveyed the silent boy.</p>
<p>Mr. Wrenn approached him. "Herbert, you have no reason to like the name
of Gayne. What do you say to dropping it? What do you say to being
Herbert Loring, Second?"</p>
<p>"If Mrs. Lowell says so," he responded. He might have said: "What's in a
name?" For the excited color had settled in his cheeks. Let them call
him what they liked. He was going, boldly and unafraid, to have a pencil.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XVII</span> <span class="smaller">THE HEIR</span></h2>
<p>Luther Wrenn gave himself the luxury of calling at the Copley-Plaza the
next morning, perhaps as a bracer for his afternoon appointment. When he
sent up his name, he received a summons to come to a room on the floor
above Diana's.</p>
<p>Entering, he found the group he had left yesterday, minus Mrs. Wilbur,
chatting and laughing before a boy's wardrobe spread out on the bed. As
he shook hands with the boy himself, the lawyer looked him over with
satisfaction. From the barber to the haberdasher, the lad had evidently
been served well; and though pale and thin, Herbert Loring, Second,
stood there a credit to his name already, and full of promise for the
future. A wardrobe trunk in steamer size stood at one side of the room
and a fine suitcase beside it.</p>
<p>"Is everything all right, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn, with a hand on the
boy's shoulder and his eyes wandering over the variety of apparel laid
out on the bed. "Nothing seems to be missing."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>"I have—I have blue pyjamas," said the boy.</p>
<p>"And did they sleep all right, eh?"</p>
<p>"They did not," said Philip. "I had the other room opening off Bert's
bath and I prowled once in a while to see how the land lay, and the
electric light was evidently too easy. He was always examining his box."</p>
<p>"What box is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn.</p>
<p>The boy was keeping lifted eyes on him, not quite sure whether this
dispenser of gifts was going to be displeased at the burning of midnight
electricity. At the question he hurried to a table and brought the new
sketching materials which had interfered with his dreams.</p>
<p>Mr. Wrenn gave the boy's shoulder a little shake and laughed. "They
won't run away in the night," he said. "Better sleep and keep your eyes
bright. When do you plan to return to the island, Mrs. Lowell?"</p>
<p>She was sitting with Diana by the bed, where they were sewing markers on
Bert's new possessions. "If your afternoon interview proves
satisfactory, and you can arrange that we shall not be molested, I think
we might go to-morrow," she replied.</p>
<p>"Want to go back to the island, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn. The appealing
eyes, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> like Helen Loring's, were winning him more and more with their
trustfulness.</p>
<p>"I—I don't care where we go if he—if nobody takes me away from—from
Mrs. Lowell."</p>
<p>"You dear youngster," said that lady, her swift needle stitching busily.</p>
<p>"Well, it is my intention that nobody shall, for the present. Of course,
when these charming ladies hamper themselves with husbands, it brings in
an element of uncertainty. What sort of a man is Monroe Lowell, now? I
suppose his wife is entirely impartial."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell laughed. "The finest ever," she said, "but I see signs of
impatience beginning to show in his letters. So I hope he will soon join
us. Probably I know what you are thinking of, Mr. Wrenn, but let us not
cross any bridges until we come to them. The right way is sure to open."</p>
<p>The lawyer nodded. "I will let you have a bulletin as soon as the final
farewells are said this afternoon. I hope to secure the island from
further intrusion."</p>
<p>Diana looked up from her work. "Would it not be well to offer him money
not to return?"</p>
<p>Philip, who was engaged in snipping the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> markers apart, spoke: "If he
comes, I can take the bone of contention to my place until the hurricane
is passed."</p>
<p>"I am quite certain he will not go," said Mrs. Lowell quietly.</p>
<p>"Why is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn. "I must confess to some qualms myself."</p>
<p>"Because it is not right for him to go," said Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"My dear young lady," the lawyer smiled, "if that is the only ground for
your belief, my limited observation of the gentleman suggests that he
never has done anything right in his life unless by accident. But no
money, Miss Diana. Start that once with that individual and you will be
purchasing something from him at intervals the rest of his life. I must
be off. Good-bye, Herbert."</p>
<p>The boy started. He had been hanging over his treasures and handling
them, oblivious to everything around him. This gentleman, who knew his
mother and had showered upon him so many benefits, was looking at him
now with kind, serious eyes, and Bert became mindful of a little talk
Mrs. Lowell had had with him this morning.</p>
<p>He walked up to the lawyer and held out his slender hand. "I thank
you—sir," he said.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>"Good boy. I will see you again before you leave," and, bowing to the
others, Mr. Wrenn went out, Philip accompanying him to the elevator.</p>
<p>"Thank you, Mr. Barrison, for your good offices," he said as they shook
hands.</p>
<p>"Never had so much fun in my life," said Philip. "Made me wish I had
half a dozen of my own and the coin to treat them like that."</p>
<p>The lawyer bent his heavy brows upon him and smiled. "Are events shaping
themselves toward that end? That extremely charming young woman who has
been making you the slave of the lamp is enough to turn any man's head."</p>
<p>Philip flushed. "Any man's head <i>would</i> be turned," he responded
quickly, "if he thought of her as approachable. No, some common mortal
for me some day, I hope, but she's a goddess, you know."</p>
<p>The young fellow smiled and the lawyer still regarded him, and placed a
hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>"Never let anything like money rob you," he said slowly and with
emphasis. "Goddesses have been known to stoop to mortals before this."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>"I think her parents would see to that," responded Philip, laughing.</p>
<p>The elevator came, and with one more nod of farewell the lawyer
disappeared.</p>
<p>"Fierce job he's got before him," muttered Philip as he returned to the
dry goods, refusing to allow his mind to dwell on his new friend's
surpassingly ignorant suggestions.</p>
<p>Promptly at the appointed time Nicholas Gayne presented himself at the
lawyer's office and was admitted to the sanctum. His air of assurance
almost reached the swaggering stage, and his "How are you?" breathed a
suggestion of a fortifying beverage. Without waiting for permission, he
fell into the chair near the desk.</p>
<p>"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked triumphantly.</p>
<p>"Yes, I am satisfied that the boy is my old friend's grandson."</p>
<p>"I knew you would be. Now, how soon do you think you can fix it up?"</p>
<p>"Fix what up?"</p>
<p>"The inheritance."</p>
<p>"I told you the boy was not mentioned in the will."</p>
<p>"I know that, but what's the law for if it can't get justice done?" came
the impatient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> question, and Gayne's chin shot out belligerently.</p>
<p>"It can and will get justice done," said Luther Wrenn slowly, "but it
will take time."</p>
<p>"Oh, of course, I know it will, but you can advance money on a sure
thing, and I'll make it worth your while as soon as the cash is in my
hands."</p>
<p>"In yours?" The lawyer tapped his desk with a paper-cutter.</p>
<p>"Yes. I told you the boy's delicate. He needs care."</p>
<p>"I'm sure he does. It may take a year to straighten out the matter of
the will."</p>
<p>"It don't need to," said Gayne angrily. "I've had the expense of Bert
for five years and I ought to be reimbursed and provided with enough
money to care for him right, until he gets all that's coming to him."</p>
<p>Luther Wrenn looked for a silent minute at the dark, impatient face and
thick, powerful shoulders and hands, and recalled the boy's panic.</p>
<p>"I have obtained a good deal of information as to the occurrences of the
past years as they affect Mr. Loring's grandson," he said quietly, and
his visitor scowled at him, startled.</p>
<p>"I'm a poor man," he blustered. "I told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> you I hadn't been able to care
for him right."</p>
<p>"If you would like," went on the lawyer slowly, "to be relieved of the
boy, I am willing to take charge of him from now on for his mother's
sake."</p>
<p>"For his mother's sake," sneered Gayne. "You know damned well that it's
because you know you can get hold of the money that ought to be his."</p>
<p>"You have been drinking, Mr. Gayne, and the reason I don't have you put
out of the office is because we shall never meet again, and it is always
well to settle matters out of court if possible. I am going to tell you,
instead of asking a judge to do so, why I am taking Helen Loring's boy
away from you."</p>
<p>"Lambert Gayne's boy and my nephew!" roared Gayne. "Where do you get
that stuff? Take him away from me, after all the expense—"</p>
<p>"Be quiet, Mr. Gayne, or I shall have to forego my peaceful plans. I
have a man outside prepared to take you; so it would be better for you
to listen to me."</p>
<p>Nicholas Gayne looked behind him in angry amazement.</p>
<p>"What have you done for that helpless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> boy?" went on Wrenn quietly.
"Have you endeavored to have him properly taught and cared for? Have you
allowed him the happiness, which would have cost you nothing, of
exercising the talent inherited from his mother?"</p>
<p>"I'm a poor man,"—the declaration came with a loud burst. "He couldn't
spend his time like a nabob."</p>
<p>"No. So you took no pains to have him educated. You allowed him to be
made to scrub floors and wash windows and do any menial work which a
lazy, dissolute woman could put upon him. You allowed a creature like
Cora to be his companion, caring less than nothing for the possible
degradation of the boy's mind and body."</p>
<p>Nicholas Gayne started up from his chair, purple in the face with
surprise and fury.</p>
<p>"All this you did with the one single base intention of so beating down
any sign of mental efficiency in your nephew that in time you could get
the handling of his heritage."</p>
<p>As the words fell clearly and concisely from the lawyer's lips, Nicholas
Gayne's muddled brain worked fast. Where could this devil of a lawyer
have learned so much in two days? The boy was at the island. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> must be
the women. That Mrs. Lowell! But how could she have connected Bert with
Herbert Loring in the first place, and how could she, with her slight
opportunity, have elicited so much from the dull boy and communicated
with Luther Wrenn? Gayne wished his brain were clearer, but, looking at
the stony calm of the lawyer's face and the cold accusation in his eyes,
he realized that the combination of legal power and money made it very
hard in instances like this for a poor man like himself to get his
rights.</p>
<p>"Now, I will detain you only a minute longer, Mr. Gayne. Herbert Loring,
Second, as he will after this be called, is now at the Copley-Plaza with
friends." Gayne stared and seized the back of the chair from which he
had risen, apparently for support. "I shall provide for him as I think
best. It is too early as yet to tell whether your criminal treatment of
the child has worked permanent injury. Time and the tenderest, wisest
care will be necessary to establish that, and, meanwhile, you will be
left in freedom. We desire to avoid all publicity, and, if you keep out
of the way and do not intrude and awaken in the boy brutal and sad
associations, we may succeed in restoring him to a normal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> condition,
but, I assure you, if you even show your face near the boy or interfere
in any degree, you will be called upon to answer serious charges, and
witnesses will be easy to procure."</p>
<p>The purple had faded from Nicholas Gayne's face and it was ashy under
the sunburn. He opened his lips to speak, but no sound came. Mr. Wrenn
touched a button on his desk and the office door opened. Gayne started
and looked toward it.</p>
<p>"I feel that we understand each other perfectly, Mr. Gayne," said the
lawyer, pleasantly. "Good-afternoon."</p>
<p>Nicholas Gayne mumbled something and, moving as swiftly as his unsteady
knees would permit, he disappeared from that office, fear engulfing all
his other emotions. He wondered which of the men in plain clothes, whom
he saw moving about outside, was the one who might have been his escort.</p>
<p>Luther Wrenn took up the telephone and called Diana.</p>
<p>"Mr. Wrenn speaking."</p>
<p>An excited voice answered, all serenity thrown to the winds. "Oh, Mr.
Wrenn, is it over?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Miss Diana, and very satisfactorily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> I'm a little tired and I
believe I won't make you another call to-day."</p>
<p>"I'm <i>sure</i> you must be tired," sympathetically.</p>
<p>"I just wanted you and Mrs. Lowell to know that you may plan to take the
nine o'clock train for Portland to-morrow morning with as much freedom
as if our precious uncle had passed away from the planet."</p>
<p>"Thank you, thank you."</p>
<p>"And, by the way, Miss Diana, you may tell Mr. Barrison, too."</p>
<p>"Oh, of course, I should."</p>
<p>"Do you know, I find him a very engaging young man. Why, why are your
cheeks blooming so? Can't one say as much as that for relaxation after a
nasty quarter of an hour?"</p>
<p>A soft gurgle of laughter went to the listening lawyer.</p>
<p>"I did not know you ever condescended to such play, Mr. Wrenn."</p>
<p>"Well, don't tell, will you? My best wishes to you all, and especially
to Herbert, and tell him I shall come to the island to look him over in
a short time."</p>
<p>"Do. Mr. Barrison will take you fishing."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>"Is he always successful? Does he know just what bait to use?"</p>
<p>Another soft gurgle. "You don't understand, Mr. Wrenn. He uses too much
bait. He catches too many fish. Good-bye. My mother has just come in.
She is going with us to Maine." A pause. "She hopes to see you there.
Good-bye."</p>
<p>Before the arrival of the Copley-Plaza contingent at the island, Matt
Blake received the following letter:</p>
<blockquote><p><i>Dear Matt</i>:</p>
<p>You know the business that brought me to Boston. I proved my
position all right. The old man's lawyer couldn't deny it, but the
boy, not being named in the will, as, of course, I knew he wouldn't
be, the lawyer said it would take a long time before he could get
anything for Bert, and advised me to put the boy into his hands. So
I'm going to let him run matters to suit himself.</p>
<p>I'm asking you if you will be good enough to pack up my stuff at
the island and send everything on C.O.D. to the address on the card
I enclose. You know what I found at the farm, but I've got to wait
till I can get some backing before I can do anything about it. Keep
it under your hat, though. You know what I left at the farm, too:
out in the kitchen. Take that for your trouble. I don't know what
I'm going to do next. What I do know is that a lawyer has no more
blood than a turnip, and that a man can go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> to the expense and
trouble of taking care of a boy for five years and then be asked to
hand him over to those that know he'll have money, without even a
thank you for all he has done. I'm disgusted with the world.</p>
<p class="right">Your friend,<span class="s3"> </span><br />
<span class="smcap">Nicholas Gayne</span></p></blockquote>
<p>When he read this, Matt Blake looked off thoughtfully, his thin lips twitching.</p>
<p>"I hope Phil Barrison can tell me all that's between those lines," he thought.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XVIII</span> <span class="smaller">DIANA'S IDEAL</span></h2>
<p>"Come here, Aunt Priscilla," called Veronica at the top of her lungs. It
was a joyous call, and Miss Burridge hurried into the dining-room where,
a few minutes before, she had left Veronica sweeping, and found her
standing still and confronting a boy who stood, hat in hand, while on
the floor beside him reposed a new and handsome suitcase.</p>
<p>"Would you know him, Aunt Priscilla?"</p>
<p>Miss Burridge pulled down her spectacles and gazed at the trim figure
with the immaculately brushed and parted hair.</p>
<p>"It ain't Bertie Gayne? Why, it is! Where are the other folks? Somebody
has been being awful good to you."</p>
<p>How could it be possible that the boy they sent away a few days ago
could be the same one who looked at them now with happy eyes and a faint
smile.</p>
<p>"They're coming," he answered. "Mr. Blake brought me up—in his wagon,
and the others had to wait—for the car, and they were going to take a
drive."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>Matt Blake here appeared in the open doorway from the piazza, bearing
on his back a shining new trunk.</p>
<p>"Where's this going?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I'll show you," said the boy, and they made a procession up the stairs,
Bert leading and the women bringing up the rear, full to the lips of
questions ready to pour out upon Matt, who was smiling, eyes twinkling
under his burden, at the amazed countenances of Miss Burridge and
Veronica.</p>
<p>"Where's your Uncle Nick?" asked Veronica when they reached the bedroom.</p>
<p>"No," said Bert quickly; "no, he isn't coming."</p>
<p>"Isn't?" cried Miss Burridge as Blake set the trunk down. "Matt, has Mr.
Gayne come into money?"</p>
<p>"This Mr. Gayne has," returned Blake, grinning and indicating the boy.</p>
<p>"No, my name isn't Gayne any more," said Bert gravely. "I am Herbert
Loring, Second."</p>
<p>"That so?" said Matt. "There you have it, ladies. You've read about the
Prince and the Pauper, haven't you? You sent away the pauper and got
back the prince."</p>
<p>"Yes," said the boy; "my grandfather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> gave me all these things because
he didn't need money any more."</p>
<p>While the boy spoke, Blake noticed that he was looking at Nicholas
Gayne's trunk.</p>
<p>"Kind o' in the way, ain't it? That's a good place for yours to stand.
We'll pull Mr. Gayne's trunk out here where I can pack it. He wants me
to send him all his things."</p>
<p>Bert's face looked as if sunlight suddenly struck it. It was as if now
only he entirely credited the fact that there was nothing to apprehend
in the way of a reckoning.</p>
<p>"You are going to send all Uncle Nick's things to him?"</p>
<p>"Yes, everything but you," replied Matt jocosely.</p>
<p>"But I—I don't belong to him any more," explained Bert eagerly. "He
gave me to—to the lawyer."</p>
<p>"Good work," said Blake, and, lifting the lid of the old trunk, he fell
to opening the dresser drawers.</p>
<p>"Matt Blake," said Miss Burridge, "<i>will</i> you tell me what has
happened?"</p>
<p>"Ever hear of Herbert Loring, one o' Boston's rich men? Well, he died
suddenly and this boy's his grandson, and the lawyer has persuaded Mr.
Gayne to take his hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> off." As an addendum to his explanation, Matt
bestowed upon Miss Burridge a wink which seemed to say: "More anon."</p>
<p>"And Mr. Gayne isn't coming back?" asked Miss Burridge, sundry financial
considerations occurring to her.</p>
<p>"I guess he'll pay up all right," said Blake, reading her thought. "You
make out what he owes. I'll see to it. Come on, Herbert Loring, help me
to get your uncle's duds together so I won't be packing any o' yours."</p>
<p>"That wouldn't make—make any difference," said the boy, "because Mrs.
Lowell said for me not to wear them any more." And he turned to with a
will, emptying dresser and closet while Matt packed.</p>
<p>"I hear the motor," said Veronica suddenly.</p>
<p>Miss Burridge had been in a flutter ever since Diana's telegram, saying
that her mother and maid would return with her. Miss Priscilla's outlook
on life was placidly democratic, but somehow the prospect of having to
care for the wife of the steel magnate loomed as something overwhelming.
She and Veronica hurried downstairs to meet the guests. Mrs. Lowell and
Diana were in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> high spirits. Léonie had fortunately discovered some
resemblance in the island to a fishing village of her childhood and had
sat with Bill Lindsay on the front seat coming up. He understood her
trim appearance, even if half of what she said so volubly was lost to
him.</p>
<p>The springs of the machine were not reminiscent of Mrs. Wilbur's
Rolls-Royce, and her lorgnette had not yet been able to discover what
charm this corner of the world had exercised upon her daughter. She had
been predisposed, from her first view of Philip Barrison, to give him
the credit, or discredit; and during the trip from Boston, she had kept
one eye upon every move he or Diana had made toward the other. But the
examination had revealed nothing. Philip had not even been assiduous
toward herself. She would have suspected that instantly. As a matter of
fact, almost all the way to Portland, he had concentrated his attention
on a book of Brahms' songs, which were welcomed effusively by a
curly-headed Irishman in white sweater and trousers who met them when
they landed from the island steamer.</p>
<p>"Is it the mother of the goddess, then?" he said when he was presented.
"You lost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> your heart, I'm sure, to that ride down the bay, Mrs.
Wilbur."</p>
<p>"It was very lovely. I should like to come around here in the yacht
sometime. The rudder chain, or whatever it was on that little boat,
nearly banged a hole in my head."</p>
<p>Diana smiled on Kelly. "Mamma has begun roughing it, that's all," she
said. "I warned her."</p>
<p>Philip had telephoned down to bespeak the motor in order that the august
Mrs. Wilbur might not be obliged to linger on the wharf where, on
account of the adjacent fish-house, the odors were not always of Araby,
and the only seat was a weather-worn board a little wider than a
knife-blade.</p>
<p>Diana leaned out of the car just before they drove away and offered him
her hand. "Have I thanked you nearly enough, Mr. Barrison?" she asked,
and Barney Kelly observed her melting eyes. "You have filled in every
need and been an untold help to us all in this affair. Even Mr. Wrenn
said the nicest things about you."</p>
<p>"And about you," returned Philip pressing her willing hand. "I think Mr.
Wrenn has had the time of his life the last few days."</p>
<p>"It has been very exciting, very happy—"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p><p>"Had we not better start, Diana?" put in Mrs. Wilbur. "I just caught a
glimpse of a dreadful fish over there by a post. Do they catch whales
here?"</p>
<p>"They stop at nothing, Mrs. Wilbur," Barney assured her. "Good-bye,
good-bye."</p>
<p>The motor sped off with a grinding noise.</p>
<p>"You've put in your time well, eh, Barrison?"</p>
<p>"What makes you think so?"</p>
<p>"My word! If Miss Wilbur ever turned those lamps on me with that look in
them, I'd fly right in and singe my wings for life."</p>
<p>"I don't intend to singe mine," said Philip quietly. "They think I've
been useful in this one-act play they've been staging and they are
grateful, that's all. The goddess is as transparent and honest as any
child that ever lived. She doesn't want to light any flame for the moth,
she has far too big a soul. Did you notice that the boy I took away
looked different from the one we brought back to-day?"</p>
<p>"It wasn't the same one, was it?"</p>
<p>"Yes, with a few renovations in mind and body. I'll tell you about it as
we go along."</p>
<p class="space-above">When Mrs. Wilbur went out on the Inn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> piazza and was assailed with the
island sights and odors, the snowy daisy drifts, the dark evergreens,
the rock-lashed foam dragging at the pebbles and flinging them back with
a never-ceasing crescendo and diminuendo, the soaring, sweeping gulls
above and beneath the blue, she did not speak for a time, and it was a
place where her lorgnette failed.</p>
<p>Léonie, however, kept up a joyous undertone. "Mais, c'est comme chez
moi. C'est vraiment comme chez moi, et Mr. Beel, he will take me to see
ze poisson."</p>
<p>"Mr. Beel" kept his word, and not once, but many times, did Mrs. Wilbur
look about vainly for her maid in a place where there was no bell to
ring for her, and no clocks for her to see when she was without, and
Bill's motor was running up and down the road in such a convenient way
for him to stop and take on an eager passenger, for whom no fishing boat
was too dirty, and who could swim as well as any fish in the bay.</p>
<p>"Do let her go, Mamma," Diana said one morning when they were alone.
"She is having a real vacation. When you are once attired and your hair
is dressed, can I not perform any other office for you?"</p>
<p>"But I don't know which is the maid,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> Léonie or I," said Mrs. Wilbur.
"First she had to have a sweater and I sent for that. Then she wanted a
bathing-suit and I sent for that. Then she bought herself some fishing
tackle and, if she can't get out in a boat, she sits on the wharf with
her feet hanging over and fishes for those—those—"</p>
<p>"Cunners?" suggested Diana.</p>
<p>"Yes; and she knows every one of the island boys, and how does she know
when I need her? She doesn't think anything about it."</p>
<p>"That's it," returned Diana, nodding. "She has lost her head. That is
what we all do. You will, too, Mamma. I heard you laughing and laughing
with Mr. Kelly yesterday."</p>
<p>"He is such a droll creature," said Mrs. Wilbur, with a reminiscent
smile. "It's such a queer place here," she went on with a puzzled brow.
"You could put this whole Inn into the ballroom at Newport, and there
isn't space enough to turn around in the little rooms; yet out of doors
it is all space, and something in the air makes you want to run and
jump. I might as well tell you, Diana, my mind is just getting set at
rest on the subject of Mr. Barrison. Your craze for this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> place seemed
unnatural, and when I first saw him in Boston, I suspected that he was
the cause." The lady met her daughter's calm eyes which contradicted her
changing color.</p>
<p>"What should have disturbed you about that?" asked the girl quietly.</p>
<p>"Disturbed me! That you should have come off here alone and fallen in
love with nobody knows who?"</p>
<p>"Oh, a good many people are learning who. That is really the chief
trouble with him: I mean from a girl's standpoint. He is rapidly
becoming one of the stars of the musical world."</p>
<p>"And why is that a drawback?" Mrs. Wilbur began to feel somewhat
bewildered by her daughter's attitude.</p>
<p>Diana's color was rather high, but she turned toward her mother with
entire calm. "I am not going to marry a man whom other women besiege. My
husband will be rather short. I think he will stoop and be nearsighted
and wear spectacles. He will incline to baldness, but he will be very
charming—to me, and he will be mine." The smile that accompanied this
declaration was so winning that Mrs. Wilbur was startled.</p>
<p>"Diana, have you met any such person?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> she returned. "I don't like the
sound of him at all!"</p>
<p>"Not yet," admitted Diana. "But I keep him in mind. He fights off other
types."</p>
<p>"Supposing," said Mrs. Wilbur sharply, "some very desirable man, as
attractive as Mr. Barrison, for instance, were to say he wouldn't marry
you, because you are too pretty—other men would look at you."</p>
<p>"You do think he is attractive, do you, Mamma?"</p>
<p>"Why—certainly," returned Mrs. Wilbur, not quite sure even yet that the
admission was safe.</p>
<p>"The cases are not parallel," said Diana. "Women as a rule are more
faithful, and men are conceited. The average man must have severe
lessons before he believes that the woman who has loved him will turn to
some one else."</p>
<p>"Why, Diana, I am surprised at you. You talk in such a sophisticated
way; but, my dear, let me remind you that you have some one beside
yourself to please when you marry. Your father may give you an unlimited
check-book, but he won't give you <i>carte blanche</i> when it comes to
marrying. He isn't going to welcome into the family any <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>insignificant
little scarecrow such as you are counting on."</p>
<p>If Philip wanted to hear Diana laugh, it was a pity he wasn't near now,
for she burst forth so merrily that Veronica peeped out the window.</p>
<p>"I see you are going to be as difficult as I am, Mamma," she said at
last.</p>
<p>It was soon after this that the cottage people with one accord begged
Philip to give a recital in the hall. The summer colony was an
appreciative and cultured one. Many of them had known Philip from his
boyhood, and were watching his career with interest. So it was an
occasion of intimacy and delight.</p>
<p>When the evening arrived, the hall was decked with flowers, and the
singer and his accompanist appeared in white flannels. Philip was his
own programme, announcing his songs and receiving at times stentorian
requests for special encores.</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur, as she looked and listened, felt that she gained an
understanding of Diana's arguments: not that, in any case, she desired
this young man for a son-in-law, but she was greatly surprised at the
beauty of his voice and his art. It was a feast he gave them that night
in the uncalculating opulence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> of his youth and strength: Arias from
"Bohème" and "La Tosca"; the "Dream Song" from "Manon"; ballads; a group
of modern French songs; another of old English. Barney Kelly's
accompanying was perfect. He was among strangers, and he was as serious
throughout as if they were performing in Carnegie Hall. Despite the fact
that the piano was an upright, he played a group of Chopin, Palmgren,
and Debussy with great charm, and the contingent from the Inn led the
strong applause. As he bowed, Kelly recognized Veronica's rosy, serious
face and wildly active hands.</p>
<p>At the close of the recital, Mrs. Wilbur was more excited than she had
been for years.</p>
<p>"He's <i>wonderful</i>, Diana," she said, standing up while she was still in
the throes of hand-clapping. "<i>Wonderful!</i> We must try to get him for an
October date in Pittsfield. Our room is quite large enough. He will make
a sensation."</p>
<p>"Yes," said Diana, rather faintly. "That is the easiest thing he does."
Her face was pale. The possible charmer with the bald head and
spectacles had had a hard fight to-night.</p>
<p>Barney Kelly disappeared through some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> back door while Philip's
enthusiastic friends gathered around him, and Veronica dashed out on the
front piazza, cleared the steps in two bounds, and the July moon aided
her progress between the bushes to the back of the hall where a figure
in white was straying.</p>
<p>"Mr. Kelly," she called breathlessly, "you were perfectly splendid. Why
didn't you stay and let the people tell you so?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I don't know them," said Barney carelessly. "And they want to eat
up Barrison."</p>
<p>"But they want to eat up you, too. Didn't you see how crazy they were
about that last funny out-of-tune thing you played?"</p>
<p>Kelly laughed.</p>
<p>"And don't you go away; they're going to dance."</p>
<p>"Oh, do they want me to play?"</p>
<p>"Don't you dare to play! Don't you dare to let them know you can."
Barney laughed again. "Well, of course, they know now you can, but not
dance music."</p>
<p>"You're a very nice child, Veronica." Barney looked at her little
dimpled rose face, and the pale green dress she wore.</p>
<p>"Well, if I am, then come around to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> front piazza with me. They're
setting back the chairs."</p>
<p>Meanwhile Mrs. Wilbur was drawing Diana toward the group surrounding
Philip. "I don't know what to say to you that won't sound too effusive,"
she said as soon as she could get his attention and his hand. "Will you
come to us in October and sing a recital?"</p>
<p>"I shall be glad to, if I can. I will see about my dates." As Philip
replied, he looked at Diana. She gave him a pale smile and said nothing.
More people approached and Mrs. Wilbur drew away, her daughter with her.</p>
<p>"Miss Diana," said Philip, across the heads of the crowd, "they are
going to dance. Will you stay?"</p>
<p>Diana nodded. "You like to dance, Mamma. You stay, too."</p>
<p>"Oh, not in this little place where everybody will be stepping on every
one else. Beside, Léonie's beau is waiting outside to take us home. I
will go with Miss Burridge and tell Bill to come back for you in an
hour. I suppose you don't need a chaperon for I don't see your ideal
here to-night, Diana," in a lowered voice. "You were right about Mr.
Barrison. Let us pray that women don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> make a complete fool of him. You
don't look just right, dear. Don't stay late. I'll tell Bill to come
back in an hour. Oh, there is that comical Mr. Kelly." Mrs. Wilbur
sailed up to him. "Thank you so much for this evening. You were
delightful, Mr. Kelly, and Mr. Barrison is most fortunate in having
you."</p>
<p>"But you're not going, Mrs. Wilbur?"</p>
<p>"Yes; good-night."</p>
<p>"No, not until you've danced once with me. There, the music is just
going to begin." And, sure enough, Miss Burridge stood back and waited
while Mrs. Wilbur's little satin-clad feet tripped lightly around in the
dance with the volatile Barney, and she talked to him about the date in
October and promised she would dance with him again at that time.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell and Herbert had been enjoying the concert and had told
Philip so, and now stood back watching the dancing.</p>
<p>"Would you like to learn to dance?" asked Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"It sounds better to say, 'No, Mrs. Lowell,' or, 'No, I thank you.'"</p>
<p>"Then I will," said the boy.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p><p>"I like to dance," said Mrs. Lowell, "and I wish you would learn."</p>
<p>"Then I will," said the boy again.</p>
<p>The music had thrilled his artist soul. It seemed all a part of the
entrancing night, a part of the safe world of love into which he had
been guided.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XIX</span> <span class="smaller">MOONLIGHT</span></h2>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur looked back into the hall from the piazza before she stepped
into the motor. Diana was already dancing with Philip Barrison. She
watched their smooth movements for a minute, then turned to Mrs. Lowell
who had just emerged with her boy.</p>
<p>"This—this gathering, this settlement here, seems rather like a family
party, doesn't it?" she said, with a sort of troubled curiosity.</p>
<p>"Yes; nearly all of these people have known each other for many
summers."</p>
<p>"I feel a little strange to go and leave Diana."</p>
<p>"I don't think you need," replied Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"I suppose," said Mrs. Wilbur, "if the steed were going to be stolen, it
would have happened before this. The stable door has been open for
weeks."</p>
<p>"Quite so," said Mrs. Lowell, laughing. "It is so light, Bert and I are
going to walk up to the Inn."</p>
<p>"I am going to send the car back for Diana in one hour," declared Mrs.
Wilbur. Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> daughter's theories were all very well, but this was a
distractingly beautiful night and the echoes of that marvelous voice
were even yet thrilling her own nerves. Léonie was sitting at the front
of the car with Bill Lindsay, and Mrs. Wilbur mounted into the back seat
with Miss Burridge.</p>
<p>"I suppose Miss Veronica will return with my daughter," she said.</p>
<p>"I only hope so," returned Miss Burridge resignedly. "Mr. Kelly has
promised to see to her."</p>
<p>"I don't feel like dancing," said Diana, as her partner guided her
through the narrow spaces.</p>
<p>"No one would suspect it," he replied. "I was just thinking that this
night was to be superlative in all directions."</p>
<p>"But how can one endure this silly music when '<i>Manon! Manon!</i>' is
echoing through the heart!"</p>
<p>Philip did not reply, nor did he release her until the gay strumming at
the piano ceased. Then they went out on the piazza. The laughing,
chattering young people were streaming out into the air, and occupying
every available seat. The field surrounding the hall was light as day.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>"Let us go down to the rocks," said Philip.</p>
<p>"I mustn't because my mother is going to send the car back for me in one
hour. You've no idea how firmly my mother can say 'one hour' and mean
it."</p>
<p>"There should be no rules on a night like this," Philip regarded his
companion, pale in the moonlight as her pale, filmy garments. "I feel
like quoting a choice spirit of my childhood days. He was trying to get
me to go on a tear of some kind with him, and I told him my mother would
worry. He said, 'Oh, come on. Scoldings don't hurt, whippings don't last
long, and she da'sn't kill you.'"</p>
<p>Diana smiled. "Now that she is here, she likes to tuck me in," she said.</p>
<p>"I would she had waited until after the moon. Well, let us go to the
near rocks. I will keep watch of the time."</p>
<p>They went down the populous steps.</p>
<p>"Oh, Mr. Barrison!" exclaimed a woman upon whom he nearly trod. "What
ecstasy you have given us!"</p>
<p>It was Miss Emerson. She was cooling off from a dance with Mr. Pratt,
and was in high feather, because neither he nor Mr. Evans knew another
woman present, save Veronica,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> and her acquaintance, though not wide,
seemed intensive.</p>
<p>"Yes, that was corking," said Mr. Evans. "We sure do thank you. Say,
folks, I'm tired. I'm going to trot along."</p>
<p>"Back to the Inn?" asked Philip with interest.</p>
<p>"Yes. Anything I can do for you?"</p>
<p>"If you will be so kind. Mrs. Wilbur has just gone. Will you be kind
enough to tell her not to worry if her daughter is a little later than
she expected? Tell her you left her in good hands and we are going to
walk up after a while."</p>
<p>"Certainly. Be glad to," replied Evans.</p>
<p>"Oh," breathed Diana, softly, as they moved on into the glory of the
night, "I'm quite sure you should not have done that."</p>
<p>"Do you want to be shut up in a tin Lizzie to-night?"</p>
<p>"No, nor anywhere."</p>
<p>Philip led her to the shore and found a corner among the rocks from
which they could watch the beaten silver of the billows rushing
tumultuously landward, breaking in foam about their eyrie, and slipping
back in myriad bridal veils.</p>
<p>"There is always one night in the summer,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> and this is the night," said
Philip. "Think of viewing the moon in company with the goddess herself!
If you only wouldn't mind leaning against my arm. I'm sorry to have that
rock cutting into your dandy gown."</p>
<p>"Thank you, but it doesn't. I have a very good place here."</p>
<p>"Comfortable enough to tell me that you liked the music?"</p>
<p>Diana looked around at him slowly, and he laughed softly.</p>
<p>"Yes, I know you did. I know if I ever could sing, I sang to-night.
There was something new in it. It taught me something, something I've
been waiting for. They've always told me, my teachers, that the one
thing I needed was to fall in love. It must have happened—happened,
somehow, when I wasn't looking." Philip crossed his arms behind his
head, leaned back and looked at the high sailing moon. "Thank you, great
goddess Diana, I am at your feet. You have dropped upon me a spark of
the divine fire. I build you an altar. The flame shall never go out."</p>
<p>The girl beside him bit her lip and silence fell between them. The
bright billows swept in and crashed apart.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p><p>"I suppose that is what love means to an artist," she said at last.
"The nourishing of his art. That is all."</p>
<p>"That is all it can mean to me," he answered; "but isn't it enough? An
object to worship with all a man's strength, receiving the return of
inspiration?"</p>
<p>She looked at him as he lay there reclining against the rock, his
upturned face not seeking hers. This evening had shown her in miniature
the truth of all she had felt and, because her heart was beating fast,
she clung more strongly than ever to the spectacled gentleman with the
scanty hair.</p>
<p>"Say something, divine one," he said suddenly, turning to her.</p>
<p>"Don't confuse me with the moon, Mr. Barrison," she warned him.</p>
<p>"But at least can't you congratulate me?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I can, on many things; but—don't fall in love with any ideal less
impersonal than a planet."</p>
<p>"I don't intend to, but why these words of wisdom?"</p>
<p>"Because any—any mere mortal girl married to you would be miserable."</p>
<p>"Oh, come, now!" Philip sat up, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> frowned at her with a quizzical
smile. "So you think I ought to try kindness first, do you? Why?"</p>
<p>Diana turned her fair moonlit face directly to him. "Because you cannot
ever belong to yourself, even. Much less to her."</p>
<p>"I don't quite get that."</p>
<p>"I can't speak for all girls, but for myself, if I ever have a husband,
I want—I want to creep off into a corner with him."</p>
<p>"A corner like this rock?"</p>
<p>"This is big enough."</p>
<p>"How would that suit the great Charles Wilbur?"</p>
<p>"It would not suit him. I know that. The homely little stoop-shouldered
man, with the lovely soul, whom I mean to marry, will not altogether
please my father."</p>
<p>Philip's eyes grew big in the moonlight. "Have you picked him out?"</p>
<p>"Yes, as an ideal. Other women will leave me in possession of him."</p>
<p>"Ah," Philip nodded, "I begin to see." They were both silent again. At
last Philip spoke again. "I deny that that girl you are warning me away
from would have such a rocky time. What do you suppose I should care for
the babble, no matter how kind it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> was, how sweet even, of other women?
I should see only her."</p>
<p>"You think so," said Diana. "I know you think so. And at first it would
probably be so, but a singer's appetite for flattery grows. Of course it
does. I'm not blaming you. It's just your career."</p>
<p>Silence again, until Philip spoke. "Very well, I shall hunt you out in
your corner with your faithful gnome, and I shall beg: (he sang) 'Drink
to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.'"</p>
<p>Philip sang the song entirely through, slowly and deliberately, and
Diana closed her eyes, and the laces on her sleeve trembled. The glory
of the night, the glory of the voice were all one. She shrank into her
corner and held desperately to her ideal.</p>
<p>When he had finished, Philip looked at her. Her head rested back upon
the rock, her eyes were closed. The mysterious light lent her face a
strange radiance.</p>
<p>"Diana," he said, and there was a thrill in his voice, "you are well
named. Goddess of the moon you certainly are, and this night is an epoch
in my life. I love, and in spite of your skepticism I shall be true."
She opened her eyes and looked at him, and he drew a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> long, quick
breath. "I can't let you stay here any longer. Your wrap isn't enough.
Now we will sprint up to the Inn. Do you feel like it?"</p>
<p>"Oh, is it over?" she said softly.</p>
<p>"Yes, or else it has just begun. I am not sure which," he answered, and
rising he gave her his hand and helped her to her feet. "The moon is no
farther away from me than you," he said in the moment while he held her
hand. "I am not going to forget it."</p>
<p>"Then it is I!" she thought, with a bound of the heart that turned her
faint.</p>
<p>They scarcely spoke on the long, heavenly walk up the island. The sea
was starry as the sky with the lights of fishing boats, and
phosphorescence gleamed where the water was in shadow.</p>
<p>When he took her hand for good-night on the piazza of the Inn, she said:
"I haven't thanked you for this wonderful evening. You know I
do—Philomel."</p>
<p>He smiled down at her. "That reminds me of our first meeting here.
'Philomel with melody,' you said. I remember what I had been singing,
too. It is still true." He kissed her hand, jumped over the piazza rail,
narrowly missing the sweet peas, and strode<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> away. The girl stood in the
shadow watching the tall, white figure and listening to the waves of
song that floated back through the moonlight.</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"Thou'rt like unto a flower</div>
<div>So sweet, so pure, so fair—"</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>"What shall I do!" murmured the poor, bewildered moon-goddess on the
piazza. "What shall I <i>do</i>!"</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XX</span> <span class="smaller">REUNION</span></h2>
<p>There was one case of happiness without drawbacks on the island at this
time. It was in the humble starved heart of Herbert Loring, Second. Each
morning Mrs. Lowell came into his room after breakfast and made his bed,
taught him how to take care of his belongings, and read with him from
the books she loved. All traces of Nicholas Gayne's occupation having
been removed, and every article the boy had used in the past dispensed
with, his fresh new possessions were neatly arranged, and he waked each
morning to a new and wonderful life. Mrs. Lowell encouraged his artistic
work and allowed him to spend as much time upon it as he wished. All
fear being removed, his appetite revived, and one could almost daily see
the flesh return upon his bones. His good friend, finding that his
sapped energies recoiled from muscular effort, did not urge him to swim
or to row, but fed his mind and heart and awaited his rebuilding.</p>
<p>His story became known on the island, and from being ignored or
contemptuously pitied,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> the good-looking boy in the simple, smart sports
clothes was the object on all sides of a friendly curiosity, which he
could not understand and frequently rebuffed through his very directness
and inexperience. It was his weekly duty to write to Mr. Wrenn, and this
was a dreaded task, but Mrs. Lowell explained to him that he had his
grandfather's name, and that he must begin to learn to fill his place in
the world; and his pitifully childish writing and misspelling had to be
corrected under the eyes that were still sad at such times.</p>
<p>"I'm so ignorant, such a baby!" he exclaimed one morning when this trial
was being undergone.</p>
<p>"But you needn't mind it, need you, since it isn't your fault?" returned
Mrs. Lowell cheerfully. "So many good years are coming for you to study
and learn in."</p>
<p>"What will happen when the summer is over?" asked the boy. "Are you
going to take me with you? Will Mr. Lowell like me?"</p>
<p>"Indeed, he will. I am going to have you live near me."</p>
<p>"Not with you?"</p>
<p>"No, Bert, that wouldn't be best. I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> been corresponding with a very
nice young man whom I have known a long time, and he will be pleased to
live with you and give you lessons."</p>
<p>"In drawing?" asked the boy.</p>
<p>"No, sir." Mrs. Lowell gave him the gay, smiling look he liked: it was
so full of everything cheerful and kind. "No, sir, reading and writing
and 'rithmetic."</p>
<p>"Oh," returned Bert, looking very serious.</p>
<p>"First you must give your time to study. Education is the foundation.
Then, later, when you have gone through college—Oh, how proud I shall
be when I go to see you graduate!"</p>
<p>"Shall you ever be proud of me?" asked the boy slowly.</p>
<p>"If you will let me," she answered. "It all remains with you."</p>
<p>"Then—then I'll try. I would rather stay with Mr. Blake when you go
away, but if you want me to, I'll live with the young man."</p>
<p>"You will like him. He is only twenty years old, and he wants to go to
college when he gets money enough. So he is glad to do tutoring now.
That means helping a younger boy to learn."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p><p>"He will laugh at me," remarked Bert, looking off moodily. "I would
rather stay with Mr. Blake and paint the snow on the evergreens."</p>
<p>"Oh, no, dear," said Mrs. Lowell. "That wouldn't please your
grandfather. Besides, wouldn't you miss me?"</p>
<p>"I don't like Mr. Lowell," remarked the boy.</p>
<p>His friend laughed and took his hand between both her own. "We shall all
love each other," she said, "and I shall hope to see you every day."</p>
<p>Bert thoughtfully visualized the boat carrying her away without him, and
decided to be glad of the other horn of the dilemma. He had learned to
smile, and he did so now, looking at her so trustfully that she patted
his hand as she laid it down.</p>
<p>"That's a good boy," she said.</p>
<p class="space-above">On the morning after the concert, Mrs. Wilbur regarded her child rather
anxiously.</p>
<p>"Is it ever considered malarial here?" she asked.</p>
<p>"The opposite extreme," said Diana.</p>
<p>"Well, you look pale. You stayed out of doors too long. The night air
anywhere—"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, but it has such a pleasant way of growing warmer here at evening.
I wasn't cold, indeed, Mamma."</p>
<p>"And I heard that divine voice going back through the field singing
Rubinstein," said Mrs. Wilbur. She sighed. "I am glad you are so
matter-of-fact, Diana. He made me feel like a matinée girl, that man."
Mrs. Wilbur was already planning her autumn musicale, and in fancy saw
the air dark with automobiles parked in rows about the Wilbur residence
in Pittsfield.</p>
<p>She left Diana now to go upstairs to make her list, and the girl went
out of doors to gather sweet peas for the living-room. Pausing when her
hands were full of the color and fragrance, she turned about to view the
fresh morning landscape. As she did so she heard a gay whistling that
grew louder as it neared.</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"The owl and the pussy cat went to sea</div>
<div>In a beautiful pea-green boat—"</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>The thrill of delicious terror, which had come over her on waking from
her short sleep that morning, constricted her heart now.</p>
<p>Philip approached. "Good-morrow, fair one; posing for a study of
Aurora?"</p>
<p>Diana looked around at him with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>deliberation. "I was deciding what
individuals of the fauna and flora here were most marked."</p>
<p>Philip ducked his face down into her bouquet. "You chose the sweet pea,
of course."</p>
<p>"No, I decided on swallows and daisies. The swallows are ravishing: so
fearless and so beautiful. Have you noticed how they dart past, nearly
brushing our cheeks, and how the sun brings out glints of blue in their
plumage? I often mistake them for bluebirds with that touch of color on
their breasts."</p>
<p>"Daisies and swallows," said Philip musingly. "They do seem to belong
especially. It makes me think of a song." He paused. "Did you hear that
booming of a new whistle this morning? There's a stranger in the cove, a
swell yacht. I thought you might like to come down and see it."</p>
<p>"Yes, I should. Let me put the flowers in water and I will be with you."
She reappeared quickly, and they struck off across the field to the
road.</p>
<p>"How could I know it was a strange whistle?" asked the girl.</p>
<p>"I suppose you wouldn't, but to us islanders every familiar whistle is
like the voice of a friend. Kelly is waiting for us in his boat. We want
to row out to the beauty."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p><p>"It was very kind of you to come 'way up here for me," said Diana.</p>
<p>There came walking toward them along the road a man in white trousers,
dark-blue coat, and cap with a gold insignia.</p>
<p>"That must be some one from the yacht now," said Philip.</p>
<p>Diana looked up, looked again, and with a cry of delight, ran forward
straight into the arms of the man.</p>
<p>"Daddy, Daddy!" she cried, "how good of you!"</p>
<p>The tall, handsome stranger, with silver threads in his brown mustache,
glanced up at his daughter's escort while he kissed her.</p>
<p>"I had to look you up, you know," he said while she held him tight, her
arms around his neck.</p>
<p>Loosing him, she half turned to Philip. "This is Mr. Barrison, Daddy. We
were just going down to see who was the stranger in the cove."</p>
<p>Mr. Wilbur shook hands with the tanned, blond youth in a perfunctory
manner, scarcely looking at him.</p>
<p>"Mamma is here. Did you know it?" cried Diana.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p><p>"No. You don't say so! Kill both my birds with one stone, eh?"</p>
<p>The girl held out her hand to Philip. "I shall have to go back, Mr.
Barrison. Daddy, take your card and write an order for Mr. Barrison and
his friend to go over the yacht. They were just going to row out to it,
and I was going with them. How little I thought it was you, dearest."
She kissed him again and fumbled at her father's buttons.</p>
<p>Philip thought there was some reluctance in the cool glance the
yachtsman flung him again. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Wilbur. Another
time, perhaps."</p>
<p>"No, this minute," said Diana. Mr. Wilbur got at an inside pocket. "Mr.
Barrison will take you deep-sea fishing if you can stay a few days. You
have often spoken of it."</p>
<p>"A fisherman, eh?" said Mr. Wilbur, as he took out his card and wrote
upon it.</p>
<p>Diana laughed nervously. "Oh, no, Daddy, but he knows the ropes here."
She handed the card to Philip. "The Idlewild is worth visiting," she
said, "and you never can tell with these yachtsmen. They slip off
sometimes in the middle of the night. A bird in the hand, you know." She
smiled. "Au revoir."</p>
<p>Philip, holding his card, looked after them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> as they went on up the
road. Diana was hanging on her father's arm. The young fellow's face
flushed deeply under the tan, and his lips came together firmly.</p>
<p>"That girl is worth all the adoration a man can waste on her," he
thought. "I don't know that he is such a fool at that."</p>
<p class="space-above">"What a summer, Veronica!" exclaimed Miss Burridge when she found that
Charles Wilbur was going to eat mackerel and sweet potatoes at her table
that noon.</p>
<p>"Some do have greatness thrust upon them, Aunt Priscilla. First the
arrival of Prince Herbert, then King Charles himself."</p>
<p>"Yes, my knees feel kind o' queer, Veronica, and I think we'd better
have the lobster salad this noon instead of saving it for night."</p>
<p>The other boarders eliminated themselves, so that the Wilbur family
could occupy the piazza after dinner. Mr. Wilbur had praised the cooking
and Veronica had carried the good report to the kitchen. He sat now with
his wife and daughter, one on each side of him, and, as he smoked his
cigar, looked off on the glory that is Casco Bay.</p>
<p>"You're pretty nearly on a boat here, aren't you?" he said.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>"It is the most wonderful place in the world," said Diana fervently.</p>
<p>He turned to her and pinched her chin. The excited color that had risen
in her happy surprise had faded. "You're not a good advertisement for
it," he said. "You didn't eat anything at dinner and you look as if you
had been up all night."</p>
<p>"I do think Diana feels the effect of all the excitement she went
through in Boston," said Mrs. Wilbur; and forthwith she proceeded to
tell the story of the grandson of her husband's old friend, and Diana's
part in it. He had met the boy at table and he listened with absorbed
interest.</p>
<p>"Well, little girl, well," he said kindly, "that was some experience.
You'll have to brace up now."</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm going to, Daddy, and I want to purchase some of this island. I
love it here. It inspires me."</p>
<p>"Better hold on," was the quiet response. "Why not take this place next
summer? Engage Miss Burridge as cook and housekeeper, then bring some
guests and run up here for a week or so, off and on, when you feel like
it."</p>
<p>"That might be pleasant," returned Diana.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p><p>Her father smiled and patted her. "You are not always going to be a
tired schoolgirl. Home may hold out more attractions next summer than
you think."</p>
<p>"You don't know the rocks and the walks here yet, Daddy," said Diana
wistfully.</p>
<p>"How many walks shall I have to take before you are ready to go back
with me?"</p>
<p>"Of course we're going back with Daddy," said Mrs. Wilbur warningly.</p>
<p>"You like the yacht, don't you, Diana?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Indeed, I do. It was only that you were going to have such gay people
this summer, and I couldn't be gay."</p>
<p>"I understand, dear. I've ditched the gay people now, and we will have a
family party only, going back."</p>
<p>"That will be delightful," replied Diana.</p>
<p>"We haven't told you the most wonderful thing yet," said Mrs. Wilbur.
"There is a most charming singer on the island. He gave a recital last
night. Nothing commonplace. A very unusual voice. I'm engaging him for
Pittsfield, Charles. He thinks he can come for a recital. He is young
and little known yet, and so will be a novelty. I want you to hear him.
You'll be wild, too."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p><p>"I promise not to be," responded her husband.</p>
<p>"But you can't help it, dear. Diana, why shouldn't we have a little
dinner on the yacht and Mr. Barrison would probably sing afterward, and
your father could hear him. Let me see now. Who would we have?"</p>
<p>"I don't care," put in Mr. Wilbur, "so long as you have that sparkling
person who sat beside the boy at dinner."</p>
<p>"Mrs. Lowell," said Diana. "I'm so glad you appreciate Mrs. Lowell,
Daddy."</p>
<p>"I'm not blind in one eye and I can see out of the other. I have my
hearing, too, and her voice is as fresh as a robin's."</p>
<p>"But, oh, speaking of voices!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilbur, rolling up her
eyes. "Well, then, Diana, supposing we have just Mr. Barrison and Mr.
Kelly and Mrs. Lowell."</p>
<p>"And Veronica," said Diana.</p>
<p>"The young person who waits on the table," explained Mrs. Wilbur. "She
and her aunt, Miss Burridge, are very worthy people."</p>
<p>"Veronica and Mr. Kelly are such good friends," said Diana. "It would be
too bad not to ask her."</p>
<p>"Mr. Kelly is Mr. Barrison's accompanist," put in Mrs. Wilbur.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p><p>"Barrison?" repeated Mr. Wilbur. "Isn't that the name of the husky I
met on the road just now?" The speaker removed his cigar to ask his
daughter the question.</p>
<p>"Yes, Mamma, Mr. Barrison came up to take me down to row out in Mr.
Kelly's boat to see the stranger in the cove. So when we encountered
Daddy on the road, I persuaded him to give them an order to go over the
yacht."</p>
<p>In spite of herself, the missing color came back into the girl's cheeks
while she related this, and Charles Wilbur, whom no circumstance
connected with his daughter ever escaped, observed it.</p>
<p>When next he was alone with his wife, he asked a few questions as to
Diana's regard for the singer.</p>
<p>"No, no, my dear," she returned scornfully. "You don't know Diana. We
have an extraordinary daughter, there is no mistake about <i>that</i>, but
she was telling me the other day of her ideal for a husband. He is a
fright, I can assure you, but full of charm and all that. She doesn't
want to marry any man who is attractive to women."</p>
<p>"Wants to fool the vamps, eh?" was the laughing reply.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p><p>"Why doesn't she look at her daddy?" was the affectionate response.
"The most attractive being on earth and one who never gave me a
heartache?"</p>
<p>Charles Wilbur slipped his arm around his wife and kissed her. They were
the best of friends.</p>
<p>"Don't you know, my dear, that a girl's father is always unique? He
isn't a man."</p>
<p>"Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Wilbur, harking back to her find. "But, Charlie,
you don't know how delighted I am to have such a prize for Pittsfield. I
must show you my list."</p>
<p>She produced it and Mr. Wilbur, frowning patiently, looked it over. He
hated lists.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XXI</span> <span class="smaller">GOOD-BYES</span></h2>
<p>But before the dinner party came off, Philip Barrison did take the steel
man deep-sea fishing. Barney Kelly was so overwhelmed by the luxury of
the yacht that he refrained from saying a word against the nocturnal
expedition. He happened to meet Veronica down at the post-office and
gave her his reasons.</p>
<p>"I say it's only fair that Mr. Wilbur should be racked and tortured," he
said. "Any man so deep in the lap of luxury should learn a little of how
the other half lives. That yacht is the slickest thing I ever saw. The
deep-cushioned armchairs on the deck are upholstered in a light-green
leather that you would think a drop of water would deface, and the salt
spray doesn't faze it in the least. Then the master's room with its twin
beds is divided from the bathroom by a sliding door which is a huge
mirror, and the dining-saloon is in mahogany with the exquisite china
and glass all enameled with the yacht's flag."</p>
<p>Veronica's mouth always grew very small<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> when she was deeply interested
and her eyes very wide, and they looked so now as she listened.</p>
<p>"Just think," she said, "I am going to see it."</p>
<p>"Good work. I wanted you to."</p>
<p>"I'm going to eat off those dishes and sit in the easy-chairs."</p>
<p>"What's happening?"</p>
<p>"A dinner party, and you are in it. Miss Diana told me."</p>
<p>"I shall be careful to eat nothing between now and then," declared
Barney, "for I suspect that <i>chef</i> of being an artist. Let us not count
on it too much, though, Veronica. Barrison takes Mr. Wilbur on that
unspeakable expedition to-morrow morning. We all may be thrown out of
that dinner party by the violence of his feelings."</p>
<p>As it turned out, however, Kelly's apprehensions were not realized. Mr.
Wilbur's wife and daughter were on the yacht to greet him when he
returned from his novel experience at nearly noon of the next day. He
had changed his clothing at "Grammy's" and was full of praise of that
old gentlewoman.</p>
<p>"Nice people as ever lived, those folks," he said as he stretched
himself out in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span><i>chaise longue</i> on the deck under the awning, and was
served with iced drinks.</p>
<p>"Mamma hasn't met Mr. Barrison's grandmother," said Diana as she placed
the cigars beside her father.</p>
<p>"Oh, he comes of superior people, you can see that," said Mrs. Wilbur.
"Charlie, I'm going to invite Mrs. Coolidge."</p>
<p>"All right. I guess she can stand it."</p>
<p>"Stand it!" echoed Mrs. Wilbur. "You don't know what you're talking
about."</p>
<p>"He is still thinking about the fishing, Mamma," put in Diana.</p>
<p>"Yes, and young Barrison," said Mr. Wilbur. "He's a tonic, that chap.
The way he went over that boat, regular Douglas Fairbanks stunts he did.
He's a hundred-per-cent man, whether he can sing or not." The speaker
regarded his daughter out of the tail of his eye as he talked, and he
saw the slight compression of her lips and the glow in her eyes.</p>
<p>"I offered him a cigar, but he shook his head: 'My voice is my fortune,
sir,' he said."</p>
<p>"Sensible," said Mrs. Wilbur, not looking up from the silk she was
knitting.</p>
<p>"When are you giving your dinner party?"</p>
<p>"To-morrow night."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p><p>"That is good, for we must be on our way," said Mr. Wilbur. He yawned.
"I'm dead to the world. I must go to sleep."</p>
<p>"Daddy," said Diana, "are we really going away at once?"</p>
<p>He took her hand, and it was cold. "Yes, I think we shall have to be
off." He regarded her with affectionate thoughtfulness. "I want to go
somewhere and find some roses for you."</p>
<p>The roses suddenly bloomed in the girl's face under his searching eyes.</p>
<p>"You want to go with your old dad, don't you?" he added affectionately.</p>
<p>"Of course I do, dearest," she answered, and he forgave her the lie
because she looked so pretty in her embarrassment. "But I have packing
to do, you know. I can't go without any warning."</p>
<p>He continued to gaze at her and to hold her cold hand.</p>
<p>"That young Caruso of yours is quite a boy," he said irrelevantly. "No
lugs, honest, substantial."</p>
<p>"He is more than that, Daddy. He is a self-made man."</p>
<p>"Did a good job, too; physically at least."</p>
<p>"No; more than that; he has been a hero to get where he is in his art."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p><p>"Told you so, eh?"</p>
<p>"No, indeed." The roses bloomed brighter. The hand twitched in his. "He
gratified my curiosity one day by telling me his experiences. He thinks
they were entirely commonplace. He was very poor and with no influence,
but his persistence and determination won."</p>
<p>"That's the stuff," returned Charles Wilbur quietly. "I like the way he
treats his grandmother, too."</p>
<p>"And, Charlie," said his wife, looking up from her work, "I believe I'll
invite some people from Lenox. I'll have a house party."</p>
<p>"Very well, my dear." Her husband smiled toward her preoccupied face,
and released his daughter's hand.</p>
<p>"Now, you run along up to the Inn, Diana," said Mrs. Wilbur, "and pack.
Then have Mr. Blake bring the trunk and our bags aboard this afternoon."</p>
<p>"Not go back to the Inn at all, afterward, then?" asked Diana.</p>
<p>"No. There won't be any necessity. I told that perfectly crazy Léonie to
have my things and hers ready and bring them aboard before dinner. She
looked at me as if I had struck her down."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p><p>"Poor Léonie," breathed Diana.</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur shrugged her shoulders. "I shall be lucky if she doesn't
tell me she has decided to marry Bill Lindsay and stay here." The lady
laughed and looked at her husband. "I should have to invite them to take
their wedding trip on the yacht, for I can't let her go until she has
shown some one else how to do my hair."</p>
<p>"Let her teach me, immediately, to-day," said Diana quickly.</p>
<p>Her mother stared at her. "You don't want her to marry Bill Lindsay, I
hope!"</p>
<p>"I do not care whom she marries," returned Diana with amazing spirit.
"The important, colossally important thing is that she should marry whom
she pleases, when she pleases."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur continued to stare while her husband's closed eyes opened
and he also regarded Diana as she stood up, her hands clenched.</p>
<p>"That was Helen Loring's creed," said Mrs. Wilbur dryly. "There is a
better one. Don't forget that."</p>
<p>The girl's head drooped and the roses faded.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later she went down the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>awning-guarded steps at the yacht's
side, and entered the waiting boat with its shining brasses and natty,
white-uniformed sailors, to go ashore.</p>
<p class="space-above">Miss Burridge was quite touched by the feeling displayed by her star
boarder at their parting.</p>
<p>"I do not remember any period of my life which has been so happy as the
last six weeks," said the girl, her lip quivering. "Would you take care
of me if I should take the Inn for next summer and come here with
friends a part of the season?"</p>
<p>"Take the Inn, Miss Wilbur?"</p>
<p>"Yes. My father said that might be more sensible than for me to build
here. I would make satisfactory arrangements with you. Perhaps Veronica
would come with you, then you wouldn't mind if you had the place to
yourselves much of the season."</p>
<p>"Of course, I should like an easy berth like that, Miss Wilbur." Miss
Burridge laughed with a suspicion of moisture around her lashes at the
pressure of Diana's hands, and the seriousness of her plaintive eyes.</p>
<p>"I must say good-bye to Bertie. I wonder where he is."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p><p>"Up in his room, I think. He came in a few minutes ago."</p>
<p>There Diana found him. He looked up from the stretcher over which he was
working and was surprised to see his friend in her street clothes.</p>
<p>"Are you going to Boston again?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I am leaving permanently," she answered, and she took his hand and drew
him down to a seat beside her. He looked at her as she bit her lip while
she smiled on him, and he thought she was going to cry. "We shall be
here a couple more nights, but I shall be on the yacht. Have you seen
it, Bertie? Would you like to come down with me now and go over it?"</p>
<p>"I'd like to make a sketch of it." The boy looked interested.</p>
<p>"Very well, you shall. Bill is coming for us in a few minutes. You drive
down with us; but I want to tell you, before we go, how happy I am for
you."</p>
<p>"You don't look happy at all, Miss Diana. You look sad. Are you sad?"</p>
<p>"I am a little bit—leaving here, and all the friends. Do you know that
we are related in some far-off way, Bertie? You might call me Cousin
Diana. You mustn't forget me."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p><p>"No, I won't forget you," replied the boy, noticing that her lip
quivered. "Mrs. Lowell will write to you."</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm sure she will," said Diana, touching her eyes quickly with her
handkerchief, "and Mrs. Lowell is a wonderful friend. She has told me of
her arrangements for you, told me about the fine, strapping young
fellow, Mr. Lawrence, who is going to be your companion and tutor. I
expect when I see you next that you will stand up, straight as a young
soldier—"</p>
<p>"Straight as—as Mr. Barrison," said Bert, pulling his slender shoulders
back hopefully.</p>
<p>"Yes, as—as he is, and I know you will like this young Mr. Lawrence,
and do every thing just as Mrs. Lowell desires to have you. I am glad
you can stay on longer here, for it is—it is a place to be happy, isn't
it, Bertie?"</p>
<p>Diana's lips quivered again dangerously. "There, I hear the motor. Bring
your sketch-book, and come."</p>
<p>They descended to where Léonie was standing beside the bags in her trim
street clothes. Matt Blake's wagon was waiting, too, and he carried
Diana's trunk, and the various and sundry suitcases and bags which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>
represented the Wilbur party, out to his wagon.</p>
<p>Miss Burridge and Veronica saw them off. Mrs. Lowell was away in the
woods with her bird-glasses, and the other boarders were fortunately
absent. Diana left her good-byes for them, and then with a lump in her
throat got into the car. Léonie sat in front with her cavalier, and all
the way down the road, her head was popping out and a stream of "adieux"
pouring forth upon animate and inanimate objects alike.</p>
<p>Herbert Loring sat beside his friend and, feeling wonderingly her need
for comfort, slipped his hand into hers, and she held it tightly.</p>
<p>Diana had many good-byes to say at the float, while her baggage was
being lifted into the yacht's boat, waiting with its picturesque crew.
At last they were off, and Bertie's eyes were greedily fixed on the
lines of the handsome white yacht.</p>
<p>After the trunks were placed on the yacht, she let Bert look about, but
he was eager to get his sketch. So she allowed him to descend again into
the small boat and put him in command of it. So he was taken to the
point he indicated and remained there until he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> was satisfied with his
sketch. Then the flashing oars fell into position and he was rowed back
to the shore. Diana waved him a last good-bye. Her father was taking his
much-needed forty winks, her mother was downstairs somewhere, and Léonie
stood near her, straining her eyes toward the float and waving to a
waiting figure thereon.</p>
<p>"Adieu, charmante, belle île," she murmured, sniffing audibly.
"Mademoiselle, c'est comme si je quittais chez moi."</p>
<p>"Oui, Léonie. Nous reviendrons quelque jour."</p>
<p>There was a difference in their situations. Léonie had no hope of
entertaining Bill Lindsay at dinner.</p>
<p>That function came off the next evening. Mr. Wilbur had spent much of
the afternoon with Philip Barrison. The latter had taken him out to the
pound and he had watched the drawing of the nets, and had had long
confabs with the fishermen, listening to their stories, scattering
cigars like hail, and enjoying himself thoroughly.</p>
<p>He returned to the yacht in high good humor and made ready for the
farewell festivity.</p>
<p>"That's a regular fellow, Barrison," he said to his wife, as he was
making his toilet.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, you wait," she replied.</p>
<p>"I don't care a darn how he sings," remarked Mr. Wilbur, "but in his
case a man's a man for a' that. I don't wonder—" he stopped.</p>
<p>"What don't you wonder, dear?"</p>
<p>"Oh—at his popularity. My dear, dear Laura," he added after a pause,
smiling at his reflection in the glass as he used his military brushes,
"you're a wonderful woman."</p>
<p>"Why, thank you, Charlie. What have I done now?" As he did not reply,
but continued to smile into his own eyes, she gave his arm a little
squeeze as she passed him. "I won <i>you</i>, anyway," she said triumphantly,
"and I need a compliment or two, for I never knew Diana to be so strange
and changeable as she has been to-day. The dear girl can't be well, and
I don't think I have realized quite the awfulness of her experience with
Herbert Loring. She was actually in danger for a time of being accused
of hastening his death. Why, it was dreadful."</p>
<p>"Poor Diana, poor little girl," returned Charles Wilbur ruminatively.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XXII</span> <span class="smaller">THE DINNER PARTY</span></h2>
<p>Mrs. Lowell and Veronica were the first of the dinner guests to arrive.
They were received with remarkable effusiveness by Diana as links with
the life she was reluctantly leaving.</p>
<p>"Did you see anything of our musician friends as you came down to the
float?" asked Mrs. Wilbur.</p>
<p>"No, not just now," replied Mrs. Lowell, "but earlier in the day, I had
occasion to go to the post-office and there I found Mr. Kelly in a state
of great excitement. It seems that Mr. Barrison has been summoned to New
York to have his voice tried out for the opera. There is some trouble
and disappointment about a tenor who was expected."</p>
<p>"That <i>is</i> exciting," remarked Mr. Wilbur, looking approvingly at the
lady with the fresh robin-voice and the charming costume.</p>
<p>"Miss Veronica and I are all eyes, Mr. Wilbur," she continued. "I'm sure
you allow newcomers to stare as much as they please."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p><p>"Certainly. Let me show you some of our snug arrangements for 'a life
on the ocean wave.'"</p>
<p>The guests followed him, and Mrs. Wilbur and her daughter regarded one
another, the elder with some consternation, the younger with brilliant
eyes and flaming cheeks.</p>
<p>"I do hope he won't have to break his date with me," said Mrs. Wilbur.</p>
<p>"Perhaps to sing with the Metropolitan is more important," returned
Diana.</p>
<p>"You never have taken any interest in my plan," said her mother, her
eyes snapping. "I'm sure I don't know what has come over you on this
island. From the time you came back to the yacht yesterday, I have had
to speak twice to make you hear anything, and I've been afraid every
minute that you would let your father see that you were depressed at
leaving this foolish place and going with him."</p>
<p>"I am perfectly willing to go, Mamma," was the docile reply, the change
of heart that had taken place in the last fifteen minutes not being
explained.</p>
<p>"Well, I'm glad to hear it," declared Mrs. Wilbur, placated. "You are
looking wonderfully well to-night, Diana. Clinging stuff<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> suits you, and
in that silver girdle you have quite a classical appearance."</p>
<p>"Do I look statuesque, Mamma?" Diana smiled, but not pensively. Her eyes
were alive with anticipation of this one more, this last evening.
"To-day I have been remembering my first days at the island, all alone
with Miss Burridge, the long, cold evenings with their wonderful
coloring, the vesper songs of the hardy robins and sparrows; the
grinding pebbles swept back and forth on the beach; the entrancing odors
that one cannot name, so mingled of balsam and sea—the great spaces of
earth and sky—" Something seemed to stop the rush of reminiscence.</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur regarded her child's kindling face with fond admiration.
"Yes," she returned, laughing softly, "I know how all that captured you,
but what has it to do with your being statuesque?"</p>
<p>"Oh,"—Diana seemed to come to herself with a little start,—"Miss
Burridge used to say sometimes that I looked like a statue," she
returned, rather lamely.</p>
<p>Motor boats were constantly putt-putt-ing around the yacht.</p>
<p>"I'm glad," said Mrs. Wilbur, looking down upon them now, "that this is
the last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> night we are to stay here. Didn't those inquisitive little
things keep you awake all last night, just like gnats?"</p>
<p>"I didn't sleep much," admitted Diana.</p>
<p>"There they come," said Mrs. Wilbur, suddenly, looking across at the
float.</p>
<p>Two men in white flannels were stepping aboard the waiting boat whose
brasses flashed in the light of the lowering sun. Diana's heart bounded
toward her throat.</p>
<p>"Well, I shall make him understand that he must tell me just as soon as
he knows himself," said Mrs. Wilbur rather fretfully, watching the
approach.</p>
<p>The dinner party was a gay one. When the guests were seated at table,
they looked out through a wide semicircle of glass at the familiar
sights of the cove—its wooded shore, and the silhouettes of great waves
far out against the horizon.</p>
<p>"I shall not forgive Kelly for giving me away," said Philip when his
host congratulated him on his call to New York. "How shall I feel when
you all hear that I didn't pass muster?"</p>
<p>"Believe me," said Barney feelingly, "if that proves to be the case,
you'll all have cause to congratulate him. The life of an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> American
singer in a Grand Opera Company is one fight, if it isn't an inferno.
The call-boy forgets to call him, the prompter forgets to prompt him.
Every curtain-call is begrudged him."</p>
<p>"I'm glad you're husky, Barrison," remarked Mr. Wilbur.</p>
<p>"Yes," laughed Philip. "Kelly has been an industrious crêpe-hanger ever
since the letter arrived. At the same time he shoves me on."</p>
<p>"Oh, certainly," said Barney, setting his lips energetically. "Must be
done. I think he's safe to win."</p>
<p>"I am thinking about October and Pittsfield," said Mrs. Wilbur ruefully.</p>
<p>Philip turned toward her. "I think there is little doubt that I shall be
with you," he answered.</p>
<p>"Mamma doesn't mean that," declared Diana of the steadily burning
cheeks. "She wants you to succeed, of course."</p>
<p>"Yes, Barrison," added her father, "but when your voice fails, we know
what you can do: skip around a vessel at sea for the movies."</p>
<p>"You rather liked that fracas, didn't you, Mr. Wilbur?" returned Philip.</p>
<p>"Indeed, I did. When you come here to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> recuperate from the atrocities of
singer allies, I'll join you and we will repeat the dose."</p>
<p>"Dose is the word," put in Kelly in an undertone.</p>
<p>When finally the party adjourned to the deck, they fell into groups:
Mrs. Lowell and Diana, Veronica and Barney, Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur and
Philip. The sun had gone down, and the western sky was still crimson.</p>
<p>Diana put her hand over in Mrs. Lowell's lap. "We know how violet the
sea looks this minute from the Inn piazza," she said. "You will go on
seeing it."</p>
<p>"And you will carry it away," returned Mrs. Lowell. "That, and many
another picture which you will stop to look at sometimes on a winter
day."</p>
<p>"Yes, they are mine," said Diana gravely. "Even this pond of a cove with
the green banks and woods rising all about it. This is a picture that I
love, too."</p>
<p>"Bert was quite troubled because he thought you seemed sad at leaving."</p>
<p>"Good little sympathetic fellow," said Diana. "I don't want to believe,
Mrs. Lowell, that this is good-bye for us."</p>
<p>"I hope it is not. New York and Philadelphia are not far apart, but you
will begin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> to be absorbed in other interests as soon as this yacht
leaves the cove."</p>
<p>Diana shook her head. "My memory is not so short."</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell looked at her with thoughtful affection. "I hope they won't
spoil you, my dear," she said wistfully. "It is very remarkable that you
have come along so far with 'a heart at leisure from itself.'"</p>
<p>"Oh, do you think I have that?" returned Diana, looking up with seeking
eyes.</p>
<p>"I do, my dear. The key note of happy usefulness is unselfishness. I
have been surprised by your unselfishness, Diana—under circumstances
that usually make for the other thing."</p>
<p>"But, Mrs. Lowell, I am frightfully selfish!" exclaimed the girl. "You
don't know!"</p>
<p>Her friend smiled. "Well, if you see it, that is half the battle. The
other half is putting it down—destroying it."</p>
<p>"It is usually about—about people," said Diana unsteadily. "I—I am
afraid I am a monopolist—"</p>
<p>"My word, but you people are interested in each other," said Philip
Barrison, suddenly appearing beside them. "Just lift your eyes."</p>
<p>They looked up and saw the moon rising<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> majestically above the
hill-road, and the cove beginning to glitter.</p>
<p>"Now that mustn't make any difference," said Mrs. Wilbur firmly. "The
moon won't run away and Mr. Barrison has consented to sing for us."</p>
<p>"The minutes are going so fast, so fast," thought Diana, "and there will
be no more."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur herded her group together and convoyed them to the
music-room.</p>
<p>"This is really an especial treat for Mr. Wilbur," she said to Philip.
"You know he is the only one of us who hasn't heard you."</p>
<p>"And you needn't imagine," added Mr. Wilbur, "that you are singing for
the impresario of the Metropolitan, either. So long as I am the chief
beneficiary to-night, it is only fair to tell you, Barrison, that
musically I am very despicable. 'The Last Rose of Summer,' and 'Annie
Laurie,' are where I am. So don't waste any <i>moderne</i> stuff on me."</p>
<p>Philip smiled as he moved to the piano, and the company chose their
places. Mrs. Wilbur took a seat beside her husband, enveloped in the
anticipatory glow of the matinée girl.</p>
<p>"I want to be where I can hold your hand if I need to, dear," she said.
Her husband glanced at Diana, flushed and grave, as she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> placed herself
on a low stool near the door, then back at the upstanding white figure
beside the piano.</p>
<p>Philip said a few words to his accompanist as Barney's fingers strayed
softly over the keys—then a familiar strain began, and the heralded
voice was heard:</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"Believe me, if all those endearing young charms</div>
<div>That I gaze on so fondly to-day—"</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>At the close, the host was smiling and nodding while his wife's eyes
challenged him in mute triumph. Philip discoursed with Barney a few
moments and apparently the pigeonholes of the accompanist's mind were
well-stored and the contents available, for the old favorite was
followed by "If I but Knew," "At Parting," "To Mary," and so on, Mr.
Wilbur growing more enthusiastic at each number.</p>
<p>"You can speak, young man, so as to be understood, and you're the singer
for me," he said. "You have been very indulgent. Now if you don't mind,
let us have 'Drink to me only.'"</p>
<p>Philip, for the first time, turned and looked directly at Diana. Her
father noticed it. He was becoming every moment more alert as to the
hundred-per-cent man in the white flannels.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p><p>The song followed. Diana, on her low seat, had her elbows on her knees
and her chin in her hands, and never once looked at the singer.</p>
<p>"I have one more for you," said Philip when the applause had died away.
"It is a song of Maude Valérie White's, which I think fits into your
category, Mr. Wilbur. It has been haunting me of late."</p>
<p>He turned for a few words to the accomplished Barney, during which Diana
looked up questioningly, apprehensively. She felt she could not bear
much more of the beating upon her heart-strings.</p>
<p>Philip turned back, and, after only one running chord of prelude, began
to sing:</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"Let us forget we loved each other much,</div>
<div>Let us forget we ever have to part.</div>
<div>Let us forget that any look or touch</div>
<div>First let in either to the other's heart.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div>"Only we'll sit upon the daisied grass,</div>
<div>And hear the larks and see the swallows pass.</div>
<div>Only we'll live awhile as children play,</div>
<div>Without to-morrow, without yesterday."</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>The last note was one of those high ones which Kelly had stated did such
fell work upon the feminine heart, and Mrs. Wilbur's lips were tremulous
as she met her husband's eyes.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p><p>"Say, my dear," he said, while clapping his hands manfully, "you have
Barrison sing that at Pittsfield, and I'll come to your party and make
love to you the rest of the night."</p>
<p>Philip smiled and nodded, and drifted away from the piano, while Barney
got up and stretched his legs.</p>
<p>"Where's Diana?" exclaimed her father, and instantly condemned himself
for drawing attention to her departure.</p>
<p>"Oh, but she heard it, I'm sure," said Mrs. Wilbur apologetically, still
wiping her eyes. "I'm sure no one appreciates your singing more than
Diana."</p>
<p>"Gone to look after her moon, probably," said Philip. "You know a
goddess has her duties."</p>
<p>"There have been things going on," thought Charles Wilbur, with
ever-deepening conviction. "Mr. Kelly, you are a wizard," he said,
shaking Barney by the hand while Mrs. Lowell and Veronica were thanking
Philip.</p>
<p>"You have both been so good to us," said Mrs. Wilbur warmly. "Why,
Diana, where have you been? We missed you," she added, as the girl came
into the room.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p><p>"I wanted to see if the steward understood," she replied. "I think, if
we go on deck now, we shall have something else refreshing after this
delightful feast." Her father watched the girl approach Barney. "Mr.
Kelly, you are wonderful. I remember the comical things you said about
your insignificance at recitals. I've seen again how apocryphal those
statements are."</p>
<p>Her father continued to watch for her thanks to Philip. Apparently there
were none forthcoming, and fortunately Mrs. Wilbur was too busy talking
to him herself to notice it.</p>
<p>"But won't Mr. Kelly play something before we leave?" she said
supplicatingly.</p>
<p>"Oh, no, my dear lady," returned Barney lightly. "One has no appetite
for dinner after dessert."</p>
<p>They went on deck, and the moon was glorifying the still cove.
Apparently the motor boats had sated their curiosity as to the yacht,
and all was peaceful. The company sat about in a social group and ate
and drank. Barney Kelly told some amusing experiences which he and
Philip had had on the road last season. Diana scarcely heard his
anecdotes, but she laughed with the rest.</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"Without to-morrow, without yesterday."</div>
</div></div></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p><p>The words sang themselves over and over in her heart, and her cheeks
still burned. The minutes were flying, flying, and Philip was sitting
near her mother, who waited on him assiduously and rallied him upon his
lack of appetite.</p>
<p>"Say, boy," said Kelly at last, "do you know we have a cart-load of
music to look over and we ought to do it to-night?"</p>
<p>Then they would go. She would not see him alone again!</p>
<p>"Mrs. Lowell, are you ready?" asked Philip. "We four will have a grand
moonlight walk up to the Inn."</p>
<p>"No, indeed," replied that lady. "The faithful Bill is expecting us. I
know how busy you and Mr. Kelly must be."</p>
<p>"Oh, dear!" burst forth Veronica. It was almost her first utterance of
the evening. "Isn't it a shame that the pleasantest things in life are
always the shortest!" She did wish Mrs. Lowell would not be so
considerate of the men's time. "Miss Diana, don't you really feel just a
little bit sorry to go and leave us?"</p>
<p>"I do, indeed," returned Diana, receiving the girl's offered hand in her
cold one. "The best way probably is to remember Mr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>Barrison's song and
live as children play—'without to-morrow, without yesterday.' It has
been a—a wonderful playtime."</p>
<p>"But there will be a to-morrow," said Philip, approaching her. "Will you
come to the opera next winter and hear me peep a few lines like 'Madam,
the carriage waits'?" He smiled radiantly. "That is, if I get in at
all."</p>
<p>"Certainly, all your friends will be there," she returned, with
palpitating dignity. How could he speak so gayly? Probably the dazzling
possibilities of the future had effaced for him the memories that glowed
in her. That is what life with him would be: a constant craving, and a
constant disappointment.</p>
<p>"I want a word with you, Barrison, before we break up," said Mr. Wilbur.
"You have been some star in this island visit of mine." He took Philip's
arm and walked apart with him.</p>
<p>"Oh, Mr. Kelly, see the phosphorescence," cried Veronica from where she
had moved near the rail. Barney followed her.</p>
<p>"What do you suppose Mr. Wilbur wants with Barrison?" said Kelly softly,
as they leaned over the rail. "Going to write him a check for a million,
maybe. He'd never miss it."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p><p>"I don't believe Mr. Barrison will need anybody else's millions. He
made a lump come right up in my throat when he sang that last song about
forgetting and sitting on the daisies. I just wished I was in love with
somebody so I could be miserable all night like girls in books.
But"—Veronica sighed—"I am the most unsentimental girl in the world."</p>
<p>"I wonder if that is what makes you so nice," said Barney, regarding her
mignonne face instead of the phosphorescence. "You're a little brick. Do
you know it? Are you coming back here again next summer?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps," returned Veronica demurely. "But meanwhile I live in Newark;
quite near New York."</p>
<p>"I know, my dear, but when I get submerged, even little bricks can't
make me come to the surface to breathe. Do you think your father would
let you come over to lunch with me sometimes?"</p>
<p>"You can ask him," replied Veronica.</p>
<p>"Oh, dear, is that the way you feel about it?"</p>
<p>"Just the way."</p>
<p>"All ashore that's going ashore." It was Philip's voice. "Come on,
Kelly, and Little V."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span></p><p>Diana had been talking with Mrs. Lowell. She kissed her now hurriedly,
and stood rigid. The time had come. She would never go to the opera. She
would never see him again. Meanwhile, she joined her mother's gracious
reception of the parting courtesies, and shook hands with all the guests
alike. They went down the guarded stairway. It was midnight, and the
cove was very still. Diana could not watch the departure of the small
boat.</p>
<p>"I'm tired," she said, stifling a yawn. "Good-night, dears."</p>
<p>She disappeared quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur stood by the rail and waved
to the departing boat-load.</p>
<p>"What a delightful evening it has been," said the lady with a sigh. "But
wasn't it strange that Mr. Barrison wasn't hungry after singing? I
thought people always were. Didn't you think the sandwiches were as good
as usual?"</p>
<p>"Better. I was as hungry as a hunter—or a sailor. Great air, this, Laura."</p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p>
<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIII</span> <span class="smaller">THE MOON-GODDESS</span></h2>
<p>In the twin beds of the master's room on the yacht Idlewild two persons
lay wide awake at one-thirty o'clock that morning.</p>
<p>One of them finally said softly and tentatively: "Charlie, are you
awake?"</p>
<p>"I am, my dear," came the reply, "and I should like to ask whether it is
simply insomnia with you, or whether you are suffering from incipient
St. Vitus?"</p>
<p>"Why, I thought I had been keeping so still. It was the same way after I
heard that man sing the last time. I couldn't sleep for hours. Isn't he
all I said? I'll warrant he is keeping you awake, too."</p>
<p>"I think he is."</p>
<p>"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilbur triumphantly. "You do consider him
extraordinary, don't you?"</p>
<p>"I do. So much so that I have asked him to go out with us to-morrow
night—Oh, it's to-night, isn't it? The Captain says we will leave at
nine-thirty, and go as far as Portland."</p>
<p>"Why, I think that is fine," said Mrs. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>Wilbur, greatly surprised.
"Well," she added, after a pause, "you could scarcely give a greater
proof of your liking, for I know how careful you are not to commit
yourself to being bored by anybody on the yacht. Why didn't he tell me
when he left to-night?"</p>
<p>"Because he did not expect to accept. He may do so yet, however. I told
him he might decide at the last minute."</p>
<p>"Why did he hesitate? Perhaps because you didn't invite Mr. Kelly."</p>
<p>"Oh, but I did. I told him they might reign supreme in the music-room
and work as much as they pleased."</p>
<p>"How delightful! Then why didn't he jump at such a prospect? I suppose
because they wouldn't get to New York so quickly."</p>
<p>"No, he has considerable latitude concerning the date for arrival in New
York. I'll tell you just what he replied when I asked him. He looked me
straight in the eye and he said: 'Thank you, Mr. Wilbur, but it wouldn't
do me any good to take such a trip. It's best for me to play safe. I've
passed the age when it is permissible to cry for the moon.' He said it
slowly, with pauses. He was perfectly willing I should know what he
meant, and he saw that I did know."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p><p>"Will you kindly tell me"—Mrs. Wilbur sat up in bed and looked across
at her husband, bewildered—"what the man was talking about?"</p>
<p>"Can't you possibly think it out?" asked Charles Wilbur quietly.</p>
<p>She frowned into the darkness. "You don't mean—he teases Diana about
being goddess of the moon—" She paused.</p>
<p>"You're getting warm, dear, very warm," remarked her husband.</p>
<p>"Why, Charlie, it's impossible!" Then hotly: "He is very wise. Nothing
would induce Diana to think of him."</p>
<p>"You wouldn't like it, eh?"</p>
<p>"Why, the idea! It's an impossible idea! I was a little apprehensive at
first, when I saw how attractive he was and knew that she had been up
here alone with him so long, but I soon saw there was nothing in it, and
you should hear what Diana says—"</p>
<p>"Yes, I know young girls say a great many things besides their prayers."</p>
<p>"Well, what did you say to him when he answered you like that?" Mrs.
Wilbur's tone was tense.</p>
<p>"I told him that he might think it over, and that I should be glad to
have him come."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p><p>"Charles Wilbur!" exclaimed his wife severely. She threw off a down
cover as if minded to rise.</p>
<p>"Cover yourself up, dear. It's rather cool."</p>
<p>"But that was encouraging him, Charlie."</p>
<p>"I think he perceived it dimly. He looked at me—a long gaze—by George,
he's a good-looking boy—and he didn't say a word. Then we shook hands
and rejoined the others."</p>
<p>"You have done very wrong," declared Mrs. Wilbur, pulling back the
cover, but not lying down.</p>
<p>"What do you want for Diana, Laura? A title?"</p>
<p>"You needn't use that tone. I haven't thought out what I want for
Diana."</p>
<p>"I <i>have</i>. I want happiness for her. From the day of my arrival here, I
have seen signs. I'm a rich man, but there is one thing I can't buy for
my only child, and that is happiness. Diana is a fastidious, carefully
bred girl, unspoiled as they make 'em, yet, of course, just as liable to
fall for an infatuation as Helen Loring was."</p>
<p>"But she hasn't, she has not, Charlie," interrupted his wife
impetuously. "You don't know—"</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span></p><p>"It is you who do not know, my dear. You have been so in love with him
yourself, and so obsessed with the joy of springing him on Mrs. Coolidge
and your other musical friends, that you haven't seen what was going on
under your nose any more than if you were a dear little bat."</p>
<p>"Don't you call me a dear little bat! Diana is much more my child than
yours. A mother understands her daughter far better than the father can.
The idea of your high-handedly taking this matter into your hands
without even consulting me!"</p>
<p>"Don't get excited, Laura. I'm not forcing anything. You've had your
innings. You didn't even notice what that last song of Barrison's did to
Diana to-night."</p>
<p>"Mere emotionality. The same thing that keeps me awake after I hear him
sing. That proves nothing. It should even make you pull away from him
instead of pulling for him. You're crazy, Charles. He has hypnotized
you. The idea that a mere thrilling tenor voice and a fine figure could
make you lay down your common sense." Mrs. Wilbur's voice quavered and
she felt under her pillow for her handkerchief.</p>
<p>Her husband smiled in the darkness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> "Wait, dear. I don't care whether
Diana marries a singer or not. I want her to marry a real man. I was on
the lookout for infatuation when I saw you so captivated, and I began to
inquire into the facts. I found an all-American chap who had had a
struggle from childhood and won out over poverty and discouragement by
hitching his wagon to a star. He volunteered during the late war and was
slightly wounded. He has a clean inheritance, good muscle, and plenty of
red blood. I don't care for the blue kind, myself. In short, he is the
sort of man I am perfectly willing our daughter should marry, <i>if she
wants to</i>."</p>
<p>"I tell you—"</p>
<p>"Yes, I know. You tell me she doesn't want to. Now, I have an idea we
shall very soon learn the truth about that. Barrison has shown that he
knows how to get what he wants. In this case, I can see how our money
will stick in his crop."</p>
<p>"Ho!" from the other bed. A tremendous aspiration.</p>
<p>"Don't blow me out of the room, dearie. I know people will laugh at that
idea, but I have had lots of experience in reading character. Barrison
will have a great deal to overcome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> in his own mind. He will not feel
free to approach Diana. Perhaps, after all, the affair will amount to
nothing. All right, if it does. I'm a passenger, now that I feel sure
the boy is a clean specimen."</p>
<p>"Has it come to this!" ejaculated Mrs. Wilbur slowly. "That Diana Wilbur
is to be given to a clean specimen!"</p>
<p>"If she so desires," returned the other. "Now I'm going to ask a big
thing of you, Laura. It is not to speak to Diana on this subject until
she speaks to you. She knows nothing of my invitation to Barrison. We
can't handle the matter any further with good effect until the
principals declare themselves. You know our girl. You know it is a hall
mark of genuineness, a proof of pure metal when she likes a man or a
woman. Can't you trust her?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur was lying down now. Her husband heard a sniff or two stifled
in a pillow.</p>
<p>"I wasn't anybody when you married me, Laura," he went on gently.
"Weren't we just as happy when we economized on taking a taxi as we are
in this yacht? Our boy would be nearly twenty-three now if he had lived.
I would have liked my son to look at me with as clear eyes, to have
known as little of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>self-indulgence as Barrison. It is all up to the
children, but wouldn't there be points in being mother-in-law to that
voice, when you come to think it over?"</p>
<p>No answer, and soon Charles Wilbur completed his infamy by a long and
regular breathing that assured his wife that he was sleeping the sleep
of the unjust and the outrageous.</p>
<p>Léonie arose a few hours later to a hard day. Mrs. Wilbur had a headache
and did not leave her bed. Diana, with dark shadows under her eyes, came
in to make a dutiful visit of condolence, and was well snubbed. She
retreated to the deck, where her father was cheerfully watching the life
of the cove.</p>
<p>"Good-morning, dear," he said, turning and putting his arm around her.
"We have your mother laid out, haven't we?"</p>
<p>"Why, Daddy, what is the matter? The coördination of her nervous system
seems entirely thrown out."</p>
<p>He smiled heartlessly. "She didn't sleep much, honey. Neither did you,"
regarding her closely.</p>
<p>"No, Daddy," she replied, rather breathlessly. "I seem to be more
reposeful when the yacht is in motion."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p><p>"'Rocked in the cradle of the deep,' eh? Want to go ashore this
morning?"</p>
<p>"No, I think not. Mrs. Lowell is coming out for tea this afternoon, a
little good-bye visit."</p>
<p>"All right, then. What do you say to some cribbage?"</p>
<p>"Fine, if we cannot be of any assistance to Mamma. Are you sure?"</p>
<p>"Yes, my love. She has been drinking heavily of 'the wine of
astonishment' and must sleep it off. If there is any humble pie on
board, you might have Léonie take her some for luncheon."</p>
<p>"What are you talking about, Daddy? Poor Mamma!"</p>
<p>"Yes, she is absolutely one of the finest. I thought so when she was
eighteen, and cute, with a little turn-up nose and dimples something
like that Veronica girl, and I think so now; but the best of women must
sometimes lie by until they get a new perspective."</p>
<p>"Daddy, I don't understand you. You and Mamma have—have differed about
something, I fear."</p>
<p>"Well, it—it might be described that way. Morris,"—turning toward his
valet who was near,—"the cribbage-board, please."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p><p>Diana strove valiantly not to have a miserable day. She played cribbage
with her father until luncheon was served on deck. Then she gave orders
for her tea, and Léonie came to remind her of her promise that she might
show Bill Lindsay over the yacht. He arrived about the same time as Mrs.
Lowell, and Léonie, frightened to death of her mistress's strange mood,
besought Diana to remain with her mother while she should fulfill the
promise to her island pal, and bid him a long and racking farewell.</p>
<p>So Diana left Mrs. Lowell with her father while she ventured to her
mother's bedside and sat down, silently. A handkerchief, redolent of
cologne, covered the sufferer's eyes.</p>
<p>"Who is that?" came faintly from the blinded one.</p>
<p>"It is I, Mamma," said Diana meekly. "Are you feeling a little better?"</p>
<p>"Diana,"—the voice was still faint but stern,—"have I been a good
mother to you?"</p>
<p>"Mamma, dear, there never was a better. How can you ask?"</p>
<p>"Because no one else thinks so."</p>
<p>Diana threw herself on her knees beside the bed and took the hand that
was outside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> the rosy silk coverlet. "Dearest, I am not feeling very
well to-day and you will destroy my poise if you say such things. My
heart feels sore for some reason, so do not give it any blows. You know
how Daddy and I think there is nobody in the world like you. Daddy was
talking about it this morning and telling me how cute and pretty you
were when he first knew you,"—Diana's voice began to quaver,—"told me
about your dimples and everything, and how you were just as attractive
to him now as you had been then, and"—Diana succumbed and tears fell on
the hand she held—"and if I am ever married, Mamma,—I do so hope that
in twenty-five years afterward—he—he will feel that way about me."</p>
<p>One eye emerged from the cologne bandage and viewed the girl's lovely,
bowed head.</p>
<p>"Now, don't cry, Diana," firmly. "Why in the world should you cry? You
have a wonderful life opening before you. You've known nothing yet but
school, and I want you to spend a little time thinking of the
possibilities of the future. With your looks and the money at your
command, there is no social experience among the highest-placed and most
cultivated people abroad and at home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> that you may not enjoy. You've
heard the saying: 'Of the unspoken word you are master, the spoken word
is master of you.' It is the same with actions. You are deliberate by
nature, and exquisite by breeding. Never commit yourself to anything
impulsively. No mother would be a good mother who did not say as much as
this to you."</p>
<p>Diana experienced a sudden stricture of the heart that dried her eyes
and held her motionless over the hand she held. She knew all at once the
cause of her parents' difference. She had never in her life been able to
conceal anything from her father. She flushed deeply. Whatever he had
said to her mother must have been in Philip's favor. With thoughts,
humble, frightened, resentful, racing through her mind, she did not know
how long she had been kneeling there when Léonie came in with soft step,
and she looked up to see her mother's eye again eclipsed. She remembered
Mrs. Lowell.</p>
<p>"Léonie is here now and I must go, dearest. Mrs. Lowell has come out for
some tea. Shall Léonie bring you some?"</p>
<p>"No. I want nothing. I am feeling better, Diana. Don't distress yourself
about me."</p>
<p>The girl kissed the forehead above the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> bandage and passing Léonie saw
that her eyes, too, were red.</p>
<p>"I wonder if this day will ever be over", she thought dismally.</p>
<p>She found her father and Mrs. Lowell having a visit, charming to each of
them, and tea was served at once.</p>
<p>While they were eating and drinking, the island steamer came into the
cove and up to its landing.</p>
<p>"I suppose our delightful musician friends are leaving on that boat,"
said Mrs. Lowell. "Shan't we stand at the rail, and wave a good-bye?"</p>
<p>"No, I wouldn't," returned Diana hastily. "Everybody except the right
ones will take the greeting to themselves, and—" Indeed, she would not
wave to Philip after his cruelty in singing that song! And obeying it so
literally as not to manage one word of farewell to her alone!</p>
<p>"Little snob, eh, Mrs. Lowell?" said her father.</p>
<p>The steamer was turning around to leave.</p>
<p>"He is going!" cried Diana's heart. The whole day to have passed with no
sign from him! Cruel! Cruel! "You know, Daddy, Mrs. Lowell and I must
see something of each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> other the coming winter if only for Bert's sake.
He is related to us."</p>
<p>The passenger boat was passing near now. The yacht felt its waves. Diana
turned her eyes toward it in spite of herself. Some people were waving
handkerchiefs toward the handsome yacht, and the Captain whistled three
times. The yacht replied, and Charles Wilbur stood up and saluted.
Diana's heart beat hard and painfully. She looked back at the tea-table.</p>
<p>"Tell us, Daddy, just what relation Mr. Herbert Loring was to you."</p>
<p>"Why, it was this way. My grandmother and his mother were—"</p>
<p>Diana never knew what they were, for the island steamer was moving
toward the mouth of the cove. Handkerchiefs were waving from the stern.
It receded. It rounded the rocks at the farthest point, and disappeared.</p>
<p>"That is very interesting, indeed," said Mrs. Lowell. "I shall tell
Bert. He will be glad and proud of the connection. I have a fine boy
there, Mr. Wilbur. I am hoping my husband won't mind my taking such a
responsibility." She rose to go.</p>
<p>"You have a good ally in Luther Wrenn," remarked Mr. Wilbur, arranging
her wrap.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, and in you, I hope?"</p>
<p>"Certainly. At your service. A big responsibility awaits that youngster.
Let us hope he will grow up to be as clean-cut and simply honest as
young Barrison."</p>
<p>"You do like him, don't you?" said Mrs. Lowell with her direct look.</p>
<p>"Very much, so far. I don't know how he may carry sail in the prosperity
before him, but so far he seems to be all to the good."</p>
<p>The small boat was summoned for the guest. Bill Lindsay had gone off in
the dory that brought him. Diana went alone with her friend to the head
of the awninged stairway.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lowell saw the marks of distress in the young face, and she held
the girl's hand for a minute. "God bless you," she said, and kissed her
lovingly. "Trust Him, my dear," she added meaningly. "He is taking care
of you. Claim it and know it. Good-bye."</p>
<p>Diana watched the boat glide toward the shore. "This awful day is nearly
over," she thought. "I feel as if my good angel was going away in that
boat."</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilbur did not arise for dinner. Diana and her father ate it alone
in state. Keen to do her duty and grateful to him for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> his attitude
toward the man whom she must henceforth forget, she had dressed herself
in her prettiest gown. At twenty, pensive eyes with shadows about them
are not unbecoming, and her father looked across at her admiringly.</p>
<p>"The Count de No-Account or some other titles, should be here to-night,
my dear. The moon-goddess is too lovely to beam upon no one more
thrilling than her humdrum old daddy."</p>
<p>"As if any one could come up to him," rejoined Diana affectionately.
"You remind me of the way Mamma was talking this afternoon, of all the
possibilities money opens to a girl, abroad and at home. She did not
stop to think what a standard she had set up by marrying you."</p>
<p>Her father nodded slowly, regarding her with a curious smile. "Indeed.
So little Mamma was able to sit up with a comforter around her and show
you the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them, was she? Well,
well. Foxy little Mamma."</p>
<p>Diana blushed violently and busied herself with her salad. "I am sorry
we have to sleep in Portland harbor to-night. It won't be quiet for
Mamma."</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p><p>There were no more personalities during the meal. The girl and her
father went on deck and watched the sunset together, after which Mr.
Wilbur said he would go down and see his wife, and Diana was left alone.
She had a deeply cushioned seat moved near the yacht's rail in the
stern, and leaned back to watch the cove darken and the lights flash out
on the other boats. Her thoughts ran over a résumé of the summer. How
long the weeks stretched out in retrospect! How they had fled in
passing! Presently, the moon arose over the hill-road. She thought of
last evening when their group had welcomed it. Philip had said that
night on the rocks that he should not forget that she was as distant
from him as that planet, and he had kept his word. Not to see his merry
eyes again. Not to see the sensitiveness of his smile when he looked at
her. Not to hear him call her a goddess, not to hear him sing except as
others heard him.</p>
<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>"Only we'll sit upon the daisied grass,</div>
<div>And hear the larks, and see the swallows pass.</div>
<div>Only we'll live awhile as children play,</div>
<div>Without to-morrow, without yesterday."</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>She had heard the song all day, and her heart now felt sick and empty as
she sat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> there, that golden moon beaming down upon her alone, and
striking to silver the ripples across the cove. She leaned among her
cushions and turned her face aside. Her eyes began to smart, and she
closed them. The wind as usual had gone down with the sun, and the
awning fringes were but faintly stirred.</p>
<p>Suddenly she felt that the boat was moving. So smooth and silent its
motion, that, when she looked up, the yacht was halfway out of the cove.
She leaned forward.</p>
<p>"Oh, good-bye," she murmured, and she held out her hands toward the
wooded bank. "Good-bye. Oh, good-bye, Isola Bella. I shall always love
you, and every blade of grass, and every daisy, and every swallow."</p>
<p>Tears veiled the shadowy woods. She dashed them away, and resisted the
sob that rose in her throat. The yacht moved swiftly out into the waves
of the summer sea. It was now only the end of the wooded bluff which she
could perceive in the moonlight. She leaned back again, and, covering
her eyes, relaxed, holding her quivering lip between her teeth.</p>
<p>A neighboring movement made her look up, expecting her father.</p>
<p>Philip Barrison stood there.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p><p>She caught her breath. "It is impossible!" she gasped.</p>
<p>"Yes, it is." He took her outstretched hands and sank down beside her.
"It is a midsummer night's dream; but I couldn't—I tried, Diana, but I
couldn't resist. Your father asked me—said I might come—even at the
last minute." At each pause Philip kissed the hands he was holding. "Are
you—that is the one vital question—are you glad I came, my goddess?"</p>
<p>The look she gave him in the moonlight made him take her quickly in his
arms, and she sank into them with the certainty of the bird that finds
its nest.</p>
<p>"I don't know how I dared this, Diana,—dared the future, I mean. How
can I be the right one to win the prize of the whole world?"</p>
<p>"Because you are the only man in the whole world for me, and you felt
it, and I felt it. Oh, Philip, I won't be so selfish as in the way I
have talked to you. I am never going to grudge that others should admire
you."</p>
<p>"No, you never will," he answered. "The sparkle of what others may say
is like the phosphorescence down there in the unlighted places. The
radiance and glow filling my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> whole being now is an eternal thing. I
can't believe it yet, it will take me a long time to believe it, but,
oh, my beautiful one, I wish, I do wish you were a poor girl!"</p>
<p>She lifted her head from his breast, looking at him with glorified eyes.
"I should be," she said slowly, "if you did not love me—Philomel."</p>
<p>They kissed, and the moon shone down on the beaten foam of the snowy
wake in a long, ineffable silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p>
<p class="center">The Riverside Press<br />CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS<br />U · S · A</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52110 ***</div>
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