KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG

By Joseph C. Lincoln

1914

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. Which is not a chapter at all

II. Which repeats, for the most part, what Jim Campbell said to me and what I said to him

III. Which, although it is largely family history, should not be skipped by the reader

IV. In which Hephzy and I and the Plutonia sail together

V. In which we view, and even mingle slightly with, the upper classes

VI. In which we are received at Bancroft's Hotel and I receive a letter

VII. In which a dream becomes a reality

VIII. In which the pilgrims become tenants

IX. In which we make the acquaintance of Mayberry and a portion of Burgleston Bogs

X. In which I break all previous resolutions and make a new one

XI. In which complications become more complicated

XII. In which the truth is told at last

XIII. In which Hephzy and I agree to live for each other

XIV. In which I play golf and cross the channel

XV. In which I learn that all abbeys are not churches

XVI. In which I take my turn at playing the invalid

XVII. In which I, as well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, am surprised

XVIII. In which the pilgrimage ends where it began

XIX. Which treats of quahaugs in general

KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG

CHAPTER I

Which is Not a Chapter at All

It was Asaph Tidditt who told me how to begin this history. Perhaps Ishould be very much obliged to Asaph; perhaps I shouldn't. He has gottenme out of a difficulty--or into one; I am far from certain which. 

Ordinarily--I am speaking now of the writing of swashbucklingromances, which is, or was, my trade--I swear I never have called ita profession--the beginning of a story is the least of the troublesconnected with its manufacture. Given a character or two and asituation, the beginning of one of those romances is, or was, prettylikely to be something like this:

"It was a black night. Heavy clouds had obscured the setting sun andnow, as the clock in the great stone tower boomed twelve, the darknesswas pitchy. "

That is a good safe beginning. Midnight, a stone tower, a booming clock, and darkness make an appeal to the imagination. On a night like thatalmost anything may happen. A reader of one of my romances--andreaders there must be, for the things did, and still do, sell to someextent--might be fairly certain that something WOULD happen before theend of the second page. After that the somethings continued to happen asfast as I could invent them. 

But this story was different. The weather or the time had nothing to dowith its beginning. There were no solitary horsemen or strange wayfarerson lonely roads, no unexpected knocks at the doors of taverns, nocloaked personages landing from boats rowed by black-browed seamen withred handkerchiefs knotted about their heads and knives in theirbelts. The hero was not addressed as "My Lord"; he was not "SirSomebody-or-other" in disguise. He was not young and handsome; there wasnot even "a certain something in his manner and bearing which hinted ofan eventful past. " Indeed there was not. For, if this particular yarn orhistory or chronicle which I had made up my mind to write, and which Iam writing now, had or has a hero, I am he. And I am Hosea Kent Knowles, of Bayport, Massachusetts, the latter the village in which I was bornand in which I have lived most of the time since I was twenty-sevenyears old. Nobody calls me "My Lord. " Hephzy has always called me"Hosy"--a name which I despise--and the others, most of them, "Kent" tomy face and "The Quahaug" behind my back, a quahaug being a very commonform of clam which is supposed to lead a solitary existence and tokeep its shell tightly shut. If anything in my manner had hinted at amysterious past no one in Bayport would have taken the hint. Bayportersknow my past and that of my ancestors only too well. 

As for being young and handsome--well, I was thirty-eight years old lastMarch. Which is quite enough on THAT subject. 

But I had determined to write the story, so I sat down to begin it. Andimmediately I got into difficulties. How should I begin? I might beginat any one of a dozen places--with Hephzy's receiving the Raymond andWhitcomb circular; with our arrival in London; with Jim Campbell's visitto me here in Bayport; with the curious way in which the letter reachedus, after crossing the ocean twice. Any one of these might serve as abeginning--but which? I made I don't know how many attempts, but notone was satisfactory. I, who had begun I am ashamed to tell you how manystories--yes, and had finished them and seen them in print as well--wasstumped at the very beginning of this one. Like Sim Phinney I hadworked at my job "a long spell" and "cal'lated" I knew it, but herewas something I didn't know. As Sim said, when he faced his problem, "Icouldn't seem to get steerage way on her. "

Simeon, you see--He is Angeline Phinney's second cousin and lives inthe third house beyond the Holiness Bethel on the right-hand side of theroad--Simeon has "done carpentering" here in Bayport all his life. Hebuilt practically every henhouse now gracing or disgracing the backyardsof our village. He is our "henhouse specialist, " so to speak. He haseven been known to boast of his skill. "Henhouses!" snorted Sim; "landof love! I can build a henhouse with my eyes shut. Nowadays when anotherone of them foolheads that's been readin' 'How to Make a Million PoultryRaisin'' in the Farm Gazette comes to me and says 'Henhouse, ' I say, 'Yes sir. Fifteen dollars if you pay me cash now and a hundred andfifteen if you want to wait and pay me out of your egg profits. That'sall there is to it. '"

And yet, when Captain Darius Nickerson, who made the most of his moneyselling fifty-foot lots of sand, beachgrass and ticks to summerpeople for bungalow sites--when Captain Darius, grown purse-proud andvainglorious, expressed a desire for a henhouse with a mansard roof anda cupola, the latter embellishments to match those surmounting his owndwelling, Simeon was set aback with his canvas flapping. At the end ofa week he had not driven a nail. "Godfrey's mighty!" he is reported tohave exclaimed. "I don't know whether to build the average cupola andtrust to a hen's fittin' it, or take an average hen and build a cupolaround her. Maybe I'll be all right after I get started, but it's whereto start that beats me. "

Where to start beat me, also, and it might be beating me yet, if Ihadn't dropped in at the post-office and heard Asaph Tidditt tellinga story to the group around the stove. After he had finished, and, the mail being sorted, we were walking homeward together, I asked aquestion. 

"Asaph, " said I, "when you start to spin a yarn how do you begin?"

"Hey?" he exclaimed. "How do I begin? Why, I just heave to and go towork and begin, that's all. "

"Yes, I know, but where do you begin?"

"At the beginnin', naturally. If you was cal'latin' to sail a boat raceyou wouldn't commence at t'other end of the course, would you?"

"_I_ might; practical people wouldn't, I suppose. But--what IS thebeginning? Suppose there were a lot of beginnings and you didn't knowwhich to choose. "

"Oh, we-ll, in that case I'd just sort of--of edge around till I foundone that--that was a beginnin' of SOMETHIN' and I'd start there. Youunderstand, don't you? Take that yarn I was spinnin' just now--that oneabout Josiah Dimick's great uncle's pig on his mother's side. I meanhis uncle on his mother's side, not the pig, of course. Now I hadn't nointention of tellin' about that hog; hadn't thought of it for a thousandyear, as you might say. I just commenced to tell about Angie Phinney, about how fast she could talk, and that reminded me of a parrotthat belonged to Sylvanus Cahoon's sister--Violet, the sister's namewas--loony name, too, if you ask ME, 'cause she was a plaguey sightnigher bein' a sunflower than she was a violet--weighed two hundred andten and had a face on her as red as--"

"Just a minute, Ase. About that pig?"

"Oh, yes! Well, the pig reminded me of Violet's parrot and the parrotreminded me of a Plymouth Rock rooster I had that used to roost in thepigpen nights--wouldn't use the henhouse no more'n you nor I would--andthat, naturally, made me think of pigs, and pigs fetched Josiah'suncle's pig to mind and there I was all ready to start on the yarn. Itpretty often works out that way. When you want to start a yarn and youcan't start--you've forgot it, or somethin'--just begin somewhere, getgoin' somehow. Edge around and keep edgin' around and pretty soon you'llfetch up at the right place TO start. See, don't you, Kent?"

I saw--that is, I saw enough. I came home and this morning I began the"edging around" process. I don't seem to have "fetched up" anywhere inparticular, but I shall keep on with the edging until I do. As Asaphsays, I must begin somewhere, so I shall begin with the Saturday morningof last April when Jim Campbell, my publisher and my friend--which isby no means such an unusual combination as many people think--sat on theveranda of my boathouse overlooking Cape Cod Bay and discussed my past, present and, more particularly, my future. 

CHAPTER II

Which Repeats, for the Most Part, What Jim Campbell Said to Me and WhatI Said to Him

"Jim, " said I, "what is the matter with me?"

Jim, who was seated in the ancient and dilapidated arm-chair whichwas the finest piece of furniture in the boathouse and which I alwaysoffered to visitors, looked at me over the collar of my sweater. I usedthe sweater as I did the arm-chair when I did not have visitors. He wasusing it then because, like an idiot, he had come to Cape Cod in Aprilwith nothing warmer than a very natty suit and a light overcoat. Ofcourse one may go clamming and fishing in a light overcoat, but--onedoesn't. 

Jim looked at me over the collar of my sweater. Then he crossedhis oilskinned and rubber-booted legs--they were my oilskins and myboots--and answered promptly. 

"Indigestion, " he said. "You ate nine of those biscuits this morning; Isaw you. "

"I did not, " I retorted, "because you saw them first. MY interior is inits normal condition. As for yours--"

"Mine, " he interrupted, filling his pipe from my tobacco pouch, "beingaccustomed to a breakfast, not a gorge, is abnormal but satisfactory, thank you--quite satisfactory. "

"That, " said I, "we will discuss later, when I have you out back of thebar in my catboat. Judging from present indications there will be somesea-running. The 'Hephzy' is a good, capable craft, but a bit cranky, like the lady she is named for. I imagine she will roll. "

He didn't like that. You see, I had sailed with him before and Iremembered. 

"Ho-se-a, " he drawled, "you have a vivid imagination. It is a pity youdon't use more of it in those stories of yours. "

"Humph! I am obliged to use the most of it on the royalty statements yousend me. If you call me 'Hosea' again I will take the 'Hephzy' acrossthe Point Rip. The waves there are fifteen feet high at low tide. Seehere, I asked you a serious question and I should like a serious answer. Jim, what IS the matter with me? Have I written out or what is thetrouble?"

He looked at me again. 

"Are you in earnest?" he asked. 

"I am, very much in earnest. "

"And you really want to talk shop after a breakfast like that and on amorning like this?"

"I do. "

"Was that why you asked me to come to Bayport and spend the week-end?"

"No-o. No, of course not. "

"You're another; it was. When you met me at the railroad stationyesterday I could see there was something wrong with you. All thismorning you've had something on your chest. I thought it was thebiscuits, of course; but it wasn't, eh?"

"It was not. "

"Then what was it? Aren't we paying you a large enough royalty?"

"You are paying me a good deal larger one than I deserve. I don't seewhy you do it. "

"Oh, " with a wave of the hand, "that's all right. The publishing ofbooks is a pure philanthropy. We are in business for our health, and--"

"Shut up. You know as well as I do that the last two yarns of mine whichyour house published have not done as well as the others. "

I had caught him now. Anything remotely approaching a reflection uponthe business house of which he was the head was sufficient to stirup Jim Campbell. That business, its methods and its success, were hisidols. 

"I don't know any such thing, " he protested, hotly. "We sold--"

"Hang the sale! You sold quite enough. It is an everlasting miracleto me that you are able to sell a single copy. Why a self-respectingperson, possessed of any intelligence whatever, should wish to read thestuff I write, to say nothing of paying money for the privilege, I can'tunderstand. "

"You don't have to understand. No one expects an author to understandanything. All you are expected to do is to write; we'll attend to therest of it. And as for sales--why, 'The Black Brig'--that was the lastone, wasn't it?--beat the 'Omelet' by eight thousand or more. "

"The Omelet" was our pet name for "The Queen's Amulet, " my first offencein the literary line. It was a highly seasoned concoction of revolutionand adventure in a mythical kingdom where life was not dull, to say theleast. The humblest character in it was a viscount. Living in Bayporthad, naturally, made me familiar with the doings of viscounts. 

"Eight thousand more than the last isn't so bad, is it?" demanded JimCampbell combatively. 

"It isn't. It is astonishingly good. It is the books themselves thatare bad. The 'Omelet' was bad enough, but I wrote it more as a joke thananything else. I didn't take it seriously at all. Every time I calleda duke by his Christian name I grinned. But nowadays I don't grin--Iswear. I hate the things, Jim. They're no good. And the reviewers arebeginning to tumble to the fact that they're no good, too. You saw thepress notices yourself. 'Another Thriller by the Indefatigable Knowles''Barnacles, Buccaneers and Blood, not to Mention Beauty and theBourbons. ' That's the way two writers headed their articles about 'TheBlack Brig. ' And a third said that I must be getting tired; I wrote asif I was. THAT fellow was right. I am tired, Jim. I'm tired and sickof writing slush. I can't write any more of it. And yet I can't writeanything else. "

Jim's pipe had gone out. Now he relit it and tossed the match over theveranda rail. 

"How do you know you can't?" he demanded. 

"Can't what?"

"Can't write anything but slush?"

"Ah ha! Then it is slush. You admit it. "

"I don't admit anything of the kind. You may not be a WilliamShakespeare or even a George Meredith, but you have written some mightyinteresting stories. Why, I know a chap who sits up till morning tofinish a book of yours. Can't sleep until he has finished it. "

"What's the matter with him; insomnia?"

"No; he's a night watchman. Does that satisfy you, you crossgrainedold shellfish? Come on, let's dig clams--some of your own bloodrelations--and forget it. "

"I don't want to forget it and there is plenty of time for clamming. Thetide won't cover the flats for two hours yet. I tell you I'm serious, Jim. I can't write any more. I know it. The stuff I've been writingmakes me sick. I hate it, I tell you. What the devil I'm going to do fora living I can't see--but I can't write another story. "

Jim put his pipe in his pocket. I think at last he was convinced that Imeant what I said, which I certainly did. The last year had been a yearof torment to me. I had finished the 'Brig, ' as a matter of duty, but ifthat piratical craft had sunk with all hands, including its creator, Ishould not have cared. I drove myself to my desk each day, as a horsemight be driven to a treadmill, but the animal could have taken no lessinterest in his work than I had taken in mine. It was bad--bad--bad;worthless and hateful. There wasn't a new idea in it and I hadn't onein my head. I, who had taken up writing as a last resort, a gamble whichmight, on a hundred-to-one chance, win where everything else had failed, had now reached the point where that had failed, too. Campbell's surmisewas correct; with the pretence of asking him to the Cape for aweek-end of fishing and sailing I had lured him there to tell him of mydiscouragement and my determination to quit. 

He took his feet from the rail and hitched his chair about until hefaced me. 

"So you're not going to write any more, " he said. 

"I'm not. I can't. "

"What are you going to do; live on back royalties and clams?"

"I may have to live on the clams; my back royalties won't keep me verylong. "

"Humph! I should think they might keep you a good while down here. Youmust have something in the stocking. You can't have wasted very much inriotous living on this sand-heap. What have you done with your money, for the last ten years; been leading a double life?"

"I've found leading a single one hard enough. I have saved something, ofcourse. It isn't the money that worries me, Jim; I told you that. It'smyself; I'm no good. Every author, sometime or other, reaches the pointwhere he knows perfectly well he has done all the real work he canever do, that he has written himself out. That's what's the matter withme--I'm written out. "

Jim snorted. "For Heaven's sake, Kent Knowles, " he demanded, "how oldare you?"

"I'm thirty-eight, according to the almanac, but--"

"Thirty-eight! Why, Thackeray wrote--"

"Drop it! I know when Thackeray wrote 'Vanity Fair' as well as you do. I'm no Thackeray to begin with, and, besides, I am older at thirty-eightthan he was when he died--yes, older than he would have been if he hadlived twice as long. So far as feeling and all the rest of it go, I'm asecond Methusaleh. "

"My soul! hear the man! And I'm forty-two myself. Well, Grandpa, what doyou expect me to do; get you admitted to the Old Man's Home?"

"I expect--" I began, "I expect--" and I concluded with the lameadmission that I didn't expect him to do anything. It was up to me to dowhatever must be done, I imagined. 

He smiled grimly. 

"Glad your senility has not affected that remnant of your common-sense, "he declared. "You're dead right, my boy; it IS up to you. You ought tobe ashamed of yourself. "

"I am, but that doesn't help me a whole lot. "

"Nothing will help you as long as you think and speak as you have thismorning. See here, Kent! answer me a question or two, will you? They maybe personal questions, but will you answer them?"

"I guess so. There has been what a disinterested listener might calla slightly personal flavor to your remarks so far. Do your worst. Fireaway. "

"All right. You've lived in Bayport ten years or so, I know that. Whathave you done in all that time--besides write?"

"Well, I've continued to live. "

"Doubted. You've continued to exist; but how? I've been here before. This isn't my first visit, by a good deal. Each time I have beenhere your daily routine--leaving out the exciting clam hunts and theexcursions in quest of the ferocious flounder, like the one we'resupposed--mind, I say supposed--to be on at the present moment--youhave put in the day about like this: Get up, bathe, eat, walk to thepost-office, walk home, sit about, talk a little, read some, walk somemore, eat again, smoke, talk, read, eat for the third time, smoke, talk, read and go to bed. That's the program, isn't it?"

"Not exactly. I play tennis in summer--when there is anyone to play withme--and golf, after a fashion. I used to play both a good deal, when Iwas younger. I swim, and I shoot a little, and--and--"

"How about society? Have any, do you?"

"In the summer, when the city people are here, there is a good dealgoing on, if you care for it--picnics and clam bakes and teas and lawnparties and such. "

"Heavens! what reckless dissipation! Do you indulge?"

"Why, no--not very much. Hang it all, Jim! you know I'm no society man. I used to do the usual round of fool stunts when I was younger, but--"

"But now you're too antique, I suppose. Wonder that someone hasn'tcollected you as a genuine Chippendale or something. So you don't 'tea'much?"

"Not much. I'm not often invited, to tell you the truth. The summercrowd doesn't take kindly to me, I'm afraid. "

"Astonishing! You're such a chatty, entertaining, communicative cuss onfirst acquaintance, too. So captivatingly loquacious to strangers. I canimagine how you'd shine at a 'tea. ' Every summer girl that tried to talkto you would be frost-bitten. Do you accept invitations when they docome?"

"Not often nowadays. You see, I know they don't really want me. "

"How do you know it?"

"Why--well, why should they? Everybody else calls me--"

"They call you a clam and so you try to live up to your reputation. Iknow you, Kent. You think yourself a tough old bivalve, but the mostserious complaint you suffer from is ingrowing sensitiveness. They dowant you. They'd invite you if you gave them half a chance. Oh, I knowyou won't, of course; but if I had my way I'd have you dragged by mainstrength to every picnic and tea and feminine talk-fest within twentymiles. You might meet some persevering female who would proposemarriage. YOU never would, but SHE might. "

I rose to my feet in disgust. 

"We'll go clamming, " said I. 

He did not move. 

"We will--later on, " he answered. "We haven't got to the last pageof the catechism yet. I mentioned matrimony because a good, capable, managing wife would be my first prescription in your case. I have oneor two more up my sleeve. Tell me this: How often do you get away fromBayport? How often do you get to--well, to Boston, we'll say? How manytimes have you been there in the last year?"

"I don't know. A dozen, perhaps. "

"What did you do when you went?"

"Various things. Shopped some, went to the theater occasionally, ifthere happened to be anything on that I cared to see. Bought a good manybooks. Saw the new Sargent pictures at the library. And--and--"

"And shook hands with your brother fossils at the museum, I suppose. Wild life you lead, Kent. Did you visit anybody? Meet any friends oracquaintances--any live ones?"

"Not many. I haven't many friends, Jim; you know that. As for the wildlife--well, I made two visits to New York this year. "

"Yes, " drily; "and we saw Sothern and Marlowe and had dinner at theHolland. The rest of the time we talked shop. That was the first visit. The second was more exciting still; we talked shop ALL the time and youtook the six o'clock train home again. "

"You're wrong there. I saw the new loan collections at the Metropolitanand heard Ysaye play at Carnegie Hall. I didn't start for home until thenext day. "

"Is that so. That's news to me. You said you were going that afternoon. That was to put the kibosh on my intention of taking you home to my wifeand her bridge party, I suppose. Was it?"

"Well--well, you see, Jim, I--I don't play bridge and I AM such astick in a crowd like that. I wanted to stay and you were mighty kind, but--but--"

"All right. All right, my boy. Next time it will be Bustanoby's, theWinter Garden and a three A. M. Cabaret for yours. My time is coming. Now--Well, now we'll go clamming. "

He swung out of the arm-chair and walked to the top of the steps leadingdown to the beach. I was surprised, of course; I have known Jim Campbella long time, but he can surprise me even yet. 

"Here! hold on!" I protested. "How about the rest of that catechism?"

"You've had it. "

"Were those all the questions you wanted to ask?"

"Yes. "

"Humph! And that is all the advice and encouragement I'm to get fromyou! How about those prescriptions you had up your sleeve?"

"You'll get those by and by. Before I leave this gay and festive sceneto-morrow I'm going to talk to you, Ho-se-a. And you're going to listen. You'll listen to old Doctor Campbell; HE'LL prescribe for you, don'tyou worry. And now, " beginning to descend the steps, "now for clams andflounders. "

"And the Point Rip, " I added, maliciously, for his frivolous treatmentof what was to me a very serious matter, was disappointing andprovoking. "Don't forget the Point Rip. "

We dug the clams--they were for bait--we boarded the "Hephzy, " sailedout to the fishing grounds, and caught flounders. I caught the most ofthem; Jim was not interested in fishing during the greater part of thetime. Then we sailed home again and walked up to the house. Hephzibah, for whom my boat is named, met us at the back door. As usual hergreeting was not to the point and practical. 

"Leave your rubber boots right outside on the porch, " she said. "Here, give me those flatfish; I'll take care of 'em. Hosy, you'll find drythings ready in your room. Here's your shoes; I've been warmin' 'em. Mr. Campbell I've put a suit of Hosy's and some flannels on your bed. Theymay not fit you, but they'll be lots better than the damp ones you'vegot on. You needn't hurry; dinner won't be ready till you are. "

I did not say anything; I knew Hephzy--had known her all my life. Jim, who, naturally enough, didn't know her as well, protested. 

"We're not wet, Miss Cahoon, " he declared. "At least, I'm not, and Idon't see how Kent can be. We both wore oilskins. "

"That doesn't make any difference. You ought to change your clothesanyhow. Been out in that boat, haven't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"Well, then! Don't say another word. I'll have a fire in thesittin'-room and somethin' hot ready when you come down. Hosy, besure and put on BOTH the socks I darned for you. Don't get thinkin' ofsomethin' else and come down with one whole and one holey, same as youdid last time. You must excuse me, Mr. Campbell. I've got saleratusbiscuits in the oven. "

She hastened into the kitchen. When Jim and I, having obeyed ordersto the extent of leaving our boots on the porch, passed through thatkitchen she was busy with the tea-kettle. I led the way through thedining-room and up the front stairs. My visitor did not speak until wereached the second story. Then he expressed his feelings. 

"Say, Kent" he demanded, "are you going to change your clothes?"

"Yes. "

"Why? You're no wetter than I am, are you?"

"Not a bit, but I'm going to change, just the same. It's the easierway. "

"It is, is it! What's the other way?"

"The other way is to keep on those you're wearing and take theconsequences. "

"What consequences?"

"Jamaica ginger, hot water bottles and an afternoon's roast in front ofthe sitting-room fire. Hephzibah went out sailing with me last Octoberand caught cold. That was enough; no one else shall have the experienceif she can help it. "

"But--but good heavens! Kent, do you mean to say you always have tochange when you come in from sailing?"

"Except in summer, yes. "

"But why?"

"Because Hephzy tells me to. "

"Do you always do what she tells you?"

"Generally. It's the easiest way, as I said before. "

"Good--heavens! And she darns your socks and tells you what--er lingerieto wear and--does she wash your face and wipe your nose and scrub behindyour ears?"

"Not exactly, but she probably would if I didn't do it. "

"Well, I'll be hanged! And she extends the same treatment to all yourguests?"

"I don't have any guests but you. No doubt she would if I did. Shemothers every stray cat and sick chicken in the neighborhood. There, Jim, you trot along and do as you're told like a nice little boy. I'lljoin you in the sitting-room. "

"Humph! perhaps I'd better. I may be spanked and put to bed if I don't. Well, well! and you are the author of 'The Black Brig!' 'Buccaneers andBlood!' 'Bibs and Butterscotch' it should be! Don't stand out here inthe cold hall, Hosy darling; you may get the croup if you do. "

I was waiting in the sitting-room when he came down. There was a roaringfire in the big, old-fashioned fireplace. That fireplace had beenbricked up in the days when people used those abominations, stoves. As aboy I was well acquainted with the old "gas burner" with the iron urnon top and the nickeled ornaments and handles which Mother polished soassiduously. But the gas burner had long since gone to the junk dealer. Among the improvements which my first royalty checks made possible weresteam heat and the restoration of the fireplace. 

Jim found me sitting before the fire in one of the two big "wing" chairswhich I had purchased when Darius Barlay's household effects were soldat auction. I should not have acquired them as cheaply if Captain CyrusWhittaker had been at home when the auction took place. Captain Cy lovesold-fashioned things as much as I do and, as he has often told me since, he meant to land those chairs some day if he had to run his bank accounthigh and dry in consequence. But the Captain and his wife--who used tobe Phoebe Dawes, our school-teacher here in Bayport--were away visitingtheir adopted daughter, Emily, who is married and living in Boston, andI got the chairs. 

At the Barclay auction I bought also the oil painting of the bark"Freedom"--a command of Captain Elkanah Barclay, uncle of the lateDarius--and the set--two volumes missing--of The Spectator, bound insheepskin. The "Freedom" is depicted "Entering the Port of Genoa, July10th, 1848, " and if the port is somewhat wavy and uncertain, thebark's canvas and rigging are definite and rigid enough to make up. The Spectator set is chiefly remarkable for its marginal notes; CaptainElkanah bought the books in London and read and annotated at spareintervals during subsequent voyages. His opinions were decided and hisnotes nautical and emphatic. Hephzibah read a few pages of thenotes when the books first came into the house and then went toprayer-meeting. As she had announced her intention of remaining at homethat evening I was surprised--until I read them myself. 

Jim came downstairs, arrayed in the suit which Hephzy had laid out forhim. I made no comment upon his appearance. To do so would have beensuperfluous; he looked all the comments necessary. 

I waved my hand towards the unoccupied wing chair and he sat down. Twoglasses, one empty and the other half full of a steaming mixture, wereon the little table beside us. 

"Help yourself, Jim, " I said, indicating the glasses. He took up the onecontaining the mixture and regarded it hopefully. 

"What?" he asked. 

"A Cahoon toddy, " said I. "Warranted to keep off chills, rheumatism, lumbago and kindred miseries. Good for what ails you. Don't wait; I'vehad mine. "

He took a sniff and then a very small sip. His face expressed genuineemotion. 

"Whew!" he gasped, choking. "What in blazes--?"

"Jamaica ginger, sugar and hot water, " I explained blandly. "Itwon't hurt you--longer than five minutes. It is Hephzy's invariableprescription. "

"Good Lord! Did you drink yours?"

"No--I never do, unless she watches me. "

"But your glass is empty. What did you do with it?"

"Emptied it behind the back log. Of course, if you prefer to drink it--"

"Drink it!" His "toddy" splashed the back log, causing a tremendoussizzle. 

Before he could relieve his mind further, Hephzy appeared to announcethat dinner was ready if we were. We were, most emphatically, so we wentinto the dining-room. 

Hephzy and Jim did most of the talking during the meal. I had talkedmore that forenoon than I had for a week--I am not a chatty person, ordinarily, which, in part, explains my nickname--and I was very willingto eat and listen. Hephzy, who was garbed in her best gown--best weekdaygown, that is; she kept her black silk for Sundays--talked a good deal, mostly about dreams and presentiments. Susanna Wixon, Tobias Wixon'soldest daughter, waited on table, when she happened to think of it, andlistened when she did not. Susanna had been hired to do the waiting andthe dish-washing during Campbell's brief visit. It was I who hiredher. If I had had my way she would have been a permanent fixture in thehousehold, but Hephzy scoffed at the idea. "Pity if I can't do houseworkfor two folks, " she declared. "I don't care if you can afford it. Keepin' hired help in a family no bigger than this, is a sinfulextravagance. " As Susanna's services had been already engaged for theweekend she could not discharge her, but she insisted on doing all thecooking herself. 

Her conversation, as I said, dealt mainly with dreams and presentiments. Hephzibah is not what I should call a superstitious person. She doesn'tbelieve in "signs, " although she might feel uncomfortable if she broke alooking-glass or saw the new moon over her left shoulder. She has a mostamazing fund of common-sense and is "down" on Spiritualism to a degree. It is one of Bayport's pet yarns, that at the Harniss Spiritualistcamp-meeting when the "test medium" announced from the platform that hehad a message for a lady named Hephzibah C--he "seemed to get the nameHephzibah C"--Hephzy got up and walked out. "Any dead relations I'vegot, " she declared, "who send messages through a longhaired idiot likethat one up there"--meaning the medium, --"can't have much to say that'sworth listenin' to. They can talk to themselves if they want to, butthey shan't waste MY time. "

In but one particular was Hephzy superstitious. Whenever she dreamed of"Little Frank" she was certain something was going to happen. She haddreamed of "Little Frank" the night before and, if she had not beenheaded off, she would have talked of nothing else. 

"I saw him just as plain as I see you this minute, Hosy, " she said tome. "I was somewhere, in a strange place--a foreign place, I should say'twas--and there I saw him. He didn't know me; at least I don't think hedid. "

"Considering that he never saw you that isn't so surprising, " Iinterrupted. "I think Mr. Campbell would have another cup of coffee ifyou urged him. Susanna, take Mr. Campbell's cup. "

Jim declined the coffee; said he hadn't finished his first cup yet. Iknew that, of course, but I was trying to head off Hephzy. She refusedto be headed, just then. 

"But I knew HIM, " she went on. "He looked just the same as he has whenI've seen him before--in the other dreams, you know. The very image ofhis mother. Isn't it wonderful, Hosy!"

"Yes; but don't resurrect the family skeletons, Hephzy. Mr. Campbellisn't interested in anatomy. "

"Skeletons! I don't know what you're talkin' about. He wasn't askeleton. I saw him just as plain! And I said to myself, 'It's littleFrank!' Now what do you suppose he came to me for? What do you supposeit means? It means somethin', I know that. "

"Means that you weren't sleeping well, probably, " I answered. "Jim, here, will dream of cross-seas and the Point Rip to-night, I have nodoubt. "

Jim promptly declared that if he thought that likely he shouldn't mindso much. What he feared most was a nightmare session with an author. 

Hephzibah was interested at once. "Oh, do you dream about authors, Mr. Campbell?" she demanded. "I presume likely you do, they're so mixed upwith your business. Do your dreams ever come true?"

"Not often, " was the solemn reply. "Most of my dream-authors arerational and almost human. "

Hephzy, of course, did not understand this, but it did have the effectfor which I had been striving, that of driving "Little Frank" from hermind for the time. 

"I don't care, " she declared, "I s'pose it's awful foolish and silly ofme, but it does seem sometimes as if there was somethin' in dreams, somekind of dreams. Hosy laughs at me and maybe I ought to laugh at myself, but some dreams come true, or awfully near to true; now don't they. Angeline Phinney was in here the other day and she was tellin' about hersecond cousin that was--he's dead now--Abednego Small. He was constablehere in Bayport for years; everybody called him 'Uncle Bedny. ' UncleBedny had been keepin' company with a woman named Dimick--JosiahDimick's niece--lots younger than he, she was. He'd been thinkin' ofmarryin' her, so Angie said, but his folks had been talkin' to him, tellin' him he was too old to take such a young woman for his thirdwife, so he had made up his mind to throw her over, to write a lettersayin' it was all off between 'em. Well, he'd begun the letter buthe never finished it, for three nights runnin' he dreamed that awfultrouble was hangin' over him. That dream made such an impression on himthat he tore the letter up and married the Dimick woman after all. Andthen--I didn't know this until Angie told me--it turned out that shehad heard he was goin' to give her the go-by and had made all herarrangements to sue him for breach of promise if he did. That was theawful trouble, you see, and the dream saved him from it. "

I smiled. "The fault there was in the interpretation of the dream, " Isaid. "The 'awful trouble' of the breach of promise suit wouldn't havebeen a circumstance to the trouble poor Uncle Bedny got into by marryingAnn Dimick. THAT trouble lasted till he died. "

Hephzibah laughed and said she guessed that was so, she hadn't thoughtof it in that way. 

"Probably dreams are all nonsense, " she admitted. "Usually, I don't paymuch attention to 'em. But when I dream of poor 'Little Frank, ' away offthere, I--"

"Come into the sitting-room, Jim, " I put in hastily. "I have a cigar ortwo there. I don't buy them in Bayport, either. "

"And who, " asked Jim, as we sat smoking by the fire, "is Little Frank?"

"He is a mythical relative of ours, " I explained, shortly. "He was borntwenty years ago or so--at least we heard that he was; and we haven'theard anything of him since, except by the dream route, which is notentirely convincing. He is Hephzy's pet obsession. Kindly forget him, tooblige me. "

He looked puzzled, but he did not mention "Little Frank" again, forwhich I was thankful. 

That afternoon we walked up to the village, stopping in at Simmons'sstore, which is also the post-office, for the mail. Captain CyrusWhittaker happened to be there, also Asaph Tidditt and Bailey Bangs andSylvanus Cahoon and several others. I introduced Campbell to the crowdand he seemed to be enjoying himself. When we came out and were walkinghome again, he observed:

"That Whittaker is an interesting chap, isn't he?"

"Yes, " I said. "He is all right. Been everywhere and seen everything. "

"And that, " with an odd significance in his tone, "may possibly help tomake him interesting, don't you think?"

"I suppose so. He lives here in Bayport now, though. "

"So I gathered. Popular, is he?"

"Very. "

"Satisfied with life?"

"Seems to be. "

"Hum! No one calls HIM a--what is it--quahaug?"

"No, I'm the only human clam in this neighborhood. "

He did not say any more, nor did I. My fit of the blues was on againand his silence on the subject in which I was interested, my work and myfuture, troubled me and made me more despondent. I began to lose faithin the "prescription" which he had promised so emphatically. How couldhe, or anyone else, help me? No one could write my stories but myself, and I knew, only too well, that I could not write them. 

The only mail matter in our box was a letter addressed to Hephzibah. I forgot it until after supper and then I gave it to her. Jim retiredearly; the salt air made him sleepy, so he said, and he went upstairsshortly after nine. He had not mentioned our talk of the morning, nordid he until I left him at the door of his room. Then he said:

"Kent, I've got one of the answers to your conundrum. I've diagnosed oneof your troubles. You're blind. "

"Blind?"

"Yes, blind. Or, if not blind altogether you're suffering from the worsecase of far-sightedness I ever saw. All your literary--we'll call itthat for compliment's sake--all your literary life you've spent writingabout people and things so far off you don't know anything about them. You and your dukes and your earls and your titled ladies! What do youknow of that crowd? You never saw a lord in your life. Why don't youwrite of something near by, something or somebody you are acquaintedwith?"

"Acquainted with! You're crazy, man. What am I acquainted with, exceptthis house, and myself and my books and--and Bayport?"

"That's enough. Why, there is material in that gang at the post-officeto make a dozen books. Write about them. "

"Tut! tut! tut! You ARE crazy. What shall I write; the life of AseTidditt in four volumes, beginning with 'I swan to man' and ending with'By godfrey'?"

"You might do worse. If the book were as funny as its hero I'd undertaketo sell a few copies. "

"Funny! _I_ couldn't write a funny book. "

"Not an intentionally funny one, you mean. But there! There's no use totalk to you. "

"There is not, if you talk like an imbecile. Is this your brilliant'prescription'?"

"No. It might be; it would be, if you would take it, but you won't--notnow. You need something else first and I'll give it to you. But I'lltell you this, and I mean it: Downstairs, in that dining-room of yours, there's one mighty good story, at least. "

"The dining-room? A story in the dining-room?"

"Yes. Or it was there when we passed the door just now. "

I looked at him. He seemed to be serious, but I knew he was not. I hateriddles. 

"Oh, go to blazes!" I retorted, and turned away. 

I looked into the dining-room as I went by. There was no story in sightthere, so far as I could see. Hephzy was seated by the table, mendingsomething, something of mine, of course. She looked up. 

"Oh, Hosy, " she said, "that letter you brought was a travel book fromthe Raymond and Whitcomb folks. I sent a stamp for it. It's awfullyinteresting! All about tours through England and France and Switzerlandand everywhere. So cheap they are! I'm pickin' out the ones I'm goin' onsome day. The pictures are lovely. Don't you want to see 'em?"

"Not now, " I replied. Another obsession of Hephzy's was travel. She, who had never been further from Bayport than Hartford, Connecticut, wasforever dreaming of globe-trotting. It was not a new disease with her, by any means; she had been dreaming the same things ever since I hadknown her, and that is since I knew anything. Some day, SOME day shewas going to this, that and the other place. She knew all about theseplaces, because she had read about them over and over again. Herknowledge, derived as it was from so many sources, was curiously mixed, but it was comprehensive, of its kind. She was continually sendingfor Cook's circulars and booklets advertising personally conductedexcursions. And, with the arrival of each new circular or booklet, shepicked out, as she had just done, the particular tours she would go onwhen her "some day" came. It was funny, this queer habit of hers, butnot half as funny as the thought of her really going would have been. Iwould have as soon thought of our front door leaving home and startingon its travels as of Hephzy's doing it. The door was no more a part andfixture of that home than she was. 

I went into my study, which adjoins the sitting-room, and sat down at mydesk. Not with the intention of writing anything, or even of consideringsomething to write about. That I made up my mind to forget for thisnight, at least. My desk chair was my usual seat in that room and I tookthat seat as a matter of habit. 

As a matter of habit also I looked about for a book. I did not have tolook far. Books were my extravagance--almost my only one. They filledthe shelves to the ceiling on three sides of the study and overflowed inuntidy heaps on the floor. They were Hephzy's bugbear, for I refused topermit their being "straightened out" or arranged. 

I looked about for a book and selected several, but, although they wereold favorites, I could not interest myself in any of them. I tried andtried, but even Mr. Pepys, that dependable solace of a lonely hour, failed to interest me with his chatter. Perhaps Campbell's pointedremarks concerning lords and ladies had its effect here. Old Samuelloved to write of such people, having a wide acquaintance with them, andperhaps that very acquaintance made me jealous. At any rate I threw thevolume back upon its pile and began to think of myself, and of my work, the very thing I had expressly determined not to do when I came into theroom. 

Jim's foolish and impossible advice to write of places and people I knewhaunted and irritated me. I did know Bayport--yes, and it might be truethat the group at the post-office contained possible material for manybooks; but, if so, it was material for the other man, not for me. "Writeof what you know, " said Jim. And I knew so little. There was at leastone good yarn in the dining-room at that moment, he had declared. Hemust have meant Hephzibah, but, if he did, what was there in Hephzibah'sdull, gray life-story to interest an outside reader? Her story and minewere interwoven and neither contained anything worth writing about. Hisfancy had been caught, probably, by her odd combination of the romanticand the practical, and in her dream of "Little Frank" he had scented amystery. There was no mystery there, nothing but the most commonplacerecord of misplaced trust and ingratitude. Similar things happen in somany families. 

However, I began to think of Hephzy and, as I said, of myself, and toreview my life since Ardelia Cahoon and Strickland Morley changed itscourse so completely. And now it seems to me that, in the course ofmy "edging around" for the beginning of this present chronicle--sodifferent from anything I have ever written before or ever expected towrite--the time has come when the reader--provided, of course, thesaid chronicle is ever finished or ever reaches a reader--should knowsomething of that life; should know a little of the family history ofthe Knowles and the Cahoons and the Morleys. 

CHAPTER III

Which, Although It Is Largely Family History, Should Not Be Skipped bythe Reader

Let us take the Knowleses first. My name is Hosea Kent Knowles--I saidthat before--and my father was Captain Philander Kent Knowles. He waslost in the wreck of the steamer "Monarch of the Sea, " off Hatteras. Thesteamer caught fire in the middle of the night, a howling gale blowingand the thermometer a few degrees above zero. The passengers and crewtook to the boats and were saved. My father stuck by his ship and wentdown with her, as did also her first mate, another Cape-Codder. I wasa baby at the time, and was at Bayport with my mother, Emily Knowles, formerly Emily Cahoon, Captain Barnabas Cahoon's niece. Mother had alittle money of her own and Father's life was insured for a moderatesum. Her small fortune was invested for her by her uncle, CaptainBarnabas, who was the Bayport magnate and man of affairs in those days. Mother and I continued to live in the old house in Bayport and I wentto school in the village until I was fourteen, when I went away to apreparatory school near Boston. Mother died a year later. I was an onlychild, but Hephzibah, who had always seemed like an older sister to me, now began to "mother" me, the process which she has kept up ever since. 

Hephzibah was the daughter of Captain Barnabas by his first wife. Hephzywas born in 1859, so she is well over fifty now, although no one wouldguess it. Her mother died when she was a little girl and ten years laterCaptain Barnabas married again. His second wife was Susan Hammond, ofOstable, and by her he had one daughter, Ardelia. Hephzy has alwaysdeclared "Ardelia" to be a pretty name. I have my own opinion on thatsubject, but I keep it to myself. 

At any rate, Ardelia herself was pretty enough. She was pretty when ababy and prettier still as a schoolgirl. Her mother--while she lived, which was not long--spoiled her, and her half-sister, Hephzy, assistedin the petting and spoiling. Ardelia grew up with the idea that mostthings in this world were hers for the asking. Whatever took her fancyshe asked for and, if Captain Barnabas did not give it to her, sheconsidered herself ill-used. She was the young lady of the family andHephzibah was the housekeeper and drudge, an uncomplaining one, beit understood. For her, as for the Captain, the business of life waskeeping Ardelia contented and happy, and they gloried in the task. Hephzy might have married well at least twice, but she wouldn't thinkof such a thing. "Pa and Ardelia need me, " she said; that was reasonsufficient. 

In 1888 Captain Barnabas went to Philadelphia on business. He hadretired from active sea-going years before, but he retained an interestin a certain line of coasting schooners. The Captain, as I said, went toPhiladelphia on business connected with these schooners and Ardeliawent with him. Hephzibah stayed at home, of course; she always stayedat home, never expected to do anything else, although even then herfavorite reading were books of travel, and pictures of the Alps, and ofSt. Peter's at Rome, and the Tower of London were tacked up about herroom. She, too, might have gone to Philadelphia, doubtless, if she hadasked, but she did not ask. Her father did not think of inviting her. He loved his oldest daughter, although he did not worship her as he didArdelia, but it never occurred to him that she, too, might enjoy thetrip. Hephzy was always at home, she WAS home; so at home she remained. 

In Philadelphia Ardelia met Strickland Morley. 

I give that statement a line all by itself, for it is by far the mostimportant I have set down so far. The whole story of the Cahoons and theKnowleses--that is, all of their story which is the foundation of thishistory of mine--hinges on just that. If those two had not met I shouldnot be writing this to-day, I might not be writing at all; instead ofhaving become a Bayport "quahaug" I might have been the Lord knows what. 

However, they did meet, at the home of a wealthy shipping merchant namedOsgood who was a lifelong friend of Captain Barnabas. This shippingmerchant had a daughter and that daughter was giving a party at herfather's home. Barnabas and Ardelia were invited. Strickland Morley wasinvited also. 

Morley, at that time--I saw a good deal of him afterward, when he wasat Bayport and when I was at the Cahoon house on holidays andvacations--was a handsome, aristocratic young Englishman. He wastwenty-eight, but he looked younger. He was the second son in aLeicestershire family which had once been wealthy and influential butwhich had, in its later generations, gone to seed. He was educated, ina general sort of way, was a good dancer, played the violin fairly well, sang fairly well, had an attractive presence, and was one of the mostplausible and fascinating talkers I ever listened to. He had studiedmedicine--studied it after a fashion, that is; he never applied himselfto anything--and was then, in '88, "ship's doctor" aboard a Britishsteamer, which ran between Philadelphia and Glasgow. Miss Osgood had methim at the home of a friend of hers who had traveled on that steamer. 

Hephzy and I do not agree as to whether or not he actually fell in lovewith Ardelia Cahoon. Hephzy, of course, to whom Ardelia was the mostwonderfully beautiful creature on earth, is certain that he did--hecould not help it, she says. I am not so sure. It is very hard for me tobelieve that Strickland Morley was ever in love with anyone but himself. Captain Barnabas was well-to-do and had the reputation of being muchricher than he really was. And Ardelia WAS beautiful, there is no doubtof that. At all events, Ardelia fell in love, with him, violently, desperately, head over heels in love, the very moment the two wereintroduced. They danced practically every dance together that evening, met surreptitiously the next day and for five days thereafter, andon the sixth day Captain Barnabas received a letter from his daughterannouncing that she and Morley were married and had gone to New Yorktogether. "We will meet you there, Pa, " wrote Ardelia. "I know you willforgive me for marrying Strickland. He is the most wonderful man in thewide world. You will love him, Pa, as I do. "

There was very little love expressed by the Captain when he read thenote. According to Mr. Osgood's account, Barnabas's language was athrowback from the days when he was first mate on a Liverpool packet. That his idolized daughter had married without asking his consentwas bad enough; that she had married an Englishman was worse. CaptainBarnabas hated all Englishmen. A ship of his had been captured andburned, in the war time, by the "Alabama, " a British built privateer, and the very mildest of the terms he applied to a "John Bull" will notbear repetition in respectable society. He would not forgive Ardelia. She and her "Cockney husband" might sail together to the most tropicalof tropics, or words to that effect. 

But he did forgive her, of course. Likewise he forgave his son-in-law. When the Captain returned to Bayport he brought the newly wedded pairwith him. I was not present at that homecoming. I was away at prepschool, digging at my examinations, trying hard to forget that I wasan orphan, but with the dull ache caused by my mother's death alwaysgrinding at my heart. Many years ago she died, but the ache comes backnow, as I think of her. There is more self-reproach in it thanthere used to be, more vain regrets for impatient words and wastedopportunities. Ah, if some of us--boys grown older--might have ourmothers back again, would we be as impatient and selfish now? Would weneglect the opportunities? I think not; I hope not. 

Hephzibah, after she got over the shock of the surprise and the painof sharing her beloved sister with another, welcomed that other forArdelia's sake. She determined to like him very much indeed. This wasn'tso hard, at first. Everyone liked and trusted Strickland Morley at firstsight. Afterward, when they came to know him better, they were not--ifthey were as wise and discerning as Hephzy--so sure of the trust. Thewise and discerning were not, I say; Captain Barnabas, though wise andshrewd enough in other things, trusted him to the end. 

Morley made it a point to win the affection and goodwill of hisfather-in-law. For the first month or two after the return to Bayportthe new member of the family was always speaking of his plans for thefuture, of his profession and how he intended soon, very soon, to lookup a good location and settle down to practice. Whenever he spokethus, Captain Barnabas and Ardelia begged him not to do it yet, to waitawhile. "I am so happy with you and Pa and Hephzy, " declared Ardelia. "I can't bear to go away yet, Strickland. And Pa doesn't want us to; doyou, Pa?"

Of course Captain Barnabas agreed with her, he always did, and so theMorleys remained at Bayport in the old house. Then came the first of theparalytic shocks--a very slight one--which rendered Captain Barnabas, the hitherto hale, active old seaman, unfit for exertion or the cares ofbusiness. He was not bedridden by any means; he could still take shortwalks, attend town meetings and those of the parish committee, but hemust not, so Dr. Parker said, be allowed to worry about anything. 

And Morley took it upon himself to prevent that worry. He spoke no moreof leaving Bayport and settling down to practice his profession. Insteadhe settled down in Bayport and took the Captain's business cares uponhis own shoulders. Little by little he increased his influence over theold man. He attended to the latter's investments, took charge ofhis bank account, collected his dividends, became, so to speak, hisfinancial guardian. Captain Barnabas, at first rebellious--"I've alwaysbossed my own ship, " he declared, "and I ain't so darned feeble-headedthat I can't do it yet"--gradually grew reconciled and then contented. He, too, began to worship his daughter's husband as the daughter herselfdid. 

"He's a wonder, " said the Captain. "I never saw such a fellow for moneymatters. He's handled my stocks and things a whole lot better'n I everdid. I used to cal'late if I got six per cent. Interest I was doin'well. He ain't satisfied with anything short of eight, and he gets it, too. Whatever that boy wants and I own he can have. Sometimes I thinkthis consarned palsy of mine is a judgment on me for bein' so sotagainst him in the beginnin'. Why, just look at how he runs this house, to say nothing of the rest of it! He's a skipper here; the rest of usain't anything but fo'most hands. "

Which was not the exact truth. Morley was skipper of the Cahoon house, Ardelia first mate, her father a passenger, and the foremast handwas Hephzy. And yet, so far as "running" that house was concerned theforemast hand ran it, as she always had done. The Captain and Ardeliawere Morley's willing slaves; Hephzy was, and continued to be, a freewoman. She worked from morning until night, but she obeyed only suchorders as she saw fit. 

She alone did not take the new skipper at his face value. 

"I don't know what there was about him that made me uneasy, " she hastold me since. "Maybe there wasn't anything; perhaps that was just thereason. When a person is SO good and SO smart and SO polite--maybe theaverage sinful common mortal like me gets jealous; I don't know. ButI do know that, to save my life, I couldn't swallow him whole the wayArdelia and Father did. I wanted to look him over first; and the more Ilooked him over, and the smoother and smoother he looked, the more sureI felt he'd give us all dyspepsy before he got through. Unreasonable, wasn't it?"

For Ardelia's sake she concealed her distrust and did her best to geton with the new head of the family. Only one thing she did, and thatagainst Motley's and her father's protest. She withdrew her own littlefortune, left her by her mother, from Captain Barnabas's care anddeposited it in the Ostable savings bank and in equally secure places. Of course she told the Captain of her determination to do this beforeshe did it and the telling was the cause of the only disagreement, almost a quarrel, which she and her father ever had. The Captain wasvery angry and demanded reasons. Hephzibah declared she didn't know thatshe had any reasons, but she was going to do it, nevertheless. Andshe did do it. For months thereafter relations between the two werestrained; Barnabas scarcely spoke to his older daughter and Hephzy shedtears in the solitude of her bedroom. They were hard months for her. 

At the end of them came the crash. Morley had developed a habitof running up to Boston on business trips connected with hisfather-in-law's investments. Of late these little trips had become morefrequent. Also, so it seemed to Hephzy, he was losing something ofhis genial sweetness and suavity, and becoming more moody and lessentertaining. Telegrams and letters came frequently and these he readand destroyed at once. He seldom played the violin now unless CaptainBarnabas--who was fond of music of the simpler sort--requested him to doso and he seemed uneasy and, for him, surprisingly disinclined to talk. 

Hephzy was not the only one who noticed the change in him. Ardelianoticed it also and, as she always did when troubled or perplexed, sought her sister's advice. 

"I sha'n't ever forget that night when she came to me for the lasttime, " Hephzy has told me over and over again. "She came up to my room, poor thing, and set down on the side of my bed and told me how worriedshe was about her husband. Father had turned in and HE was out, goneto the post-office or somewheres. I had Ardelia all to myself, for awonder, and we sat and talked just the same as we used to before she wasmarried. I'm glad it happened so. I shall always have that to remember, anyhow. 

"Of course, all her worry was about Strickland. She was afraid he wasmakin' himself sick. He worked so hard; didn't I think so? Well, so faras that was concerned, I had come to believe that almost any kind ofwork was liable to make HIM sick, but of course I didn't say that toher. That somethin' was troublin' him was plain, though I was far enoughfrom guessin' what that somethin' was. 

"We set and talked, about Strickland and about Father and aboutourselves. Mainly Ardelia's talk was a praise service with her husbandfor the subject of worship; she was so happy with him and idolizedhim so that she couldn't spare time for much else. But she did speak alittle about herself and, before she went away, she whispered somethin'in my ear which was a dead secret. Even Father didn't know it yet, she said. Of course I was as pleased as she was, almost--and a littlefrightened too, although I didn't say so to her. She was always a fraillittle thing, delicate as she was pretty; not a strapping, rugged, homely body like me. We wasn't a bit alike. 

"So we talked and when she went away to bed she gave me an extra hug andkiss; came back to give 'em to me, just as she used to when she was alittle girl. I wondered since if she had any inklin' of what was goin'to happen. I'm sure she didn't; I'm sure of it as I am that it didhappen. She couldn't have kept it from me if she had known--not thatnight. She went away to bed and I went to bed, too. I was a long whilegettin' to sleep and after I did I dreamed my first dream about 'LittleFrank. ' I didn't call him 'Little Frank' then, though. I don't seem toremember what I did call him or just how he looked except that he lookedlike Ardelia. And the next afternoon she and Strickland went away--toBoston, he told us. "

From that trip they never returned. Morley's influence over his wifemust have been greater even than any of us thought to induce her todesert her father and Hephzy without even a written word of explanationor farewell. It is possible that she did write and that her husbanddestroyed the letter. I am as sure as Hephzy is that Ardelia did notknow what Morley had done. But, at all events, they never came backto Bayport and within the week the truth became known. Morley hadspeculated, had lost and lost again and again. All of Captain Barnabas'sown money and all intrusted to his care, including my little nest-egg, had gone as margins to the brokers who had bought for Morley hisworthless eight per cent. Wildcats. Hephzy's few thousands in thesavings bank and elsewhere were all that was left. 

I shall condense the rest of the miserable business as much as I can. Captain Barnabas traced his daughter and her husband as far as thesteamer which sailed for England. Farther he would not trace them, although he might easily have cabled and caused his son-in-law's arrest. For a month he went about in a sort of daze, speaking to almost noone and sitting for hours alone in his room. The doctor feared forhis sanity, but when the breakdown came it was in the form of a secondparalytic stroke which left him a helpless, crippled dependent, weak andshattered in body and mind. 

He lived nine years longer. Meanwhile various things happened. I managedto finish my preparatory school term and, then, instead of enteringcollege as Mother and I had planned, I went into business--save themark--taking the exalted position of entry clerk in a wholesale drygoodshouse in Boston. As entry clerk I did not shine, but I continued to keepthe place until the firm failed--whether or not because of my connectionwith it I am not sure, though I doubt if my services were sufficientlyimportant to contribute toward even this result. A month later Iobtained another position and, after that, another. I was neverdischarged; I declare that with a sort of negative pride; but when Iannounced to my second employer my intention of resigning he bore theshock with--to say the least--philosophic fortitude. 

"We shall miss you, Knowles, " he observed. 

"Thank you, sir, " said I. 

"I doubt if we ever have another bookkeeper just like you. "

I thanked him again, fighting down my blushes with heroic modesty. 

"Oh, I guess you can find one if you try, " I said, lightly, wishing tocomfort him. 

He shook his head. "I sha'n't try, " he declared. "I am not as young andas strong as I was and--well, there is always the chance that we mightsucceed. "

It was a mean thing to say--to a boy, for I was scarcely more than that. And yet, looking back at it now, I am much more disposed to smile andforgive than I was then. My bookkeeping must have been a trial to hisorderly, pigeon-holed soul. Why in the world he and his partner put upwith it so long is a miracle. When, after my first novel appeared, he wrote me to say that the consciousness of having had a part, smallthough it might be, in training my young mind upward toward the successit had achieved would always be a great gratification to him, I did notsend the letter I wrote in answer. Instead I tore up my letter and hisand grinned. I WAS a bad bookkeeper; I was, and still am, a bad businessman. Now I don't care so much; that is the difference. 

Then I cared a great deal, but I kept on at my hated task. What else wasthere for me to do? My salary was so small that, as Charlie Burns, oneof my fellow-clerks, said of his, I was afraid to count it over a barefloor for fear that it might drop in a crack and be lost. It was my onlyrevenue, however, and I continued to live upon it somehow. I had asmall room in a boarding-house on Shawmut Avenue and I spent most of myevenings there or in the reading-room at the public library. I was notpopular at the boarding-house. Most of the young fellows there wentout a good deal, to call upon young ladies or to dance or to go to thetheater. I had learned to dance when I was at school and I was fond ofthe theater, but I did not dance well and on the rare occasions whenI did accompany the other fellows to the play and they laughed andapplauded and tried to flirt with the chorus girls, I fidgeted in myseat and was uncomfortable. Not that I disapproved of their conduct; Irather envied them, in fact. But if I laughed too heartily I was surethat everyone was looking at me, and though I should have liked toflirt, I didn't know how. 

The few attempts I made were not encouraging. One evening--I wasnineteen then, or thereabouts--Charlie Burns, the clerk whom I havementioned, suggested that we get dinner downtown at a restaurant and "gosomewhere" afterward. I agreed--it happened to be Saturday night and Ihad my pay in my pocket--so we feasted on oyster stew and ice cream andthen started for what my companion called a "variety show. " Burns, whocherished the fond hope that he was a true sport, ordered beer with hisoyster stew and insisted that I should do the same. My acquaintance withbeer was limited and I never did like the stuff, but I drank it withreckless abandon, following each sip with a mouthful of something elseto get rid of the taste. On the way to the "show" we met two youngwomen of Burns' acquaintance and stopped to converse with them. Charlieoffered his arm to one, the best looking; I offered mine to the discard, and we proceeded to stroll two by two along the Tremont Street mall ofthe Common. We had strolled for perhaps ten minutes, most of whichtime I had spent trying to think of something to say, when Burns'charmer--she was a waitress in one of Mr. Wyman's celebrated "sandwichdepots, " I believe--turned and, looking back at my fair one and myself, observed with some sarcasm: "What's the matter with your silent partner, Mame? Got the lock-jaw, has he?"

I left them soon after that. There was no "variety show" for me thatnight. Humiliated and disgusted with myself I returned to my room at theboarding-house, realizing in bitterness of spirit that the gentlemanlydissipations of a true sport were never to be mine. 

As I grew older I kept more and more to myself. My work at the officemust have been a little better done, I fancy, for my salary was raisedtwice in four years, but I detested the work and the office and allconnected with it. I read more and more at the public library and beganto spend the few dollars I could spare for luxuries on books. Among myacquaintances at the boarding-house and elsewhere I had the reputationof being "queer. "

My only periods of real pleasure were my annual vacations in summer. These glorious fortnights were spent at Bayport. There, at our old home, for Hephzibah had sold the big Cahoon house and she and her father wereliving in mine, for which they paid a very small rent, I was happy. I spent the two weeks in sailing and fishing, and tramping along thewaved-washed beaches and over the pine-sprinkled hills. Even in BayportI had few associates of my own age. Even then they began to call me "TheQuahaug. " Hephzy hugged me when I came and wept over me when I went awayand mended my clothes and cooked my favorite dishes in the interval. Captain Barnabas sat in the big arm-chair by the sitting-room window, looking out or sleeping. He took little interest in me or anyoneelse and spoke but seldom. Occasionally I spent the Fourth of July orChristmas at Bayport; not often, but as often as I could. 

One morning--I was twenty-five at the time, and the day was Sunday--Iread a story in one of the low-priced magazines. It was not much of astory, and, as I read it, I kept thinking that I could write as gooda one. I had had such ideas before, but nothing had come of them. Thistime, however, I determined to try. In half an hour I had evolved aplot, such as it was, and at a quarter to twelve that night the storywas finished. A highwayman was its hero and its scene the great NorthRoad in England. My conceptions of highwaymen and the North Road--ofEngland, too, for that matter--were derived from something I had readat some time or other, I suppose; they must have been. At any rate, I finished that story, addressed the envelope to the editor of themagazine and dropped the envelope and its inclosure in the cornermail-box before I went to bed. Next morning I went to the office asusual. I had not the faintest hope that the story would be accepted. Thewriting of it had been fun and the sending it to the magazine a joke. 

But the story was accepted and the check which I received--fortydollars--was far from a joke to a man whose weekly wage was half thatamount. The encouraging letter which accompanied the check was best ofall. Before the week ended I had written another thriller and this, too, was accepted. 

Thereafter, for a year or more, my Sundays and the most of my eveningswere riots of ink and blood. The ink was real enough and the bloodpurely imaginary. My heroes spilled the latter and I the former. Sometimes my yarns were refused, but the most of them were accepted andpaid for. Editors of other periodicals began to write to me requestingcontributions. My price rose. For one particularly harrowing andromantic tale I was paid seventy-five dollars. I dressed in my best thatevening, dined at the Adams House, gave the waiter a quarter, and sawJoseph Jefferson from an orchestra seat. 

Then came the letter from Jim Campbell requesting me to come to New Yorkand see him concerning a possible book, a romance, to be written by meand published by the firm of which he was the head. I saw my employer, obtained a Saturday off, and spent that Saturday and Sunday in New York, my first visit. 

As a result of that visit began my friendship with Campbell and my firstlong story, "The Queen's Amulet. " The "Amulet, " or the "Omelet, " just asyou like, was a financial success. It sold a good many thousand copies. Six months later I broke to my employers the distressing news that theirbusiness must henceforth worry on as best it could without my aid; I wasgoing to devote my valuable time and effort to literature. 

My fellow-clerks were surprised. Charlie Burns, head bookkeeper now, anda married man and a father, was much concerned. 

"But, great Scott, Kent!" he protested, "you're going to do somethingbesides write books, ain't you? You ain't going to make your wholeliving that way?"

"I am going to try, " I said. 

"Great Scott! Why, you'll starve! All those fellows live in garrets andstarve to death, don't they?"

"Not all, " I told him. "Only real geniuses do that. "

He shook his head and his good-by was anything but cheerful. 

My plans were made and I put them into execution at once. I shipped mygoods and chattels, the latter for the most part books, to Bayport andwent there to live and write in the old house where I was born. Hephzywas engaged as my housekeeper. She was alone now; Captain Barnabas haddied nearly two years before. 

Among the Captain's papers and discovered by his daughter after hisdeath was a letter from Strickland Morley. It was written from a town inFrance and was dated six years after Morley's flight and the disclosureof his crookedness. Captain Barnabas had never, apparently, answered theletter; certainly he had never told anyone of its receipt by him. Theold man never mentioned Morley's name and only spoke of Ardelia duringhis last hours, when his mind was wandering. Then he spoke of and askedfor her continually, driving poor Hephzibah to distraction, for her lovefor her lost sister was as great as his. 

The letter was the complaining whine of a thoroughly selfish man. I canscarcely refer to it without losing patience, even now when I understandmore completely the circumstances under which it was written. It was nottoo plainly written or coherent and seemed to imply that other lettershad preceded it. Morley begged for money. He was in "pitiful straits, "he declared, compelled to live as no gentleman of birth and breedingshould live. As a matter of fact, the remnant of his resources, thelittle cash left from the Captain's fortune which he had taken with himhad gone and he was earning a precarious living by playing the violin ina second-rate orchestra. "For poor dead Ardelia's sake, " he wrote, "andfor the sake of little Francis, your grandchild, I ask you to extendthe financial help which I, as your heir-in-law, might demand. You mayconsider that I have wronged you, but, as you should know and must know, the wrong was unintentional and due solely to the sudden collapse ofthe worthless American investments which the scoundrelly Yankee brokersinveigled me into making. "

If the money was sent at once, he added, it might reach him in time toprevent his yielding to despondency and committing suicide. 

"Suicide! HE commit suicide!" sniffed Hephzy when she read me theletter. "He thinks too much of his miserable self ever to hurt it. But, oh dear! I wish Pa had told me of this letter instead of hidin' it away. I might have sent somethin', not to him, but to poor, motherless LittleFrank. "

She had tried; that is, she had written to the French address, buther letter had been returned. Morley and the child of whom this letterfurnished the only information were no longer in that locality. Hephzyhad talked of "Little Frank" and dreamed about him at intervals eversince. He had come to be a reality to her, and she even cut a child'spicture from a magazine and fastened it to the wall of her room beneaththe engraving of Westminster Abbey, because there was something aboutthe child in the picture which reminded her of "Little Frank" as helooked in her dreams. 

She and I had lived together ever since, I continuing to turn out, eachwith less enthusiasm and more labor, my stories of persons and places ofwhich, as Campbell said but too truly, I knew nothing whatever. FinallyI had reached my determination to write no more "slush, " profitablethough it might be. I invited Jim to visit me; he had come and theconversation at the boathouse and his remarks at the bedroom door wereall the satisfaction that visit had brought me so far. 

I sat there in my study, going over all this, not so fully as I haveset it down here, but fully nevertheless, and the possibility offinding even a glimmer of interest or a hint of fictional foundation inHephzibah or her life or mine was as remote at the end of my thinking asit had been at the beginning. There might be a story there, or a part ofa story, but I could not write it. The real trouble was that I could notwrite anything. With which, conclusion, exactly what I started with, Iblew out the lamp and went upstairs to bed. 

Next morning Jim and I went for another sail from which we did notreturn until nearly dinner-time. During that whole forenoon he did notmention the promised "prescription, " although I offered him plenty ofopportunities and threw out various hints by way of bait. 

He ignored the bait altogether and, though he talked a great deal andasked a good many questions, both talk and questions had no bearing onthe all-important problem which had been my real reason for invitinghim to Bayport. He questioned me again concerning my way of spending mytime, about my savings, how much money I had put by, and the like, butI was not particularly interested in these matters and they were not hisbusiness, to put it plainly. At least, I could not see that they were. 

I answered him as briefly as possible and, I am afraid, behaved ratherboorishly to one, who next to Hephzy, was perhaps the best friend I hadin the world. His apparent lack of interest hurt and disappointed meand I did not care if he knew it. My impatience must have been apparentenough, but if so it did not trouble him; he chatted and laughed andtold stories all the way from the landing to the house and announced toHephzy, who had stayed at home from church in order to prepare andcook clam chowder and chicken pie and a "Queen pudding, " that he had anappetite like a starved shark. 

When, at last, that appetite was satisfied, he and I adjourned to thesitting-room for a farewell smoke. His train left at three-thirty andit lacked but an hour of that time. He had worn my suit, the one whichHephzibah had laid out for him the day before, but had changed to hisown again and packed his bag before dinner. 

We camped in the wing chairs and he lighted his cigar. Then, to myastonishment, he rose and shut the door. 

"What did you do that for?" I asked. 

He came back to his chair. 

"Because I'm going to talk to you like a Dutch uncle, " he replied, "andI don't want anyone, not even a Cape Cod cousin, butting in. Kent, Itold you that before I went I was going to prescribe for you, didn't I?Well, I'm going to do it now. Are you ready for the prescription?"

"I have been ready for it for some time, " I retorted. "I began to thinkyou had forgotten it altogether. "

"I hadn't. But I wanted it to be the last word you should hear from meand I didn't want to give you time to think up a lot of fool objectionsto spring on me before I left. Look here, I'm your doctor now; do youunderstand? You called me in as a specialist and what I say goes. Isthat understood?"

"I hear you. "

"You've got to do more than hear me. You've got to do what I tell you. I know what ails you. You've buried yourself in the mud down here. Wakeup, you clam! Come out of your shell. Stir around. Stop thinking aboutyourself and think of something worth while. "

"Dear! dear! hark to the voice of the oracle. And what is the somethingworth while I am to think about; you?"

"Yes, by George! me! Me and the dear public! Here are thirty-fivethousand seekers after the--the higher literature, panting open-mouthedfor another Knowles classic. And you sit back here and cover yourselfwith sand and seaweed and say you won't give it to them. "

"You're wrong. I say I can't. "

"You will, though. "

"I won't. You can bet high on that. "

"You will, and I'll bet higher. YOU write no more stories! You! Why, confound you, you couldn't help it if you tried. You needn't writeanother 'Black Brig' unless you want to. You needn't--you mustn't writeanything UNTIL you want to. But, by George! you'll get up and open youreyes and stir around, and keep stirring until the time comes when you'vefound something or someone you DO want to write about. THEN you'llwrite; you will, for I know you. It may turn out to be what you call'slush, ' or it may not, but you'll write it, mark my words. "

He was serious now, serious enough even to suit me. But what he had saiddid not suit me. 

"Don't talk nonsense, Jim, " I said. "Don't you suppose I have thought--"

"Thought! that's just it; you do nothing but think. Stop thinking. Stop being a quahaug--a dead one, anyway. Drop the whole business, dropBayport, drop America, if you like. Get up, clear out, go to China, goto Europe, go to--Well, never mind, but go somewhere. Go somewhere andforget it. Travel, take a long trip, start for one place and, if youchange your mind before you get there, go somewhere else. It doesn'tmake much difference where, so that you go, and see different things. I'm talking now, Kent Knowles, and it isn't altogether because it paysus to publish your books, either. You drop Bayport and drop writing. Goout and pick up and go. Stay six months, stay a year, stay two years, but keep alive and meet people and give what you flatter yourself isa brain house-cleaning. Confound you, you've kept it shut like one ofthese best front parlors down here. Open the windows and air out. Letthe outside light in. An idea may come with it; it is barely possible, even to you!"

He was out of breath by this time. I was in a somewhat similar conditionfor his tirade had taken mine away. However, I managed to express myfeelings. 

"Humph!" I grunted. "And so this is your wonderful prescription. I am totravel, am I?"

"You are. You can afford it, and I'll see that you do. "

"And just what port would you recommend?"

"I don't care, I tell you, except that it ought to be a long way off. I'm not joking, Kent; this is straight. A good long jaunt around theworld would do you a barrel of good. Don't stop to think about it, juststart, that's all. Will you?"

I laughed. The idea of my starting on a pleasure trip was ridiculous. Ifever there was a home-loving and home-staying person it was I. The barethought of leaving my comfort and my books and Hephzy made me shudder. Ihadn't the least desire to see other countries and meet other people. Ihated sleeping cars and railway trains and traveling acquaintances. So Ilaughed. 

"Sorry, Jim, " I said, "but I'm afraid I can't take your prescription. "

"Why not?"

"For one reason because I don't want to. "

"That's no reason at all. It doesn't make any difference what you want. Anything else?"

"Yes. I would no more wander about creation all alone than--"

"Take someone with you. "

"Who? Will you go, yourself?"

He shook his head. 

"I wish I could, " he said, and I think he meant it. "I'd like nothingbetter. I'D keep you alive, you can bet on that. But I can't leave theliterature works just now. I'll do my best to find someone who will, though. I know a lot of good fellows who travel--"

I held up my hand. "That's enough, " I interrupted. "They can't travelwith me. They wouldn't be good fellows long if they did. "

He struck the chair arm with his fist. 

"You're as near impossible as you can be, aren't you, " he exclaimed. "Never mind; you're going to do as I tell you. I never gave you badadvice yet, now did I?"

"No--o. No, but--"

"I'm not giving it to you now. You'll go and you'll go in a hurry. I'llgive you a week to think the idea over. At the end of that time if Idon't hear from you I'll be down here again, and I'll worry you everyminute until you'll go anywhere to get rid of me. Kent, you must do it. You aren't written out, as you call it, but you are rusting out, fast. If you don't get away and polish up you'll never do a thing worth while. You'll be another what's-his-name--Ase Tidditt; that's what you'll be. Ican see it coming on. You're ossifying; you're narrowing; you're--"

I broke in here. I didn't like to be called narrow and I did not liketo be paired with Asaph Tidditt, although our venerable town clerk is agood citizen and all right, in his way. But I had flattered myself thatway was not mine. 

"Stop it, Jim!" I ordered. "Don't blow off any more steam in thisridiculous fashion. If this is all you have to say to me, you may aswell stop. "

"Stop! I've only begun. I'll stop when you start, and not before. Willyou go?"

"I can't, Jim. You know I can't. "

"I know you can and I know you're going to. There!" rising and laying ahand on my shoulder, "it is time for ME to be starting. Kent, old man, Iwant you to promise me that you will do as I tell you. Will you?"

"I can't, Jim. I would if I could, but--"

"Will you promise me to think the idea over? Think it over carefully;don't think of anything else for the rest of the week? Will you promiseme to do that?"

I hesitated. I was perfectly sure that all my thinking would butstrengthen my determination to remain at home, but I did not like toappear too stubborn. 

"Why, yes, Jim, " I said, doubtfully, "I promise so much, if that is anysatisfaction to you. "

"All right. I'll give you until Friday to make up your mind. If I don'thear from you by that time I shall take it for granted that you havemade it up in the wrong way and I'll be here on Saturday. I'll keep theprocess up week in and week out until you give in. That's MY promise. Come on. We must be moving. "

He said good-by to Hephzy and we walked together to the station. Hislast words as we shook hands by the car steps were: "Remember--think. But don't you dare think of anything else. " My answer was a dubiousshake of the head. Then the train pulled out. 

I believe that afternoon and evening to have been the "bluest" of all myblue periods, and I had had some blue ones prior to Jim's visit. I wasdreadfully disappointed. Of course I should have realized that no adviceor "prescription" could help me. As Campbell had said, "It was up tome;" I must help myself; but I had been trying to help myself for monthsand I had not succeeded. I had--foolishly, I admit--relied upon him togive me a new idea, a fresh inspiration, and he had not done it. I wasdisappointed and more discouraged than ever. 

My state of mind may seem ridiculous. Perhaps it was. I was in goodhealth, not very old--except in my feelings--and my stories, even the"Black Brig, " had not been failures, by any means. But I am sure thatevery man or woman who writes, or paints, or does creative work of anykind, will understand and sympathize with me. I had "gone stale, " thatis the technical name for my disease, and to "go stale" is no joke. Ifyou doubt it ask the writer or painter of your acquaintance. Ask him ifhe ever has felt that he could write or paint no more, and then askhim how he liked the feeling. The fact that he has written or painted agreat deal since has no bearing on the matter. "Staleness" is purely amental ailment, and the confident assurance of would-be doctors that itsattacks are seldom fatal doesn't help the sufferer at the time. He knowshe is dead, and that is no better, then, than being dead in earnest. 

I knew I was dead, so far as my writing was concerned, and the adviceto go away and bury myself in a strange country did not appeal to me. Itmight be true that I was already buried in Bayport, but that was myhome cemetery, at all events. The more I thought of Jim Campbell'sprescription the less I felt like taking it. 

However, I kept on with the thinking; I had promised to do that. OnWednesday came a postcard from Jim, himself, demanding information. "When and where are you going?" he wrote. "Wire answer. " I did not wireanswer. I was not going anywhere. 

I thrust the card into my pocket and, turning away from the frame ofletter boxes, faced Captain Cyrus Whittaker, who, like myself, had cometo Simmons's for his mail. He greeted me cordially. 

"Hello, Kent, " he hailed. "How are you?"

"About the same as usual, Captain, " I answered, shortly. 

"That's pretty fair, by the looks. You don't look too happy, though, come to notice it. What's the matter; got bad news?"

"No. I haven't any news, good or bad. "

"That so? Then I'll give you some. Phoebe and I are going to start forCalifornia to-morrow. "

"You are? To California? Why?"

"Oh, just for instance, that's all. Time's come when I have to gosomewhere, and the Yosemite and the big trees look good to me. It's thisway, Kent; I like Bayport, you know that. Nobody's more in love withthis old town than I am; it's my home and I mean to live and die here, if I have luck. But it don't do for me to stay here all the time. If Ido I begin to be no good, like a strawberry plant that's been kept inone place too long and has quit bearin. ' The only thing to do with thatplant is to transplant it and let it get nourishment in a new spot. Thenyou can move it back by and by and it's all right. Same way with me. Every once in a while I have to be transplanted so's to freshen up. Mybrains need somethin' besides post-office talk and sewin'-circle gossipto keep them from shrivelin'. I was commencin' to feel the shrivel, so it's California for Phoebe and me. Better come along, Kent. You'rebeginnin' to shrivel a little, ain't you?"

Was it as apparent as all that? I was indignant. 

"Do I look it?" I demanded. 

"No--o, but I ain't sure that you don't act it. No offence, youunderstand. Just a little ground bait to coax you to come on theCalifornia cruise along with Phoebe and me, that's all. "

It was not likely that I should accept. Two are company and three acrowd, and if ever two were company Captain Cy and his wife were thosetwo. I thanked him and declined, but I asked a question. 

"You believe in travel as a restorative, you do?" I asked. 

"Hey? I sartin do. Change your course once in awhile, same as you changeyour clothes. Wearin' the same suit and cruisin' in the same puddle allthe time ain't healthy. You're too apt to get sick of the clothes andpuddle both. "

"But you don't believe in traveling alone, do you?"

"No, " emphatically, "I don't, generally speakin. ' If you go off byyourself you're too likely to keep thinkin' ABOUT yourself. Takesomebody with you; somebody you're used to and know well and like, though. Travelin' with strangers is a little mite worse than travelin'alone. You want to be mighty sure of your shipmate. "

I walked home. Hephzibah was in the sitting-room, reading and knittinga stocking, a stocking for me. She did not need to use her eyes for theknitting; I am quite sure she could have knit in her sleep. 

"Hello, Hosy, " she said, "been up to the office, have you? Any mail?"

"Nothing much. Humph! Still reading that Raymond and Whitcomb circular?"

"No, not that one. This is one I got last year. I've been sittin' hereplannin' out just where I'd go and what I'd see if I could. It's thenext best thing to really goin'. "

I looked at her. All at once a new idea began to crystallize in my mind. It was a curious idea, a ridiculous idea, and yet--and yet it seemed--

"Hephzy, " said I, suddenly, "would you really like to go abroad?"

"WOULD I? Hosy, how you talk! You know I've been crazy to go ever sinceI was a little girl. I don't know what makes me so. Perhaps it's thesalt water in my blood. All our folks were sailors and ship captains. They went everywhere. I presume likely it takes more than one generationto kill off that sort of thing. "

"And you really want to go?"

"Of course I do. "

"Then why haven't you gone? You could afford to take a moderate-pricedtour. "

Hephzy laughed over her knitting. 

"I guess, " she said, "I haven't gone for the reason you haven't, Hosy. You could afford, it, too--you know you could. But how could I go andleave you? Why, I shouldn't sleep a minute wonderin' if you were wearin'clothes without holes in 'em and if you changed your flannels when theweather changed and ate what you ought to, and all that. You've beenso--so sort of dependent on me and I've been so used to takin' care ofyou that I don't believe either of us would be happy anywhere withoutthe other. I know certain sure _I_ shouldn't. "

I did not answer immediately. The idea, the amazing, ridiculousidea which had burst upon me suddenly began to lose something of itsabsurdity. Somehow it began to look like the answer to my riddle. Irealized that my main objection to the Campbell prescription had beenthat I must take it alone or with strangers. And now--

"Hephzy, " I demanded, "would you go away--on a trip abroad--with me?"

She put down the knitting. 

"Hosy Knowles!" she exclaimed. "WHAT are you talkin' about?"

"But would you?"

"I presume likely I would, if I had the chance; but it isn't likelythat--where are you goin'?"

I did not answer. I hurried out of the sitting-room and out of thehouse. 

When I returned I found her still knitting. The circular lay on thefloor at her feet. She regarded me anxiously. 

"Hosy, " she demanded, "where--"

I interrupted. "Hephzy, " said I, "I have been to the station to send atelegram. "

"A telegram? A TELEGRAM! For mercy sakes, who's dead?"

Telegrams in Bayport usually mean death or desperate illness. I laughed. 

"No one is dead, Hephzy, " I replied. "In fact it is barely possible thatsomeone is coming to life. I telegraphed Mr. Campbell to engage passagefor you and me on some steamer leaving for Europe next week. "

Hephzibah turned pale. The partially knitted sock dropped beside thecircular. 

"Why--why--what--?" she gasped. 

"On a steamer leaving next week, " I repeated. "You want to travel, Hephzy. Jim says I must. So we'll travel together. "

She did not believe I meant it, of course, and it took a long time toconvince her. But when at last she began to believe--at least to theextent of believing that I had sent the telegram--her next remark wascharacteristic. 

"But I--I can't go, Hosy, " declared Hephzibah. "I CAN'T. Who--who wouldtake care of the cat and the hens?"

CHAPTER IV

In Which Hephzy and I and the Plutonia Sail Together

The week which began that Wednesday afternoon seems, as I look back toit now, a bit of the remote past, instead of seven days of a year ago. Its happenings, important and wonderful as they were, seem trivial andtame compared with those which came afterward. And yet, at the time, that week was a season of wild excitement and delightful anticipationfor Hephzibah, and of excitement not unmingled with doubts andmisgivings for me. For us both it was a busy week, to put it mildly. 

Once convinced that I meant what I said and that I was not "ravingdistracted, " which I think was her first diagnosis of my case, Hephzy'spractical mind began to unearth objections, first to her going at alland, second, to going on such short notice. 

"I don't think I'd better, Hosy, " she said. "You're awful good to ask meand I know you think you mean it, but I don't believe I ought to do it, even if I felt as if I could leave the house and everything alone. Yousee, I've lived here in Bayport so long that I'm old-fashioned and funnyand countrified, I guess. You'd be ashamed of me. "

I smiled. "When I am ashamed of you, Hephzy, " I replied, "I shall be onmy way to the insane asylum, not to Europe. You are much more likely tobe ashamed of me. "

"The idea! And you the pride of this town! The only author that everlived in it--unless you call Joshua Snow an author, and he lived in thepoorhouse and nobody but himself was proud of HIM. "

Josh Snow was Bayport's Homer, its only native poet. He wrote theimmortal ballad of the scallop industry, which begins:

 "On a fine morning at break of day, When the ice has all gone out of the bay, And the sun is shining nice and it is like spring, Then all hands start to go scallop-ING. "

In order to get the fullest measure of music from this lyric gem youshould put a strong emphasis on the final "ing. " Joshua always did andthe summer people never seemed to tire of hearing him recite it. Thereare eighteen more verses. 

"I shall not be ashamed of you, Hephzy, " I repeated. "You know itperfectly well. And I shall not go unless you go. "

"But I can't go, Hosy. I couldn't leave the hens and the cat. They'dstarve; you know they would. "

"Susanna will look after them. I'll leave money for their provender. AndI will pay Susanna for taking care of them. She has fallen in love withthe cat; she'll be only too glad to adopt it. "

"And I haven't got a single thing fit to wear. "

"Neither have I. We will buy complete fit-outs in Boston or New York. "

"But--"

There were innumerable "buts. " I answered them as best I could. AlsoI reiterated my determination not to go unless she did. I told ofCampbell's advice and laid strong emphasis on the fact that he had saidtravel was my only hope. Unless she wished me to die of despair she mustagree to travel with me. 

"And you have said over and over again that your one desire was to goabroad, " I added, as a final clincher. 

"I know it. I know I have. But--but now when it comes to reallygoin' I'm not so sure. Uncle Bedny Small was always declarin' inprayer-meetin' that he wanted to die so as to get to Heaven, but when hewas taken down with influenza he made his folks call both doctors herein town and one from Harniss. I don't know whether I want to go or not, Hosy. I--I'm frightened, I guess. "

Jim's answer to my telegram arrived the very next day. 

"Have engaged two staterooms for ship sailing Wednesday the tenth, " itread. "Hearty congratulations on your good sense. Who is your companion?Write particulars. "

The telegram quashed the last of Hephzy's objections. The fares had beenpaid and she was certain they must be "dreadful expensive. " All thatmoney could not be wasted, so she accepted the inevitable and beganpreparations. 

I did not write the "particulars" requested. I had a feeling thatCampbell might consider my choice of a traveling companion a queer oneand, although my mind was made up and his opinion could not change it, I thought it just as well to wait until our arrival in New York beforetelling him. So I wrote a brief note stating that my friend and I wouldreach New York on the morning of the tenth and that I would see himthere. Also I asked, for my part, the name of the steamer he hadselected. 

His answer was as vague as mine. He congratulated me once more upon mydecision, prophesied great things as the result of what he called my"foreign junket, " and gave some valuable advice concerning the necessaryoutfit, clothes, trunks and the like. "Travel light, " he wrote. "You canbuy whatever else you may need on the other side. 'Phone as soon as youreach New York. " But he did not tell me the name of the ship, nor forwhat port she was to sail. 

So Hephzy and I were obliged to turn to the newspapers for informationupon those more or less important subjects, and we speculated andguessed not a little. The New York dailies were not obtainable inBayport except during the summer months and the Boston publications didnot give the New York sailings. I wrote to a friend in Boston and hesent me the leading journals of the former city and, as soon as theyarrived, Hephzy sat down upon the sitting-room carpet--which she hadinsisted upon having taken up to be packed away in moth balls--to lookat the maritime advertisements. I am quite certain it was the only timeshe sat down, except at meals, that day. 

I selected one of the papers and she another. We reached the sameconclusion simultaneously. 

"Why, it must be--" she began. 

"The Princess Eulalie, " I finished. 

"It is the only one that sails on the tenth. There is one on theeleventh, though. "

"Yes, but that one is the 'Plutonia, ' one of the fastest and mostexpensive liners afloat. It isn't likely that Jim had booked us for the'Plutonia. ' She would scarcely be in our--in my class. "

"Humph! I guess she isn't any too good for a famous man like you, Hosy. But I would look funny on her, I give in. I've read about her. She'salways full of lords and ladies and millionaires and things. Just thesort of folks you write about. She'd be just the one for you. "

I shook my head. "My lords and ladies are only paper dolls, Hephzy, " Isaid, ruefully. "I should be as lost as you among the flesh and bloodvariety. No, the 'Princess Eulalie' must be ours. She runs to Amsterdam, though. Odd that Jim should send me to Holland. "

Hephzy nodded and then offered a solution. 

"I don't doubt he did it on purpose, " she declared. "He knew neither younor I was anxious to go to England. He knows we don't think much of theEnglish, after our experience with that Morley brute. "

"No, he doesn't know any such thing. I've never told him a word aboutMorley. And he doesn't know you're going, Hephzy. I've kept that asa--as a surprise for him. "

"Well, never mind. I'd rather go to Amsterdam than England. It's nearerto France. "

I was surprised. "Nearer to France?" I repeated. "What difference doesthat make? We don't know anyone in France. "

Hephzibah was plainly shocked. "Why, Hosy!" she protested. "Have youforgotten Little Frank? He is in France somewhere, or he was at lastaccounts. "

"Good Lord!" I groaned. Then I got up and went out. I had forgotten"Little Frank" and hoped that she had. If she was to flit about Europeseeing "Little Frank" on every corner I foresaw trouble. "Little Frank"was likely to be the bane of my existence. 

We left Bayport on Monday morning. The house was cleaned and sweptand scoured and moth-proofed from top to bottom. Every door wasdouble-locked and every window nailed. Burglars are unknown in Bayport, but that didn't make any difference. "You can't be too careful, " saidHephzy. I was of the opinion that you could. 

The cat had been "farmed out" with Susanna's people and Susanna herselfwas to feed the hens twice a day, lock them in each night and let themout each morning. Their keeper had a carefully prepared schedule as toquantity and quality of food; Hephzy had prepared and furnished it. 

"And don't you give 'em any fish, " ordered Hephzy. "I ate a chicken oncethat had been fed on fish, and--my soul!"

There was quite an assemblage at the station to see us off. CaptainWhittaker and his wife were not there, of course; they were nearCalifornia by this time. But Mr. Partridge, the minister, was there andso was his wife; and Asaph Tidditt and Mr. And Mrs. Bailey Bangs andCaptain Josiah Dimick and HIS wife, and several others. Oh, yes! andAngeline Phinney. Angeline was there, of course. If anything happened inBayport and Angeline was not there to help it happen, then--I don't knowwhat then; the experiment had never been tried in my lifetime. 

Everyone said pleasant things to us. They really seemed sorry to have usleave Bayport, but for our sakes they expressed themselves as glad. Itwould be such a glorious trip; we would have so much to tell when we gotback. Mr. Partridge said he should plan for me to give a little talk tothe Sunday school upon my return. It would be a wonderful thing for thechildren. To my mind the most wonderful part of the idea was that heshould take my consent for granted. _I_ talk to the Sunday school! I, the Quahaug! My knees shook even at the thought. 

Keturah Bangs hoped we would have a "lovely time. " She declared that ithad been the one ambition of her life to go sight-seeing. But she shouldnever do it--no, no! Such things wasn't for her. If she had a husbandlike some women it might be, but not as 'twas. She had long ago given uphopin' to do anything but keep boarders, and she had to do that all byherself. 

Bailey, her husband, grinned sheepishly but, for a wonder, he did notattempt defence. I gathered that Bailey was learning wisdom. It wastime; he had attended his wife's academy a long while. 

Captain Dimick brought a bag of apples, greenings, some he had kept inthe cellar over winter. "Nice to eat on the cars, " he told us. Everyoneasked us to send postcards. Miss Phinney was especially solicitous. 

"It'll be just lovely to know where you be and what you're doin, " shedeclared. 

When the train had started and we had waved the last good-bys from thewindow Hephzibah expressed her opinion concerning Angeline's request. 

"I send HER postcards!" she snapped. "I think I see myself doin' it! Allshe cares about 'em is so she can run from Dan to Beersheba showin' 'emto everybody and talkin' about how extravagant we are and wonderin' ifwe borrowed the money. But there! it won't make any difference. If Idon't send 'em to her she'll read all I send to other folks. Sheand Rebecca Simmons are close as two peas in a pod and Becky readseverything that comes through her husband's post-office. All that aren'tsealed, that is--yes, and some that are, I shouldn't wonder, if they'renot sealed tight. "

Her next remark was a surprising one. 

"Hosy, " she said, "how much they all think of you, don't they. Isn't itnice to know you're so popular. "

I turned in the seat to stare at her. 

"Popular!" I repeated. "Hephzy, I have a good deal of respect for yourbrain, generally speaking, but there are times when I think it showssigns of softening. "

She did not resent my candor; she paid absolutely no attention to it. 

"I don't mean popular with everybody, rag, tag and bobtail and all, like--well, Eben Salters, " she went on. "But the folks that count allrespect and like you, Hosy. I know they do. "

Mr. Salters is our leading local statesman--since the departure of theHonorable Heman Atkins. He has filled every office in his native villageand he has served one term as representative in the State House atBoston. He IS popular. 

"It is marvelous how affection can be concealed, " I observed, withsarcasm. Hephzy was back at me like a flash. 

"Of course they don't tell you of it, " she said. "If they did you'dprobably tell 'em to their faces that they were fibbin' and not speak to'em again. But they do like you, and I know it. "

It was useless to carry the argument further. When Hephzy beginschanting my praises I find it easier to surrender--and change thesubject. 

In Boston we shopped. It seems to me that we did nothing else. Ibought what I needed the very first day, clothes, hat, steamer coat andtraveling cap included. It did not take me long; fortunately I am of theaverage height and shape and the salesmen found me easy to please. Myshopping tour was ended by three o'clock and I spent the remainderof the afternoon at a bookseller's. There was a set of "Early EnglishPoets" there, nineteen little, fat, chunky volumes, not new and shinyand grand, but middle-aged and shabby and comfortable, which appealed tome. The price, however, was high; I had the uneasy feeling that I oughtnot to afford it. Then the bookseller himself, who also was fat andcomfortably shabby, and who had beguiled from me the information that Iwas about to travel, suggested that the "Poets" would make very pleasantreading en route. 

"I have found, " he said, beaming over his spectacles, "that a littlebook of this kind, " patting one of the volumes, "which may be carried inthe pocket, is a rare traveling companion. When you wish his societyhe is there, and when you tire of him you can shut him up. You can't dothat with all traveling companions, you know. Ha! ha!"

He chuckled over his joke and I chuckled with him. Humor of that kind isexpensive, for I bought the "English Poets" and ordered them sent to myhotel. It was not until they were delivered, an hour later, that Ibegan to wonder what I should do with them. Our trunks were likely to becrowded and I could not carry all of the nineteen volumes in my pockets. 

Hephzibah, who had been shopping on her own hook, did not return untilnearly seven. She returned weary and almost empty-handed. 

"But didn't you buy ANYTHING?" I asked. "Where in the world have youbeen?"

She had been everywhere, so she said. This wasn't entirely true, but Igathered that she had visited about every department store in the city. She had found ever so many things she liked, but oh dear! they did costso much. 

"There was one traveling coat that I did want dreadfully, " she said. "It was a dark brown, not too dark, but just light enough so it wouldn'tshow water spots. I've been out sailing enough times to know how yourthings get water-spotted. It fitted me real nice; there wouldn't have tobe a thing done to it. But it cost thirty-one dollars! 'My soul!' saysI, 'I can't afford THAT!' But they didn't have anything cheaper thatwouldn't have made me look like one of those awful play-actin' girlsthat came to Bayport with the Uncle Tom's Cabin show. And I triedeverywhere and nothin' pleased me so well. "

"So you didn't buy the coat?"

"BUY it? My soul Hosy, didn't I tell you it cost--"

"I know. What else did you see that you didn't buy?"

"Hey? Oh, I saw a suit, a nice lady-like suit, and I tried it on. Thatfitted me, too, only the sleeves would have to be shortened. And itwould have gone SO well with that coat. But the suit cost FORTY dollars. 'Good land!' I said, 'haven't you got ANYTHING for poor folks?' And youought to have seen the look that girl gave me! And a hat--oh, yes, I sawa hat! It was--"

There was a great deal more. Summed up it amounted to something likethis: All that suited her had been too high-priced and all that sheconsidered within her means hadn't suited her at all. So she had boughtpractically nothing but a few non-essentials. And we were to leave forNew York the following night and sail for Europe the day after. 

"Hephzy, " said I, "you will go shopping again to-morrow morning and I'llgo with you. "

Go we did, and we bought the coat and the hat and the suit and variousother things. With each purchase Hephzy's groans and protests at myreckless extravagance grew louder. At last I had an inspiration. 

"Hephzy, " said I, "when we meet Little Frank over there in France, orwherever he may be, you will want him to be favorably impressed withyour appearance, won't you? These things cost money of course, but wemust think of Little Frank. He has never seen his American relatives andso much depends on a first impression. "

Hephzy regarded me with suspicion. "Humph!" she sniffed, "that's thefirst time I ever knew you to give in that there WAS a Little Frank. All right, I sha'n't say any more, but I hope the foreign poorhouses aremore comfortable than ours, that's all. If you make me keep on this way, I'll fetch up in one before the first month's over. "

We left for New York on the five o'clock train. Packing those "EarlyEnglish Poets" was a confounded nuisance. They had to be stuffed here, there and everywhere amid my wearing apparel and Hephzibah prophesiedevil to come. 

"Books are the worse things goin' to make creases, " she declared. "They're all sharp edges. "

I had to carry two of the volumes in my pockets, even then, at the verystart. They might prove delightful traveling companions, as the bookmanhad said, but they were most uncomfortable things to sit on. 

We reached the Grand Central station on time and went to a nearby hotel. I should have sent the heavier baggage directly to the steamer, but Iwas not sure--absolutely sure--which steamer it was to be. The "PrincessEulalie" almost certainly, but I did not dare take the risk. 

Hephzy called to me from the room adjoining mine at twelve that night. 

"Just think, Hosy!" she cried, "this is the last night either of us willspend on dry land. "

"Heavens! I hope it won't be as bad as that, " I retorted. "Holland ispretty wet, so they say, but we should be able to find some dry spots. "

She did not laugh. "You know what I mean, " she observed. "To-morrownight at twelve o'clock we shall be far out on the vasty deep. "

"We shall be on the 'Princess Eulalie, '" I answered. "Go to sleep. "

Neither of us spoke the truth. At twelve the following night we wereneither "far out on the vasty deep" nor on the "Princess Eulalie. "

My first move after breakfast was to telephone Campbell at his cityhome. He hailed me joyfully and ordered me to stay where I was, that is, at the hotel. He would be there in an hour, he said. 

He was five minutes ahead of his promise. We shook hands heartily. 

"You are going to take my prescription, after all, " he crowed. "Didn'tI tell you I was the only real doctor for sick authors? Bully for you!Wish I was going with you. Who is?"

"Come to my room and I'll show you, " said I. "You may be surprised. "

"See here! you haven't gone and dug up another fossilized bookworm likeyourself, have you? If you have, I refuse--"

"Come and see. "

We took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked to my room. I openedthe door. 

"Hephzy, " said I, "here is someone you know. "

Hephzy, who had been looking out of the window of her room, hurried in. 

"Well, Mr. Campbell!" she exclaimed, holding out her hand, "how do youdo? We got here all right, you see. But the way Hosy has been wastin'money, his and mine, buyin' things we didn't need, I began to think onespell we'd never get any further. Is it time to start for the steameryet?"

Jim's face was worth looking at. He shook Hephzibah's hand mechanically, but he did not speak. Instead he looked at her and at me. I didn't speakeither; I was having a thoroughly good time. 

"Had we ought to start now?" repeated Hephzibah. "I'm all ready butputtin' on my things. "

Jim came out of his trance. He dropped the hand and came to me. 

"Are you--is she--" he stammered. 

"Yes, " said I. "Miss Cahoon is going with me. I wrote you I had selecteda good traveling companion. I have, haven't I?"

"He would have it so, Mr. Campbell, " put in Hephzy. "I said no and kepton sayin' it, but he vowed and declared he wouldn't go unless I did. I know you must think it's queer my taggin' along, but it isn't anyqueerer to you than it is to me. "

Jim behaved very well, considering. He did not laugh. For a moment Ithought he was going to; if he had I don't know what I should have done, said things for which I might have been sorry later on, probably. But hedid not laugh. He didn't even express the tremendous surprise which hemust have felt. Instead he shook hands again with both of us and said itwas fine, bully, just the thing. 

"To tell the truth, Miss Cahoon, " he declared, "I have been ratherfearful of this pet infant of ours. I didn't know what sort of helplesscreature he might have coaxed into roaming loose with him in the wildsof Europe. I expected another babe in the woods and I was contemplatingcabling the police to look out for them and shoo away the wolves. Buthe'll be all right now. Yes, indeed! he'll be looked out for now. "

"Then you approve?" I asked. 

He shot a side-long glance at me. "Approve!" he repeated. "I'm crazyabout the whole business. "

I judged he considered me crazy, hopelessly so. I did not care. I agreedwith him in this--the whole business was insane and Hephzibah's goingwas the only sensible thing about it, so far. 

His next question was concerning our baggage. I told him I had left itat the railway station because I was not sure where it should be sent. 

"What time does the 'Princess Eulalie' sail?" I asked. 

He looked at me oddly. "What?" he queried. "The 'Princess Eulalie'?Twelve o'clock, I believe, I'm not sure. "

"You're not sure! And it is after nine now. It strikes me that--"

"Never mind what strikes you. So long as it isn't lightning youshouldn't complain. Have you the baggage checks? Give them to me. "

I handed him the checks, obediently, and he stepped to the telephoneand gave a number. A short conversation followed. Then he hung up thereceiver. 

"One of the men from the office will be here soon, " he said. "He willattend to all your baggage, get it aboard the ship and see that it isput in your staterooms. Now, then, tell me all about it. What have youbeen doing since I saw you? When did you arrive? How did you happen tothink of taking--er--Miss Cahoon with you? Tell me the whole. "

I told him. Hephzy assisted, sitting on the edge of a rocking chairand asking me what time it was at intervals of ten minutes. She wasdecidedly fidgety. When she went to Boston she usually reached thestation half an hour before train time, and to sit calmly in a hotelroom, when the ship that was to take us to the ends of the earth was tosail in two hours, was a reckless gamble with Fate, to her mind. 

The man from the office came and the baggage checks were turned over tohim. So also were our bags and our umbrellas. Campbell stepped intothe hall and the pair held a whispered conversation. Hephzy seized theopportunity to express to me her perturbation. 

"My soul, Hosy!" she whispered. "Mr. Campbell's out of his head, ain'the? Here we are a sittin' and sittin' and time's goin' by. We'll be toolate. Can't you make him hurry?"

I was almost as nervous as she was, but I would not have let ourguardian know it for the world. If we lost a dozen steamers I shouldn'tcall his attention to the fact. I might be a "Babe in the Wood, " but heshould not have the satisfaction of hearing me whimper. 

He came back to the room a moment later and began asking more questions. Our answers, particularly Hephzy's, seemed to please him a great deal. At some of them he laughed uproariously. At last he looked at his watch. 

"Almost eleven, " he observed. "I must be getting around to the office. Miss Cahoon will you excuse Kent and me for an hour or so? I have hisletters of credit and the tickets in our safe and he had better comearound with me and get them. If you have any last bits of shopping todo, now is your opportunity. Or you might wait here if you prefer. Wewill be back at half-past twelve and lunch together. "

I started. Hephzy sprang from the chair. 

"Half-past twelve!" I cried. 

"Lunch together!" gasped Hephzy. "Why, Mr. Campbell! the 'PrincessEulalie' sails at noon. You said so yourself!"

Jim smiled. "I know I did, " he replied, "but that is immaterial. You arenot concerned with the 'Princess Eulalie. ' Your passages are bookedon the 'Plutonia' and she doesn't leave her dock until one o'clockto-morrow morning. We will meet here for lunch at twelve-thirty. Come, Kent. "

I didn't attempt an answer. I am not exactly sure what I did. A fewminutes later I walked out of that room with Campbell and I have a hazyrecollection of leaving Hephzy seated in the rocker and of hearing hervoice, as the door closed, repeating over and over:

"The 'Plutonia'! My soul and body! The 'Plutonia'! Me--ME on the'Plutonia'!"

What I said and did afterwards doesn't make much difference. I know Icalled my publisher a number of disrespectful names not one of which hedeserved. 

"Confound you!" I cried. "You know I wouldn't have dreamed of taking apassage on a ship like that. She's a floating Waldorf, everyone says so. Dress and swagger society and--Oh, you idiot! I wanted quiet! I wantedto be alone! I wanted--"

Jim interrupted me. 

"I know you did, " he said. "But you're not going to have them. You'vebeen alone too much. You need a change. If I know the 'Plutonia'--andI've crossed on her four times--you're going to have it. "

He burst into a roar of laughter. We were in a cab, fortunately, or hisbehavior would have attracted attention. I could have choked him. 

"You imbecile!" I cried. "I have a good mind to throw the whole thing upand go home to Bayport. By George, I will!"

He continued to chuckle. 

"I see you doing it!" he observed. "How about your--what's hername?--Hephzibah? Going to tell her that it's all off, are you? Goingto tell her that you will forfeit your passage money and hers? Why, man, haven't you a heart? If she was booked for Paradise instead of Parisshe couldn't be any happier. Don't be foolish! Your trunks are on the'Plutonia' and on the 'Plutonia' you'll be to-night. It's the best thingthat can happen to you. I did it on purpose. You'll thank me come day. "

I didn't thank him then. 

We returned to the hotel at twelve-thirty, my pocket-book loaded withtickets and letters of credit and unfamiliar white paper notes bearingthe name of the Bank of England. Hephzibah was still in the rockingchair. I am sure she had not left it. 

We lunched in the hotel dining-room. Campbell ordered the luncheon andpaid for it while Hephzibah exclaimed at his extravagance. She wastoo excited to eat much and too worried concerning the extent of herwardrobe to talk of less important matters. 

"Oh dear, Hosy!" she wailed, "WHY didn't I buy another best dress. DOyou suppose my black one will be good enough? All those lords andladies and millionaires on the 'Plutonia'! Won't they think I'm dreadfulpoverty-stricken. I saw a dress I wanted awfully--in one of those Bostonstores it was; but I didn't buy it because it was so dear. And I didn'ttell you I wanted it because I knew if I did you'd buy it. You're soreckless with money. But now I wish I'd bought it myself. What WILL allthose rich people think of me?"

"About what they think of me, Hephzy, I imagine, " I answered, ruefully. "Jim here has put up a joke on us. He is the only one who is getting anyfun out of it. "

Jim, for a wonder, was serious. "Miss Cahoon, " he declared, earnestly, "don't worry. I'm sure the black silk is all right; but if it wasn'tit wouldn't make any difference. On the 'Plutonia' nobody notices otherpeople's clothes. Most of them are too busy noticing their own. If Kenthas his evening togs and you have the black silk you'll pass muster. You'll have a gorgeous time. I only wish I was going with you. "

He repeated the wish several times during the afternoon. He insisted ontaking us to a matinee and Hephzy's comments on the performance seemedto amuse him hugely. It had been eleven years, so she said, since shewent to the theater. 

"Unless you count 'Uncle Tom' or 'Ten Nights in a Barroom, ' or someof those other plays that come to Bayport, " she added. "I suppose I'mmaking a perfect fool of myself laughin' and cryin' over what's nothin'but make-believe, but I can't help it. Isn't it splendid, Hosy! I wonderwhat Father would say if he could know that his daughter was reallytravelin'--just goin' to Europe! He used to worry a good deal, in hislast years, about me. Seemed to feel that he hadn't taken me around anddone as much for me as he ought to in the days when he could. 'Twas justnonsense, his feelin' that way, and I told him so. But I wonder if heknows now how happy I am. I hope he does. My goodness! I can't realizeit myself. Oh, there goes the curtain up again! Oh, ain't that pretty! IAM actin' ridiculous, I know, Mr. Campbell, ' but you mustn't mind. Laughat me all you want to; I sha'n't care a bit. "

Jim didn't laugh--then. Neither did I. He and I looked at each otherand I think the same thought was in both our minds. Good, kind, whole-souled, self-sacrificing Hephzibah! The last misgiving, the lastdoubt as to the wisdom of my choice of a traveling companion vanishedfrom my thoughts. For the first time I was actually glad I was going, glad because of the happiness it would mean to her. 

When we came out of the theater Campbell reached down in the crowd toshake my hand. 

"Congratulations, old man, " he whispered; "you did exactly the rightthing. You surprised me, I admit, but you were dead right. She's abrick. But don't I wish I was going along! Oh my! oh my! to think of youtwo wandering about Europe together! If only I might be there to see andhear! Kent, keep a diary; for my sake, promise me you'll keep a diary. Put down everything she says and read it to me when you get home. "

He left us soon afterward. He had given up the entire day to me andwould, I know, have cheerfully given the evening as well, but I wouldnot hear of it. A messenger from the office had brought him word of thepresence in New York of a distinguished scientist who was preparing amanuscript for publication and the scientist had requested an interviewthat night. Campbell was very anxious to obtain that manuscript and Iknew it. Therefore I insisted that he leave us. He was loathe to do so. 

"I hate to, Kent, " he declared. "I had set my heart on seeing you onboard and seeing you safely started. But I do want to nail Scheinfeldt, I must admit. The book is one that he has been at work on for years andtwo other publishing houses are as anxious as ours to get it. To-nightis my chance, and to-morrow may be too late. "

"Then you must not miss the chance. You must go, and go now. "

"I don't like to. Sure you've got everything you need? Your tickets andyour letters of credit and all? Sure you have money enough to carry youacross comfortably?"

"Yes, and more than enough, even on the 'Plutonia. '"

"Well, all right, then. When you reach London go to our Englishbranch--you have the address, Camford Street, just off the Strand--andwhatever help you may need they'll give you. I've cabled theminstructions. Think you can get down to the ship all right?"

I laughed. "I think it fairly possible, " I said. "If I lose my way, orHephzy is kidnapped, I'll speak to the police or telephone you. "

"The latter would be safer and much less expensive. Well, good-by, Kent. Remember now, you're going for a good time and you're to forgetliterature. Write often and keep in touch with me. Good-by, Miss Cahoon. Take care of this--er--clam of ours, won't you. Don't let anyone eat himon the half-shell, or anything like that. "

Hephzy smiled. "They'd have to eat me first, " she said, "and I'm prettyold and tough. I'll look after him, Mr. Campbell, don't you worry. "

"I don't. Good luck to you both--and good-by. "

A final handshake and he was gone. Hephzy looked after him. 

"There!" she exclaimed; "I really begin to believe I'm goin'. SomehowI feel as if the last rope had been cast off. We've got to depend onourselves now, Hosy, dear. Mercy! how silly I am talkin'. A body wouldthink I was homesick before I started. "

I did not answer, for I WAS homesick. We dined together at the hotel. There remained three long hours before it would be time for us to takethe cab for the 'Plutonia's' wharf. I suggested another theater, butHephzy, to my surprise, declined the invitation. 

"If you don't mind, Hosy, " she said, "I guess I'd rather stay right herein the room. I--I feel sort of solemn and as if I wanted to sit stilland think. Perhaps it's just as well. After waitin' eleven years to goto one theater, maybe two in the same day would be more than I couldstand. "

So we sat together in the room at the hotel--sat and thought. Theminutes dragged by. Outside beneath the windows, New York blazed androared. I looked down at the hurrying little black manikins on thesidewalks, each, apparently, bound somewhere on business or pleasure ofits own, and I wondered vaguely what that business or pleasure mightbe and why they hurried so. There were many single ones, of course, and occasionally groups of three or four, but couples were the mostnumerous. Husbands and wives, lovers and sweethearts, each with his orher life and interests bound up in the life and interests of the other. I envied them. Mine had been a solitary life, an unusual, abnormal kindof life. No one had shared its interests and ambitions with me, no onehad spurred me on to higher endeavor, had loved with me and sufferedwith me, helping me through the shadows and laughing with me in thesunshine. No one, since Mother's death, except Hephzy and Hephzy's loveand care and sacrifice, fine as they were, were different. I had missedsomething, I had missed a great deal, and now it was too late. Youth andhigh endeavor and ambition had gone by; I had left them behind. I wasa solitary, queer, self-centered old bachelor, a "quahaug, " as myfellow-Bayporters called me. And to ship a quahaug around the world isnot likely to do the creature a great deal of good. If he lives throughit he is likely to be shipped home again tougher and drier and moreuseless to the rest of creation than ever. 

Hephzibah, too, had evidently been thinking, for she interrupted mydismal meditations with a long sigh. I started and turned toward her. 

"What's the matter?" I asked. 

"Oh, nothin', " was the solemn answer. "I was wonderin', that's all. Justwonderin' if he would talk English. It would be a terrible thing ifhe could speak nothin' but French or a foreign language and I couldn'tunderstand him. But Ardelia was American and that brute of a Morleyspoke plain enough, so I suppose--"

I judged it high time to interrupt. 

"Come, Hephzy, " said I. "It is half-past ten. We may as well start atonce. "

Broadway, seen through the cab windows, was bright enough, a blaze offlashing signs and illuminated shop windows. But --th street, at thefoot of which the wharves of the Trans-Atlantic Steamship Company werelocated, was black and dismal. It was by no means deserted, however. Before and behind and beside us were other cabs and automobiles bound inthe same direction. Hephzy peered out at them in amazement. 

"Mercy on us, Hosy!" she exclaimed. "I never saw such a procession ofcarriages. They're as far ahead and as far back of us as you can see. Itis like the biggest funeral that ever was, except that they don't crawlalong the way a funeral does. I'm glad of that, anyhow. I wish I didn'tFEEL so much as if I was goin' to be buried. I don't know why I do. Ihope it isn't a presentiment. "

If it was she forgot it a few minutes later. The cab stopped before amammoth doorway in a long, low building and a person in uniform openedthe door. The wide street was crowded with vehicles and from them weredescending people attired as if for a party rather than an ocean voyage. I helped Hephzy to alight and, while I was paying the cab driver, shelooked about her. 

"Hosy! Hosy!" she whispered, seizing my arm tight, "we've made amistake. This isn't the steamboat; this is--is a weddin' or somethin'. Look! look!"

I looked, looked at the silk hats, the opera cloaks, the jewels andthose who wore them. For a moment I, too, was certain there must be amistake. Then I looked upward and saw above the big doorway the flashingelectric sign of the "Trans-Atlantic Navigation Company. "

"No, Hephzy, " said I; "I guess it is the right place. Come. "

I gave her my arm--that is, she continued to clutch it with bothhands--and we moved forward with the crowd, through the doorway, pasta long, moving inclined plane up which bags, valises, bundles of golfsticks and all sorts of lighter baggage were gliding, and faced anotherand smaller door. 

"Lift this way! This way to the lift!" bawled a voice. 

"What's a lift?" whispered Hephzy, tremulously, "Hosy, what's a lift?"

"An elevator, " I whispered in reply. 

"But we can't go on board a steamboat in an elevator, can we? I neverheard--"

I don't know what she never heard. The sentence was not finished. Intothe lift we went. On either side of us were men in evening dress anddirectly in front was a large woman, hatless and opera-cloaked, withdiamonds in her ears and a rustle of silk at every point of her persons. The car reeked with perfume. 

The large woman wriggled uneasily. 

"George, " she said, in a loud whisper, "why do they crowd these liftsin this disgusting way? And WHY, " with another wriggle, "do they permitPERSONS with packages to use them?"

As we emerged from the elevator Hephzy whispered again. 

"She meant us, Hosy, " she said. "I've got three of those books of yoursin this bundle under my arm. I COULDN'T squeeze 'em into either of thevalises. But she needn't have been so disagreeable about it, need she. "

Still following the crowd, we passed through more wide doorways and intoa huge loft where, through mammoth openings at our left, the cool airfrom the river blew upon our faces. Beyond these openings loomed anenormous something with rows of railed walks leading up its sides. Hephzibah and I, moving in a sort of bewildered dream, found ourselvesascending one of these walks. At its end was another doorway and, beyond, a great room, with more elevators and a mosaic floor, andmahogany and gilt and gorgeousness, and silk and broadcloth and satin. 

Hephzy gasped and stopped short. 

"It IS a mistake, Hosy!" she cried. "Where is the steamer?"

I smiled. I felt almost as "green" and bewildered as she, but I triednot to show my feelings. 

"It is all right, Hephzy, " I answered. "This is the steamer. I know itdoesn't look like one, but it is. This is the 'Plutonia' and we are onboard at last. "

Two hours later we leaned together over the rail and watched the lightsof New York grow fainter behind us. 

Hephzibah drew a deep breath. 

"It is so, " she said. "It is really so. We ARE, aren't we, Hosy. "

"We are, " said I. "There is no doubt of it. "

"I wonder what will happen to us before we see those lights again. "

"I wonder. "

"Do you think HE--Do you think Little Frank--"

"Hephzy, " I interrupted, "if we are going to bed at all before morning, we had better start now. "

"All right, Hosy. But you mustn't say 'go to bed. ' Say 'turn in. 'Everyone calls going to bed 'turning in' aboard a vessel. "

CHAPTER V

In Which We View, and Even Mingle Slightly with, the Upper Classes

It is astonishing--the ease with which the human mind can accustomitself to the unfamiliar and hitherto strange. Nothing could have beenmore unfamiliar or strange to Hephzibah and me than an ocean voyage andthe "Plutonia. " And yet before three days of that voyage were at an endwe were accustomed to both--to a degree. We had learned to do certainthings and not to do others. Some pet illusions had been shattered, and new and, at first, surprising items of information had lost theirnewness and come to be accepted as everyday facts. 

For example, we learned that people in real life actually wore monocles, something, which I, of course, had known to be true but which had seemednevertheless an unreality, part of a stage play, a "dress-up" game forchildren and amateur actors. The "English swell" in the performances ofthe Bayport Dramatic Society always wore a single eyeglass, but he alsowore Dundreary whiskers and clothes which would have won him admittanceto the Home for Feeble-Minded Youth without the formality of anexamination. His "English accent" was a combination of the East Bayporttwang and an Irish brogue and he was a blithering idiot in appearanceand behavior. No one in his senses could have accepted him as anythinghuman and the eyeglass had been but a part of his unreal absurdity. 

And yet, here on the "Plutonia, " were at least a dozen men, men ofdignity and manner, who sported monocles and acted as if they wereused to them. The first evening before we left port, one or two were inevidence; the next afternoon, in the Lounge, there were more. Thefact that they were on an English ship, bound for England, brought themonocles out of their concealment, as Hephzy said, "like hoptoads afterthe first spring thaw. " Her amazed comments were unique. 

"But what good are they, Hosy?" she demanded. "Can they see with 'em?"

"I suppose they can, " I answered. "You can see better with yourspectacles than you can without them. "

"Humph! I can see better with two eyes than I can with one, as far asthat goes. I don't believe they wear 'em for seein' at all. Take thatman there, " pointing to a long, lank Canadian in a yellow ulster, whom the irreverent smoking-room had already christened "The Dukeof Labrador. " "Look at him! He didn't wear a sign of one until thismornin'. If he needed it to see with he'd have worn it before, wouldn'the? Don't tell me! He wears it because he wants people to think he's aregular boarder at Windsor Castle. And he isn't; he comes from Toronto, and that's only a few miles from the United States. Ugh! You foolishthing!" as the "Duke of Labrador" strutted by our deck-chairs; "Isuppose you think you're pretty, don't you? Well, you're not. You lookfor all the world like a lighthouse with one window in it and the lampout. "

I laughed. "Hephzy, " said I, "every nation has its peculiarities and themonocle is an English national institution, like--well, like tea, forinstance. "

"Institution! Don't talk to me about institutions! I know theinstitution I'd put HIM in. "

She didn't fancy the "Duke of Labrador. " Neither did she fancy tea atbreakfast and coffee at dinner. But she learned to accept the first. Twosessions with the "Plutonia's" breakfast coffee completed her education. 

"Bring me tea, " she said to our table steward on the third morning. "I've tried most every kind of coffee and lived through it, but I'mgettin' too old to keep on experimentin' with my health. Bring me teaand I'll try to forget what time it is. "

We had tea at breakfast, therefore, and tea at four in the afternoon. Hephzibah and I learned to take it with the rest. She watched herfellow-passengers, however, and as usual had something to say concerningtheir behavior. 

"Did you hear that, Hosy?" she whispered, as we sat together in the"Lounge, " sipping tea and nibbling thin bread and butter and theinevitable plum cake. "Did you hear what that woman said about herhusband?"

I had not heard, and said so. 

"Well, judgin' by her actions, I thought her husband was lost and shewas sure he had been washed overboard. 'Where is Edward?' she keptaskin'. 'Poor Edward! What WILL he do? Where is he?' I was gettin' realanxious, and then it turned out that she was afraid that, if he didn'tcome soon, he'd miss his tea. My soul! Hosy, I've been thinkin' and doyou know the conclusion I've come to?"

"No, " I replied. "What is it?"

"Well, it sounds awfully irreverent, but I've come to the conclusionthat the first part of the Genesis in the English scriptures must bedifferent than ours. I'm sure they think that the earth was created insix days and, on the seventh, Adam and Eve had tea. I believe it for anabsolute fact. "

The pet illusion, the loss of which caused her the most severe shock, was that concerning the nobility. On the morning of our first day afloatthe passenger lists were distributed. Hephzibah was early on deck. Fortunately neither she nor I were in the least discomfited by themotion of the ship, then or at any time. We proved to be good sailors;Hephzibah declared it was in the blood. 

"For a Knowles or a Cahoon to be seasick, " she announced, "would be adisgrace. Our men folks for four generations would turn over in theirgraves. "

She was early on deck that first morning and, at breakfast she and I hadthe table to ourselves. She had the passenger list propped against thesugar bowl and was reading the names. 

"My gracious, Hosy!" she exclaimed. "What, do you think! There are five'Sirs' on board and one 'Lord'! Just think of it! Where do you supposethey are?"

"In their berths, probably, at this hour, " I answered. 

"Then I'm goin' to stay right here till they come out. I'm goin' to see'em and know what they look like if I sit at this table all day. "

I smiled. "I wouldn't do that, Hephzy, " said I. "We can see them atlunch. "

"Oh! O--Oh! And there's a Princess here! PrincessB-e-r-g-e-n-s-t-e-i-n--Bergenstein. Princess Bergenstein. What do yousuppose she's Princess of?"

"Princess of Jerusalem, I should imagine, " I answered. "Oh, I see!You've skipped a line, Hephzy. Bergenstein belongs to another person. The Princess's name is Berkovitchky. Russian or Polish, perhaps. "

"I don't care if she's Chinese; I mean to see her. I never expected tolook at a live Princess in MY life. "

We stopped in the hall at the entrance to the dining-saloon to examinethe table chart. Hephzibah made careful notes of the tables at which theknights and the lord and the Princess were seated and their locations. At lunch she consulted the notes. 

"The lord sits right behind us at that little table there, " she said, excitedly. "That table for two is marked 'Lord and Lady Erkskine. ' Nowwe must watch when they come in. "

A few minutes later a gray-haired little man, accompanied by amiddle-aged woman entered the saloon and were seated at the small tableby an obsequious steward. Hephzy gasped. 

"Why--why, Hosy!" she exclaimed. "That isn't the lord, is it? THAT?"

"I suppose it must be, " I answered. When our own Steward came I askedhim. 

"Yes, sir, " he answered, with unction. "Yes, sir, that is Lord and LadyErkskine, sir, thank you, sir. "

Hephzy stared at Lord and Lady Erkskine. I gave our luncheon order, and the steward departed. Then her indignant disgust and disappointmentburst forth. 

"Well! well!" she exclaimed. "And that is a real live lord! That is!Why, Hosy, he's the livin' image of Asaph Tidditt back in Bayport. IfAse could afford clothes like that he might be his twin brother. Well! Iguess that's enough. I don't want to see that Princess any more. Just aslike as not she'd look like Susanna Wixon. "

Her criticisms were not confined to passengers of other nationalities. Some of our own came in for comment quite as severe. 

"Look at those girls at that table over there, " she whispered. "The twoin red, I mean. One of 'em has got a little flag pinned on her dress. What do you suppose that is for?"

I looked at the young ladies in red. They were vivacious damsels andtheir conversation and laughter were by no means subdued. A middle-agedman and woman and two young fellows were their table-mates and the groupattracted a great deal of attention. 

"What has she got that flag pinned on her for?" repeated Hephzy. 

"She wishes everyone to know she's an American exportation, I suppose, "I answered. "She is evidently proud of her country. "

"Humph! Her country wouldn't be proud of her, if it had to listen toher the way we do. There's some exports it doesn't pay to advertise, Iguess, and she and her sister are that kind. Every time they laugh Ican see that Lady Erkskine shrivel up like a sensitive plant. I hope shedon't think all American girls are like those two. "

"She probably does. "

"Well, IF she does she's makin' a big mistake. I might as well believeall Englishmen were like this specimen comin' now, and I don't believethat, even if I do hail from Bayport. "

The specimen was the "Duke of Labrador, " who sauntered by, monocle ineye, hands in pockets and an elaborate affection of the "Oxford stoop"which he must have spent time and effort in acquiring. Hephzibah shookher head. 

"I wish Toronto was further from home than it is, " she declared. "Butthere! I shan't worry about him. I'll leave him for Lord Erkskine andhis wife to be ashamed of. He's their countryman, or he hopes he is. I've got enough to do bein' ashamed of those two American girls. "

It may be gathered from these conversations that Hephzy and I had beenso fortunate as to obtain a table by ourselves. This was not the case. There were four seats at our table and, according to the chart of thedining-saloon, one of them should be occupied by a "Miss Rutledge of NewYork" and the other by "A. Carleton Heathcroft of London. " Miss Rutledgewe had not seen at all. Our table steward informed us that the lady was"hindisposed" and confined to her room. She was an actress, he added. Hephzy, whose New England training had imbued her with the convictionthat all people connected with the stage must be highly undesirableas acquaintances, was quite satisfied. "Of course I'm sorry she isn'twell, " she confided to me "but I'm awfully glad she won't be at ourtable. I shouldn't want to hurt her feelin's, but I couldn't talk to heras I would to an ordinary person. I COULDN'T! All I should be able tothink of was what she wore, or didn't wear, when she was actin' herparts. I expect I'm old-fashioned, but when I think of those girlsin the pictures outside that theater--the one we didn't goto--I--well--mercy!"

The "pictures" were the posters advertising a popular musical comedywhich Campbell had at first suggested our witnessing the afternoon ofour stay in New York. Hephzibah's shocked expression and my whisperedadvice had brought about a change of plans. We saw a perfectlyrespectable, though thrilling, melodrama instead. I might haverelieved my relative's mind by assuring her that all actresses were notnecessarily attired as "merry villagers, " but the probable result of myassurance seemed scarcely worth the effort. 

A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was not acquainted with the stage, ina professional way, at any rate. He was a slim and elegant gentleman, dressed with elaborate care, who appeared profoundly bored with lifein general and our society in particular. He sported one of Hephzibah'sdetestations, a monocle, and spoke, when he spoke at all, with a languiddrawl and what I learned later was a Piccadilly accent. He favored uswith his company during our first day afloat; after that we saw himamid the select group at that much sought--by some--center of shipboardprominence, "the Captain's table. "

Oddly enough Hephzibah did not resent the Heathcroft condescension andsingle eyeglass as much as I had expected. She explained her feeling inthis way. 

"I know he's dreadfully high and mighty and all that, " she said. "Andthe way he said 'Really?' when you and I spoke to him was enough tosquelch even an Angelina Phinney. But I didn't care so much. Anybody, even a body as green as I am, can see that he actually IS somebody whenhe's at home, not a make-believe, like that Toronto man. And I'm gladfor our waiter's sake that he's gone somewhere else. The poor thingbowed so low when he came in and was so terribly humble every time Mr. Heathcroft spoke to him. I should hate to feel I must say 'Thank you'when I was told that the food was 'rotten bad. ' I never thought 'rotten'was a nice word, but all these English folks say it. I heard that prettyEnglish girl over there tell her father that it was a 'jolly rottenmornin', ' and she's as nice and sweet as she can be. Well, I'mlearnin' fast, Hosy. I can see a woman smoke a cigarette now and notshiver--much. Old Bridget Doyle up in West Bayport, used to smoke apipe and the whole town talked about it. She'd be right at home in thatsittin'-room they call a 'Lounge' after dinner, wouldn't she?"

My acquaintance with A. Carleton Heathcroft, which appeared to haveended almost as soon as it began, was renewed in an odd way. I was inthe "Smoke-Room" after dinner the third evening out, enjoying a cigarand idly listening to the bidding for pools on the ship's run, thattime-honored custom which helps the traveling gentleman of sportingproclivities to kill time and lose money. On board the "Plutonia, " withits unusually large quota of millionaires and personages, the biddingwas lively and the prices paid for favored numbers high. Needless to sayI was not one of the bidders. My interest was merely casual. 

The auctioneer that evening was a famous comedian with an internationalreputation and his chatter, as he urged his hearers to higher bids, wasclever and amusing. I was listening to it and smiling at the jokes whena voice at my elbow said:

"Five pounds. "

I turned and saw that the speaker was Heathcroft. His monocle was in hiseye, a cigarette was between his fingers and he looked as if he hadbeen newly washed and ironed and pressed from head to foot. He noddedcarelessly and I bowed in return. 

"Five pounds, " repeated Mr. Heathcroft. 

The auctioneer acknowledged the bid and proceeded to urge his audienceon to higher flights. The flights were made and my companion capped eachwith one more lofty. Eight, nine, ten pounds were bid. Heathcroft bideleven. Someone at the opposite side of the room bid twelve. It seemedridiculous to me. Possibly my face expressed my feeling; at any ratesomething caused the immaculate gentleman in the next chair to addressme instead of the auctioneer. 

"I say, " he said, "that's running a bit high, isn't it?"

"It seems so to me, " I replied. "The number is five hundred andeighty-six and I think we shall do better than that. "

"Oh, do you! Really! And why do you think so, may I ask?"

"Because we are having a remarkably smooth sea and a favorable wind. "

"Oh, but you forget the fog. There's quite a bit of fog about us now, isn't there. "

I wish I could describe the Heathcroft manner of saying "Isn't there. " Ican't, however; there is no use trying. 

"It will amount to nothing, " I answered. "The glass is high and thereis no indication of bad weather. Our run this noon was five hundred andninety-one, you remember. "

"Yes. But we did have extraordinarily good weather for that. "

"Why, not particularly good. We slowed down about midnight. There wasa real fog then and the glass was low. The second officer told me itdropped very suddenly and there was a heavy sea running. For an hourbetween twelve and one we were making not much more than half our usualspeed. "

"Really! That's interesting. May I ask if you and the second officer arefriends?"

"Scarcely that. He and I exchanged a few words on deck this morning, that's all. "

"But he told you about the fog and the--what is it--the glass, and allthat. Fancy! that's extremely odd. I'm acquainted with the captain ina trifling sort of way; I sit at his table, I mean to say. And I assureyou he doesn't tell us a word. And, by Jove, we cross-question him, too!Rather!"

I smiled. I could imagine the cross-questioning. 

"I suppose the captain is obliged to be non-committal, " I observed. "That's part of his job. The second officer meant to be, I have nodoubt, but perhaps my remarks showed that I was really interested inships and the sea. My father and grandfather, too, for that matter wereseafaring men, both captains. That may have made the second officer morecommunicative. Not that he said anything of importance, of course. "

Mr. Heathcroft seemed very interested. He actually removed his eyeglass. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "You know something about it, then. I thought it wasextraordinary, but now I see. And you think our run will be better thanfive hundred and eighty?"

"It should be, unless there is a remarkable change. This ship makes oversix hundred, day after day, in good weather. She should do at least sixhundred by to-morrow noon, unless there is a sudden change, as I said. "

"But six hundred would be--it would be the high field, by Jove!"

"Anything over five hundred and ninety-four would be that. The numbersare very low to-night. Far too low, I should say. "

Heathcroft was silent. The auctioneer, having forced the bid on numberfive hundred and eighty-six up to thirteen pounds ten, was imploring hishearers not to permit a certain winner to be sacrificed at this absurdfigure. 

"Fourteen pounds, gentlemen, " he begged. "For the sake of the wifeand children, for the honor of the star spangled banner and the unionjack, --DON'T hesitate--don't even stammer--below fourteen pounds. "

He looked in our direction as he said it. Mr. Heathcroft made no sign. He produced a gold cigarette box and extended it in my direction. 

"Will you?" he inquired. 

"No, thank you, " I replied. "I will smoke a cigar, if you don't mind. "

He did not appear to mind. He lighted his cigarette, readjusted hismonocle, and stared stonily at the gesticulating auctioneer. 

The bidding went on. One by one the numbers were sold until all weregone. Then the auctioneer announced that bids for the "high field, " thatis, any number above five hundred and ninety-four, were in order. Mycompanion suddenly came to life. 

"Ten pounds, " he called. 

I started. "For mercy sake, Mr. Heathcroft, " I protested, "don't letanything I have said influence your bidding. I may be entirely wrong. "

He turned and surveyed me through the eyeglass. 

"You may wish to bid yourself, " he drawled. "Careless of me. So sorry. Shall I withdraw the bid?"

"No, no. I'm not going to bid. I only--"

"Eleven pounds I am offered, gentlemen, " shouted the auctioneer. "Elevenpounds! It would be like robbing an orphan asylum. Do I hear twelve?"

He heard twelve immediately--from Mr. Heathcroft. 

Thirteen pounds were bid. Evidently others shared my opinion concerningthe value of the "high field. " Heathcroft promptly raised it tofourteen. I ventured another protest. So far as effect was concerned Imight as well have been talking to one of the smoke-stacks. The biddingwas lively and lengthy. At last the "high field" went to Mr. A. CarletonHeathcroft for twenty-one pounds, approximately one hundred and fivedollars. I thought it time for me to make my escape. I was wonderingwhere I should hide next day, when the run was announced. 

"Greatly obliged to you, I'm sure, " drawled the fortunate bidder. "Won'tyou join me in a whisky and soda or something?"

I declined the whisky and soda. 

"Sorry, " said Mr. Heathcroft. "Jolly grateful for putting me right, Mr. --er--"

"Knowles is my name, " I said. He might have remembered it; I rememberedhis perfectly. 

"Of course--Knowles. Thank you so much, Knowles. Thank you and thesecond officer. Nothing like having professional information--eh, what?Rather!"

There seemed to be no doubt in his mind that he was going to win. Therewas more than a doubt in mine. I told Hephzy of my experience when Ijoined her in the Lounge. My attempts to say "Really" and "Isn't it" and"Rather" in the Heathcroft manner and with the Heathcroft accent pleasedher very much. As to the result of my unpremeditated "tip" she was quiteindifferent. 

"If he loses it will serve him good and right, " she declared. "Gamblin'spoor business and I sha'n't care if he does lose. "

"I shall, " I observed. "I feel responsible in a way and I shall besorry. "

"'SO sorry, ' you mean, Hosy. That's what that blunderin' steward saidwhen he stepped on my skirt and tore the gatherin' all loose. I told himhe wasn't half as sorry as I was. "

But at noon next day, when the observation was taken and the run postedon the bulletin board the figure was six hundred and two. My "tip"had been a good one after all and A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was richer by some seven hundred dollars, even after the expenses oftreating the "smoke-room" and feeing the smoke-room steward had beendeducted. I did not visit the smoke-room to share in the treat. I fearedI might be expected to furnish more professional information. But thatevening a bottle of vintage champagne was produced by our obsequioustable steward. "With Mr. 'Eathcroft's compliments, sir, thank you, sir, "announced the latter. 

Hephzibah looked at the gilt-topped bottle. 

"WHAT in the world will we do with it, Hosy?" she demanded. 

"Why, drink it, I suppose, " I answered. "It is the only thing we can do. We can't send it back. "

"But you can't drink the whole of it, and I'm sure I sha'n't start in tobe a drunkard at my age. I'll take the least little bit of a drop, justto see what it tastes like. I've read about champagne, just as I've readabout lords and ladies, all my life, but I never expected to see eitherof 'em. Well there!" after a very small sip from the glass, "there'sanother pet idea gone to smash. A lord looks like Ase Tidditt, andchampagne tastes like vinegar and soda. Tut! tut! tut! if I had to drinkthat sour stuff all my life I'd probably look like Asaph, too. No wonderthat Erkskine man is such a shriveled-up thing. "

I glanced toward the captain's table. Mr. Heathcroft raised his glass. I bowed and raised mine. The group at that table, the captain included, were looking in my direction. I judged that my smoke-room acquaintancehad told them of my wonderful "tip. " I imagined I could see thesarcastic smile upon the captain's face. I did not care for that kind ofcelebrity. 

But the affair had one quite unexpected result. The next forenoon asHephzibah and I were reclining in our deck-chairs the captain himself, florid-faced, gray-bearded, gold-laced and grand, halted before us. 

"I believe your name is Knowles, sir, " he said, raising his cap. 

"It is, " I replied. I wondered what in the world was coming next. Was hegoing to take me to task for talking with his second officer?

"Your home is in Bayport, Massachusetts, I see by the passenger list, "he went on. "Is that Bayport on Cape Cod, may I ask?"

"Yes, " I replied, more puzzled than ever. 

"I once knew a Knowles from your town, sir. He was a seafaring manlike myself. His name was Philander Knowles, and when I knew him he wascommander of the bark 'Ranger. '"

"He was my father, " I said. 

Captain Stone extended his hand. 

"Mr. Knowles, " he declared, "this is a great pleasure, sir. I knewyour father years ago when I was a young man, mate of one of our shipsengaged in the Italian fruit trade. He was very kind to me at that time. I have never forgotten it. May I sit down?"

The chair next to ours happened to be unoccupied at the moment andhe took it. I introduced Hephzibah and we chatted for some time. Thecaptain appeared delighted to meet the son of his old acquaintance. Father and he had met in Messina--Father's ship was in the fruit tradealso at that time--and something or other he had done to help youngStone had made a great impression on the latter. I don't know what thesomething was, whether it was monetary help or assistance in getting outof a serious scrape; Stone did not tell me and I didn't ask. But, at anyrate, the pair had become very friendly there and at subsequent meetingsin the Mediterranean ports. The captain asked all sorts of questionsabout Father, his life, his family and his death aboard the sinking"Monarch of the Seas. " Hephzibah furnished most of the particulars. Sheremembered them well. 

Captain Stone nodded solemnly. 

"That is the way the master of a ship should die, " he declared. "Yourfather, Mr. Knowles, was a man and he died like one. He was my firstAmerican acquaintance and he gave me a new idea of Yankees--if you'llexcuse my calling them that, sir. "

Hephzy had a comment to make. 

"There are SOME pretty fair Yankees, " she observed, drily. "ALL the goodfolks haven't moved back to England yet. "

The captain solemnly assured her that he was certain of it. 

"Though two of the best are on their way, " I added, with a wink atHephzy. This attempt at humor was entirely lost. Our companion said hepresumed I referred to Mr. And Mrs. Van Hook, who sat next him at table. 

"And that leads me to ask if Miss Cahoon and yourself will not join us, "he went on. "I could easily arrange for two places. "

I looked at Hephzy. Her face expressed decided disapproval and she shookher head. 

"Thank you, Captain Stone, " I said; "but we have a table to ourselvesand are very comfortable. We should not think of troubling you to thatextent. "

He assured us it would not be a trouble, but a pleasure. We were firm inour refusal, however, and he ceased to urge. He declared his intentionof seeing that our quarters were adequate, offered to accompany usthrough the engine-rooms and the working portions of the ship wheneverwe wished, ordered the deck steward, who was all but standing on hishead in obsequious desire to oblige, to take good care of us, shookhands once more, and went away. Hephzibah drew a long breath. 

"My goodness!" she exclaimed; "sit at HIS table! I guess not! There'sanother lord and his wife there, to say nothin' of the Van Hooks. I'dlook pretty, in my Cape Cod clothes, perched up there, wouldn't I! A henis all right in her place, but she don't belong in a peacock cage. Andthey drink champagne ALL the time there; I've watched 'em. No thank you, I'll stay in the henyard along with the everyday fowls. "

"Odd that he should have known Father, " I observed. "Well, I suppose theproper remark to make, under the circumstances, is that this is a smallworld. That is what nine-tenths of Bayport would say. "

"It's what I say, too, " declared Hephzy, with emphasis. "Well, it'sawful encouraging for us, isn't it. "

"Encouraging? What do you mean?"

"Why, I mean about Little Frank. It makes me feel surer than ever thatwe shall run across him. "

I suppressed a groan. "Hephzy, " said I, "why on earth should the factthat Captain Stone knew my father encourage you to believe that we shallmeet a person we never knew at all?"

"Hosy, how you do talk! If you and I, just cruisin' this way acrossthe broadside of creation, run across a man that knew Cousin Philanderthirty-nine years ago, isn't it just as reasonable to suppose we'll meeta child who was born twenty-one years ago? I should say 'twas! Hosy, I've had a presentiment about this cruise of ours: We're SENT on it;that's what I think--we're sent. Oh, you can laugh! You'll see by andby. THEN you won't laugh. "

"No, Hephzy, " I admitted, resignedly, "I won't laugh then, I promiseyou. If _I_ ever reach the stage where I see a Little Frank I promiseyou I sha'n't laugh. I'll believe diseases of the brain are contagious, like the measles, and I'll send for a doctor. "

The captain met us again in the dining-room that evening. He cameover to our table and chatted for some time. His visit caused quite asensation. Shipboard society is a little world by itself and the ship'scaptain is the head of it. Persons who would, very likely, have passedCaptain Stone on Fifth Avenue or Piccadilly without recognizing him nowtoadied to him as if he were a Czar, which, in a way, I suppose he iswhen afloat. His familiarity with us shed a sort of reflected glory uponHephzy and me. Several of our fellow-passengers spoke to us that eveningfor the first time. 

A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was not among the Lounge habitues; thesmoke-room was his accustomed haunt. But the next forenoon as I leanedover the rail of the after promenade deck watching the antics of the"Stokers' Band" which was performing for the benefit of the second-classwith an eye toward pennies and small silver from all classes, Heathcroftsauntered up and leaned beside me. We exchanged good-mornings. I thankedhim for the wine. 

"Quite unnecessary, Knowles, " he said. "Least I could do, it seems tome. I pulled quite a tidy bit from that inside information of yours;I did really. Awfully obliged, and all that. You seem to have a wideacquaintance among the officers. That captain chap tells us he knew yourfather--the sailor one you told me of, you understand. "

Having had but one father I understood perfectly. We chatted in ainconsequential way for a short time. In the course of our conversationI happened to mention that I wrote, professionally. To my surpriseHeathcroft was impressed. 

"Do you, really!" he exclaimed. "That's interesting, isn't it now! Ihave a cousin who writes. Don't know why she does it; she doesn't gether writings printed, but she keeps on. It is a habit of hers. Curiousdissipation--eh, what? Does that--er--Miss--that companion of yours, write also?"

I laughed and informed him that writing was not one of Hephzibah's badhabits. 

"Extraordinary woman, isn't she, " he said. "I met her just now, walkingabout, and I happened to mention that I was taking the air. She said shewouldn't quarrel with me because of that. The more I took the bettershe would like it; she could spare about a gale and a quarter and notfeel--What did she call it? Oh yes, 'scrimped. ' What is 'scrimped, ' mayI ask?"

I explained the meaning of "scrimped. " Heathcroft was much amused. 

"It WAS blowing a bit strong up forward there, " he declared. "That was aclever way of putting it, wasn't it?"

"She is a clever woman, " I said, shortly. 

Heathcroft did not enthuse. 

"Oh, " he said dubiously. "A relative of yours, I suppose. "

"A cousin, that's all. "

"One's relatives, particularly the feminine relatives, incline towardeccentricity as they grow older, don't you think. I have an aunt down inSussex, who is queer. A good sort, too, no end of money, a big placeand all that, but odd. She and I get on well together--I am her pet, Isuppose I may say--but, by Jove, she has quarreled with everyone else inthe family. I let her have her own way and it has convinced her that Iam the only rational Heathcroft in existence. Do you golf, Knowles?"

"I attempt something in that line. I doubt if my efforts should becalled golf. "

"It is a rotten game when one is off form, isn't it. If you are downin Sussex and I chance to be there I should be glad to have you play aneighteen with me. Burglestone Bogs is the village. Anyone will directyou to the Manor. If I'm not there, introduce yourself to my aunt. LadyKent Carey is the name. She'll be jolly glad to welcome you if youtell her you know me. I'm her sole interest in life, the greenhousesexcepted, of course. Cultivating roses and rearing me are her hobbies. "

I thought it improbable that the golfers of Burglestone Bogs would everbe put to shame by the brilliancy of my game. I thanked him, however. I was surprised at the invitation. I had been under the impression, derived from my reading, that the average Englishman required anacquaintance of several months before proffering hospitality. No doubtMr. Heathcroft was not an average Englishman. 

"Will you be in London long?" he asked. "I suppose not. You're probablyoff on a hurricane jaunt from one end of the Continent to the other. Twohours at Stratford, bowing before Shakespeare's tomb, a Derby throughthe cathedral towns, and then the Channel boat, eh? That's the Americanway, isn't it?"

"It is not our way, " I replied. "We have no itinerary. I don't knowwhere we may go or how long we shall stay. "

Evidently I rose again in his estimation. 

"Have you picked your hotel in London?" he inquired. 

"No. I shall be glad of any help you may be kind enough to give alongthat line. "

He reflected. "There's a decent little hotel in Mayfair, " he said, aftera moment. "A private sort of shop. I don't use it myself; generally putup at the club, I mean to say. But my aunt and my sisters do. They'requite mad about it. It is--Ah--Bancroft's--that's it, Bancroft's Hotel. I'll give you the address before I leave. "

I thanked him again. He was certainly trying to be kind. No doubt thekindness was due to his sense of obligation engendered by what he calledmy "professional information, " but it was kindness all the same. 

The first bugle for luncheon sounded. Mr. Heathcroft turned to go. 

"I'll see you again, Knowles, " he said, "and give you the hotel streetand number and all that. Hope you'll like it. If you shouldn't theLangham is not bad--quiet and old-fashioned, but really very fair. And if you care for something more public and--Ah--American, there arealways the Savoy and the Cecil. Here is my card. If I can be of anyservice to you while you are in town drop me a line at my clubs, eitherof them. I must be toddling. By, by. "

He "toddled" and I sought my room to prepare for luncheon. 

Two days more and our voyage was at an end. We saw more of our friendthe captain during those days and of Heathcroft as well. The formerfulfilled his promise of showing us through the ship, and Hephzy and I, descending greasy iron stairways and twisting through narrow passages, saw great rooms full of mighty machinery, and a cavern where perspiring, grimy men, looking but half-human in the red light from the furnacemouths, toiled ceaselessly with pokers and shovels. 

We stood at the forward end of the promenade deck at night, looking outinto the blackness, and heard the clang of four bells from the shadowsat the bow, the answering clang from the crow's-nest on the foremast, and the weird cry of "All's well" from the lookouts. This experiencemade a great impression on us both. Hephzy expressed my feeling exactlywhen she said in a hushed whisper:

"There, Hosy! for the first time I feel as if I really was on board aship at sea. My father and your father and all our men-folks for everso far back have heard that 'All's well'--yes, and called it, too, when they first went as sailors. Just think of it! Why Father was onlysixteen when he shipped; just a boy, that's all. I've heard him say'All's well' over and over again; 'twas a kind of byword with him. Thiswhole thing seems like somethin' callin' to me out of the past and gone. Don't you feel it?"

I felt it, as she did. The black night, the quiet, the loneliness, thesalt spray on our faces and the wash of the waves alongside, the highsingsong wail from lookout to lookout--it WAS a voice from the past, thecall of generations of sea-beaten, weather-worn, brave old Cape Coddersto their descendants, reminding the latter of a dead and gone professionand of thousands of fine, old ships which had plowed the ocean in thedays when "Plutonias" were unknown. 

We attended the concert in the Lounge, and the ball on the promenadedeck which followed. Mr. Heathcroft, who seemed to have made theacquaintance of most of the pretty girls on board, informed us in theintervals between a two-step and a tango, that he had been "dancingmadly. "

"You Americans are extraordinary people, " he added. "Your dances areas extraordinary as your food. That Mrs. Van Hook, who sits near meat table, was indulging in--what do you call them?--oh, yes, griddlecakes--this morning. Begged me to try them. I declined. Horrid thingsthey were. Round, like a--like a washing-flannel, and swimming intreacle. Frightful!"

"And that man, " commented Hephzy, "eats cold toast and strawberrypreserves for breakfast and washes 'em down with three cups of tea. Andhe calls nice hot pancakes frightful!"

At ten o'clock in the morning of the sixth day we sighted the Irishcoast through the dripping haze which shrouded it and at four we droppedanchor abreast the breakwater of the little Welsh village which was tobe our landing place. The sun was shining dimly by this time and therounded hills and the mountains beyond them, the green slopes dottedwith farms and checkered with hedges and stone walls, the gray stonefort with its white-washed barrack buildings, the spires and chimneysof the village in the hollow--all these combined to make a picture whichwas homelike and yet not like home, foreign and yet strangely familiar. 

We leaned over the rail and watched the trunks and boxes and bags andbundles shoot down the slide into the baggage and mail-boat which layalongside. Hephzy was nervous. 

"They'll smash everything to pieces--they surely will!" she declared. "Either that or smash themselves, I don't know which is liable to happenfirst. Mercy on us! Did you see that? That box hit the man right in theback!"

"It didn't hurt him, " I said, reassuringly. "It was nothing but ahat-box. "

"Hurt HIM--no! But I guess likely it didn't do the hat much good. Ithought baggage smashin' was an American institution, but they've gotsome experts over here. Oh, my soul and body! there goes MY trunk--endover end, of course. Well, I'm glad there's no eggs in it, anyway. Josiah Dimick always used to carry two dozen eggs to his daughter-in-lawevery time he went to Boston. He had 'em in a box once and put the boxon the seat alongside of him and a big fat woman came and sat--Oh! thatwas your trunk, Hosy! Did you hear it hit? I expect every one of those'English Poets' went from top to bottom then, right through all yourclothes. Never mind, I suppose it's all part of travelin'. "

Mr. Heathcroft, looking more English than ever in his natty top coat, and hat at the back of his head, sauntered up. He was, for him, almostenthusiastic. 

"Looking at the water, were you?" he queried. "Glorious color, isn't it. One never sees a sea like that or a sky like that anywhere but here athome. "

Hephzy looked at the sea and sky. It was plain that she wished toadmire, for his sake, but her admiration was qualified. 

"Don't you think if they were a little brighter and bluer they'd beprettier?" she asked. 

Heathcroft stared at her through his monocle. 

"Bluer?" he repeated. "My dear woman, there are no skies as blue as theEnglish skies. They are quite celebrated--really. "

He sauntered on again, evidently disgusted at our lack of appreciation. 

"He must be color-blind, " I observed. Hephzy was more charitable. 

"I guess likely everybody's home things are best, " she said. "I supposethis green-streaked water and those gray clouds do look bright and blueto him. We must make allowances, Hosy. He never saw an August mornin' atBayport, with a northwest wind blowin' and the bay white and blue to theedge of all creation. That's been denied him. He means well, poor thing;he don't know any better. "

An hour later we landed from the passenger tender at a stone piercovered with substantial stone buildings. Uniformed custom officers anduniformed policemen stood in line as we came up the gang-plank. Behindthem, funny little locomotives attached to queer cars which appeared tobe all doors, puffed and panted. 

Hephzibah looked about her. 

"Yes, " she said, with conviction. "I'm believin' it more and more allthe time. It is England, just like the pictures. How many times I'veseen engines like that in pictures, and cars like that, too. I neverthought I'd ride in 'em. My goodness me? Hephzibah Jane Cahoon, you'rein England--YOU are! You needn't be afraid to turn over for fear ofwakin' up, either. You're awake and alive and in England! Hosy, " with asudden burst of exuberance, "hold on to me tight. I'm just as likely towave my hat and hurrah as I am to do anything. Hold on to me--tight. "

We got through the perfunctory customs examination without trouble. Ourtickets provided by Campbell, included those for the railway journey toLondon. I secured a first-class compartment at the booking-office anda guard conducted us to it and closed the door. Another short delay andthen, with a whistle as queer and unfamiliar as its own appearance, thelittle locomotive began to pull our train out of the station. 

Hephzy leaned back against the cushions with a sigh of supreme content. 

"And now, " said I, "for London. London! think of it, Hephzy!"

Hephzy shook her head. 

"I'm thinkin' of it, " she said. "London--the biggest city in the world!Who knows, Hosy? France is such a little ways off; probably Little Frankhas been to London a hundred times. He may even be there now. Who knows?I shouldn't be surprised if we met him right in London. I sha'n't besurprised at anything anymore. I'm in England and on my way to London;that's surprise enough. NOTHIN' could be more wonderful than that. "

CHAPTER VI

In Which We Are Received at Bancroft's Hotel and I Receive a Letter

It was late when we reached London, nearly eleven o'clock. The longtrain journey was a delight. During the few hours of daylight and duskwe peered through the car windows at the scenery flying past; at thevillages, the green fields, the hedges, the neat, trim farms. 

"Everything looks as if it has been swept and dusted, " declared Hephzy. "There aren't any waste places at all. What do they do with their spareland?"

"They haven't any, " I answered. "Land is too valuable to waste. There'sanother thatched roof. It looks like those in the pictures, doesn't it. "

Hephzy nodded. "Just exactly, " she said. "Everything looks like thepictures. I feel as if I'd seen it all before. If that engine didn'ttoot so much like a tin whistle I should almost think it was a picture. But it isn't--it isn't; it's real, and you and I are part of it. "

We dined on the train. Night came and our window-pictures changedto glimpses of flashing lights interspersed with shadowy blotches ofdarkness. At length the lights became more and more frequent and beganto string out in long lines marking suburban streets. Then the littlelocomotive tooted its tin whistle frantically and we rolled slowly undera great train shed--Paddington Station and London itself. 

Amid the crowd on the platform Hephzy and I stood, two lone wanderersnot exactly sure what we should do next. About us the busy crowd jostledand pushed. Relatives met relatives and fathers and mothers met sons anddaughters returning home after long separations. No one met us, noone was interested in us at all, except the porters and the cabmen. I selected a red-faced chunky porter who was a decidedly able person, apparently capable of managing anything except the letter h. Theacrobatics which he performed with that defenceless consonant weremarvelous. I have said that I selected him; that he selected me would benearer the truth. 

"Cab, sir. Yes, sir, thank you, sir, " he said. "Leave that to me, sir. Will you 'ave a fourwheeler or a hordinary cab, sir?"

I wasn't exactly certain what a fourwheeler might be. I had read aboutthem often enough, but I had never seen one pictured and properlylabeled. For the matter of that, all the vehicles in sight appeared tohave four wheels. So I said, at a venture, that I thought an ordinarycab would do. 

"Yes, sir; 'ere you are, sir. Your boxes are in the luggage van, Isuppose, sir. "

I took it for granted he meant my trunks and those were in what I, in myignorance, would have called a baggage car:

"Yes, sir, " said the porter. "If the lidy will be good enough to wait'ere, sir, you and I will go hafter the boxes, sir. "

Cautioning Hephzy not to stir from her moorings on any account Ifollowed my guide to the "luggage van. " This crowded car disgorgedour two steamer trunks and, my particular porter having corraled afellow-craftsman to help him, the trunks were dragged to the waitingcab. 

I found Hephzy waiting, outwardly calm, but inwardly excited. 

"I saw one at last, " she declared. "I'd about come to believe therewasn't such a thing, but there is; I just saw one. "

"One--what?" I asked, puzzled. 

"An Englishman with side-whiskers. They wasn't as big and long as thosein the pictures, but they were side-whiskers. I feel better. When you'vebeen brought up to believe every Englishman wore 'em, it was kind ofhumiliatin' not to see one single set. "

I paid my porters--I learned afterward that, like most Americans, I hadgiven them altogether too much--and we climbed into the cab with ourbags. The "boxes, " or trunks, were on the driver's seat and on the roof. 

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver. 

I hesitated. Even at this late date I had not made up my mind exactly"where to. " My decision was a hasty one. 

"Why--er--to--to Bancroft's Hotel, " I said. "Blithe Street, just offPiccadilly. "

I think the driver was somewhat astonished. Very few of his Americanpassengers selected Bancroft's as a stopping place, I imagine. However, his answer was prompt. 

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir, " he said. The cab rolled out of the station. 

"I suppose, " said Hephzy, reflectively, "if you had told him or thatporter man that they were everlastin' idiots they'd have thanked youjust the same and called you 'sir' four times besides. "

"No doubt they would. "

"Yes, sir, I'm perfectly sure they would--thank you, sir. So this isLondon. It doesn't look such an awful lot different from Boston or NewYork so far. "

But Bancroft's, when we reached it, was as unlike a Boston or NewYork hotel as anything could be. A short, quiet, eminently respectablestreet, leading from Piccadilly; a street fenced in, on both sides, bythree-story, solid, eminently respectable houses of brick and stone. Nosigns, no street cars, no crowds, no glaring lights. Merely a gaslamp burning over the fanlight of a spotless white door, and the words"Bancroft's Hotel" in mosaic lettering set in a white stone slab in thepavement. 

The cab pulled up before the white door and Hephzy and I looked out ofthe window. The same thought was in both our minds. 

"This can't be the place, " said I. 

"This isn't a hotel, is it, Hosy?" asked Hephzy. 

The white door opened and a brisk, red-cheeked English boy in uniformhastened to the cab. Before he reached it I had seen the lettering inthe pavement and knew that, in spite of appearances, we had reached ourdestination. 

"This is it, Hephzy, " I said. "Come. "

The boy opened the cab door and we alighted. Then in the doorway of"Bancroft's" appeared a stout, red-faced and very dignified person, alsoin uniform. This person wore short "mutton-chop" whiskers and had theair of a member of the Royal Family; that is to say, the air which amember of the Royal Family might be expected to have. 

"Good evening, sir, " said the personage, bowing respectfully. The bowwas a triumph in itself; not too low, not abject in the least, notfamiliar; a bow which implied much, but promised nothing; a bow whichseemed to demand references, but was far from repellant or bullying. Altogether a wonderful bow. 

"Good evening, " said I. "This is Bancroft's Hotel, is it not?"

"Yes, sir. "

"I wish to secure rooms for this lady and myself, if possible. "

"Yes, sir. This way, sir, if you please. Richard, " this to the boy andin a tone entirely different--the tone of a commanding officer to aprivate--"see to the gentleman's luggage. This way, sir; thank you, sir. "

I hesitated. "The cabman has not been paid, " I stammered. I was a trifleoverawed by the grandeur of the mutton-chops and the "sir. "

"I will attend to that, sir. If you will be good enough to come in, sir. "

We entered and found ourselves in a narrow hall, old-fashioned, homelikeand as spotless as the white door. Two more uniforms bowed before us. 

"Thank you, sir, " said the member of the Royal Family. It was withdifficulty that I repressed the desire to tell him he was quite welcome. His manner of thanking me seemed to imply that we had conferred a favor. 

"I will speak to Mr. Jameson, " he went on, with another bow. Then heleft us. 

"Is--is that Mr. Bancroft?" whispered Hephzy. 

I shook my head. "It must be the Prince of Wales, at least, " I whisperedin return. "I infer that there is no Mr. Bancroft. "

It developed that I was right. Mr. Jameson was the proprietor of thehotel, and Mr. Jameson was a pleasant, refined, quiet man of middle age. He appeared from somewhere or other, ascertained our wants, stated thathe had a few vacant rooms and could accommodate us. 

"Do you wish a sitting-room?" he asked. 

I was not sure. I wanted comfort, that I knew, and I said so. Imentioned, as an afterthought, that Mr. Heathcroft had recommendedBancroft's to me. 

The Heathcroft name seemed to settle everything. Mr. Jameson summonedthe representative of royalty and spoke to him in a low tone. Therepresentative--his name, I learned later, was Henry and he was butlerand major-domo at Bancroft's--bowed once more. A few minutes later wewere shown to an apartment on the second floor front, a room large, old-fashioned, furnished with easy-chairs, tables and a big, comfortablesofa. Sofa and easy-chairs were covered with figured, glazed chintz. 

"Your sitting-room, sir, " said Henry. "Your bedrooms open hoff it, sir. The chambermaid will 'ave them ready in a moment, sir. Richard and theporter will bring up your luggage and the boxes. Will you and the ladywish supper, sir? Thank you, sir. Very good, sir. Will you require afire, sir?"

The room was a trifle chilly. There was a small iron grate at itsend, and a coal fire ready to kindle. I answered that a fire might beenjoyable. 

"Yes, sir, " said Henry. "Himmediately, sir. "

Soon Hephzy and I were drinking hot tea and eating bread and butter andplum cake before a snapping fire. George, the waiter, had brought us thetea and accessories and set the table; the chambermaid had prepared thebedrooms; Henry had supervised everything. 

"Well, " observed Hephzy, with a sigh of content, "I feel bettersatisfied every minute. When we were in the hack--cab, I mean--Icouldn't realize we weren't ridin' through an American city. The housesand sidewalks and everything--what I could see of 'em--looked so muchlike Boston that I was sort of disappointed. I wanted it to be moredifferent, some way. But this IS different. This may be a hotel--Isuppose likely 'tis--but it don't seem like one, does it? If it wasn'tfor the Henry and that Richard and that--what's his name? George--andall the rest, I should think I was in Cap'n Cyrus Whittaker'ssettin-room back home. The furniture looks like Cap'n Cy's and thepictures look like those he has, and--and everything looks as stiff andstarched and old-fashioned as can be. But the Cap'n never had a Henry. No, sirree, Henry don't belong on Cape Cod! Hosy, " with a sudden burstof confidence, "it's a good thing I saw that Lord Erskine first. If Ihadn't found out what a live lord looked like I'd have thought Henrywas one sure. Do you really think it's right for me to call him by hisChristian name? It seems sort of--sort of irreverent, somehow. "

I wish it were possible for me to describe in detail our first days atBancroft's. If it were not for the fact that so many really importantevents and happenings remain to be described--if it were not that themost momentous event of my life, the event that was the beginning of thegreat change in that life--if that event were not so close at hand, Ishould be tempted to linger upon those first few days. They were strangeand wonderful and funny to Hephzibah and me. The strangeness and thewonder wore off gradually; the fun still sticks in my memory. 

To have one's bedroom invaded at an early hour by a chambermaid who, apparently quite oblivious of the fact that the bed was still occupiedby a male, proceeded to draw the curtains, bring the hot water and fillthe tin tub for my bath, was astonishing and funny enough, Hephzibah'scomments on the proceeding were funnier still. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " she demanded, "that that hussy was brazenenough to march right in here before you got up?"

"Yes, " I said. "I am only thankful that I HADN'T got up. "

"Well! I must say! Did she fetch the water in a garden waterin'-pot, same as she did to me?"

"Just the same. "

"And did she pour it into that--that flat dishpan on the floor and tellyou your 'bawth' was ready?"

"She did. "

"Humph! Of all the--I hope she cleared out THEN?"

"She did. "

"That's a mercy, anyhow. Did you take a bath in that dishpan?"

"I tried. "

"Well, I didn't. I'd as soon try to bathe in a saucer. I'd have felt asif I'd needed a teaspoon to dip up the half pint of water and pourit over me. Don't these English folks have real bathtubs for grown-uppeople?"

I did not know, then. Later I learned that Bancroft's Hotel possessedseveral bathrooms, and that I might use one if I preferred. Being anAmerican I did so prefer. Most of the guests, being English, preferredthe "dishpans. "

We learned to accept the early morning visits of the chambermaid asmatters of course. We learned to order breakfast the night before andto eat it in our sitting-room. We tasted a "grilled sole" for thefirst time, and although Hephzy persisted in referring to it as "friedflatfish" we liked the taste. We became accustomed to being waited upon, to do next to nothing for ourselves, and I found that a valet wholaid out my evening clothes, put the studs in my shirts, selected myneckties, and saw that my shoes were polished, was a rather convenientperson to have about. Hephzy fumed a good deal at first; she declaredthat she felt ashamed, an able-bodied woman like her, to sit aroundwith her hands folded and do nothing. She asked her maid a great manyquestions, and the answers she received explained some of her puzzles. 

"Do you know what that poor thing gets a week?" she observed, referringto the maid. "Eight shillin's--two dollars a week, that's what she gets. And your valet man doesn't get any more. I can see now how Mr. Jamesoncan afford to keep so much help at the board he charges. I pay thatSusanna Wixon thing at Bayport three dollars and she doesn't know enoughto boil water without burnin' it on, scarcely. And Peters--why in theworld do they call women by their last names?--Peters, she's the maid, says it's a real nice place and she's quite satisfied. Well, whereignorance is bliss it's foolish to be sensible, I suppose; but _I_wouldn't fetch and carry for the President's wife, to say nothin' of aneveryday body like me, for two dollars a week. "

We learned that the hotel dining-room was a "Coffee Room. "

"Nobody with sense would take coffee there--not more'n once, theywouldn't, " declared Hephzy. "I asked Peters why they didn't call it the'Tea Room' and be done with it. She said because it was the Coffee Room. I suppose likely that was an answer, but I felt a good deal as if I'dcome out of the same hole I went in at. She thanked me for askin' her, though; she never forgets that. "

We became accustomed to addressing the lordly Henry by his Christianname and found him a most obliging person. He, like everyone else, had instantly recognized us as Americans, and, consequently, wascondescendingly kind to strangers from a distant and barbarous country. 

"What SORT of place do they think the States are?" asked Hephzy. "That'swhat they always call home--'the States'--and they seem to think it'sabout as big as a pocket handkerchief. That Henry asked me if the redIndians were numerous where we lived. I said no--as soon as I could sayanything; I told him there was only one tribe of Red Men in town andthey were white. I guess he thought I was crazy, but it don't make anydifference. And Peters said she had a cousin in a place called Chicagoand did I know him. What do you think of that?"

"What did you tell her?" I inquired. 

"Hey? Oh, I told her that, bein' as Chicago was a thousand miles fromBayport, I hadn't had time to do much visitin' there. I told her thetruth, but she didn't believe it. I could see she didn't. She thinksChicago and San Francisco and New York and Boston are nests of wigwamsin the same patch of woods and all hands that live there have beenscalped at least once. SUCH ignorance!"

Henry, at my request, procured seats for us at one of the Londontheaters. There we saw a good play, splendidly acted, and Hephzy laughedand wept at the performance. As usual, however, she had a characteristiccomment to make. 

"Why do they call the front seats the 'stalls'?" she whispered to mebetween the acts. "Stalls! The idea! I'm no horse. Perhaps they call 'emthat because folks are donkeys enough to pay two dollars and a halffor the privilege of sittin' in 'em. Don't YOU be so extravagant again, Hosy. "

One of the characters in the play was supposed to be an Americangentleman, and his behavior and dress and speech stirred me toindignation. I asked the question which every American asks undersimilar circumstances. 

"Why on earth, " I demanded, "do they permit that fellow to make sucha fool of himself? He yells and drawls and whines through his nose andwears clothes which would make an American cry. That last scene wassupposed to be a reception and he wore an outing suit and no waistcoat. Do they suppose such a fellow would be tolerated in respectable societyin the United States?"

And now it was Hephzy's turn to be philosophical. 

"I guess likely the answer to that is simple enough, " she said. "He'swhat they think an American ought to be, even if he isn't. If he behavedlike a human bein' he wouldn't be the kind of American they expect onthe stage. After all, he isn't any worse than the Englishmen we have inthe Dramatic Society's plays at home. I haven't seen one of that kindsince I got here; and I've given up expectin' to--unless you and I go tosome crazy asylum--which isn't likely. "

We rode on the tops of busses, we visited the Tower, and WestminsterAbbey, and Saint Paul's. We saw the Horse Guard sentinels on duty inWhitehall, and watched the ceremony of guard changing at St. James's. Hephzy was impressed, in her own way, by the uniforms of the "ColdStreams. "

"There!" she exclaimed, "I've seen 'em walk. Now I feel better. Whenthey stood there, with those red jackets and with the fur hats on theirheads, I couldn't make myself believe they hadn't been taken out of abox for children to play with. I wanted to get up close so as to see iftheir feet were glued to round pieces of wood like Noah's and Ham's andJaphet's in the Ark. But they aren't wood, they're alive. They're men, not toys. I'm glad I've seen 'em. THEY are satisfyin'. They make me morereconciled to a King with a Derby hat on. "

She and I had stood in the crowd fringing the park mall and seen KingGeorge trot by on horseback. His Majesty's lack of crown and robes andscepter had been a great disappointment to Hephzy; I think she expectedthe crown at least. 

I had, of course, visited the London office of my publishers, in CamfordStreet and had found Mr. Matthews, the manager, expecting me. JimCampbell had cabled and written of my coming and Matthews' welcome was awarm one. He was kindness itself. All my financial responsibilities wereto be shifted to his shoulders. I was to use the office as a bank, as atourist agency, even as a guide's headquarters. He put his clerks at mydisposal; they would conduct us on sight-seeing expeditions wheneverand wherever we wished. He even made out a list of places in and aboutLondon which we, as strangers, should see. 

His cordiality and thoughtfulness were appreciated. They made me feelless alone and less dependent upon my own resources. Campbell hadarranged that all letters addressed to me in America should be forwardedto the Camford Street office, and Matthews insisted that I should writemy own letters there. I began to make it a practice to drop in atthe office almost every morning before starting on the day's round ofsight-seeing. 

Bancroft's Hotel also began to seem less strange and more homelike. Mr. Jameson, the proprietor, was a fine fellow--quiet, refined, andpleasant. He, too, tried to help us in every possible way. His wife, asweet-faced Englishwoman, made Hephzy's acquaintance and Hephzy likedher extremely. 

"She's as nice as she can be, " declared Hephzy. "If it wasn't that shesays 'Fancy!' and 'Really!' instead of 'My gracious!' and 'I want toknow!' I should think I was talking to a Cape Codder, the best kindof one. She's got sense, too. SHE don't ask about 'red Indians' inBayport. "

Among the multitude of our new experiences we learned the value ofa judicious "tip. " We had learned something concerning tips on the"Plutonia"; Campbell had coached us concerning those, and we wereprovided with a schedule of rates--so much to the bedroom steward, somuch to the stewardess, to the deck steward, to the "boots, " and all therest. But tipping in London we were obliged to adjust for ourselves, andthe result of our education was surprising. 

At Saint Paul's an elderly and impressively haughty person in a blackrobe showed us through the Crypt and delivered learned lectures beforethe tombs of Nelson and Wellington. His appearance and manner weresomewhat awe-inspiring, especially to Hephzy, who asked me, in awhisper, if I thought likely he was a bishop or a canon or something. When the round was ended and we were leaving the Crypt she saw me put ahand in my pocket. 

"Mercy sakes, Hosy, " she whispered. "You aren't goin' to offer himmoney, are you? He'll be insulted. I'd as soon think of givin' Mr. Partridge, our minister, money for takin' us to the cemetery to see thefirst settlers' gravestones. Don't you do it. He'll throw it back atyou. I'll be so ashamed. "

But I had been watching our fellow-sight-seers as they filed out, and when our time came I dropped two shillings in the hand of theblack-robed dignitary. The hand did not spurn the coins, which I--rathertimidly, I confess--dropped into it. Instead it closed upon them tightlyand the haughty lips thanked me, not profusely, not even smilingly, butthanked me, nevertheless. 

At our visit to the Law Courts a similar experience awaited us. Anotherdignified and elderly person, who, judging by his appearance, shouldhave been a judge at least, not only accepted the shilling I gave him, but bowed, smiled and offered to conduct us to the divorce court. 

"A very interesting case there, sir, just now, " he murmured, confidingly. "Very interesting and sensational indeed, sir. You and thelady will enjoy it, I'm sure, sir. All Americans do. "

Hephzy was indignant. 

"Well!" she exclaimed, as we emerged upon the Strand. "Well! I must say!What sort of folks does he think we are, I'd like to know. Divorcecase! I'd be ashamed to hear one. And that old man bein' so wicked andridiculous for twenty-five cents! Hosy, I do believe if you'd given himanother shillin' he'd have introduced us to that man in the red robe andcotton wool wig--What did he call him?--Oh, yes, the Lord Chief Justice. And I suppose you'd have had to tip HIM, too. "

The first two weeks of our stay in London came to an end. Our plans werestill as indefinite as ever. How long we should stay, where we should gonext, what we should do when we decided where that "next" was to be--allthese questions we had not considered at all. I, for my part, wascuriously uninterested in the future. I was enjoying myself in an idle, irresponsible way, and I could not seem to concentrate my thoughts upona definite course of action. If I did permit myself to think I found mythoughts straying to my work and there they faced the same impassablewall. I felt no inclination to write; I was just as certain as ever thatI should never write again. Thinking along this line only brought backthe old feeling of despondency. So I refused to think and, taking Jim'sadvice, put work and responsibility from my mind. We would remain inLondon as long as we were contented there. When the spirit moved wewould move with it--somewhere--either about England or to the Continent. I did not know which and I did not care; I did not seem to care muchabout anything. 

Hephzy was perfectly happy. London to her was as wonderful as ever. Shenever tired of sight-seeing, and on occasions when I felt disinclinedto leave the hotel she went out alone, shopping or wandering about thestreets. 

She scarcely mentioned "Little Frank" and I took care not to remind herof that mythical youth. I had expected her to see him on every streetcorner, to be brought face to face with unsuspecting young Englishmenand made to ask ridiculous questions which might lead to our being takenin charge as a pair of demented foreigners. But my forebodings were notrealized. London was so huge and the crowds so great that even Hephzy'scourage faltered. To select Little Frank from the multitude was a tasktoo great, even for her, I imagine. At any rate, she did not make theattempt, and the belief that we were "sent" upon our pilgrimage for thatexpress purpose she had not expressed since our evening on the train. 

The third week passed. I was growing tired of trotting about. Not tiredof London in particular. The gray, dingy, historic, wonderful old citywas still fascinating. It is hard to conceive of an intelligent person'sever growing weary of the narrow streets with the familiar names--FleetStreet, Fetter Lane, Pudding Lane and all the rest--names as familiarto a reader of history or English fiction as that of his own town. Towander into an unknown street and to learn that it is Shoreditch, or tolook up at an ancient building and discover it to be the Charterhouse, were ever fresh miracles to me, as I am sure they must be to everybook-loving American. No, I was not tired of London. Had I come thereunder other circumstances I should have been as happy and contentas Hephzy herself. But, now that the novelty was wearing off, I wasbeginning to think again, to think of myself--the very thing I haddetermined, and still meant, not to do. 

One afternoon I drifted into the Camford Street office. Hephzy had leftme at Piccadilly Circus and was now, it was safe to presume, enjoying adelightful sojourn amid the shops of Regent and Oxford Streets. When shereturned she would have a half-dozen purchases to display, a two-and-sixglove bargain from Robinson's, a bit of lace from Selfridge's, aknick-knack from Liberty's--"All so MUCH cheaper than you can get 'em inBoston, Hosy. " She would have had a glorious time. 

Matthews, the manager at Camford Street, was out, but Holton, the headclerk--I was learning to speak of him as a "clark"--was in. 

"There are some American letters for you, sir, " he said. "I was about tosend them to your hotel. "

He gave me the letters--four of them altogether--and I went into theprivate office to look them over. My first batch of mail from home;it gave me a small thrill to see two-cent stamps in the corners of theenvelopes. 

One of the letters was from Campbell. I opened it first of all. Jimwrote a rambling, good-humored letter, a mixture of business, news, advice and nonsense. "The Black Brig" had gone into another edition. Considering my opinion of such "slush" I should be ashamed to acceptthe royalties, but he would continue to give my account credit for themuntil I cabled to the contrary. He trusted we were behaving ourselves ina manner which would reflect credit upon our country. I was to be surenot to let Hephzy marry a title. And so on, for six pages. The letterwas almost like a chat with Jim himself, and I read it with chuckles anda pang of homesickness. 

One of the envelopes bore Hephzy's name and I, of course, did notopen it. It was postmarked "Bayport" and I thought I recognized thehandwriting as Susanna Wixon's. The third letter turned out to be nota letter at all, but a bill from Sylvanus Cahoon, who took care of our"lots" in the Bayport cemetery. It had been my intention to pay allbills before leaving home, but, somehow or other, Sylvanus's had beenoverlooked. I must send him a check at once. 

The fourth and last envelope was stained and crumpled. It had traveleda long way. To my surprise I noticed that the stamp in the corner wasEnglish and the postmark "London. " The address, moreover, was "CaptainBarnabas Cahoon, Bayport, Massachusetts, U. S. A. " The letter hadobviously been mailed in London, had journeyed to Bayport, from thereto New York, and had then been forwarded to London again. Someone, presumably Simmons, the postmaster, had written "Care Hosea Knowles"and my publisher's New York address in the lower corner. This had beenscratched out and "28 Camford Street, London, England, " added. 

I looked at the envelope. Who in the world, or in England, could havewritten Captain Barnabas--Captain Barnabas Cahoon, my great-uncle, deadso many years? At first I was inclined to hand the letter, unopened, toHephzy. She was Captain Barnabas's daughter and it belonged to herby right. But I knew Hephzy had no secrets from me and, besides, my curiosity was great. At length I yielded to it and tore open theenvelope. 

Inside was a sheet of thin foreign paper, both sides covered withwriting. I read the first line. 

"Captain Barnabas Cahoon. 

"Sir:

"You are my nearest relative, my mother's father, and I--"

"I uttered an exclamation. Then I stepped to the door of the privateoffice, made sure that it was shut, came back, sat down in the chairbefore the desk which Mr. Matthews had put at my disposal, and read theletter from beginning to end. This is what I read:

"Captain Barnabas Cahoon. 

"Sir:

"You are my nearest relative, my mother's father, and I, therefore, address this letter to you. I know little concerning you. I do not knoweven that you are still living in Bayport, or that you are living atall. (N. B. In case Captain Cahoon is not living this letter is to beread and acted upon by his heirs, upon whose estate I have an equalclaim. ) My mother, Ardelia Cahoon Morley, died in Liverpool in 1896. Myfather, Strickland Morley, died in Paris in December, 1908. I, as theironly child, am their heir, and I am writing to you asking what I mightdemand--that is, a portion of the money which was my mother's and whichyou kept from her and from my father all these years. My father told methe whole story before he died, and he also told me that he had writtenyou several times, but that his letters had been ignored. My father wasan English gentleman and he was proud; that is why he did not take legalsteps against you for the recovery of what was his by law in EnglandOR ANY CIVILISED COUNTRY, one may presume. He would not STOOP tosuch measures even against those who, as you know well, so meanly andfraudulently deprived him and his of their inheritance. He is deadnow. He died lacking the comforts and luxuries with which you mightand SHOULD have provided him. His forbearance was wonderful andcharacteristic, but had I known of it sooner I should have insistedupon demanding from you the money which was his. I am now demanding itmyself. Not BEGGING; that I wish THOROUGHLY understood. I am giving youthe opportunity to make a partial restitution, that is all. It is whathe would have wished, and his wish ALONE prevents my putting the wholematter in my solicitor's hands. If I do not hear from you within areasonable time I shall know what to do. You may address me care Mrs. Briggs, 218 ---- Street, London, England. 

"Awaiting your reply, I am, sir, "Yours, "FRANCIS STRICKLAND MORLEY. 

"P. S. 

"I am not to be considered under ANY circumstances a subject forcharity. I am NOT begging. You, I am given to understand, are a wealthyman. I demand my share of that wealth--that is all. "

I read this amazing epistle through once. Then, after rising and walkingabout the office to make sure that I was thoroughly awake, I sat downand read it again. There was no mistake. I had read it correctly. Thewriting was somewhat illegible in spots and the signature was blotted, but it was from Francis Strickland Morley. From "Little Frank!" I thinkmy first and greatest sensation was of tremendous surprise that therereally was a "Little Frank. " Hephzy had been right. Once more I shouldhave to take off my hat to Hephzy. 

The surprise remained, but other sensations came to keep it company. Theextraordinary fact of the letter's reaching me when and where it did, in London, the city from which it was written and where, doubtless, thewriter still was. If I chose I might, perhaps, that very afternoon, meetand talk with Ardelia Cahoon's son, with "Little Frank" himself. I couldscarcely realize it. Hephzy had declared that our coming to London wasthe result of a special dispensation--we had been "sent" there. In theface of this miracle I was not disposed to contradict her. 

The letter itself was more extraordinary than all else. It was that ofa young person, of a hot-headed boy. But WHAT a boy he must be! What anunlicked, impudent, arrogant young cub! The boyishness was evident inevery line, in the underscored words, the pitiful attempt at dignity andthe silly veiled threats. He was so insistent upon the statement that hewas not a beggar. And yet he could write a begging letter like this. Hedid not ask for charity, not he, he demanded it. Demanded it--he, theson of a thief, demanded, from those whom his father had robbed, his"rights. " He should have his rights; I would see to that. 

I was angry enough but, as I read the letter for the third time, thepitifulness of it became more apparent. I imagined Francis StricklandMorley to be the replica of the Strickland Morley whom I remembered, theuseless, incompetent, inadequate son of a good-for-nothing father. Nodoubt the father was responsible for such a letter as this having beenwritten. Doubtless he HAD told the boy all sorts of tales; perhaps heHAD declared himself to be the defrauded instead of the defrauder; hewas quite capable of it. Possibly the youngster did believe he had aclaim upon the wealthy relatives in that "uncivilized" country, America. The wealthy relatives! I thought of Captain Barnabas's last years, ofHephzibah's plucky fight against poverty, of my own lost opportunities, of the college course which I had been obliged to forego. My indignationreturned. I would not go back at once to Hephzy with the letter. Iwould, myself, seek out the writer of that letter, and, if I found him, he and I would have a heart to heart talk which should disabuse his mindof a few illusions. We would have a full and complete understanding. 

I hastily made a memorandum of the address, "Care Mrs. Briggs, " thrustthe letter back into the envelope, put it and my other mail into mypocket, and walked out into the main office. Holton, the clerk, lookedup from his desk. Probably my feelings showed in my face, for he said:

"What is it, Mr. Knowles? No bad news, I trust, sir. "

"No, " I answered, shortly. "Where is ---- Street? Is it far from here?"

It was rather far from there, in Camberwell, on the Surrey side of theriver. I might take a bus at such a corner and change again at so andso. It sounded like a journey and I was impatient. I suggested that Imight take a cab. Certainly I could do that. William, the boy, wouldcall a cab at once. 

William did so and I gave the driver the address from my memoranda. Through the Strand I was whirled, across Blackfriars Bridge and onthrough the intricate web of avenues and streets on the Surrey side. Thelocality did not impress me favorably. There was an abundance of "pubs"and of fried-fish shops where "jellied eels" seemed to be a viand muchin demand. 

---- Street, when I reached it, was dingy and third rate. Three-storiedold brick houses, with shops on their first floors, predominated. Number218 was one of these. The signs "Lodgings" over the tarnished bell-pulland the name "Briggs" on the plate beside it proved that I had locatedthe house from which the letter had been sent. 

I paid my cabman, dismissed him, and rang the bell. A slouchymaid-servant answered the ring. 

"Is Mr. Francis Morley in?" I asked. 

The maid looked at me. 

"Wat, sir?" she said. 

"Does Mr. Francis Morley live here?" I asked, raising my voice. "Is hein?"

The maid's face was as wooden as the door-post. Her mouth, already open, opened still wider and she continued to stare. A step sounded in thedark hall behind her and another voice said, sharply:

"'Oo is it, 'Arriet? And w'at does 'e want?"

The maid grinned. "'E wants to see MISTER Morley, ma'am, " she said, witha giggle. 

She was pushed aside and a red-faced woman, with thin lips and scowl, took her place. 

"'OO do you want to see?" she demanded. 

"Francis Morley. Does he live here?"

"'OO?"

"Francis Morley. " My answer was sharp enough this time. I began to thinkI had invaded a colony of imbeciles--or owls; their conversation seemedlimited to "oos. "

"W'at do you want to see--to see Morley for?" demanded the red-facedfemale. 

"On business. Is Mrs. Briggs in?"

"I'm Mrs. Briggs. "

"Good! I'm glad of that. Now will you tell me if Mr. Morley is in?"

"There ain't no Mr. Morley. There's a--"

She was interrupted. From the hall, apparently from the top of theflight of stairs, another was heard, a feminine voice like the others, but unlike them--decidedly unlike. 

"Who is it, Mrs. Briggs?" said this voice. "Does the gentleman wish tosee me?"

"No, 'e don't, " declared Mrs. Briggs, with emphasis. "'E wants to seeMister Morley and I'm telling 'im there ain't none such. "

"But are you sure he doesn't mean Miss Morley? Ask him, please. "

Before the Briggs woman could reply I spoke again. 

"I want to see a Francis Morley, " I repeated, loudly. "I have come herein answer to a letter. The letter gave this as his address. If he isn'there, will you be good enough to tell me where he is? I--"

There was another interruption, an exclamation from the darkness behindMrs. Briggs and the maid. 

"Oh!" said the third voice, with a little catch in it. "Who is it, please? Who is it? What is the person's name?"

Mrs. Briggs scowled at me. 

"Wat's your name?" she snapped. 

"My name is Knowles. I am an American relative of Mr. Morley's and I'mhere in answer to a letter written by Mr. Morley himself. "

There was a moment's silence. Then the third voice said:

"Ask--ask him to come up. Show him up, Mrs. Briggs, if you please. "

Mrs. Briggs grunted and stepped aside. I entered the hall. 

"First floor back, " mumbled the landlady. "Straight as you go. You won'tneed any showin'. "

I mounted the stairs. The landing at the top was dark, but the doorat the rear was ajar. I knocked. A voice, the same voice I had heardbefore, bade me come in. I entered the room. 

It was a dingy little room, sparely furnished, with a bed and twochairs, a dilapidated washstand and a battered bureau. I noticed theseafterwards. Just then my attention was centered upon the occupant of theroom, a young woman, scarcely more than a girl, dark-haired, dark-eyed, slender and graceful. She was standing by the bureau, resting one handupon it, and gazing at me, with a strange expression, a curious compoundof fright, surprise and defiance. She did not speak. I was embarrassed. 

"I beg your pardon, " I stammered. "I am afraid there is some mistake. I came here in answer to a letter written by a Francis Morley, whois--well, I suppose he is a distant relative of mine. "

She stepped forward and closed the door by which I had entered. Then sheturned and faced me. 

"You are an American, " she said. 

"Yes, I am an American. I--"

She interrupted me. 

"Do you--do you come from--from Bayport, Massachusetts?" she faltered. 

I stared at her. "Why, yes, " I admitted. "I do come from Bayport. How inthe world did you--"

"Was the letter you speak of addressed to Captain Barnabas Cahoon?"

"Yes. "

"Then--then there isn't any mistake. I wrote it. "

I imagine that my mouth opened as wide as the maid's had done. 

"You!" I exclaimed. "Why--why--it was written by Francis Morley--FrancisStrickland Morley. "

"I am Frances Strickland Morley. "

I heard this, of course, but I did not comprehend it. I had been workingalong the lines of a fixed idea. Now that idea had been knocked into acocked hat, and my intellect had been knocked with it. 

"Why--why, no, " I repeated, stupidly. "Francis Morley is the son ofStrickland Morley. "

"There was no son, " impatiently. "I am Frances Morley, I tell you. I amStrickland Morley's daughter. I wrote that letter. "

I sat down upon the nearest of the two chairs. I was obliged to sit. I could not stand and face the fact which, at least, even my benumbedbrain was beginning to comprehend. The mistake was a simple one, merelythe difference between an "i" and an "e" in a name, that was all. And yet that mistake--that slight difference between "Francis" and"Frances"--explained the amazing difference between the Little Frank ofHephzibah's fancy and the reality before me. 

The real Little Frank was a girl. 

CHAPTER VII

In Which a Dream Becomes a Reality

I said nothing immediately. I could not. It was "Little Frank" whoresumed the conversation. "Who are you?" she asked. 

"Who--I beg your pardon? I am rather upset, I'm afraid. I didn'texpect--that is, I expected. .. . Well, I didn't expect THIS! What was ityou asked me?"

"I asked you who you were. "

"My name is Knowles--Kent Knowles. I am Captain Cahoon's grand-nephew. "

"His grand-nephew. Then--Did Captain Cahoon send you to me?"

"Send me! I beg your pardon once more. No. .. . No. Captain Cahoon isdead. He has been dead nearly ten years. No one sent me. "

"Then why did you come? You have my letter; you said so. "

"Yes; I--I have your letter. I received it about an hour ago. It wasforwarded to me--to my cousin and me--here in London. "

"Here in London! Then you did not come to London in answer to thatletter?"

"No. My cousin and I--"

"What cousin? What is his name?"

"His name? It isn't a--That is, the cousin is a woman. She is MissHephzibah Cahoon, your--your mother's half-sister. She is--Why, she isyour aunt!"

It was a fact; Hephzibah was this young lady's aunt. I don't know whythat seemed so impossible and ridiculous, but it did. The young ladyherself seemed to find it so. 

"My aunt?" she repeated. "I didn't know--But--but, why is my--my aunthere with you?"

"We are on a pleasure trip. We--I beg your pardon. What have I beenthinking of? Don't stand. Please sit down. "

She accepted the invitation. As she walked toward the chair it seemed tome that she staggered a little. I noticed then for the first time, howvery slender she was, almost emaciated. There were dark hollows beneathher eyes and her face was as white as the bed-linen--No, I am wrong; itwas whiter than Mrs. Briggs' bed-linen. 

"Are you ill?" I asked involuntarily. 

She did not answer. She seated herself in the chair and fixed her darkeyes upon me. They were large eyes and very dark. Hephzy said, whenshe first saw them, that they looked like "burnt holes in a blanket. "Perhaps they did; that simile did not occur to me. 

"You have read my letter?" she asked. 

It was evident that I must have read the letter or I should not havelearned where to find her, but I did not call attention to this. I saidsimply that I had read the letter. 

"Then what do you propose?" she asked. 

"Propose?"

"Yes, " impatiently. "What proposition do you make me? If you have readthe letter you must know what I mean. You must have come here for thepurpose of saying something, of making some offer. What is it?"

I was speechless. I had come there to find an impudent young blackguardand tell him what I thought of him. That was as near a definite reasonfor my coming as any. If I had not acted upon impulse, if I had stoppedto consider, it is quite likely that I should not have come at all. Butthe blackguard was--was--well, he was not and never had been. In hisplace was this white-faced, frail girl. I couldn't tell her what Ithought of her. I didn't know what to think. 

She waited for me to answer and, as I continued to play the dumb idiot, her impatience grew. Her brows--very dark brown they were, almost blackagainst the pallor of her face--drew together and her foot began to patthe faded carpet. "I am waiting, " she said. 

I realized that I must say something, so I said the only thing whichoccurred to me. It was a question. 

"Your father is dead?" I asked. 

She nodded. "My letter told you that, " she answered. "He died in Paristhree years ago. "

"And--and had he no relatives here in England?"

She hesitated before replying. "No near relatives whom he cared torecognize, " she answered haughtily. "My father, Mr. Knowles was agentleman and, having been most unjustly treated by his own family, as well as by OTHERS"--with a marked emphasis on the word--"he did notstoop, even in his illness and distress, to beg where he should havecommanded. "

"Oh! Oh, I see, " I said, feebly. 

"There is no reason why you should see. My father was the second sonand--But this is quite irrelevant. You, an American, can scarcely beexpected to understand English family customs. It is sufficient that, for reasons of his own, my father had for years been estranged from hisown people. "

The air with which this was delivered was quite overwhelming. If I hadnot known Strickland Morley, and a little of his history, I should havebeen crushed. 

"Then you have been quite alone since his death?" I asked. 

Again she hesitated. "For a time, " she said, after a moment. "I livedwith a married cousin of his in one of the London suburbs. Then I--Butreally, Mr. Knowles, I cannot see that my private affairs need interestyou. As I understand it, this interview of ours is quite impersonal, ina sense. You understand, of course--you must understand--that in writingas I did I was not seeking the acquaintance of my mother's relatives. Ido not desire their friendship. I am not asking them for anything. I amgiving them the opportunity to do justice, to give me what is my own--myOWN. If you don't understand this I--I--Oh, you MUST understand it!"

She rose from the chair. Her eyes were flashing and she was tremblingfrom head to foot. Again I realized how weak and frail she was. 

"You must understand, " she repeated. "You MUST!"

"Yes, yes, " I said hastily. "I think I--I suppose I understand yourfeelings. But--"

"There are no buts. Don't pretend there are. Do you think for oneinstant that I am begging, asking you for HELP? YOU--of all the world!"

This seemed personal enough, in spite of her protestations. 

"But you never met me before, " I said, involuntarily. 

"You never knew of my existence. "

She stamped her foot. "I knew of my American relatives, " she cried, scornfully. "I knew of them and their--Oh, I cannot say the word!"

"Your father told you--" I began. She burst out at me like a flame. 

"My father, " she declared, "was a brave, kind, noble man. Don't mentionhis name to me. I won't have you speak of him. If it were not for hisforbearance and self-sacrifice you--all of you--would be--would be--Oh, don't speak of my father! Don't!"

To my amazement and utter discomfort she sank into the chair and burstinto tears. I was completely demoralized. 

"Don't, Miss Morley, " I begged. "Please don't. "

She continued to sob hysterically. To make matters worse sounds frombehind the closed door led me to think that someone--presumably thatconfounded Mrs. Briggs--was listening at the keyhole. 

"Don't, Miss Morley, " I pleaded. "Don't!"

My pleas were unavailing. The young lady sobbed and sobbed. I fidgetedon the edge of my chair in an agony of mortified embarrassment. "Don'ts"were quite useless and I could think of nothing else to say except"Compose yourself" and that, somehow or other, was too ridiculouslyreminiscent of Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell. It was an idioticsituation for me to be in. Some men--men of experience withwoman-kind--might have known how to handle it, but I had had no suchexperience. It was all my fault, of course; I should not have mentionedher father. But how was I to know that Strickland Morley was apersecuted saint? I should have called him everything but that. 

At last I had an inspiration. 

"You are ill, " I said, rising. "I will call someone. "

That had the desired effect. My newly found third--or was it fourth orfifth--cousin made a move in protest. She fought down her emotion, hersobs ceased, and she leaned back in her chair looking paler and weakerthan ever. I should have pitied her if she had not been so superior andinsultingly scornful in her manner toward me. I--Well, yes, I did pityher, even as it was. 

"Don't, " she said, in her turn. "Don't call anyone. I am not ill--notnow. "

"But you have been, " I put in, I don't know why. 

"I have not been well for some time. But I am not ill. I am quite strongenough to hear what you have to say. "

This might have been satisfactory if I had had anything to say. I hadnot. She evidently expected me to express repentance for something orother and make some sort of proposition. I was not repentant and I hadno proposition to make. But how was I to tell her that without bringingon another storm? Oh, if I had had time to consider. If I had not comealone. If Hephzy, --cool-headed, sensible Hephzy--were only with me. 

"I--I--" I began. Then desperately: "I scarcely know what to say, MissMorley, " I faltered. "I came here, as I told you, expecting to finda--a--"

"What, pray?" with a haughty lift of the dark eyebrows. "What did youexpect to find, may I ask?"

"Nothing--that is, I--Well, never mind that. I came on the spur of themoment, immediately after receiving your letter. I have had no time tothink, to consult my--your aunt--"

"What has my--AUNT" with withering emphasis, "to do with it? Why shouldyou consult her?"

"Well, she is your mother's nearest relative, I suppose. She is CaptainCahoon's daughter and at least as much interested as I. I must consulther, of course. But, frankly, Miss Morley, I think I ought to tell youthat you are under a misapprehension. There are matters which you don'tunderstand. "

"I understand everything. I understand only too well. What do you meanby a misapprehension? Do you mean--do you dare to insinuate that myfather did not tell me the truth?"

"Oh, no, no, " I interrupted. That was exactly what I did mean, but I wasnot going to let the shade of the departed Strickland appear again untilI was out of that room and house. "I am not insinuating anything. "

"I am very glad to hear it. I wish you to know that I perfectlyunderstand EVERYTHING. "

That seemed to settle it; at any rate it settled me for the time. I tookup my hat. 

"Miss Morley, " I said, "I can't discuss this matter further just now. Imust consult my cousin first. She and I will call upon you to-morrow atany hour you may name. "

She was disappointed; that was plain. I thought for the moment thatshe was going to break down again. But she did not; she controlled herfeelings and faced me firmly and pluckily. 

"At nine--no, at ten to-morrow, then, " she said. "I shall expect yourfinal answer then. "

"Very well. "

"You will come? Of course; I am forgetting. You said you would. "

"We will be here at ten. Here is my address. "

I gave her my card, scribbling the street and number of Bancroft's inpencil in the corner. She took the card. 

"Thank you. Good afternoon, " she said. 

I said "Good afternoon" and opened the door. The hall outside was empty, but someone was descending the stairs in a great hurry. I descendedalso. At the top step I glanced once more into the room I had just left. Frances Strickland Morley--Little Frank--was seated in the chair, onehand before her eyes. Her attitude expressed complete weariness andutter collapse. She had said she was not sick, but she looked sick--shedid indeed. 

Harriet, the slouchy maid, was not in evidence, so I opened the streetdoor for myself. As I reached the sidewalk--I suppose, as this wasEngland, I should call it the "pavement"--I was accosted by Mrs. Briggs. She was out of breath; I am quite sure she had reached that pavement butthe moment before. 

"'Ow is she?" demanded Mrs. Briggs. 

"Who?" I asked, not too politely. 

"That Morley one. Is she goin' to be hill again?"

"How do I know? Has she been sick--ill, I mean?"

"Huh! Hill! 'Er? Now, now, sir! I give you my word she's been hillhever since she came 'ere. I thought one time she was goin' to die on my'ands. And 'oo was to pay for 'er buryin', I'd like to know? That's w'atit is! 'Oo's goin' to pay for 'er buryin' and the food she eats; tosay nothin' of 'er room money, and that's been owin' me for a matter ofthree weeks?"

"How should I know who is going to pay for it? She will, I suppose. "

"She! W'at with? She ain't got a bob to bless 'erself with, she ain't. She's broke, stony broke. Honly for my kind 'eart she'd a been out onthe street afore this. That and 'er tellin' me she was expectin' moneyfrom 'er rich friends in the States. You're from the States, ain't you, sir?"

"Yes. But do you mean to tell me that Miss Morley has no money of herown?"

"Of course I mean it. W'en she come 'ere she told me she was on thestage. A hopera singer, she said she was. She 'ad money then, enough topay 'er way, she 'ad. She was expectin' to go with some troupe or other, but she never 'as. Oh, them stage people! Don't I know 'em? Ain't I'ad experience of 'em? A woman as 'as let lodgin's as long as me? If itwasn't for them rich friends in the States I 'ave never put up with 'erthe way I 'ave. You're from the States, ain't you, sir?"

"Yes, yes, I'm from the States. Now, see here, Mrs. Briggs; I'm comingback here to-morrow. If--Well, if Miss Morley needs anything, food ormedicines or anything, in the meantime, you see that she has them. I'llpay you when I come. "

Mrs. Briggs actually smiled. She would have patted my arm if I had notjerked it out of the way. 

"You trust me, sir, " she whispered, confidingly. "You trust my kind'eart. I'll look after 'er like she was my own daughter. "

I should have hated to trust even my worst enemy--if I had one--to Mrs. Briggs' "kind heart. " I walked off in disgust. I found a cab at the nextcorner and, bidding the driver take me to Bancroft's, threw myself backon the cushions. This was a lovely mess! This was a beautiful climax tothe first act--no, merely the prologue--of the drama of Hephzy's and mypilgrimage. What would Jim Campbell say to this? I was to be absolutelycare-free; I was not to worry about myself or anyone else. That was theessential part of his famous "prescription. " And now, here I was, withthis impossible situation and more impossible young woman on my hands. If Little Frank had been a boy, a healthy boy, it would be bad enough. But Little Frank was a girl--a sick girl, without a penny. And a girlthoroughly convinced that she was the rightful heir to goodness knowshow much wealth--wealth of which we, the uncivilized, unprinciplednatives of an unprincipled, uncivilized country, had robbed her parentsand herself. Little Frank had been a dream before; now he--she, Imean--was a nightmare; worse than that, for one wakes from a nightmare. And I was on my way to tell Hephzy!

Well, I told her. She was in our sitting-room when I reached the hoteland I told her the whole story. I began by reading the letter. Beforeshe had recovered from the shock of the reading, I told her that I hadactually met and talked with Little Frank; and while this astounding bitof news was, so to speak, soaking into her bewildered brain, I went onto impart the crowning item of information--namely, that Little Frankwas Miss Frances. Then I sat back and awaited what might follow. 

Her first coherent remark was one which I had not expected--and I hadexpected almost anything. 

"Oh, Hosy, " gasped Hephzy, "tell me--tell me before you say anythingelse. Does he--she, I mean--look like Ardelia?"

"Eh? What?" I stammered. "Look like--look like what?"

"Not what--who. Does she look like Ardelia? Like her mother? Oh, I HOPEshe doesn't favor her father's side! I did so want our Little Frank tolook like his--her--I CAN'T get used to it--like my poor Ardelia. Doesshe?"

"Goodness knows! I don't know who she looks like. I didn't notice. "

"You didn't! I should have noticed that before anything else. What kindof a girl is she? Is she pretty?"

"I don't know. She isn't ugly, I should say. I wasn't particularlyinterested in her looks. The fact that she was at all was enough; Ihaven't gotten over that yet. What are we going to do with her? Or arewe going to do anything? Those are the questions I should like to haveanswered. For heaven's sake, Hephzy, don't talk about her personalappearance. There she is and here are we. What are we going to do?"

Hephzy shook her head. "I don't know, Hosy, " she admitted. "I don'tknow, I'm sure. This is--this is--Oh, didn't I tell you we wereSENT--sent by Providence!"

I was silent. If we had been "sent, " as she called it, I was far fromcertain that Providence was responsible. I was more inclined to placethe responsibility in a totally different quarter. 

"I think, " she continued, "I think you'd better tell me the whole thingall over again, Hosy. Tell it slow and don't leave out a word. Tell mewhat sort of place she was in and what she said and how she looked, asnear as you can remember. I'll try and pay attention; I'll try as hardas I can. It'll be a job. All I can think of now is thatto-morrow mornin'--only to-morrow mornin'--I'm going to see LittleFrank--Ardelia's Little Frank. "

I complied with her request, giving every detail of my afternoon'sexperience. I reread the letter, and handed it to her, that she mightread it herself. I described Mrs. Briggs and what I had seen of Mrs. Briggs' lodging-house. I described Miss Morley as best I could, darkeyes, dark hair and the look of weakness and frailty. I repeated ourconversation word for word; I had forgotten nothing of that. Hephzylistened in silence. When I had finished she sighed. 

"The poor thing, " she said. "I do pity her so. "

"Pity her!" I exclaimed. "Well, perhaps I pity her, too, in a way. Butmy pity and yours don't alter the situation. She doesn't want pity. Shedoesn't want help. She flew at me like a wildcat when I asked if she wasill. Her personal affairs, she says, are not ours; she doesn't want ouracquaintance or our friendship. She has gotten some crazy notion inher head that you and I and Uncle Barnabas have cheated her out ofan inheritance, and she wants that! Inheritance! Good Lord! A fineinheritance hers is! Daughter of the man who robbed us of everything wehad. "

"I know--I know. But SHE doesn't know, does she, Hosy. Her father musthave told her--"

"He told her a barrel of lies, of course. What they were I can'timagine, but that fellow was capable of anything. Know! No, she doesn'tknow now, but she will have to know. "

"Are you goin' to tell her, Hosy?"

I stared in amazement. 

"Tell her!" I repeated. "What do you mean? You don't intend letting herthink that WE are the thieves, do you? That's what she thinks now. Ofcourse I shall tell her. "

"It will be awful hard to tell. She worshipped her father, I guess. Hewas a dreadful fascinatin' man, when he wanted to be. He could make abody believe black was white. Poor Ardelia thought he was--"

"I can't help that. I'm not Ardelia. "

"I know, but she is Ardelia's child. Hosy, if you are so set on tellin'her why didn't you tell her this afternoon? It would have been just aseasy then as to-morrow. "

This was a staggerer. A truthful answer would be so humiliating. I hadnot told Frances Morley that her father was a thief and a liar because Icouldn't muster courage to do it. She had seemed so alone and friendlessand ill. I lacked the pluck to face the situation. But I could not tellHephzy this. 

"Why didn't you tell her?" she repeated. 

"Oh, bosh!" I exclaimed, impatiently. "This is nonsense and you know it, Hephzy. She'll have to be told and you and I must tell her. DON'T lookat me like that. What else are we to do?"

Another shake of the head. 

"I don't know. I can't decide any more than you can, Hosy. What do YOUthink we should do?"

"I don't know. "

With which unsatisfactory remark this particular conversation ended. Iwent to my room to dress for dinner. I had no appetite and dinner wasnot appealing; but I did not want to discuss Little Frank any longer. Imentally cursed Jim Campbell a good many times that evening and duringthe better part of a sleepless night. If it were not for him I should bein Bayport instead of London. From a distance of three thousand miles Icould, without the least hesitancy, have told Strickland Morley's "heir"what to do. 

Hephzy did not come down to dinner at all. From behind the door of herroom she told me, in a peculiar tone, that she could not eat. I couldnot eat, either, but I made the pretence of doing so. The next morning, at breakfast in the sitting-room, we were a silent pair. I don't knowwhat George, the waiter, thought of us. 

At a quarter after nine I turned away from the window through which Ihad been moodily regarding the donkey cart of a flower huckster in thestreet below. 

"You'd better get on your things, " I said. "It is time for us to go. "

Hephzy donned her hat and wrap. Then she came over to me. 

"Don't be cross, Hosy, " she pleaded. "I've been thinkin' it over allnight long and I've come to the conclusion that you are probably right. She hasn't any real claim on us, of course; it's the other way around, if anything. You do just as you think best and I'll back you up. "

"Then you agree that we should tell her the truth. "

"Yes, if you think so. I'm goin' to leave it all in your hands. Whateveryou do will be right. I'll trust you as I always have. "

It was a big responsibility, it seemed to me. I did wish she had beenmore emphatic. However, I set my teeth and resolved upon a course ofaction. Pity and charity and all the rest of it I would not consider. Right was right, and justice was justice. I would end a disagreeablebusiness as quickly as I could. 

Mrs. Briggs' lodging-house, viewed from the outside, was no moreinviting at ten in the morning than it had been at four in theafternoon. I expected Hephzy to make some comment upon the dirty stepsand the still dirtier front door. She did neither. We stood togetherupon the steps and I rang the bell. 

Mrs. Briggs herself opened the door. I think she had been watching frombehind the curtains and had seen our cab draw up at the curb. She wasin a state of great agitation, a combination of relieved anxiety, excitement and overdone politeness. 

"Good mornin', sir, " she said; "and good mornin', lady. I've beenexpectin' you, and so 'as she, poor dear. I thought one w'ile she wasthat hill she couldn't see you, but Lor' bless you, I've nursed 'er sameas if she was my own daughter. I told you I would sir, now didn't I. "

One word in this harangue caught my attention. 

"Ill?" I repeated. "What do you mean? Is she worse than she wasyesterday?"

Mrs. Briggs held up her hands. "Worse!" she cried. "Why, bless your'art, sir, she was quite well yesterday. Quite 'erself, she was, whenyou come. But after you went away she seemed to go all to pieces like. W'en I went hup to 'er, to carry 'er 'er tea--She always 'as 'er tea;I've been a mother to 'er, I 'ave--she'll tell you so. W'en I went hupwith the tea there she was in a faint. W'ite as if she was dead. Myword, sir, I was frightened. And all night she's been tossin' about, a-cryin' out and--"

"Where is she now?" put in Hephzy, sharply. 

"She's in 'er room ma'am. Dressed she is; she would dress, knowin' ofyour comin', though I told 'er she shouldn't. She's dressed, but she'slyin' down. She would 'ave tried to sit hup, but THAT I wouldn't 'ave, ma'am. 'Now, dearie, ' I told 'er--"

But I would not hear any more. As for Hephzy she was in the dingy fronthall already. 

"Shall we go up?" I asked, impatiently. 

"Of COURSE you're to go hup. She's a-waitin' for you. But sir--sir, " shecaught my sleeve; "if you think she's goin' to be ill and needin' thedoctor, just pass the word to me. A doctor she shall 'ave, the bestthere is in London. All I ask you is to pay--"

I heard no more. Hephzy was on her way up the stairs and I followed. Thedoor of the first floor back was closed. I rapped upon it. 

"Come in, " said the voice I remembered, but now it sounded weaker thanbefore. 

Hephzy looked at me. I nodded. 

"You go first, " I whispered. "You can call me when you are ready. "

Hephzy opened the door and entered the room. I closed the door behindher. 

Silence for what seemed a long, long time. Then the door opened againand Hephzy appeared. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She put her armsabout my neck. 

"Oh, Hosy, " she whispered, "she's real sick. And--and--Oh, Hosy, howCOULD you see her and not see! She's the very image of Ardelia. The veryimage! Come. "

I followed her into the room. It was no brighter now, in the middle ofa--for London--bright forenoon, than it had been on my previous visit. Just as dingy and forbidding and forlorn as ever. But now there was nodefiant figure erect to meet me. The figure was lying upon the bed, andthe pale cheeks of yesterday were flushed with fever. Miss Morley hadlooked far from well when I first saw her; now she looked very illindeed. 

She acknowledged my good-morning with a distant bow. Her illness had notquenched her spirit, that was plain. She attempted to rise, but Hephzygently pushed her back upon the pillow. 

"You stay right there, " she urged. "Stay right there. We can talk justas well, and Mr. Knowles won't mind; will you, Hosy. "

I stammered something or other. My errand, difficult as it had beenfrom the first, now seemed impossible. I had come there to say certainthings--I had made up my mind to say them; but how was I to say suchthings to a girl as ill as this one was. I would not have said them toStrickland Morley himself, under such circumstances. 

"I--I am very sorry you are not well, Miss Morley, " I faltered. 

She thanked me, but there was no warmth in the thanks. 

"I am not well, " she said; "but that need make no difference. I presumeyou and this--this lady are prepared to make a definite proposition tome. I am well enough to hear it. "

Hephzy and I looked at each other. I looked for help, but Hephzy'sexpression was not helpful at all. It might have meant anything--ornothing. 

"Miss Morley, " I began. "Miss Morley, I--I--"

"Well, sir?"

"Miss Morley, I--I don't know what to say to you. "

She rose to a sitting posture. Hephzy again tried to restrain her, butthis time she would not be restrained. 

"Don't know what to say?" she repeated. "Don't know what to say? Thenwhy did you come here?"

"I came--we came because--because I promised we would come. "

"But WHY did you come?"

Hephzy leaned toward her. 

"Please, please, " she begged. "Don't get all excited like this. Youmustn't. You'll make yourself sicker, you know. You must lie down and bequiet. Hosy--oh, please, Hosy, be careful. "

Miss Morley paid no attention. She was regarding me with eyes whichlooked me through and through. Her thin hands clutched the bedclothes. 

"WHY did you come?" she demanded. "My letter was plain enough, certainly. What I said yesterday was perfectly plain. I told you I didnot wish your acquaintance or your friendship. Friendship--" with ablaze of scorn, "from YOU! I--I told you--I--"

"Hush! hush! please don't, " begged Hephzy. "You mustn't. You're too weakand sick. Oh, Hosy, do be careful. "

I was quite willing to be careful--if I had known how. 

"I think, " I said, "that this interview had better be postponed. Really, Miss Morley, you are not in a condition to--"

She sprang to her feet and stood there trembling. 

"My condition has nothing to do with it, " she cried. "Oh, CAN'T I makeyou understand! I am trying to be lenient, to be--to be--And you comehere, you and this woman, and try to--to--You MUST understand! I don'twant to know you. I don't want your pity! After your treatment of mymother and my father, I--I--I. .. Oh!"

She staggered, put her hands to her head, sank upon the bed, and thencollapsed in a dead faint. 

Hephzy was at her side in a moment. She knew what to do if I did not. 

"Quick!" she cried, turning to me. "Send for the doctor; she hasfainted. Hurry! And send that--that Briggs woman to me. Don't standthere like that. HURRY!"

I found the Briggs woman in the lower hall. From her I learned the nameand address of the nearest physician, also the nearest public telephone. Mrs. Briggs went up to Hephzy and I hastened out to telephone. 

Oh, those London telephones! After innumerable rings and "Hellos" fromme, and "Are you theres" from Central, I, at last, was connected withthe doctor's office and, by great good luck, with the doctor himself. He promised to come at once. In ten minutes I met him at the door andconducted him to the room above. 

He was in that room a long time. Meanwhile, I waited in the hall, pacingup and down, trying to think my way through this maze. I had succeededin thinking myself still deeper into it when the physician reappeared. 

"How is she?" I asked. 

"She is conscious again, but weak, of course. If she can be kept quietand have proper care and nourishment and freedom from worry she will, probably, gain strength and health. There is nothing seriously wrongphysically, so far as I can see. "

I was glad to hear that and said so. 

"Of course, " he went on, "her nerves are completely unstrung. She seemsto have been under a great mental strain and her surroundings are not--"He paused, and then added, "Is the young lady a relative of yours?"

"Ye--es, I suppose--She is a distant relative, yes. "

"Humph! Has she no near relatives? Here in England, I mean. You and thelady with you are Americans, I judge. "

I ignored the last sentence. I could not see that our being Americansconcerned him. 

"She has no near relatives in England, so far as I know, " I answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Merely because--Well, to be frank, because if she had such relatives Ishould strongly recommend their taking charge of her. She is very weakand in a condition where she knight become seriously ill. "

"I see. You mean that she should not remain here. "

"I do mean that, decidedly. This, " with a wave of the hand and a glanceabout the bare, dirty, dark hall, "is not--Well, she seems to be a youngperson of some refinement and--"

He did not finish the sentence, but I understood. 

"I see, " I interrupted. "And yet she is not seriously ill. "

"Not now--no. Her weakness is due to mental strain and--well, to a lackof nutrition as much as anything. "

"Lack of nutrition? You mean she hasn't had enough to eat!"

"Yes. Of course I can't be certain, but that would be my opinion if Iwere forced to give one. At all events, she should be taken from here assoon as possible. "

I reflected. "A hospital?" I suggested. 

"She might be taken to a hospital, of course. But she is scarcely illenough for that. A good, comfortable home would be better. Somewherewhere she might have quiet and rest. If she had relatives I shouldstrongly urge her going to them. She should not be left to herself; Iwould not be responsible for the consequences if she were. A person inher condition might--might be capable of any rash act. "

This was plain enough, but it did not make my course of action plainerto me. 

"Is she well enough to be moved--now?" I asked. 

"Yes. If she is not moved she is likely to be less well. "

I paid him for the visit; he gave me a prescription--"To quiet thenerves, " he explained--and went away. I was to send for him whenever hisservices were needed. Then I entered the room. 

Hephzy and Mrs. Briggs were sitting beside the bed. The face upon thepillow looked whiter and more pitiful than ever. The dark eyes wereclosed. 

Hephzy signaled me to silence. She rose and tiptoed over to me. I ledher out into the hall. 

"She's sort of dozin' now, " she whispered. "The poor thing is worn out. What did the doctor say?"

I told her what the doctor had said. 

"He's just right, " she declared. "She's half starved, that's what's thematter with her. That and frettin' and worryin' have just about killedher. What are you goin' to do, Hosy?"

"How do I know!" I answered, impatiently. "I don't see exactly why weare called upon to do anything. Do you?"

"No--o, I--I don't know as we are called on. No--o. I--"

"Well, do you?"

"No. I know how you feel, Hosy. Considerin' how her father treated us, Iwon't blame you no matter what you do. "

"Confound her father! I only wish it were he we had to deal with. "

Hephzy was silent. I took a turn up and down the hall. 

"The doctor says she should be taken away from here at once, " Iobserved. 

Hephzy nodded. "There's no doubt about that, " she declared withemphasis. "I wouldn't trust a sick cat to that Briggs woman. She'sa--well, she's what she is. "

"I suggested a hospital, but he didn't approve, " I went on. "Herecommended some comfortable home with care and quiet and all the restof it. Her relatives should look after her, he said. She hasn't anyrelatives that we know of, or any home to go to. "

Again Hephzy was silent. I waited, growing momentarily more nervous andfretful. Of all impossible situations this was the most impossible. Andto make it worse, Hephzy, the usually prompt, reliable Hephzy, was of nouse at all. 

"Do say something, " I snapped. "What shall we do?"

"I don't know, Hosy, dear. Why!. .. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to the drug-store to get this prescription filled. I'll beback soon. "

The drug-store--it was a "chemist's shop" of course--was at the corner. It was the chemist's telephone that I had used when I called the doctor. I gave the clerk the prescription and, while he was busy with it, Ipaced up and down the floor of the shop. At length I sat down before thetelephone and demanded a number. 

When I returned to the lodging-house I gave Hephzy the powders which thechemist's clerk had prepared. 

"Is she any better?" I asked. 

"She's just about the same. "

"What does she say?"

"She's too weak and sick to say anything. I don't imagine she knows orcares what is happening to her. "

"Is she strong enough to get downstairs to a cab, or to ride in oneafterward?"

"I guess so. We could help her, you know. But, Hosy, what cab? What doyou mean? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm going to take her away from thishole. I must. I don't want to; there's no reason why I should and everyreason why I shouldn't; but--Oh, well, confound it! I've got to. WeCAN'T let her starve and die here. "

"But where are you going to take her?"

"There's only one place to take her; that's to Bancroft's. I've 'phonedand engaged a room next to ours. She'll have to stay with us for thepresent. Oh, I don't like it any better than you do. "

To my intense surprise, Hephzy threw her arms about my neck and huggedme. 

"I knew you would, Hosy!" she sobbed. "I knew you would. I was dyin' tohave you, but I wouldn't have asked for the world. You're the best manthat ever lived. I knew you wouldn't leave poor Ardelia's little girlto--to--Oh, I'm so grateful. You're the best man in the world. "

I freed myself from the embrace as soon as I could. I didn't feel likethe best man in the world. I felt like a Quixotic fool. 

Fortunately I was too busy for the next hour to think of my feelings. Hephzy went in to arrange for the transfer of the invalid to the cab andto collect and pack her most necessary belongings. I spent my time in afinancial wrangle with Mrs. Briggs. The number of items which that womanwished included in her bill was surprising. Candles and soap--the billitself was the sole evidence of soap's ever having made its appearancein that house--and washing and tea and food and goodness knows what. Thetotal was amazing. I verified the addition, or, rather, corrected it, and then offered half of the sum demanded. This offer was received withprotestations, tears and voluble demands to know if I 'ad the 'art torob a lone widow who couldn't protect herself. Finally we compromised ona three-quarter basis and Mrs. Briggs receipted the bill. She said herkind disposition would be the undoing of her and she knew it. She wastoo silly and soft-'arted to let lodgings. 

We had very little trouble in carrying or leading Little Frank to thecab. The effect of the doctor's powders--they must have contained somesort of opiate--was to render the girl only partially conscious of whatwas going on and we got her to and into the vehicle without difficulty. During the drive to Bancroft's she dozed on Hephzy's shoulder. 

Her room--it was next to Hephzy's, with a connecting door--was readyand we led her up the stairs. Mr. And Mrs. Jameson were very kind andsympathetic. They asked surprisingly few questions. 

"Poor young lady, " said Mr. Jameson, when he and I were together in oursitting-room. "She is quite ill, isn't she. "

"Yes, " I admitted. "It is not a serious illness, however. She needsquiet and care more than anything else. "

"Yes, sir. We will do our best to see that she has both. A relative ofyours, sir, I think you said. "

"A--a--my niece, " I answered, on the spur of the moment. She wasHephzy's niece, of course. As a matter of fact, she was scarcely relatedto me. However, it seemed useless to explain. 

"I didn't know you had English relatives, Mr. Knowles. I had been underthe impression that you and Miss Cahoon were strangers here. "

So had I, but I did not explain that, either. Mrs. Jameson joined us. 

"She will sleep now, I think, " she said. "She is quite quiet andpeaceful. A near relative of yours, Mr. Knowles?"

"She is Mr. Knowles's niece, " explained her husband. 

"Oh, yes. A sweet girl she seems. And very pretty, isn't she. "

I did not answer. Mr. Jameson and his wife turned to go. 

"I presume you will wish to communicate with her people, " said theformer. "Shall I send you telegram forms?"

"Not now, " I stammered. Telegrams! Her people! She had no people. Wewere her people. We had taken her in charge and were responsible. Andhow and when would that responsibility be shifted!

What on earth should we do with her?

Hephzy tiptoed in. Her expression was a curious one. She was verysolemn, but not sad; the solemnity was not that of sorrow, but appearedto be a sort of spiritual uplift, a kind of reverent joy. 

"She's asleep, " she said, gravely; "she's asleep, Hosy. "

There was precious little comfort in that. 

"She'll wake up by and by, " I said. "And then--what?"

"I don't know. "

"Neither do I--now. But we shall have to know pretty soon. "

"I suppose we shall, but I can't--I can't seem to think of anythingthat's ahead of us. All I can think is that my Little Frank--myArdelia's Little Frank--is here, here with us, at last. "

"And TO last, so far as I can see. Hephzy, for heaven's sake, do tryto be sensible. Do you realize what this means? As soon as she iswell enough to understand what has happened she will want to know what'proposition' we have to make. And when we tell her we have none tomake, she'll probably collapse again. And then--and then--what shall wedo?"

"I don't know, Hosy. I declare I don't know. "

I strode into my own room and slammed the door. 

"Damn!" said I, with enthusiasm. 

"What?" queried Hephzy, from the sitting-room. "What did you say, Hosy?"

I did not tell her. 

CHAPTER VIII

In Which the Pilgrims Become Tenants

Two weeks later we left Bancroft's and went to Mayberry. Two weeks only, and yet in that two weeks all our plans--if our indefinite visions ofirresponsible flitting about Great Britain and the continent mightbe called plans--had changed utterly. Our pilgrimage was, apparently, ended--it had become an indefinite stay. We were no longer pilgrims, buttenants, tenants in an English rectory, of all places in the world. I, the Cape Cod quahaug, had become an English country gentleman--or acountry gentleman in England--for the summer, at least. 

Little Frank--Miss Frances Morley--was responsible for the change, ofcourse. Her sudden materialization and the freak of fortune whichhad thrown her, weak and ill, upon our hands, were responsible foreverything. For how much more, how many other changes, she would beresponsible the future only could answer. And the future would answer inits own good, or bad, time. My conundrum "What are we going to dowith her?" was as much of a puzzle as ever. For my part I gave it up. Sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof--much more than sufficient. 

For the first twenty-four hours following the arrival of "my niece" atBancroft's Hotel the situation regarding that niece remained as itwas. Miss Morley--or Frances--or Frank as Hephzy persisted in callingher--was too ill to care what had happened, or, at least, to speak ofit. She spoke very little, was confined to her room and bed and sleptthe greater part of the time. The doctor whom I called, on Mr. Jameson'srecommendation, confirmed his fellow practitioner's diagnosis; the younglady, he said, was suffering from general weakness and the effect ofnervous strain. She needed absolute rest, care and quiet. There was noorganic disease. 

But on the morning of the second day she was much better and willing, even anxious to talk. She assailed Hephzy with questions and Hephzy, although she tried to avoid answering most, was obliged to answer someof them. She reported the interview to me during luncheon. 

"She didn't seem to remember much about comin' here, or what happenedbefore or afterward, " said Hephzy. "But she wanted to know it all. Itold her the best I could. 'You couldn't stay there, ' I said. 'ThatBriggs hyena wasn't fit to take care of any human bein' and neither Hosynor I could leave you in her hands. So we brought you here to the hotelwhere we're stoppin'. ' She thought this over a spell and then she wantedto know whose idea bringin' her here was, yours or mine. I said 'twasyours, and just like you, too; you were the kindest-hearted man in theworld, I said. Oh, you needn't look at me like that, Hosy. It's theplain truth, and you know it. "

"Humph!" I grunted. "If the young lady were a mind-reader shemight--well, never mind. What else did she say?"

"Oh, a good many things. Wanted to know if her bill at Mrs. Briggs' waspaid. I said it was. She thought about that and then she gave me ordersthat you and I were to keep account of every cent--no, penny--we spentfor her. She should insist upon that. If we had the idea that she was asubject of charity we were mistaken. She fairly withered me with a lookfrom those big eyes of hers. Ardelia's eyes all over again! Or theywould be if they were blue instead of brown. I remember--"

I cut short the reminiscence. I was in no mood to listen to the praisesof any Morley. 

"What answer did you make to that?" I asked. 

"What could I say? I didn't want any more faintin' spells or hysterics, either. I said we weren't thinkin' of offerin' charity and if it wouldplease her to have us run an expense book we'd do it, of course. Sheasked what the doctor said about her condition. I told her he said shemust keep absolutely quiet and not fret about anything or she'd have anawful relapse. That was pretty strong but I meant it that way. Answerin'questions that haven't got any answer to 'em is too much of a strain forME. You try it some time yourself and see. "

"I have tried it, thank you. Well, is that all? Did she tell youanything about herself; where she has been or what she has been or whatshe has been doing since her precious father died?"

"No, not a word. I was dyin' to ask her, but I didn't. She says shewants to talk with the doctor next time he comes, that's all. "

She did talk with the doctor, although not during his next call. Severaldays passed before he would permit her to talk with him. Meanwhile heand I had several talks. What he told me brought my conundrum no nearerits answer. 

She was recovering rapidly, he said, but for weeks at least her delicatenervous organism must be handled with care. The slightest set-backwould be disastrous. He asked if we intended remaining at Bancroft'sindefinitely. I had no intentions--those I had had were wiped off mymental slate--so I said I did not know, our future plans were vague. Hesuggested a sojourn in the country, in some pleasant retired spot in therural districts. 

"An out-of-door life, walks, rides and sports of all sorts would do yourniece a world of good, Mr. Knowles, " he declared. "She needs just that. A very attractive young lady, sir, if you'll pardon my saying so, " hewent on. "Were her people Londoners, may I ask?"

He might ask but I had no intention of telling him. What I knewconcerning my "niece's" people were things not usually told tostrangers. I evaded the question. 

"Has she had a recent bereavement?" he queried. "I hope you'll notthink me merely idly inquisitive. I cannot understand how a young woman, normally healthy and well, should have been brought to such a strait. Our English girls, Mr. Knowles, do not suffer from nerves, as I am toldyour American young women so frequently do. Has your niece been in theStates with you?"

I said she had not. Incidentally I informed him that American youngwomen did NOT frequently suffer from nerves. He said "Really, " but hedid not believe me, I'm certain. He was a good fellow, and intelligent, but his ideas of "the States" had been gathered, largely, I think, from newspapers and novels. He was convinced that most Americans wereconfirmed neurotics and dyspeptics, just as Hephzy had believed allEnglishmen wore side-whiskers. 

I changed the conversation as soon as I could. I could tell himso little concerning my newly found "niece. " I knew about as muchconcerning her life as he did. It is distinctly unpleasant to be uncleto someone you know nothing at all about. I devoutly wished I had notsaid she was my niece. I repeated that wish many times afterward. 

Miss Morley's talk with the physician had definite results, surprisingresults. Following that talk she sent word by the doctor that she wishedto see Hephzy and me. We went into her room. She was sitting in a chairby the window, and was wearing a rather pretty wrapper, or kimono, orwhatever that sort of garment is called. At any rate, it was becoming. Iwas obliged to admit that the general opinion expressed by the Jamesonsand Hephzy and the doctor--that she was pretty, was correct enough. Shewas pretty, but that did not help matters any. 

She asked us--no, she commanded us to sit down. Her manner was decidedlybusiness-like. She wasted no time in preliminaries, but came straight tothe point, and that point was the one which I had dreaded. She asked uswhat decision we had reached concerning her. 

"Have you decided what your offer is to be?" she asked. 

I looked at Hephzy and she at me. Neither of us derived comfort fromthe exchange of looks. However, something must be done, or said, and Ibraced myself to say it. 

"Miss Morley, " I began, "before I answer that question I should like toask you one. What do you expect us to do?"

She regarded me coldly. "I expect, " she said, "that you and this--thatyou and Miss Cahoon will arrange to pay me the money which was mymother's and which my grandfather should have turned over to her whilehe lived. "

Again I looked at Hephzy and again I braced myself for the scene which Iwas certain would follow. 

"It is your impression then, " I said, "that your mother had money of herown and that Captain Barnabas, your grandfather, kept that money for hisown use. "

"It is not an impression, " haughtily; "I know it to be a fact. "

"How do you know it?"

"My father told me so, during his last illness. "

"Was--pardon me--was your father himself at the time? Washe--er--rational?"

"Rational! My father?"

"I mean--I mean was he himself--mentally? He was not delirious when hetold you?"

"Delirious! Mr. Knowles, I am trying to be patient, but for the lasttime I warn you that I will not listen to insinuations against myfather. "

"I am not insinuating anything. I am seeking information. Were you andyour father together a great deal? Did you know him well? Just what didhe tell you?"

She hesitated before replying. When she spoke it was with an exaggeratedair of patient toleration, as if she were addressing an unreasonablechild. 

"I will answer you, " she said. "I will answer you because, so far, Ihave no fault to find with your behavior toward me. You and my--and myaunt have been as reasonable as I, perhaps, should expect, everythingconsidered. Your bringing me here and providing for me was even kind, I suppose. So I will answer your questions. My father and I were nottogether a great deal. I attended a convent school in France and sawFather only at intervals. I supposed him to possess an independentincome. It was only when he was--was unable to work, " with a quiver inher voice, "that I learned how he lived. He had been obliged to dependupon his music, upon his violin playing, to earn money enough to keep usboth alive. Then he told me of--of his life in America and how my motherand he had been--been cheated and defrauded by those who--who--Oh, DON'Task me any more! Don't!"

"I must ask you. I must ask you to tell me this: How was he defrauded, as you call it?"

"I have told you, already. My mother's fortune--"

"But your mother had no fortune. "

The anticipated scene was imminent. She sprang to her feet, but beingtoo weak to stand, sank back again. Hephzy looked appealingly at me. 

"Hosy, " she cautioned; "Oh, Hosy, be careful! Think how sick she hasbeen. "

"I am thinking, Hephzy. I mean to be careful. But what I said is thetruth, and you know it. "

Hephzy would have replied, but Little Frank motioned her to be silent. 

"Hush!" she commanded. "Mr. Knowles, what do you mean? My mother hadmoney, a great deal of money. I don't know the exact sum, but my fathersaid--You know it! You MUST know it. It was in my grandfather's careand--"

"Your grandfather had no money. He--well, he lost every dollar he had. He died as poor as a church rat. "

Another interval of silence, during which I endured a piercing scrutinyfrom the dark eyes. Then Miss Morley's tone changed. 

"Indeed!" she said, sarcastically. "You surprise me, Mr. Knowles. Whatbecame of the money, may I ask? I understand that my grandfather was awealthy man. "

"He was fairly well-to-do at one time, but he lost his money and diedpoor. "

"How did he lose it?"

The question was a plain one and demanded a plain and satisfying answer. But how could I give that answer--then? Hephzy was shaking her headviolently. I stammered and faltered and looked guilty, I have no doubt. 

"Well?" said Miss Morley. 

"He--he lost it, that is sufficient. You must take my word for it. Captain Cahoon died without a dollar of his own. "

"When did he LOSE his wealth?" with sarcastic emphasis. 

"Years ago. About the time your parents left the United States. There, there, Hephzy! I know. I'm doing my best. "

"Indeed! When did he die?"

"Long ago--more than ten years ago. "

"But my parents left America long before that. If my grandfather waspenniless how did he manage to live all those years? What supportedhim?"

"Your aunt--Miss Cahoon here--had money in her own right. "

"SHE had money and my mother had not. Yet both were Captain Cahoon'sdaughters. How did that happen?"

It seemed to me that it was Hephzy's time to play the target. I turnedto her. 

"Miss Cahoon will probably answer that herself, " I observed, maliciously. 

Hephzibah appeared more embarrassed than I. 

"I--I--Oh, what difference does all this make?" she faltered. "Hosy hastold you the truth, Frances. Really and truly he has. Father was pooras poverty when he died and all his last years, too. All his money hadgone. "

"Yes, so I have heard Mr. Knowles say. But how did it go?"

"In--in--well, it was invested in stocks and things and--and--"

"Do you mean that he speculated in shares?"

"Well, not--not--"

"I see. Oh, I see. Father told me a little concerning thosespeculations. He warned Captain Cahoon before he left the States, buthis warnings were not heeded, I presume. And you wish me to believe thatALL the money was lost--my mother's and all. Is that what you mean?"

"Your mother HAD no money, " I put in, desperately, "I have told you--"

"You have told me many things, Mr. Knowles. Even admitting that mygrandfather lost his money, as you say, why should I suffer because ofhis folly? I am not asking for HIS money. I am demanding money that wasmy mother's and is now mine. That I expected from him and now I expectit from you, his heirs. "

"But your mother had no--"

"I do not care to hear that again. I know she had money. "

"But how do you know?"

"Because my father told me she had, and my father did not lie. "

There we were again--just where we started. The doctor re-entered theroom and insisted upon his patient's being left to herself. She must liedown and rest, he said. His manner was one of distinct disapproval. Itwas evident that he considered Hephzy and me disturbers of the peace; infact he intimated as much when he joined us in the sitting-room in a fewminutes. 

"I am afraid I made a mistake in permitting the conference, " he said. "The young lady seems much agitated, Mr. Knowles. If she is, completenervous prostration may follow. She may be an invalid for months or evenyears. I strongly recommend her being taken into the country as soon aspossible. "

This speech and the manner in which it was made were impressive andalarming. The possibilities at which it hinted were more alarming still. We made no attempt to discuss family matters with Little Frank that daynor the next. 

But on the day following, when I returned from my morning visit toCamford Street, I found Hephzy awaiting me in the sitting-room. She wasvery solemn. 

"Hosy, " she said, "sit down. I've got somethin' to tell you. "

"About her?" I asked, apprehensively. 

"Yes. She's just been talkin' to me. "

"She has! I thought we agreed not to talk with her at all. "

"We did, and I tried not to. But when I went in to see her just now shewas waitin' for me. She had somethin' to say, she said, and she saidit--Oh, my goodness, yes! she said it. "

"What did she say? Has she sent for her lawyer--her solicitor, orwhatever he is?"

"No, she hasn't done that. I don't know but I 'most wish she had. Hewouldn't be any harder to talk to than she is. Hosy, she's made up hermind. "

"Made up her mind! I thought HER mind was already made up. "

"It was, but she's made it up again. That doctor has been talkin' to herand she's really frightened about her health, I think. Anyhow, she hasdecided that her principal business just now is to get well. She toldme she had decided not to press her claim upon us for the present. If wewished to make an offer of what she calls restitution, she'll listen toit; but she judges we are not ready to make one. "

"Humph! her judgment is correct so far. "

"Yes, but that isn't all. While she is waitin' for that offer sheexpects us to take care of her. She has been thinkin', she says, and shehas come to the conclusion that our providin' for her as we have doneisn't charity--or needn't be considered as charity--at all. She iswillin' to consider it a part of that precious restitution she's forevertalkin' about. We are to take care of her, and pay her doctor's bills, and take her into the country as he recommends, and--"

I interrupted. "Great Scott!" I cried, "does she expect us to ADOPTher?"

"I don't know what she expects; I'm tryin' to tell you what she said. We're to do all this and keep a strict account of all it costs, andthen when we are ready to make a--a proposition, as she calls it, thisaccount can be subtracted from the money she thinks we've got thatbelongs to her. "

"But there isn't any money belonging to her. I told her so, and so didyou. "

"I know, but we might tell her a thousand times and it wouldn't affecther father's tellin' her once. Oh, that Strickland Morley! If only--"

"Hush! hush, Hephzy. .. Well, by George! of all the--this thing has gonefar enough. It has gone too far. We made a great mistake in bringingher here, in having anything to do with her at all--but we shan't go onmaking mistakes. We must stop where we are. She must be told the truthnow--to-day. "

"I know--I know, Hosy; but who'll tell her?"

"I will. "

"She won't believe you. "

"Then she must disbelieve. She can call in her solicitor and I'll makehim believe. "

Hephzy was silent. Her silence annoyed me. 

"Why don't you say something?" I demanded. "You know what I say is plaincommon-sense. "

"I suppose it is--I suppose 'tis. But, Hosy, if you start in tellin' heragain you know what'll happen. The doctor said the least little thingwould bring on nervous prostration. And if she has that, WHAT willbecome of her?"

It was my turn to hesitate. 

"You couldn't--we couldn't turn her out into the street if she wasnervous prostrated, could we, " pleaded Hephzy. "After all, she'sArdelia's daughter and--"

"She's Strickland Morley's daughter. There is no doubt of that. Hereditary influence is plain enough in her case. "

"I know, but she is Ardelia's daughter, too. I don't see how we can tellher, Hosy; not until she's well and strong again. "

I was never more thoroughly angry in my life. My patience was exhausted. 

"Look here, Hephzy, " I cried: "what is it you are leading up to? You'renot proposing--actually proposing that we adopt this girl, are you?"

"No--no--o. Not exactly that, of course. But we might take her into thecountry somewhere and--"

"Oh, DO be sensible! Do you realize what that would mean? We should haveto give up our trip, stop sightseeing, stop everything we had planned todo, and turn ourselves into nurses running a sanitarium for the benefitof a girl whose father's rascality made your father a pauper. And, notonly do this, but be treated by her as if--as if--"

"There, there, Hosy! I know what it will mean. I know what it would meanto you and I don't mean for you to do it. You've done enough and morethan enough. But with me it's different. _I_ could do it. "

"You?"

"Yes. I've got some money of my own. I could find a nice, cheap, quietboardin'-house in the country round here somewhere and she and I couldgo there and stay until she got well. You needn't go at all; you couldgo off travelin' by yourself and--"

"Hephzy, what are you talking about?"

"I mean it. I've thought it all out, Hosy. Ever since Ardelia and Ihad that last talk together and she whispered to me that--that--well, especially ever since I knew there was a Little Frank I've been thinkin'and plannin' about that Little Frank; you know I have. He--she isn'tthe kind of Little Frank I expected, but she's, my sister's baby andI can't--I CAN'T, turn her away to be sick and die. I can't do it. Ishouldn't dare face Ardelia in--on the other side if I did. No, Iguess it's my duty and I'm goin' to go on with it. But with you it'sdifferent. She isn't any real relation to you. You've done enough--andmore than enough--as it is. "

This was the climax. Of course I might have expected it, but of courseI didn't. As soon as I recovered, or partially recovered, from mystupefaction I expostulated and scolded and argued. Hephzy was quiet butfirm. She hated to part from me--she couldn't bear to think of it; buton the other hand she couldn't abandon her Ardelia's little girl. Theinterview ended by my walking out of the room and out of Bancroft's indisgust. 

I did not return until late in the afternoon. I was in better humorthen. Hephzy was still in the sitting-room; she looked as if she hadbeen crying. 

"Hosy, " she said, as I entered, "I--I hope you don't think I'm tooungrateful. I'm not. Really I'm not. And I care as much for you as ifyou was my own boy. I can't leave you; I sha'n't. If you say for usto--"

I interrupted. 

"Hephzy, " I said, "I shan't say anything. I know perfectly well that youcouldn't leave me any more than I could leave you. I have arranged withMatthews to set about house-hunting at once. As soon as rural England isready for us, we shall be ready for it. After all, what difference doesit make? I was ordered to get fresh experience. I might as well get itby becoming keeper of a sanitarium as any other way. "

Hephzy looked at me. She rose from her chair. 

"Hosy, " she cried, "what--a sanitarium?"

"We'll keep it together, " I said, smiling. "You and I and Little Frank. And it is likely to be a wonderful establishment. "

Hephzy said--she said a great deal, principally concerning my generosityand goodness and kindness and self-sacrifice. I tried to shut off theflow, but it was not until I began to laugh that it ceased. 

"Why!" cried Hephzy. "You're laughin'! What in the world? I don't seeanything to laugh at. "

"Don't you? I do. Oh, dear me! I--I, the Bayport quahaug to--Ho! ho!Hephzy, let me laugh. If there is any fun in this perfectly devilishsituation let me enjoy it while I can. "

And that is how and why I decided to become a country gentlemaninstead of a traveler. When I told Matthews of my intention he had beenpetrified with astonishment. I had written Campbell of that intention. Idevoutly wished I might see his face when he read my letter. 

For days and days Hephzy and I "house-hunted. " We engaged a nurse tolook after the future patient of the "sanitarium" while we did our bestto look for the sanitarium itself. Mr. Matthews gave us the addressesof real estate agents and we journeyed from suburb to suburb and fromseashore to hills. We saw several "semi-detached villas. " The name"semi-detached villa" had an appealing sound, especially to Hephzy, butthe villas themselves did not appeal. They turned out to be what we, inAmerica, would have called "two-family houses. "

"And I never did like the idea of livin' in a two-family house, "declared Hephzy. "I've known plenty of real nice folks who did live in'em, or one-half of one of 'em, but it usually happened that the folksin the other half was a dreadful mean set. They let their dog chase yourcat and if your hens scratched up their flower garden they were realunlikely about it. I've heard Father tell about Cap'n Noah Doane andCap'n Elkanah Howes who used to live in Bayport. They'd been chums alltheir lives and when they retired from the sea they thought 'twould belovely to build a double house so's they would be right close togetherall the time. Well, they did it and they hadn't been settled more'n amonth when they began quarrelin'. Cap'n Noah's wife wanted the housepainted yellow and Mrs. Cap'n Elkanah, she wanted it green. Theystarted the fuss and it ended by one-half bein' yellow and t'other halfgreen--such an outrage you never saw--and a big fence down the middleof the front yard, and the two families not speakin', and law-suits andland knows what all. They wouldn't even go to the same church nor beburied in the same graveyard. No sir-ee! no two-family house for us ifI can help it. We've got troubles enough inside the family withoutfightin' the neighbors. "

"But think of the beautiful names, " I observed. "Those names ought toappeal to your poetic soul, Hephzy. We haven't seen a villa yet, nomatter how dingy, or small, that wasn't christened 'Rosemary Terrace'or 'Sunnylawn' or something. That last one--the shack with the brokenwindows--was labeled 'Broadview' and it faced an alley ending at a brickstable. "

"I know it, " she said. "If they'd called it 'Narrowview' or 'CowProspect' 'twould have been more fittin', I should say. But I thinkgivin' names to homes is sort of pretty, just the same. We might callour house at home 'Writer's Rest. ' A writer lives in it, you know. "

"And he has rested more than he has written of late, " I observed. "'Quahaug Stew' or 'The Tureen' would be better, I should say. "

When we expressed disapproval of the semi-detached villas our realestate brokers flew to the other extremity and proceeded to showus "estates. " These estates comprised acres of ground, mansions, game-keepers' and lodge-keepers' houses, and goodness knows what. Some, so the brokers were particular to inform us, were celebrated for their"shooting. "

The villas were not good enough; the estates were altogether too good. We inspected but one and then declined to see more. 

"Shootin'!" sniffed Hephzy. "I should feel like shootin' myself everytime I paid the rent. I'd HAVE to do it the second time. 'Twould be aquicker end than starvin', 'and the first month would bring us to that. "

We found one pleasant cottage in a suburb bearing the euphonious name of"Leatherhead"--that is, the village was named "Leatherhead"; the cottagewas "Ash Clump. " I teased Hephzy by referring to it as "Ash Dump, " butit really was a pretty, roomy house, with gardens and flowers. For thematter of that, every cottage we visited, even the smallest, was boweredin flowers. 

Hephzy's romantic spirit objected strongly to "Leatherhead, " but I toldher nothing could be more appropriate. 

"This whole proposition--Beg pardon; I didn't mean to use that word;we've heard enough concerning 'propositions'--but really, Hephzy, 'Leatherhead' is very appropriate for us. If we weren't leather-headedand deserving of leather medals we should not be hunting houses at all. We should have left Little Frank and her affairs in a lawyer's hands andbe enjoying ourselves as we intended. Leatherhead for the leather-heads;it's another dispensation of Providence. "

"Ash Dump"--"Clump, " I mean--was owned by a person named Cripps, SolomonCripps. Mr. Cripps was a stout, mutton-chopped individual, stronglysuggestive of Bancroft's "Henry. " He was rather pompous and surly when Ifirst knocked at the door of his residence, but when he learned we werehouse-hunting and had our eyes upon the "Clump, " he became verypolite indeed. "A 'eavenly spot, " he declared it to be. "A beautifulneighborhood. Near the shops and not far from the Primitive Wesleyanchapel. " He and Mrs. Cripps attended the chapel, he informed us. 

I did not fancy Mr. Cripps; he was too--too something, I was not surewhat. And Mrs. Cripps, whom we met later, was of a similar type. They, like everyone else, recognized us as Americans at once and they spokehighly of the "States. "

"A very fine country, I am informed, " said Mr. Cripps. "New, of course, but very fine indeed. Young men make money there. Much money--yes. "

Mrs. Cripps wished to know if Americans were a religious people, as arule. Religion, true spiritual religion was on the wane in England. 

I gathered that she and her husband were doing their best to keep it upto the standard. I had read, in books by English writers, of the Britishmiddle-class Pharisee. I judged the Crippses to be Pharisees. 

Hephzy's opinion was like mine. 

"If ever there was a sanctimonious hypocrite it's that Mrs. Cripps, " shedeclared. "And her husband ain't any better. They remind me of DeaconHardy and his wife back home. He always passed the plate in church andshe was head of the sewin' circle, but when it came to lettin' go ofan extry cent for the minister's salary they had glue on their fingers. Father used to say that the Deacon passed the plate himself so nobodycould see how little he put in it. They were the ones that alwaysbrought a stick of salt herrin' to the donation parties. "

We didn't like the Crippses, but we did like "Ash Clump. " We had almostdecided to take it when our plans were quashed by the member of ourparty on whose account we had planned solely. Miss Morley flatly refusedto go to Leatherhead. 

"Don't ask ME why, " said Hephzy, to whom the refusal had been made. "Idon't know. All I know is that the very name 'Leatherhead' turned herwhiter than she has been for a week. She just put that little foot ofhers down and said no. I said 'Why not?' and she said 'Never mind. ' So Iguess we sha'n't be Leatherheaded--in that way--this summer. "

I was angry and impatient, but when I tried to reason with the younglady I met a crushing refusal and a decided snub. 

"I do not care, " said Little Frank, calmly and coldly, "to explain myreasons. I have them, and that is sufficient. I shall not go to--thattown or that place. "

"But why?" I begged, restraining my desire to shake her. 

"I have my reasons. You may go there, if you wish. That is your right. But I shall not. And before you go I shall insist upon a settlement ofmy claim. "

The "claim" could neither be settled nor discussed; the doctor's warningwas no less insistent although his patient was steadily improving. Ifaced the alternative of my compliance or her nervous prostration and Ichose the former. My desire to shake her remained. 

So "Ash Clump" was given up. Hephzy and I speculated much concerningLittle Frank's aversion to Leatherhead. 

"It must be, " said Hephzy, "that she knows somebody there, or somethin'like that. That's likely, I suppose. You know we don't know much abouther or what she's done since her father died, Hosy. I've tried to askher but she won't tell. I wish we did know. "

"I don't, " I snarled. "I wish to heaven we had never known her at all. "

Hephzy sighed. "It IS awful hard for you, " she said. "And yet, if we hadcome to know her in another way you--we might have been glad. I--I thinkshe could be as sweet as she is pretty to folks she didn't considerthieves--and Americans. She does hate Americans. That's her preciouspa's doin's, I suppose likely. "

The next afternoon we saw the advertisement in the Standard. George, the waiter, brought two of the London dailies to our room each day. Theadvertisement read as follows:

"To Let for the Summer Months--Furnished. A Rectory in Mayberry, Sussex. Ten rooms, servants' quarters, vegetable gardens, small fruit, tenniscourt, etc. , etc. Water and gas laid on. Golf near by. Terms low. Rector--Mayberry, Sussex. "

"I answered it, Hosy, " said Hephzy. 

"You did!"

"Yes. It sounded so nice I couldn't help it. It would be lovely to livein a rectory, wouldn't it. "

"Lovely--and expensive, " I answered. "I'm afraid a rectory with tenniscourts and servants' quarters and all the rest of it will prove toogrand for a pair of Bayporters like you and me. However, your answeringthe ad does no harm; it doesn't commit us to anything. "

But when the answer to the answer came it was even more appealing thanthe advertisement itself. And the terms, although a trifle higherthan we had planned to pay, were not entirely beyond our means. Therector--his name was Cole--urged us to visit Mayberry and see the placefor ourselves. We were to take the train for Haddington on Hill wherethe trap would meet us. Mayberry was two miles from Haddington on Hill, it appeared. 

We decided to go, but before writing of our intention, Hephzy consultedthe most particular member of our party. 

"It's no use doing anything until we ask her, " she said. "She may be asdown on Mayberry as she was on Leatherhead. "

But she was not. She had no objections to Mayberry. So, after writingand making the necessary arrangements, we took the train one bright, sunny morning, and after a ride of an hour or more, alighted atHaddington on Hill. 

Haddington on Hill was not on a hill at all, unless a knoll in themiddle of a wide flat meadow be called that. There were no houses nearthe railway station, either rectories or any other sort. We were theonly passengers to leave the train there. 

The trap, however, was waiting. The horse which drew it was a black, plump little animal, and the driver was a neat English lad who touchedhis hat and assisted Hephzy to the back seat of the vehicle. I climbedup beside her. 

The road wound over the knoll and away across the meadow. On either sidewere farm lands, fields of young grain, or pastures with flocks of sheepgrazing contentedly. In the distance, in every direction, one caughtglimpses of little villages with gray church towers rising amid thefoliage. Each field and pasture was bordered with a hedge instead ofa fence, and over all hung the soft, light blue haze which is socharacteristic of good weather in England. 

Birds which we took to be crows, but which we learned afterward wererooks, whirled and circled. As we turned a corner a smaller bird rosefrom the grass beside the road and soared upward, singing with all itslittle might until it was a fluttering speck against the sky. Hephzywatched it, her eyes shining. 

"I believe, " she cried, excitedly, "I do believe that is a skylark. Doyou suppose it is?"

"A lark, yes, lady, " said our driver. 

"A lark, a real skylark! Just think of it, Hosy. I've heard a real lark. Well, Hephzibah Cahoon, you may never get into a book, but you're livin'among book things every day of your life. 'And singin' ever soars andsoarin' ever singest. ' I'd sing, too, if I knew how. You needn't befrightened--I sha'n't try. "

The meadows ended at the foot of another hill, a real one this time. At our left, crowning the hill, a big house, a mansion with towers andturrets, rose above the trees. Hephzy whispered to me. 

"You don't suppose THAT is the rectory, do you, Hosy?" she asked, in anawestricken tone. 

"If it is we may as well go back to London, " I answered. "But itisn't. Nothing lower in churchly rank than a bishop could keep up thatestablishment. "

The driver settled our doubts for us. 

"The Manor House, sir, " he said, pointing with his whip. "The estatebegins here, sir. "

The "estate" was bordered by a high iron fence, stretching as far aswe could see. Beside that fence we rode for some distance. Then anotherturn in the road and we entered the street of a little village, avillage of picturesque little houses, brick or stone always--not a framehouse among them. Many of the roofs were thatched. Flowers and climbingvines and little gardens everywhere. The village looked as if it hadbeen there, just as it was, for centuries. 

"This is Mayberry, sir, " said our driver. "That is the rectory, next thechurch. "

We could see the church tower and the roof, but the rectory was not yetvisible to our eyes. We turned in between two of the houses, larger andmore pretentious than the rest. The driver alighted and opened a bigwooden gate. Before us was a driveway, shaded by great elms and borderedby rose hedges. At the end of the driveway was an old-fashioned, comfortable looking, brick house. Vines hid the most of the bricks. Flower beds covered its foundations. A gray-haired old gentleman stoodin the doorway. 

This was the rectory we had come to see and the gray-haired gentlemanwas the Reverend Mr. Cole, the rector. 

"My soul!" whispered Hephzy, looking aghast at the spacious grounds, "wecan never hire THIS. This is too expensive and grand for us, Hosy. Lookat the grass to cut and the flowers to attend to, and the house to run. No wonder the servants have 'quarters. ' My soul and body! I thought arector was a kind of minister, and a rectory was a sort of parsonage, but I guess I'm off my course, as Father used to say. Either that orministers' wages are higher than they are in Bayport. No, this placeisn't for you and me, Hosy. "

But it was. Before we left that rectory in the afternoon I had agreedto lease it until the middle of September, servants--there were fiveof them, groom and gardener included--horse and trap, tennis court, vegetable garden, fruit, flowers and all. It developed that the terms, which I had considered rather too high for my purse, included theservants' wages, vegetables from the garden, strawberries and other"small fruit"--everything. Even food for the horse was included in thatall-embracing rent. 

As Hephzy said, everything considered, the rent of Mayberry Rectory waslower than that of a fair-sized summer cottage at Bayport. 

The Reverend Mr. Cole was a delightful gentleman. His wife was equallykind and agreeable. I think they were, at first, rather unpleasantlysurprised to find that their prospective tenants were from the "States";but Hephzy and I managed to behave as unlike savages as we could, andthe Cole manner grew less and less reserved. Mr. Cole and his wife wereplanning to spend a long vacation in Switzerland and his "living, " orparish, was to be left in charge of his two curates. There was a son atOxford who was to join them on their vacation. 

Mr. Cole and I walked about the grounds and visited the church, theyard of which, with its weather-beaten gravestones and fine old trees, adjoined the rectory on the western side, behind the tall hedge. 

The church was built of stone, of course, and a portion of it wasolder than the Norman conquest. Before the altar steps were two ancienteffigies of knights in armor, with crossed gauntlets and their feetsupported by crouching lions. These old fellows were scratched andscarred and initialed. Upon one noble nose were the letters "A. H. N. 1694. " I decided that vandalism was not a modern innovation. 

While the rector and I were inspecting the church, Mrs. Cole and Hephzywere making a tour of the house. They met us at the door. Mrs. Cole'seyes were twinkling; I judged that she had found Hephzy amusing. If thiswas true it had not warped her judgment, however, for, a moment laterwhen she and I were alone, she said:

"Your cousin, Miss Cahoon, is a good housekeeper, I imagine. "

"She is all of that, " I said, decidedly. 

"Yes, she was very particular concerning the kitchen and scullery andthe maids' rooms. Are all American housekeepers as particular?"

"Not all. Miss Cahoon is unique in many ways; but she is a remarkablewoman in all. "

"Yes. I am sure of it. And she has such a typical American accent, hasn't she. "

We were to take possession on the following Monday. We lunched at the"Red Cow, " the village inn, where the meal was served in the parlor andthe landlord's daughter waited upon us. The plump black horse drew us tothe railway station, and we took the train for London. 

We have learned, by this time, that second, or even third-class travelwas quite good enough for short journeys and that very few Englishpeople paid for first-class compartments. We were fortunate enough tohave a second-class compartment to ourselves this time, and, when wewere seated, Hephzy asked a question. 

"Did you think to speak about the golf, Hosy?" she said. "You will wantto play some, won't you?"

"Yes, " said I. "I did ask about it. It seems that the golf course is aprivate one, on the big estate we passed on the way from the station. Permission is always given the rectory tenants. "

"Oh! my gracious, isn't that grand! That estate isn't in Mayberry. TheMayberry bounds--that's what Mrs. Cole called them--and just thisside. The estate is in the village of--of Burgleston Bogs. BurglestonBogs--it's a funny name. Seem's if I'd heard it before. "

"You have, " said I, in surprise. "Burgleston Bogs is where thatHeathcroft chap whom we met on the steamer visits occasionally. His aunthas a big place there. By George! you don't suppose that estate belongsto his aunt, do you?"

Hephzy gasped. "I wouldn't wonder, " she cried. "I wouldn't wonder if itdid. And his aunt was Lady Somebody, wasn't she. Maybe you'll meet himthere. Goodness sakes! just think of your playin' golf with a Lady'snephew. "

"I doubt if we need to think of it, " I observed. "Mr. CarletonHeathcroft on board ship may be friendly with American plebeians, but onshore, and when visiting his aunt, he may be quite different. I fancy heand I will not play many holes together. "

Hephzy laughed. "You 'fancy, '" she repeated. "You'll be sayin' 'My word'next. My! Hosy, you ARE gettin' English. "

"Indeed I'm not!" I declared, with emphasis. "My experience with anEnglish relative is sufficient of itself to prevent that. Miss FrancesMorley and I are compatriots for the summer only. "

CHAPTER IX

In Which We Make the Acquaintance of Mayberry and a Portion ofBurgleston Bogs

We migrated to Mayberry the following Monday, as we had agreed to do. Miss Morley went with us, of course. I secured a first-class apartmentfor our party and the journey was a comfortable and quiet one. Ourinvalid was too weak to talk a great deal even if she had wished, whichshe apparently did not. Johnson, the groom, met us at Haddington on Hilland we drove to the rectory. There Miss Morley, very tired and worn out, was escorted to her room by Hephzy and Charlotte, the housemaid. She wasperfectly willing to remain in that room, in fact she did not leave itfor several days. 

Meanwhile Hephzy and I were doing our best to become acquainted with ournew and novel mode of life. Hephzy took charge of the household and was, in a way, quite in her element; in another way she was distinctly out ofit. 

"I did think I was gettin' used to bein' waited on, Hosy, " she confided, "but it looks as if I'll have to begin all over again. Managin' onehired girl like Susanna was a job and I tell you I thought managin'three, same as we've got here, would be a staggerer. But it isn't. Somehow the kind of help over here don't seem to need managin'. Theymanage me more than I do them. There's Mrs. Wigham, the cook. Mrs. Coletold me she was a 'superior' person and I guess she is--at any rate, she's superior to me in some things. She knows what a 'gooseberry fool'is and I'm sure I don't. I felt like another kind of fool when she toldme she was goin' to make one, as a 'sweet, ' for dinner to-night. As nighas I can make out it's a sort of gooseberry pie, but _I_ should neverhave called a gooseberry pie a 'sweet'; a 'sour' would have been better, accordin' to my reckonin'. However, all desserts over here are 'sweets'and fruit is dessert. Then there's Charlotte, the housemaid, and Baker, the 'between-maid'--between upstairs and down, I suppose that means--andGrimmer, the gardener, and Johnson, the boy that takes care of thehorse. Each one of 'em seems to know exactly what their own job is andjust as exactly where it leaves off and t'other's job begins. I neversaw such obligin' but independent folks in my life. As for my own job, that seems to be settin' still with my hands folded. Well, it's a brandnew one and it's goin' to take me one spell to get used to it. "

It seemed likely to be a "spell" before I became accustomed to my own"job, " that of being a country gentleman with nothing to do but play thepart. When I went out to walk about the rectory garden, Grimmer touchedhis hat. When, however, I ventured to pick a few flowers in that garden, his expression of shocked disapproval was so marked that I felt I musthave made a dreadful mistake. I had, of course. Grimmer was in charge ofthose flowers and if I wished any picked I was expected to tell him topick them. Picking them myself was equivalent to admitting that I wasnot accustomed to having a gardener in my employ, in other words thatI was not a real gentleman at all. I might wait an hour for Johnson toreturn from some errand or other and harness the horse; but I must onno account save time by harnessing the animal myself. That sort of laborwas not done by the "gentry. " I should have lost caste with the servantsa dozen times during my first few days in the rectory were it not forone saving grace; I was an American, and almost any peculiar thing wasexpected of an American. 

When I strolled along the village street the male villagers, especiallythe older ones, touched their hats to me. The old women bowed orcourtesied. Also they invariably paused, when I had passed, to stareafter me. The group at the blacksmith shop--where the stone coping ofthe low wall was worn in hollows by the generations of idlers who hadsat upon it, just as their descendants were sitting upon itnow--turned, after I had passed, to stare. There would be a pause in theconversation, then an outburst of talk and laughter. They were talkingabout the "foreigner" of course, and laughing at him. At thetailor's, where I sent my clothes to be pressed, the tailor himself, agray-haired, round-shouldered antique, ventured an opinion concerningthose clothes. "That coat was not made in England, sir, " he said. "Wedon't make 'em that way 'ere, sir. That's a bit foreign, that coat, sir. "

Yes, I was a foreigner. It was hard to realize. In a way everything wasso homelike; the people looked like people I had known at home, theirfaces were New England faces quite as much as they were old England. But their clothes were just a little different, and their ways weredifferent, and a dry-goods store was a "draper's shop, " and a drug-storewas a "chemist's, " and candies were "sweeties" and a public school was a"board school" and a boarding-school was a "public school. " And I mightbe polite and pleasant to these people--persons out of my "class"--but Imust not be too cordial, for if I did, in the eyes of these very people, I lost caste and they would despise me. 

Yes, I was a foreigner; it was a queer feeling. 

Coming from America and particularly from democratic Bayport, whereeveryone is as good as anyone else provided he behaves himself, theclass distinction in Mayberry was strange at first. I do not mean thatthere was not independence there; there was, among the poorest as wellas the richer element. Every male Mayberryite voted as he thought, I amsure; and was self-respecting and independent. He would have resentedany infringement of his rights just as Englishmen have resented suchinfringements and fought against them since history began. But what I amtrying to make plain is that political equality and social equality wereby no means synonymous. A man was a man for 'a' that, but when he wasa gentleman he was 'a' that' and more. And when he was possessed ofa title he was revered because of that title, or the title itself wasrevered. The hatter in London where I purchased a new "bowler, " hada row of shelves upon which were boxes containing, so I was told, thespare titles of eminent customers. And those hat-boxes were letteredlike this: "The Right Hon. Col. Wainwright, V. C. , " "His Grace the Dukeof Leicester, " "Sir George Tupman, K. C. B. , " etc. , etc. It was my firstimpression that the hatter was responsible for thus proclaiming hiscustomers' titles, but one day I saw Richard, convoyed by Henry, reverently bearing a suitcase into Bancroft's Hotel. And that suitcasebore upon its side the inscription, in very large letters, "Lord EustaceStairs. " Then I realized that Lord Eustace, like the owners of thehat-boxes, recognizing the value of a title, advertised it accordingly. 

I laughed when I saw the suitcase and the hat-boxes. When I told Hephzyabout the latter she laughed, too. 

"That's funny, isn't it, " she said. "Suppose the folks that have theirnames on the mugs in the barber shop back home had 'em lettered 'Cap'nElkanah Crowell, ' 'Judge the Hon. Ezra Salters, ' 'The Grand ExaltedSachem Order of Red Men George Kendrick. ' How everybody would laugh, wouldn't they. Why they'd laugh Cap'n Elkanah and Ezra and Kendrick outof town. "

So they would have done--in Bayport--but not in Mayberry or London. Titles and rank and class in England are established and acceptedinstitutions, and are not laughed at, for where institutions of thatkind are laughed at they soon cease to be. Hephzy summed it up prettywell when she said:

"After all, it all depends on what you've been brought up to, doesn'tit, Hosy. Your coat don't look funny to you because you've always wornthat kind of coat, but that tailor man thought 'twas funny because henever saw one made like it. And a lord takin' his lordship seriouslyseems funny to us, but it doesn't seem so to him or to the tailor. They've been brought up to it, same as you have to the coat. "

On one point she and I had agreed before coming to Mayberry, that wasthat we must not expect calls from the neighbors or social intercoursewith the people of Mayberry. 

"They don't know anything about us, " said I, "except that we areAmericans, and that may or may not be a recommendation, according to thekind of Americans they have previously met. The Englishman, so all thebooks tell us, is reserved and distant at first. He requires a longacquaintance before admitting strangers to his home life and we shallprobably have no opportunity to make that acquaintance. If we were tostay in Mayberry a year, and behaved ourselves, we might in time beaccepted as desirable, but not during the first summer. So if they leaveus to ourselves we must make the best of it. "

Hephzy agreed thoroughly. "You're right, " she said. "And, after all, it's just what would happen anywhere. You remember when that Portygeefamily came to Bayport and lived in the Solon Blodgett house. Nobodywould have anything to do with 'em for a long time because they wereforeigners, but they turned out to be real nice folks after all. We'reforeigners here and you can't blame the Mayberry people for not takin'chances; it looks as if nobody in it ever had taken a chance, as if ithad been just the way it is since Noah came out of the Ark. I never feltso new and shiny in my life as I do around this old rectory and this oldtown. "

Which was all perfectly true and yet the fact remains that, "new andshiny" as we were, the Mayberry people--those of our "class"--began tocall upon us almost immediately, to invite us to their homes, to show uslittle kindnesses, and to be whole-souled and hospitable and friendly asif we had known them and they us for years. It was one of the greatestsurprises, and remains one of the most pleasant recollections, of mybrief career as a resident in England, the kindly cordiality of theseneighbors in Mayberry. 

The first caller was Dr. Bayliss, who occupied "Jasmine Gables, " thepretty house next door. He dropped in one morning, introduced himself, shook hands and chatted for an hour. That afternoon his wife called uponHephzy. The next day I played a round of golf upon the private courseon the Manor House grounds, the Burgleston Bogs grounds--with the doctorand his son, young Herbert Bayliss, just through Cambridge and themedical college at London. Young Bayliss was a pleasant, good-lookingyoung chap and I liked him as I did his father. He was at presentacting as his father's assistant in caring for the former's practice, apractice which embraced three or four villages and a ten-mile stretch ofcountry. 

Naturally I was interested in the Manor estate and its owner. Thegrounds were beautiful, three square miles in extent and cared for, soBayliss, Senior, told me, by some hundred and fifty men, seventy ofwhom were gardeners. Of the Manor House itself I caught a glimpse, gray-turreted and huge, set at the end of lawns and flower beds, withfountains playing and statues gleaming white amid the foliage. I askedsome questions concerning its owner. Yes, she was Lady Kent Carey andshe had a nephew named Heathcroft. So there was a chance, after all, that I might again meet my ship acquaintance who abhorred "griddlecakes. " I imagined he would be somewhat surprised at that meeting. Itwas an odd coincidence. 

As for the game of golf, my part of it, the least said the better. Doctor Bayliss, who, it developed, was an enthusiast at the game, waskind enough to tell me I had a "topping" drive. I thanked him, but therewas altogether too much "topping" connected with my play that forenoonto make my thanks enthusiastic. I determined to practice assiduouslybefore attempting another match. Somehow I felt responsible for thegolfing honor of my country. 

Other callers came to the rectory. The two curates, their names wereJudson and Worcester, visited us; young men, both of them, and goodfellows, Worcester particularly. Although they wore clerical garbthey were not in the least "preachy. " Hephzy, although she liked them, expressed surprise. 

"They didn't act a bit like ministers, " she said. "They didn't ask usto come to meetin' nor hint at prayin' with the family or anything, yetthey looked for all the while like two Methodist parsons, young ones. Acurate is a kind of new-hatched rector, isn't he?"

"Not exactly, " I answered. "He is only partially hatched. But, whateveryou do, don't tell them they look like Methodists; they wouldn'tconsider it a compliment. "

Hephzy was a Methodist herself and she resented the slur. "Well, I guessa Methodist is as good as an Episcopalian, " she declared. "And theydon't ACT like Methodists. Why, one of 'em smoked a pipe. Just imagineMr. Partridge smokin' a pipe!"

Mr. Judson and I played eighteen holes of golf together. He played alittle worse than I did and I felt better. The honor of Bayport's golfhad been partially vindicated. 

While all this was going on our patient remained, for the greater partof the time, in her room. She was improving steadily. Doctor Bayliss, whom I had asked to attend her, declared, as his London associates haddone, that all she needed was rest, quiet and the good air and foodwhich she was certain to get in Mayberry. He, too, like the physician atBancroft's, seemed impressed by her appearance and manner. And he alsoasked similar embarrassing questions. 

"Delightful young lady, Miss Morley, " he observed. "One of our Englishgirls, Knowles. She informs me that she IS English. "

"Partly English, " I could not help saying. "Her mother was an American. "

"Oh, indeed! You know she didn't tell me that, now did she. "

"Perhaps not. "

"No, by Jove, she didn't. But she has lived all her life in England?"

"Yes--in England and France. "

"Your niece, I think you said. "

I had said it, unfortunately, and it could not be unsaid now withoutmany explanations. So I nodded. 

"She doesn't--er--behave like an American. She hasn't the Americanmanner, I mean to say. Now Miss Cahoon has--er--she has--"

"Miss Cahoon's manner is American. So is mine; we ARE Americans, yousee. "

"Yes, yes, of course, " hastily. "When are you and I to have the nineholes you promised, Knowles?"

One fine afternoon the invalid came downstairs. The "between-maid" hadarranged chairs and the table on the lawn. We were to have tea there; wehad tea every day, of course--were getting quite accustomed to it. 

Frances--I may as well begin calling her that--looked in better healththen than at any time since our meeting. She was becomingly, althoughsimply gowned, and there was a dash of color in her cheeks. Hephzibahescorted her to the tea table. I rose to meet them. 

"Frank--Frances, I mean--is goin' to join us to-day, " said Hephzy. "She's beginnin' to look real well again, isn't she. "

I said she was. Frances nodded to me and took one of the chairs, themost comfortable one. She appeared perfectly self-possessed, which I wassure I did not. I was embarrassed, of course. Each time I met thegirl the impossible situation in which she had placed us became moreimpossible, to my mind. And the question, "What on earth shall we dowith her?" more insistent. 

Hephzy poured the tea. Frances, cup in hand, looked about her. 

"This is rather a nice place, after all, " she observed, "isn't it. "

"It's a real lovely place, " declared Hephzy with enthusiasm. 

The young lady cast another appraising glance at our surroundings. 

"Yes, " she repeated, "it's a jolly old house and the grounds are not badat all. "

Her tone nettled me. Everything considered I thought she might haveshown a little more enthusiasm. 

"I infer that you expected something much worse, " I observed. 

"Oh, of course I didn't know what to expect. How should I? I had no handin selecting it, you know. "

"She's hardly seen it, " put in Hephzy. "She was too sick when she cameto notice much, I guess, and this is the first time she has been outdoors. "

"I am glad you approve, " I observed, drily. 

My sarcasm was wasted. Miss Morley said again that she did approve, ofwhat she had seen, and added that we seemed to have chosen very well. 

"I don't suppose, " said Hephzy, complacently, "that there are many muchprettier places in England than this one. "

"Oh, indeed there are. But all England is beautiful, of course. "

I thought of Mrs. Briggs' lodging-house, but I did not refer to it. Ourguest--or my "niece"--or our ward--it was hard to classify her--changedthe subject. 

"Have you met any of the people about here?" she asked. 

Hephzy burst into enthusiastic praise of the Baylisses and the curatesand the Coles. 

"They're all just as nice as they can be, " she declared. "I never metnicer folks, at home or anywhere. "

Frances nodded. "All English people are nice, " she said. 

Again I thought of Mrs. Briggs and again I kept my thoughts to myself. Hephzy went on rhapsodizing. I paid little attention until I heard herspeak my name. 

"And Hosy thinks so, too. Don't you, Hosy?" she said. 

I answered yes, on the chance. Frances regarded me oddly. 

"I thought--I understood that your name was Kent, Mr. Knowles, " shesaid. 

"It is. "

"Then why does Miss Cahoon always--"

Hephzy interrupted. "Oh, I always call him Hosy, " she explained. "It's akind of pet name of mine. It's short for Hosea. His whole name is HoseaKent Knowles, but 'most everybody but me does call him Kent. I don'tthink he likes Hosea very well. "

Our companion looked very much as if she did not wonder at my dislike. Her eyes twinkled. 

"Hosea, " she repeated. "That is an odd name. The original Hosea was aprophet, wasn't he? Are you a prophet, Mr. Knowles?"

"Far from it, " I answered, with decision. If I had been a prophet Ishould have been forewarned and, consequently, forearmed. 

She smiled and against my will I was forced to admit that her smile wasattractive; she was prettier than ever when she smiled. 

"I remember now, " she said; "all Americans have Scriptural names. I haveread about them in books. "

"Hosy writes books, " said Hephzy, proudly. "That's his profession; he'san author. "

"Oh, really, is he! How interesting!"

"Yes, he is. He has written ever so many books; haven't you, Hosy. "

I didn't answer. My self and my "profession" were the last subjects Icared to discuss. The young lady's smile broadened. 

"And where do you write your books, Mr. Knowles?" she asked. "In--er--Bayport?"

"Yes, " I answered, shortly. "Hephzy, Miss Morley will have another cupof tea, I think. "

"Oh, no, thank you. But tell me about your books, Mr. Knowles. Are theystories of Bayport?"

"No indeed!" Hephzy would do my talking for me, and I could not orderher to be quiet. "No indeed!" she declared. "He writes about lords andladies and counts and such. He hardly ever writes about everyday peoplelike the ones in Bayport. You would like his books, Frances. You wouldenjoy readin' 'em, I know. "

"I am sure I should. They must be delightful. I do hope you brought somewith you, Mr. Knowles. "

"He didn't, but I did. I'll lend you some, Frances. I'll lend you 'TheQueen's Amulet. ' That's a splendid story. "

"I am sure it must be. So you write about queens, too, Mr. Knowles. Ithought Americans scorned royalty. And what is his queen's name, MissCahoon? Is it Scriptural?"

"Oh, no indeed! Besides, all Americans' names aren't out of the Bible, any more than the names in England are. That man who wanted to let ushis house in Copperhead--no, Leatherhead--funny I should forget THATawful name--he was named Solomon--Solomon Cripps. .. Why, what is it?"

Miss Morley's smile and the mischievous twinkle had vanished. She lookedstartled, and even frightened, it seemed to me. 

"What is it, Frances?" repeated Hephzy, anxiously. 

"Nothing--nothing. Solomon--what was it? Solomon Cripps. That is an oddname. And you met this Mr. --er--Cripps?"

"Yes, we met him. He had a house he wanted to let us, and I guess we'dhave taken it, too, only you seemed to hate the name of Leatherhead so. Don't you remember you did? I don't blame you. Of the things to call apretty town that's about the worst. "

"Yes, it is rather frightful. But this, Mr. --er--Cripps; was he as badas his name? Did you talk with him?"

"Only about the house. Hosy and I didn't like him well enough totalk about anything else, except religion. He and his wife gave usto understand they were awful pious. I'm afraid we wouldn't have beenchurchy enough to suit them, anyway. Hosy, here, doesn't go to meetin'as often as he ought to. "

"I am glad of it. " The young lady's tone was emphatic and she looked asif she meant it. We were surprised. 

"You're glad of it!" repeated Hephzy, in amazement. "Why?"

"Because I hate persons who go to church all the time and boast of it, who do all sorts of mean things, but preach, preach, preach continually. They are hypocritical and false and cruel. I HATE them. "

She looked now as she had in the room at Mrs. Briggs's when I hadquestioned her concerning her father. I could not imagine the reason forthis sudden squall from a clear sky. Hephzy drew a long breath. 

"Well, " she said, after a moment, "then Hosy and you ought to get alongfirst-rate together. He's down on hypocrites and make-believe pietyas bad as you are. The only time he and Mr. Partridge, our ministerin Bayport, ever quarreled--'twasn't a real quarrel, but more of adisagreement--was over what sort of a place Heaven was. Mr. Partridgewas certain sure that nobody but church members would be there, and Hosysaid if some of the church members in Bayport were sure of a ticket, theother place had strong recommendations. 'Twas an awful thing to say, andI was almost as shocked as the minister was; that is I should have beenif I hadn't known he didn't mean it. "

Miss Morley regarded me with a new interest, or at least I thought shedid. 

"Did you mean it?" she asked. 

I smiled. "Yes, " I answered. 

"Now, Hosy, " cried Hephzy. "What a way that is to talk! What do you knowabout the hereafter?"

"Not much, but, " remembering the old story, "I know Bayport. Humph!speaking of ministers, here is one now. "

Judson, the curate, was approaching across the lawn. Hephzy hastilyremoved the lid of the teapot. "Yes, " she said, with a sigh of relief, "there's enough tea left, though you mustn't have any more, Hosy. Mr. Judson always takes three cups. "

Judson was introduced and, the "between-maid" having brought anotherchair, he joined our party. He accepted the first of the three cups andobserved. 

"I hope I haven't interrupted an important conversation. You appeared tobe talking very earnestly. "

I should have answered, but Hephzy's look of horrified expostulationwarned me to be silent. Frances, although she must have seen the look, answered instead. 

"We were discussing Heaven, " she said, calmly. "Mr. Knowles doesn'tapprove of it. "

Hephzy bounced on her chair. "Why!" she cried; "why, what a--why, WHATwill Mr. Judson think! Now, Frances, you know--"

"That was what you said, Mr. Knowles, wasn't it. You said if Paradisewas exclusively for church members you preferred--well, anotherlocality. That was what I understood you to say. "

Mr. Judson looked at me. He was a very good and very orthodox and a veryyoung man and his feelings showed in his face. 

"I--I can scarcely think Mr. Knowles said that, Miss Morley, " heprotested. "You must have misunderstood him. "

"Oh, but I didn't misunderstand. That was what he said. "

Again Mr. Judson looked at me. It seemed time for me to say something. 

"What I said, or meant to say, was that I doubted if the future life, the--er--pleasant part of it, was confined exclusively to--er--professedchurch members, " I explained. 

The curate's ruffled feelings were evidently not soothed by thisexplanation. 

"But--but, Mr. Knowles, " he stammered, "really, I--I am at a loss tounderstand your meaning. Surely you do not mean that--that--"

"Of course he didn't mean that, " put in Hephzy. "What he said was thatsome of the ones who talk the loudest and oftenest in prayer-meetin' atour Methodist church in Bayport weren't as good as they pretended to be. And that's so, too. "

Mr. Judson seemed relieved. "Oh, " he exclaimed. "Oh, yes, I quitecomprehend. Methodists--er--dissenters--that is quite different--quite. "

"Mr. Judson knows that no one except communicants in the Church ofEngland are certain of happiness, " observed Frances, very gravely. 

Our caller turned his attention to her. He was not a joker, but I thinkhe was a trifle suspicious. The young lady met his gaze with one ofserene simplicity and, although he reddened, he returned to the charge. 

"I should--I should scarcely go as far as that, Miss Morley, " hesaid. "But I understand Mr. Knowles to refer to--er--church members;and--er--dissenters--Methodists and others--are not--are not--"

"Well, " broke in Hephzibah, with decision, "I'm a Methodist, myself, and_I_ don't expect to go to perdition. "

Judson's guns were spiked. He turned redder than ever and changed thesubject to the weather. 

The remainder of the conversation was confined for the most part toFrances and the curate. They discussed the village and the people in itand the church and its activities. At length Judson mentioned golf. 

"Mr. Knowles and I are to have another round shortly, I trust, " he said. "You owe me a revenge, you know, Mr. Knowles. "

"Oh, " exclaimed the young lady, in apparent surprise, "does Mr. Knowlesplay golf?"

"Not real golf, " I observed. 

"Oh, but he does, " protested Mr. Judson, "he does. Rather! He plays avery good game indeed. He beat me quite badly the other day. "

Which, according to my reckoning, was by no means a proof ofextraordinary ability. Frances seemed amused, for some unexplainedreason. 

"I should never have thought it, " she observed. 

"Why not?" asked Judson. 

"Oh, I don't know. Golf is a game, and Mr. Knowles doesn't look as if heplayed games. I should have expected nothing so frivolous from him. "

"My golf is anything but frivolous, " I said. "It's too seriously bad. "

"Do you golf, Miss Morley, may I ask?" inquired the curate. 

"I have occasionally, after a fashion. I am sure I should like tolearn. "

"I shall be delighted to teach you. It would be a great pleasure, really. "

He looked as if it would be a pleasure. Frances smiled. 

"Thank you so much, " she said. "You and I and Mr. Knowles will have athreesome. "

Judson's joy at her acceptance was tempered, it seemed to me. 

"Oh, of course, " he said. "It will be a great pleasure to have youruncle with us. A great pleasure, of course. "

"My--uncle?"

"Why, yes--Mr. Knowles, you know. By the way, Miss Morley--excusemy mentioning it, but I notice you always address your uncle as Mr. Knowles. That seems a bit curious, if you'll pardon my saying so. A bitdistant and--er--formal to our English habit. Do all nieces and nephewsin your country do that? Is it an American custom?"

Hephzy and I looked at each other and my "niece" looked at both of us. Icould feel the blood tingling in my cheeks and forehead. 

"Is it an American custom?" repeated Mr. Judson. 

"I don't know, " with chilling deliberation. "I am NOT an American. "

The curate said "Indeed!" and had the astonishing good sense not to sayany more. Shortly afterward he said good-by. 

"But I shall look forward to our threesome, Miss Morley, " he declared. "I shall count upon it in the near future. "

After his departure there was a most embarrassing interval of silence. Hephzy spoke first. 

"Don't you think you had better go in now, Frances, " she said. "Seems tome you had. It's the first time you've been out at all, you know. "

The young lady rose. "I am going, " she said. "I am going, if you and--myuncle--will excuse me. "

That evening, after dinner, Hephzy joined me in the drawing-room. It wasa beautiful summer evening, but every shade was drawn and every shuttertightly closed. We had, on our second evening in the rectory, suggestedleaving them open, but the housemaid had shown such shocked surpriseand disapproval that we had not pressed the point. By this time we hadlearned that "privacy" was another sacred and inviolable English custom. The rectory sat in its own ground, surrounded by high hedges; noone, without extraordinary pains, could spy upon its inmates, but, nevertheless, the privacy of those inmates must be guaranteed. So theshutters were closed and the shades drawn. 

"Well?" said I to Hephzy. 

"Well, " said Hephzy, "it's better than I was afraid it was goin' to be. I explained that you told the folks at Bancroft's she was your niecebecause 'twas the handiest thing to tell 'em, and you HAD to tell 'emsomethin'. And down here in Mayberry the same way. She understood, Iguess; at any rate she didn't make any great objection. I thought at thelast that she was laughin', but I guess she wasn't. Only what she saidsounded funny. "

"What did she say?"

"Why, she wanted to know if she should call you 'Uncle Hosea. ' Shesupposed it should be that--'Uncle Hosy' sounded a little irreverent. "

I did not answer. "Uncle Hosea!" a beautiful title, truly. 

"She acted so different to-day, didn't she, " observed Hephzy. "It'sbecause she's gettin' well, I suppose. She was real full of fun, wasn'tshe. "

"Confound her--yes, " I snarled. "All the fun is on her side. Well, sheshould make the best of it while it lasts. When she learns the truth shemay not find it so amusing. "

Hephzy sighed. "Yes, " she said, slowly, "I'm afraid that's so, poorthing. When--when are you goin' to tell her?"

"I don't know, " I answered. "But pretty soon, that's certain. "

CHAPTER X

In Which I Break All Previous Resolutions and Make a New One

That afternoon tea on the lawn was the beginning of the great changein our life at the rectory. Prior to that Hephzy and I had, golflyspeaking, been playing it as a twosome. Now it became a threesome, withother players added at frequent intervals. At luncheon next day ourinvalid, a real invalid no longer, joined us at table in the pleasantdining-room, the broad window of which opened upon the formal gardenwith the sundial in the center. She was in good spirits, and, as Hephzyconfided to me afterward, was "gettin' a real nice appetite. " In gainingthis appetite she appeared to have lost some of her dignity and chillingcondescension; at all events, she treated her American relatives as ifshe considered them human beings. She addressed most of her conversationto Hephzy, always speaking of and to her as "Miss Cahoon. " She stilladdressed me as "Mr. Knowles, " and I was duly thankful; I had fearedbeing hailed as "Uncle Hosy. "

After lunch Mr. Judson called again. He was passing, he explained, onhis round of parish calls, and had dropped in casually. Mr. Worcesteralso came; his really was a casual stop, I think. He and his brothercurate were very brotherly indeed, but I noticed an apparent reluctanceon the part of each to leave before the other. They left together, butMr. Judson again hinted at the promised golf game, and Mr. Worcester, having learned from Miss Morley that she played and sang, expressedgreat interest in music and begged permission to bring some "favoritesongs, " which he felt sure Miss Morley might like to run over. 

Miss Morley herself was impartially gracious and affable to both theclerical gentlemen; she was looking forward to the golf, she said, andthe songs she was certain would be jolly. Hephzy and I had very littleto say, and no one seemed particularly anxious to hear that little. 

The curates had scarcely disappeared down the driveway when DoctorBayliss and his son strolled in from next door. Doctor Bayliss, Senior, was much pleased to find his patient up and about, and Herbert, theson, even more pleased to find her at all, I judge. Young Bayliss wasevidently very favorably impressed with his new neighbor. He was a big, healthy, broad-shouldered fellow, a grown-up boy, whose laugh was apleasure to hear, and who possessed the faculty, envied by me, thequahaug, of chatting entertainingly on all subjects from tennis andthe new American dances to Lloyd-George and old-age pensions. Francesdeclared a strong aversion to the dances, principally because they wereAmerican, I suspected. 

Doctor Bayliss, the old gentleman, then turned to me. 

"What is the American opinion of the Liberal measures?" he asked. 

"I should say, " I answered, "that, so far as they are understood inAmerica, opinion concerning them is divided, much as it is here. "

"Really! But you haven't the Liberal and Conservative parties as wehave, you know. "

"We have liberals and conservatives, however, although our politicalparties are not so named. "

"We call 'em Republicans and Democrats, " explained Hephzy. "Hosy is aRepublican, " she added, proudly. 

"I am not certain what I am, " I observed. "I have voted a split ticketof late. "

Young Bayliss asked a question. 

"Are you a--what is it--Republican, Miss Morley?" he inquired. 

Miss Morley's eyes dropped disdainfully. 

"I am neither, " she said. "My father was a Conservative, of course. "

"Oh, I say! That's odd, isn't it. Your uncle here is--"

"Uncle Hosea, you mean?" sweetly. "Oh, Uncle Hosea is an American. I amEnglish. "

She did not add "Thank heaven, " but she might as well. "Uncle Hosea"shuddered at the name. Young Bayliss grinned behind his blonde mustache. When he left, in company with his father, Hephzy invited him to "run inany time. "

"We're next-door neighbors, " she said, "so we mustn't be formal. "

I was fairly certain that the invitation was superfluous. If I knewhuman nature at all I knew that Bayliss, Junior, did not intend to letformality stand in the way of frequent calls at the rectory. 

My intuition was correct. The following afternoon he called again. So did Mr. Judson. Both calls were casual, of course. So was Mr. Worcester's that evening. He came to bring the "favorite songs" and wasmuch surprised to find Miss Morley in the drawing-room. He said so. 

Hephzy and I knew little of our relative's history. She had volunteeredno particulars other than those given on the occasion of our firstmeeting, but we did know, because Mrs. Briggs had told us, that she hadbeen a member of an opera troupe. This evening we heard her sing for thefirst time. She sang well; her voice was not a strong one, but it wasclear and sweet and she knew how to use it. Worcester sang well also, and the little concert was very enjoyable. 

It was the first of many. Almost every evening after dinner Frances satdown at the old-fashioned piano, with the candle brackets at each sideof the music rack, and sang. Occasionally we were her only auditors, but more often one or both of the curates or Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss orBayliss, Junior, dropped in. We made other acquaintances--Mrs. Griggson, the widow in "reduced circumstances, " whose husband had been killed inthe Boer war, and who occupied the little cottage next to the draper'sshop; Mr. And Mrs. Samson, of Burgleston Bogs, friends of the Baylisses, and others. They were pleasant, kindly, unaffected people and we enjoyedtheir society. 

Each day Frances gained in health and strength. The care-free, wholesome, out-of-door life at Mayberry seemed to suit her. She seemedto consider herself a member of the family now; at all events shedid not speak of leaving nor hint at the prompt settlement of herpreposterous "claim. " Hephzy and I did not mention it, even to eachother. Hephzy, I think, was quite satisfied with things as they were, and I, in spite of my threats and repeated declarations that the presentstate of affairs was ridiculous and could not last, put off telling"my niece" the truth. I, too, was growing more accustomed to the"threesome. "

The cloud was always there, hanging over our heads and threatening astorm at any moment, but I was learning to forget it. The situationhad its pleasant side; it was not all bad. For instance, meals in thepleasant dining-room, with Hephzy at one end of the table, I at theother, and Frances between us, were more social and chatty than they hadbeen. To have the young lady come down to breakfast, her hair prettilyarranged, her cheeks rosy with health, and her eyes shining with youthand the joy of life, was almost a tonic. I found myself taking morepains with my morning toilet, choosing my tie with greater care andbeing more careful concerning the condition of my boots. I even began todress for dinner, a concession to English custom which was odd enoughin one of my easy-going habits and Bayport rearing. I imagine thatthe immaculate appearance of young Bayliss, when he dropped in for the"sing" in the drawing-room, was responsible for the resurrection of mydinner coat. He did look so disgustingly young and handsome and at ease. I was conscious of each one of my thirty-eight years whenever I lookedat him. 

I was rejuvenating in other ways. It had been my custom at Bayport toretire to my study and my books each evening. Here, where callerswere so frequent, I found it difficult to do this and, although thetemptation was to sit quietly in a corner and let the others do thetalking, I was not allowed to yield. The younger callers, particularlythe masculine portion, would not have objected to my silence, I amsure, but "my niece" seemed to take mischievous pleasure in drawing thequahaug out of his shell. She had a disconcerting habit of asking meunexpected questions at times when my attention was wandering, and, ifI happened to state a definite opinion, taking the opposite side withpromptness. After a time I decided not to express opinions, but to agreewith whatever was said as the simplest way of avoiding controversy andbeing left to myself. 

This procedure should, it seemed to me, have satisfied her, butapparently it did not. On one occasion, Judson and Herbert Bayliss beingpresent, the conversation turned to the subject of American athleticsports. The curate and Bayliss took the ground, the prevailing thoughtin England apparently, that all American games were not games, butfights in which the true sporting spirit was sacrificed to the desireto win at any cost. I had said nothing, keeping silent for two reasons. First, that I had given my views on the subject before, and, second, because argument from me was, in that company, fruitless effort. Thesimplest way to end discussion of a disagreeable topic was to pay noattention to it. 

But I was not allowed to escape so easily. Bayliss asked me a question. 

"Isn't it true, Mr. Knowles, " he asked, "that the American footballplayer wears a sort of armor to prevent his being killed?"

My thoughts had been drifting anywhere and everywhere. Just then theywere centered about "my niece's" hands. She had very pretty hands anda most graceful way of using them. At the moment they were idly turningsome sheets of music, but the way the slim fingers moved in and outbetween the pages was pretty and fascinating. Her foot, glimpsed beneathher skirt, was slender and graceful, too. She had an attractive trick ofswinging it as she sat upon the piano stool. 

Recalled from these and other pleasing observations by Bayliss's mentionof my name, I looked up. 

"I beg pardon?" said I. 

Bayliss repeated his question. 

"Oh, yes, " said I, and looked down again at the foot. 

"So I have been told, " said the questioner, triumphantly. "And withoutthat--er--armor many of the players would be killed, would they not?"

"What? Oh, yes; yes, of course. "

"And many are killed or badly injured as it is?"

"Oh, yes. "

"How many during a season, may I ask?"

"Eh? Oh--I don't know. "

"A hundred?"

The foot was swinging more rapidly now. It was such a small foot. My ownlooked so enormous and clumsy and uncouth by comparison. 

"A--oh, thousands, " said I, at random. If the number were large enoughto satisfy him he might cease to worry me. 

"A beastly game, " declared Judson, with conviction. "How can a civilizedcountry countenance such brutality! Do you countenance it, Mr. Knowles?"

"Yes--er--that is, no. "

"You agree, then, that it is brutal?"

"Certainly, certainly. " Would the fellow never stop?

"Then--"

"Nonsense!" It was Frances who spoke and her tone was emphatic andimpatient. We all looked at her; her cheeks were flushed and sheappeared highly indignant. "Nonsense!" she said again. "He doesn't agreeto any such thing. I've heard him say that American football was not asbrutal as our fox-hunting and that fewer people were killed or injured. We play polo and we ride in steeplechases and the papers are full ofaccidents. I don't believe Americans are more brutal or less civilizedin their sports than we are, not in the least. "

Considering that she had at the beginning of the conversation apparentlyagreed with all that had been said, and, moreover, had often, inspeaking to Hephzy and me, referred to the "States" as an uncivilizedcountry, this declaration was astonishing. I was astonished for one. Hephzy clapped her hands. 

"Of course they aren't, " she declared. "Hosy--Mr. Knowles--didn't meanthat they were, either. "

Our callers looked at each other and Herbert Bayliss hastily changed thesubject. After they had gone I ventured to thank my champion for comingto the rescue of my sporting countrymen. She flashed an indignant glanceat me. 

"Why do you say such things?" she demanded. "You know they weren'ttrue. "

"What was the use of saying anything else? They have read the accountsof football games which American penny-a-line correspondents send to theLondon papers and nothing I could say would change their convictions. "

"It doesn't make any difference. You should say what you think. To sitthere and let them--Oh, it is ridiculous!"

"My feelings were not hurt. Their ideas will broaden by and by, whenthey are as old as I am. They're young now. "

This charitable remark seemed to have the effect of making her moreindignant than ever. 

"Nonsense!" she cried. "You speak as if you were an Old Testamentpatriarch. "

Hephzy put in a word. 

"Why, Frances, " she said, "I thought you didn't like America. "

"I don't. Of course I don't. But it makes me lose patience to have himsit there and agree to everything those boys say. Why didn't he answerthem as he should? If I were an American no one--NO one should rag meabout my country without getting as good as they gave. "

I was amused. "What would you have me do?" I asked. "Rise and sing the'Star Spangled Banner'?"

"I would have you speak your mind like a man. Not sit there like a--likea rabbit. And I wouldn't act and think like a Methusaleh until I wasone. "

It was quite evident that "my niece" was a young person of whims. Thenext time the "States" were mentioned and I ventured to speak in theirdefence, she calmly espoused the other side and "ragged" as mercilesslyas the rest. I found myself continually on the defensive, and this stateof affairs had one good effect at least--that of waking me up. 

Toward Hephzy her manner was quite different. She now, especially whenwe three were alone, occasionally addressed her as "Auntie. " And shewould not permit "Auntie" to be made fun of. At the least hint of such athing she snubbed the would-be humorist thoroughly. She and Hephzywere becoming really friendly. I felt certain she was beginning to likeher--to discern the real woman beneath the odd exterior. But when Iexpressed this thought to Hephzy herself she shook her head doubtfully. 

"Sometimes I've almost thought so, Hosy, " she said, "but only thismornin' when I said somethin' about her mother and how much she lookedlike her, she almost took my head off. And she's got her pa's pictureright in the middle of her bureau. No, Hosy, she's nicer to us than shewas at first because it's her nature to be nice. So long as she forgetswho and what we are, or what her scamp of a father told her we were, shetreats us like her own folks. But when she remembers we're receivers ofstolen goods, livin' on money that belongs to her, then it's different. You can't blame her for that, I suppose. But--but how is it all goin' toend? _I_ don't know. "

I didn't know either. 

"I had hoped, " I said, "that, living with us as she does, she might cometo know and understand us--to learn that we couldn't be the sort she hasbelieved us to be. Then it seems to me we might tell her and she wouldlisten to reason. "

"I--I'm afraid we can't wait long. You see, there's another thing, Hosy. She needs clothes and--and lots of things. She realizes it. Yesterdayshe told me she must go up to London, shopping, pretty soon. She askedme to go with her. I put her off; said I was awful busy around thehouse just now, but she'll ask me again, and if I don't go she'll go byherself. "

"Humph! I don't see how she can do much shopping. She hasn't a penny, sofar as I know. "

"You don't understand. She thinks she has got a good many pennies, orwe've got 'em for her. She's just as liable to buy all creation and sendus the bills. "

I whistled. "Well, " I said, decidedly, "when that happens we must putour foot down. Neither you nor I are millionaires, Hephzy, and she mustunderstand that regardless of consequences. "

"You mean you'll tell her--everything?"

"I shall have to. Why do you look at me like that? Are we to usecommon-sense or aren't we? Are we in a position to adopt a young womanof expensive tastes--actually adopt her? And not only that, but give hercarte blanche--let her buy whatever she pleases and charge it to us?"

"I suppose not. But--"

"But what?"

"Well, I--I don't see how we can stop her buying whatever she pleaseswith what she thinks is her own money. "

"I do. We can tell her she has no money. I shall do it. My mind is madeup. "

Hephzy said nothing, but her expression was one of doubt. I stalked offin a bad temper. Discussions of the kind always ended in just this way. However, I swore a solemn oath to keep my word this time. There werelimits and they had been reached. Besides, as I had said, the situationwas changed in one way; we no longer had an invalid to deal with. No, mymind was made up. True, this was at least the tenth time I had made itup, but this time I meant it. 

The test came two days later and was the result of a call on theSamsons. The Samsons lived at Burgleston Bogs, and we drove to theirhouse in the trap behind "Pet, " the plump black horse. Mrs. Samsonseemed very glad to see us, urged us to remain for tea, and invitedus to attend a tennis tournament on their lawn the following week. Sheasked if Miss Morley played tennis. Frances said she had played, but notrecently. She intended to practice, however, and would be delighted towitness the tournament, although, of course, she could not take part init. 

"Hosy--Mr. Knowles, I mean--plays tennis, " observed Hephzy, seizing theopportunity, as usual, to speak a good word for me. "He used to playreal well. "

"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Samson, "how interesting. If we had only known. No doubt Mr. Knowles would have liked to enter. I'm so sorry. "

I hastened to protest. "My tennis is decidedly rusty, " I said. "Ishouldn't think of displaying it in public. In fact, I don't play at allnow. "

On the way home Frances was rather quiet. The next morning she announcedthat she intended going to Wrayton that afternoon. "Johnson will driveme over, " she said. "I shall be glad if Auntie will go with me. "

Wrayton was the county-seat, a good-sized town five miles from Mayberry. Hephzy declined the invitation. She had promised to "tea" with Mrs. Griggson that afternoon. 

"Then I must go alone, " said Frances. "That is unless--er--Uncle Hoseacares to go. "

"Uncle Hosea" declined. The name of itself was sufficient to make himdecline; besides Worcester and I were scheduled for golf. 

"I shall go alone then, " said "my niece, " with decision. "Johnson willlook after me. "

But after luncheon, when I visited the stable to order Johnson toharness "Pet, " I met with an unexpected difficulty. Johnson, itappeared, was ill, had been indisposed the day before and was now athome in bed. I hesitated. If this were Bayport I should have badethe gardener harness "Pet" or have harnessed him myself. But this wasMayberry, not Bayport. 

The gardener, deprived of his assistant's help--Johnson worked about thegarden when not driving--was not in good humor. I decided not to askhim to harness, but to risk a fall in the estimation of the servants bydoing it myself. 

The gardener watched me for a moment in shocked disapproval. Then heinterfered. 

"If you please, Mr. Knowles, sir, " he said, "I'll 'arness, but I can'tdrive, sir. I am netting the gooseberries. Perhaps you might get a manfrom the Inn stables, unless you or the young lady might wish to driveyourselves. "

I did not wish to drive, having the golf engagement; but when I walkedto the Inn I found no driver available. So, rather than be disagreeable, I sent word to the curate that our match was postponed, and accepted thealternative. 

Frances, rather to my surprise, seemed more pleased than otherwise tofind that I was to be her coachman. Instead of occupying the rear seatshe climbed to that beside me. 

"Good-by, Auntie, " she called to Hephzy, who was standing inthe doorway. "Sorry you're not going. I'll take good care of Mr. Knowles--Uncle Hosea, I mean. I'll see that he behaves himself and, "with a glance at my, I fear, not too radiant visage, "doesn't break anyof his venerable bones. "

The road, like all English roads which I traveled, was as firm andsmooth as a table, the day was fine, the hedges were green and fragrant, the larks sang, and the flocks of sheep in the wayside pastures werepicturesque as always. "Pet, " who had led an easy life since we came tothe rectory, was in high spirits and stepped along in lively fashion. Mycompanion, too, was in good spirits and chatted and laughed as she hadnot done with me since I knew her. 

Altogether it was a delightful ride. I found myself emerging from myshell and chatting and joking quite unlike the elderly quahaug I wassupposed to be. We passed a party of young fellows on a walking tour, knapsacked and knickerbockered, and the admiring glances they passedat my passenger were flattering. They envied me, that was plain. Well, under different circumstances, I could conceive myself an object ofenvy. A dozen years younger, with the heart of youth and the comelinessof youth, I might have thought myself lucky to be driving along such aroad with such a vision by my side. And, the best of it was, the visiontreated me as if I really were her own age. I squared my shoulders andas Hephzy would have said, "perked up" amazingly. 

We entered Wrayton and moved along the main street between the rows ofancient buildings, past the old stone church with its inevitable andalways welcome gray, ivy-draped tower, to the quaint old square with thestatue of William Pitt in its center. My companion, all at once, seemedto become aware of her surroundings. 

"Why!" she exclaimed, "we are here, aren't we? Fancy! I expected alonger drive. "

"So did I, " I agreed. "We haven't hurried, either. Where has the timegone. "

"I don't know. We have been so busy talking that I have thought ofnothing else. Really, I didn't know you could be so entertaining--UncleHosea. "

The detested title brought me to myself. 

"We are here, " I said, shortly. "And now where shall we go? Have you anystopping place in particular?"

She nodded. 

"Yes, " she said, "I want to stop now. Please pull up over there, infront of that shop with the cricket bats in the window. "

The shop was what we, in America, would have called a "sporting-goodsstore. " I piloted "Pet" to the curb and pulled up. 

"I am going in, " said Miss Morley. "Oh, don't trouble to help me. I canget down quite well. "

She was down, springing from the step as lightly as a dandelion fluffbefore I could scramble down on the other side. 

"I won't be long, " she said, and went into the shop. I, not beinginvited, remained on the pavement. Two or three small boys appeared fromsomewhere and, scenting possible pennies, volunteered to hold the horse. I declined their services. 

Five minutes passed, then ten. My passenger was still in the shop. Icould not imagine what she was doing there. If it had been a shop of adifferent kind, and in view of Hephzy's recent statement concerning thebuying of clothes, I might have been suspicious. But no clothes were onsale at that shop and, besides, it never occurred to me that she wouldbuy anything of importance without mentioning her intention to mebeforehand. I had taken it for granted that she would mention thesubject and, when she did, I intended to be firm. But as theminutes went by my suspicions grew. She must be buying something--orcontemplating buying, at least. But she had said nothing to meconcerning money; HAD she money of her own after all? It might bepossible that she had a very little, and was making some triflingpurchase. 

She reappeared in the doorway of the shop, followed by a very politeyoung man with a blonde mustache. The young man was bowing and smiling. 

"Yes, miss, " he said, "I'll have them wrapped immediately. They shall beready when you return, miss. Thank you, miss. "

Frances nodded acknowledgment of the thanks. Then she favored me withanother nod and a most bewitching smile. 

"That's over, " she announced, "and now I'm going to the draper's for amoment. It is near here, you say?"

The young man bowed again. 

"Yes, miss, on the next corner, next the chemist's. "

She turned to me. "You may wait here, Mr. Knowles, " she said. "I shallbe back very soon. "

She hurried away. I looked after her, and then, with all sorts offorebodings surging in my brain, strode into that "sporting-goodsstore. "

The blond young man was at my elbow. 

"Yes, sir, " he said, ingratiatingly. 

"Did--did that young lady make some purchases here?" I asked. 

"Yes, sir. Here they are, sir. "

There on the counter lay a tennis racket, a racket press and waterproofcase, a pair of canvas tennis shoes and a jaunty white felt hat. Istared at the collection. The clerk took up the racket. 

"Not a Slazenger, " he observed, regretfully. "I did my best to persuadeher to buy a Slazenger; that is the best racket we have. But she decidedthe Slazenger was a bit high in price, sir. However, sir, this one isnot bad. A very fine racket for lady's use; very light and strong, sir, considering the cost--only sixteen and six, sir. "

"Sixteen and six. Four dollars and--Did she pay for it?"

"Oh no, sir. She said you would do that, sir. The total is two poundeight and thruppence, sir. Shall I give you a bill, sir? Thank you, sir. "

His thanks were wasted. I pushed him to one side and walked out ofthat shop. I could not answer; if I answered as I felt I might be sorrylater. After all, it wasn't his fault. My business was not with him, butwith her. 

It was not the amount of the purchase that angered and alarmed me. Twopounds eight--twelve dollars--was not so much. If she had asked me, ifshe had said she desired the racket and the rest of it during the driveover, I think, feeling as I did during that drive, I should have boughtthem for her. But she had not asked; she had calmly bought them withoutconsulting me at all. She had come to Wrayton for that very purpose. Andthen had told the clerk that I would pay. 

The brazen presumption of it! I was merely a convenience, a sort ofwalking bank account, to be drawn upon as she saw fit, at her imperialwill, if you please. It made no difference, to her mind, whether I likedit or not--whether I could afford it or not. I could, of course, affordthis trifling sum, but this was only the beginning. If I permitted thisthere was no telling to what extent she might go on, buying and buyingand buying. This was a precedent--that was what it was, a precedent;and a precedent once established. .. It should not be established. I hadvowed to Hephzy that it should not. I would prove to this girl that Ihad a will of my own. The time had come. 

One of the boys who had been so anxious to hold the horse was performingthat entirely unnecessary duty. 

"Stay here until I come back, " I ordered and hurried to the draper's. 

She was there standing before the counter, and an elderly man wasdisplaying cloths--white flannels and serges they appeared to be. Shewas not in the least perturbed at my entrance. 

"So you came, after all, " she said. "I wondered if you would. Now youmust help me. I don't know what your taste in tennis flannels maybe, but I hope it is good. I shall have these made up at Mayberry, ofcourse. My other frocks--and I need so many of them--I shall buy inLondon. Do you fancy this, now?"

I don't know whether I fancied it or not. I am quite sure I could notremember what it was if I were asked. 

"Well?" she asked, after an instant. "Do you?"

"I--I don't know, " I said. "May I ask you to step outside one moment. I--I have something I wish to say. "

She regarded me curiously. 

"Something you wish to say?" she repeated. "What is it?"

"I--I can't tell you here. "

"Why not, pray?"

"Because I can't. "

She looked at me still more intently. I was conscious of the salesman'sregard also. My tone, I am sure, was anything but gracious, and Iimagine I appeared as disgusted and embarrassed as I felt. She turnedaway. 

"I think I will choose this one, " she said, addressing the clerk. "Youmay give me five yards. Oh, yes; and I may as well take the same amountof the other. You may wrap it for me. "

"Yes, miss, yes. Thank you, miss. Is there anything else?"

She hesitated. Then, after another sidelong glance at me, she said:"Yes, I believe there is. I wish to see some buttons, some braid, and--oh, ever so many things. Please show them to me. "

"Yes, miss, certainly. This way, if you please. "

She turned to me. 

"Will you assist in the selection, Uncle Hosea?" she inquired, withsuspicious sweetness. "I am sure your opinion will be invaluable. No?Then I must ask you to wait. "

And wait I did, for I could do nothing else. That draper's shop was notthe place for a scene, with a half-dozen clerks to enjoy it. I waited, fuming, while she wandered about, taking a great deal of time, andlingering over each purchase in a maddening manner. At last she seemedable to think of no more possibilities and strolled to where I wasstanding, followed by the salesman, whose hands were full. 

"You may wrap these with the others, " she said. "I have my trap here andwill take them with me. The trap is here, isn't it--er--Uncle Hosea?"

"It is just above here, " I answered, sulkily. "But--"

"But you will get it. Thank you so much. "

The salesman noticed my hesitation, put his own interpretation upon itand hastened to oblige. 

"I shall be glad to have the purchases carried there, " he said. "Our boywill do it, miss. It will be no trouble. "

Miss Morley thanked him so much. I was hoping she might leave the shopthen, but she did not. The various packages were wrapped, handed tothe boy, and she accompanied the latter to the door and showed him ourequipage standing before the sporting-goods dealer's. Then she saunteredback. 

"Thank you, " she said, addressing the clerk. "That is all, I believe. "

The clerk looked at her and at me. 

"Yes, miss, thank you, " he said, in return. "I--I--would you be wishingto pay at once, miss, or shall I--"

"Oh, this gentleman will pay. Do you wish to pay now--Uncle Hosea?"

Again I was stumped. The salesman was regarding me expectantly; theother clerks were near by; if I made a scene there--No, I could not doit. I would pay this time. But this should be the end. 

Fortunately, I had money in my pocket--two five-pound notes and somesilver. I paid the bill. Then, and at last, my niece led the way to thepavement. We walked together a few steps in silence. The sporting-goodsshop was just ahead, and if ever I was determined not to do a thing thatthing was to pay for the tennis racket and the rest. 

"Frances, " I began. 

"Well--Mr. Knowles?" calmly. 

"Frances, I have decided to speak with you frankly. You appear to takecertain things for granted in your--your dealings with Miss Cahoon andmyself, things which--which I cannot countenance or permit. "

She had been walking slowly. Now she stopped short. I stopped, too, because she did. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. "What things?"

She was looking me through and through. Again I hesitated, and myhesitation did not help matters. 

"What do you mean?" she repeated. "What is it you cannot countenanceor"--scornfully--"permit concerning me?"

"I--well, I cannot permit you to do as you have done to-day. You did nottell your aunt or me your purpose in coming to Wrayton. You did not tellus you were coming here to buy--to buy various things for yourself. "

"Why should I tell you? They were for myself. Is it your idea that Ishould ask YOUR permission before buying what I choose?"

"Considering that you ask me to pay, I--"

"I most distinctly did NOT ask you. I TOLD you to pay. Certainly youwill pay. Why not?"

"Why not?"

"Yes, why not. So this was what you wished to speak to me about. Thiswas why you were so--so boorish and disagreeable in that shop. Tellme--was that the reason? Was that why you followed me there? Did youthink--did you presume to think of preventing my buying what I pleasedwith my money?"

"If it had been your money I should not have presumed, certainly. If youhad mentioned your intention to me beforehand I might even have paid foryour purchases and said nothing. I should--I should have been glad to doso. I am not unreasonable. "

"Indeed! Indeed! Do you mean that you would have condescended to makeme a present of them? And was it your idea that I would accept presentsfrom you?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that she had already accepteda good deal; but somehow the place, a public sidewalk, seemed hardlyfitting for the discussion of weighty personal matters. Passers-by wereregarding us curiously, and in the door of the draper's shop which wehad just left I noticed the elderly clerk standing and looking in ourdirection. I temporized. 

"You don't understand, Miss Morley, " I said. "Neither your aunt norI are wealthy. Surely, it is not too much to ask that you consult usbefore--before--"

She interrupted me. "I shall not consult you at all, " she declared, fiercely. "Wealthy! Am _I_ wealthy? Was my father wealthy? He shouldhave been and so should I. Oh, WHAT do you mean? Are you trying to tellme that you cannot afford to pay for the few trifles I have bought thisafternoon?"

"I can afford those, of course. But you don't understand. "

"Understand? YOU do not understand. The agreement under which I cameto Mayberry was that you were to provide for me. I consented to foregopressing my claim against you until--until you were ready to--to--Oh, but why should we go into this again? I thought--I thought youunderstood. I thought you understood and appreciated my forbearance. Youseemed to understand and to be grateful and kind. I am all alone in theworld. I haven't a friend. I have been almost happy for a little while. I was beginning to--"

She stopped. The dark eyes which had been flashing lightnings in mydirection suddenly filled with tears. My heart smote me. After all, shedid not understand. Another plea of that kind and I should have--Well, I'm not sure what I should have done. But the plea was not spoken. 

"Oh, what a fool I am!" she cried, fiercely. "Mr. Knowles, " pointing tothe sporting-goods store, "I have made some purchases in that shop also. I expect you to pay for those as well. Will you or will you not?"

I was hesitating, weakly. She did not wait for me to reply. 

"You WILL pay for them, " she declared, "and you will pay for others thatI may make. I shall buy what I please and do what I please with my moneywhich you are keeping from me. You will pay or take the consequences. "

That was enough. "I will not pay, " I said, firmly, "under any sucharrangement. "

"You will NOT?"

"No, I will not. "

She looked as if--Well, if she had been a man I should have expected ablow. Her breast heaved and her fingers clenched. Then she turned andwalked toward the shop with the cricket bats in the window. 

"Where are you going?" I asked. 

"I am going to tell the man to send the things I have bought to Mayberryby carrier and I shall tell him to send the bill to you. "

"If you do I shall tell him to do nothing of the kind. Miss Morley, Idon't mean to be ungenerous or unreasonable, but--"

"Stop! Stop! Oh!" with a sobbing breath, "how I hate you!"

"I'm sorry. When I explain, as I mean to, you will understand, I think. If you will go back to the rectory with me now--"

"I shall not go back with you. I shall never speak to you again. "

"Miss Morley, be reasonable. You must go back with me. There is no otherway. "

"I will not. "

Here was more cheer in an already cheerful situation. She could not getto Mayberry that night unless she rode with me. She had no money to takeher there or anywhere else. I could hardly carry her to the trap by mainstrength. And the curiosity of the passers-by was more marked than ever;two or three of them had stopped to watch us. 

I don't know how it might have ended, but the end came in an unexpectedmanner. 

"Why, Miss Morley, " cried a voice from the street behind me. "Oh, I say, it IS you, isn't it. How do you do?"

I turned. A trim little motor car was standing there and Herbert Baylisswas at the wheel. 

"Ah, Knowles, how do you do?" said Bayliss. 

I acknowledged the greeting in an embarrassed fashion. I wondered howlong he had been there and what he had heard. He alighted from the carand shook hands with us. 

"Didn't see you, Knowles, at first, " he said. "Saw Miss Morley here andthought she was alone. Was going to beg the privilege of taking her homein my car. "

Miss Morley answered promptly. "You may have the privilege, DoctorBayliss, " she said. "I accept with pleasure. "

Young Bayliss looked pleased, but rather puzzled. 

"Thanks, awfully, " he said. "But my car holds but two and your uncle--"

"Oh, he has the dogcart. It is quite all right, really. I should lovethe motor ride. May I get in?"

He helped her into the car. "Sure you don't mind, Knowles, " he asked. "Sorry there's not more room; but you couldn't leave the horse, though, could you? Quite comfy, Miss Morley? Then we're off. "

The car turned from the curb. I caught Miss Morley's eye for an instant;there was withering contempt in its look--also triumph. 

Left alone, I walked to the trap, gave the horse-holding boy sixpence, climbed to the seat and took up the reins. "Pet" jogged lazily up thestreet. The ride over had been very, very pleasant; the homeward journeywas likely to be anything but that. 

To begin with, I was thoroughly dissatisfied with myself. I had bungledthe affair dreadfully. This was not the time for explanations; I shouldnot have attempted them. It would have been better, much better, to haveaccepted the inevitable as gracefully as I could, paid the bills, andthen, after we reached home, have made the situation plain and "have putmy foot down" once and for all. But I had not done that. I had lost mytemper and acted like an eighteen-year-old boy instead of a middle-agedman. 

She did not understand, of course. In her eyes I must have appearedstingy and mean and--and goodness knows what. The money I had refused topay she did consider hers, of course. It was not hers, and some day shewould know that it was not, but the town square at Wrayton was not theplace in which to impart knowledge of that kind. 

She was so young, too, and so charming--that is, she could be when shechose. And she had chosen to be so during our drive together. And Ihad enjoyed that drive; I had enjoyed nothing as thoroughly since ourarrival in England. She had enjoyed it, too; she had said so. 

Well, there would be no more enjoyment of that kind. This was the end, of course. And all because I had refused to pay for a tennis racket anda few other things. They were things she wanted--yes, needed, if shewere to remain at the rectory. And, expecting to remain as she did, itwas but natural that she should wish to play tennis and dress as didother young players of her sex. Her life had not been a pleasant one;after all, a little happiness added, even though it did cost me somemoney, was not much. And it must end soon. It seemed a pity to end it inorder to save two pounds eight and threepence. 

There is no use cataloguing all my thoughts. Some I have catalogued andthe others were similar. The memory of her face and of the choke in hervoice as she said she had been almost happy haunted me. My reason toldme that, so far as principle and precedent went, I had acted rightly;but my conscience, which was quite unreasonable, told me I had actedlike a boor. I stood it as long as I could, then I shouted at "Pet, " whowas jogging on, apparently half asleep. 

"Whoa!" I shouted. 

"Pet" stopped short in the middle of the road. I hesitated. Theprinciple of the thing--

"Hang the principle!" said I, aloud. Then I turned the trap around anddrove back to Wrayton. The blond young man in the sporting-goods storewas evidently glad to see me. He must have seen me drive away and havejudged that his sale was canceled. His judgment had been very near toright, but now I proved it wrong. 

I paid for the racket and the press and the shoes and the rest. Theywere wrapped and ready. 

"Thank you, sir, " said the clerk. "I trust everything will be quitesatisfactory. I'm sorry the young lady did not take the Slazenger, butthe one she chose is not at all bad. "

I was on my way to the door. I stopped and turned. 

"Is the--the what is it--'Slazenger' so much better?" I asked. 

"Oh, very much so, sir. Infinitely better, sir. Here it is; judge foryourself. The very best racket made. And only thirty-two shillings, sir. "

It was a better racket, much better. And, after all, when one is hangingprinciple the execution may as well be complete. 

"You may give me that one instead of the other, " I said, and paid thedifference. 

On my arrival at the rectory Hephzy met me at the door. The between-maidtook the packages from the trap. I entered the drawing-room and Hephzyfollowed me. She looked very grave. 

"Frances is here, I suppose, " I said. 

"Yes, she came an hour ago. Doctor Bayliss, the younger one, broughther in his auto. She hardly spoke to me, Hosy, and went straight to herroom. Hosy, what happened? What is the matter?"

"Nothing, " said I, curtly. "Nothing unusual, that is. I made a fool ofmyself once more, that's all. "

The between-maid knocked and entered. "Where would you wish the parcels, sir?" she asked. 

"These are Miss Morley's. Take them to her room. "

The maid retired to obey orders. Hephzy again turned to me. 

"Now, Hosy, what is it?" she asked. 

I told her the whole story. When I had finished Hephzy noddedunderstandingly. She did not say "I told you so, " but if she had itwould have been quite excusable. 

"I think--I think, perhaps, I had better go up and see her, " she said. 

"All right. I have no objection. "

"But she'll ask questions, of course. What shall I tell her?"

"Tell her I changed my mind. Tell her--oh, tell her anything you like. Don't bother me. I'm sick of the whole business. "

She left me and I went into the Reverend Cole's study and closed thedoor. There were books enough there, but the majority of them weretheological works or bulky volumes dealing with questions of religion. Most of my own books were in my room. These did not appeal to me; I wasnot religiously inclined just then. 

So I sat dumbly in the rector's desk chair and looked out of the window. After a time there was a knock at the door. 

"Come in, " said I, expecting Hephzy. It was not Hephzy who came, however, but Miss Morley herself. And she closed the door behind her. 

I did not speak. She walked over and stood beside me. I did not knowwhat she was going to say and the expression did not help me to guess. 

For a moment she did not say anything. Then:

"So you changed your mind, " she said. 

"Yes. "

"Why?"

"I don't know. "

"You don't know. Yet you changed it. "

"Yes. Oh yes, I changed it. "

"But why? Was it--was it because you were ashamed of yourself?"

"I guess so. As much that as anything. "

"You realize that you treated me shamefully. You realize that?"

"Yes, " wearily. "Yes, I realize everything. "

"And you felt sorry, after I had gone, and so you changed your mind. Wasthat it?"

"Yes. "

There was no use in attempting justification. For the absolute surrenderI had made there was no justification. I might as well agree toeverything. 

"And you will never, never treat me in that way again?"

"No. "

"And you realize that I was right and understand that I am to do as Iplease with my money?"

"Yes. "

"And you beg my pardon?"

"Yes. "

"Very well. Then I beg yours. I'm sorry, too. "

Now I WAS surprised. I turned in my chair and looked at her. 

"You beg my pardon?" I repeated. "For what?"

"Oh, for everything. I suppose I should have spoken to you before buyingthose things. You might not have been prepared to pay then and--and thatwould have been unpleasant for you. But--well, you see, I didn't think, and you were so queer and cross when you followed me to the draper'sshop, that--that I--well, I was disagreeable, too. I am sorry. "

"That's all right. "

"Thank you. Is there anything else you wish to say?"

"No. "

"You're sure?"

"Yes. "

"Why did you buy the Slazenger racket instead of the other one?"

I had forgotten the "Slazenger" for the moment. She had caught meunawares. 

"Oh--oh, " I stammered, "well, it was a much better racket and--and, asyou were buying one, it seemed foolish not to get the best. "

"I know. I wanted the better one very much, but I thought it tooexpensive. I did not feel that I should spend so much money. "

"That's all right. The difference wasn't so much and I made the changeon my own responsibility. I--well, just consider that I bought theracket and you bought none. "

She regarded me intently. "You mean that you bought it as a present forme?" she said slowly. 

"Yes; yes, if you will accept it as such. "

She was silent. I remembered perfectly well what she had said concerningpresents from me and I wondered what I should do with that racket whenshe threw it back on my hands. 

"Thank you, " she said. "I will accept it. Thank you very much. "

I was staggered, but I recovered sufficiently to tell her she was quitewelcome. 

She turned to go. Then she turned back. 

"Doctor Bayliss asked me to play tennis with him tomorrow morning, " shesaid. "May I?"

"May you? Why, of course you may, if you wish, I suppose. Why in theworld do you ask my permission?"

"Oh, don't you wish me to ask? I inferred from what you said at Wraytonthat you did wish me to ask permission concerning many things. "

"I wished--I said--oh, don't be silly, please! Haven't we had sillinessenough for one afternoon, Miss Morley. "

"My Christian name is Frances. May I play tennis with Doctor Baylissto-morrow morning, Uncle Hosea?"

"Of course you may. How could I prevent it, even if I wished, which Idon't. "

"Thank you, Uncle Hosea. Mr. Worcester is going to play also. We needa fourth. I can borrow another racket. Will you be my partner, UncleHosea?"

"_I_? Your partner?"

"Yes. You play tennis; Auntie says so. Will you play to-morrow morningas my partner?"

"But I play an atrocious game and--"

"So do I. We shall match beautifully. Thank you, Uncle Hosea. "

Once more she turned to go, and again she turned. 

"Is there anything else you wish me to do, Uncle Hosea?" she asked. 

The repetition repeated was too much. 

"Yes, " I declared. "Stop calling me Uncle Hosea. I'm not your uncle. "

"Oh, I know that; but you have told everyone that you were, haven'tyou?"

I had, unfortunately, so I could make no better reply than to stateemphatically that I didn't like the title. 

"Oh, very well, " she said. "But 'Mr. Knowles' sounds so formal, don'tyou think. What shall I call you? Never mind, perhaps I can think whileI am dressing for dinner. I will see you at dinner, won't I. Au revoir, and thank you again for the racket--Cousin Hosy. "

"I'm not your cousin, either--at least not more than a nineteenthcousin. And if you begin calling me 'Hosy' I shall--I don't know what Ishall do. "

"Dear me, how particular you are! Well then, au revoir--Kent. "

When Hephzy came to the study I was still seated in the rector's chair. She was brimful full of curiosity, I know, and ready to ask a dozenquestions at once. But I headed off the first of the dozen. 

"Hephzy, " I observed, "I have made no less than fifty solemn resolutionssince we met that girl--that Little Frank of yours. You've heard me makethem, haven't you. "

"Why, yes, I suppose I have. If you mean resolutions to tell her thetruth about her father and put an end to the scrape we're in, I have, certain. "

"Yes; well, I've made another one now. Never, no matter what happens, will I attempt to tell her a word concerning Strickland Morley orher 'inheritance' or anything else. Every time I've tried I've madea blessed idiot of myself and now I'm through. She can stay with usforever and run us into debt to her heart's desire--I don't care. Ifshe ever learns the truth she sha'n't learn it from me. I'm incapableof telling it. I haven't the sand of a yellow dog and I'm not going toworry about it. I'm through, do you hear--through. "

That was my newest resolution. It was a comfort to realize that THISresolution I should probably stick to. 

CHAPTER XI

In Which Complications Become More Complicated

And stick to it I did. From that day--the day of our drive toWrayton--on through those wonderful summer days in which she andHephzy and I were together at the rectory, not once did I attempt toremonstrate with my "niece" concerning her presumption in inflicting herpresence upon us or in spending her money, as she thought it--our moneyas I knew it to be--as she saw fit. Having learned and relearned mylesson--namely, that I lacked the courage to tell her the truth I hadso often declared must be told, having shifted the responsibility toHephzy's shoulders, having admitted and proclaimed myself, in thatrespect at least, a yellow dog, I proceeded to take life as I found it, as yellow dogs are supposed to do. 

And, having thus weakly rid myself of care and responsibility, I beganto enjoy that life. To enjoy the freedom of it, and the novelty ofthe surroundings, and the friendship of the good people who were ourneighbors. Yes, and to enjoy the home life, the afternoons on the tenniscourt or the golf course, the evenings in the drawing-room, the "teas"on the lawn--either our lawn or someone else's--the chats togetheracross the dinner-table; to enjoy it all; and, more astonishing still, to accept the companionship of the young person who was responsible forour living in that way as a regular and understood part of that life. 

Not that I understood the young person herself; no Bayport quahaug, whohad shunned female companionship as I had for so long, could be expectedto understand the whims and changing moods of a girl like FrancesMorley. At times she charmed and attracted me, at others she tormentedand irritated me. She argued with me one moment and disagreed the next. She laughed at Hephzy's and my American accent and idioms, but whenBayliss, Junior, or one of the curates ventured to criticize an"Americanism" she was quite as likely to declare that she thought it"jolly" and "so expressive. " Against my will I was obliged to join inconversations, to take sides in arguments, to be present when callerscame, to make calls. I, who had avoided the society of young peoplebecause, being no longer young, I felt out of place among them, was nowdragged into such society every day and almost every evening. I didnot want to be, but Little Frank seemed to find mischievous pleasure inkeeping me there. 

"It is good for you, " she said, on one occasion, when I had sneakedoff to my room and the company of the "British Poets. " "Auntie says youstarted on your travels in order to find something new to write about. You'll never find it in those musty books; every poem in them is atleast seventy years old. If you are going to write of England and mypeople you must know something about those that are alive. "

"But, my dear young lady, " I said, "I have no intention of writing ofyour people, as you call them. "

"You write of knights and lords and ladies and queens. You do--or youdid--and you certainly know nothing about THEM. "

I was quite a bit ruffled. "Indeed!" said I. "You are quite sure ofthat, are you?"

"I am, " decidedly. "I have read 'The Queen's Amulet' and no queenon earth--in England, surely--ever acted or spoke like that one. AnAmerican queen might, if there was such a thing. "

She laughed and, provoked as I was, I could not help laughing with her. She had a most infectious laugh. 

"My dear young lady--" I began again, but she interrupted me. 

"Don't call me that, " she protested. "You're not the Archbishop ofCanterbury visiting a girl's school and making a speech. You asked menot to call you 'Uncle Hosea. ' If you say 'dear young lady' to me againI shall address you publicly as 'dear old Nunky. ' Don't be silly. "

I laughed again. "But you ARE young, " I said. 

"Well, what of it. Perhaps neither of us likes to be reminded of ourage. I'm sure you don't; I never saw anyone more sensitive on thesubject. There! there! put away those silly old books and come down tothe drawing-room. I'm going to sing. Mr. Worcester has brought in a lotof new music. "

Reluctantly I closed the volume I had in my hand. 

"Very well, " I said; "I'll come if you wish. But I shall only be in theway, as I always am. Mr. Worcester didn't plead for my company, did he?Do you know I think he will bear up manfully if I don't appear. "

She regarded me with disapproval. 

"Don't be childish in your old age, " she snapped, "Are you coming?"

I went, of course, and--it may have been by way of reward--she sangseveral old-fashioned, simple ballads which I had found in a dog's-earedportfolio in the music cabinet and which I liked because my mother usedto sing them when I was a little chap. I had asked for them before andshe had ignored the request. 

This time she sang them and Hephzy, sitting beside me in the darkestcorner reached over and laid a hand on mine. 

"Her mother all over again, " she whispered. "Ardelia used to singthose. "

Next day, on the tennis court, she played with Herbert Bayliss againstWorcester and me, and seemed to enjoy beating us six to one. The onlyregret she expressed was that she and her partner had not made it a"love set. "

Altogether she was a decidedly vitalizing influence, an influence thatwas, I began to admit to myself, a good one for me. I needed to be keptalive and active, and here, in this wide-awake household, I couldn't beanything else. The future did not look as dull and hopeless as it hadwhen I left Bayport. I even began to consider the possibilitiesof another novel, to hope that I might write one. Jim Campbell's"prescription, " although working in quite a different way from thatwhich he and I had planned, was working nevertheless. 

Matthews, at the Camford Street office, was forwarding my letters andhonoring my drafts with promptness. I received a note each week fromCampbell. I had written him all particulars concerning Little Frank andour move to the rectory, and he professed to see in it only a huge joke. 

"Tell your Miss Cahoon, " he wrote, "that I am going to turn Spiritualistright away. I believe in dreams now, and presentiments and all sortsof things. I am trying to dream out a plot for a novel by you. Had aroof-garden supper the other night and that gave me a fine start, butI'll have to tackle another one before I get sufficient thrills tofurnish forth one of your gems. Seriously though, old man, this wholething will do you a world of good. Nothing short of an earthquake wouldhave shaken you out of your Cape Cod dumps and it looks to me as if youand--what's her name--Hephzibah, had had the quake. What are you goingto do with the Little Frank person in the end? Can't you marry her offto a wealthy Englishman? Or, if not that, why not marry her yourself?She'd turn a dead quahaug into a live lobster, I should imagine, ifanyone could. Great idea! What?"

His "great idea" was received with the contempt it deserved. I tore upthe letter and threw it into the waste basket. 

But Hephzy herself spoke of matrimony and Little Frank soon afterthis. We were alone together; Frances had gone on a horseback ride withHerbert Bayliss and a female cousin who was spending the day at "JasmineGables. "

"Hosy, " said Hephzy, "do you realize the summer is half over? It's themiddle of July now. "

So it was, although it seemed scarcely possible. 

"Yes, " she went on. "Our lease of this place is up the first of October. We shall be startin' for home then, I presume likely, sha'n't we. "

"I suppose so. We can't stay over here indefinitely. Life isn't allskittles and--and tea. "

"That's so. I don't know what skittles are, but I know what tea is. Landsakes! I should say I did. They tell me the English national flower isa rose. It ought to be a tea-plant blossom, if there is such a thing. Hosy, " with a sudden return to seriousness, "what are we goin' to dowith--with HER when the time comes for us to go?"

"I don't know, " I answered. 

"Are you going to take her to America with us?"

"I don't know. "

"Humph! Well, we'll have to know then. "

"I suppose we shall; but, " defiantly, "I'm not going to worry about ittill the time comes. "

"Humph! Well, you've changed, that's all I've got to say. 'Twan't solong ago that you did nothin' BUT worry. I never saw anybody change theway you have anyway. "

"In what way?"

"In every way. You aren't like the same person you used to be. Why, through that last year of ours in Bayport I used to think sometimes youwere older than I was--older in the way you thought and acted, I mean. Now you act as if you were twenty-one. Cavortin' around, playin' tennisand golf and everything! What has got into you?"

"I don't know. Jim Campbell's prescription is taking effect, I guess. He said the change of air and environment would do me good. I tell you, Hephzy, I have made up my mind to enjoy life while I can. I realize aswell as you do that the trouble is bound to come, but I'm not going tolet it trouble me beforehand. And I advise you to do the same. "

"Well, I've been tryin' to, but sometimes I can't help wonderin' anddreadin'. Perhaps I'm havin' my dread for nothin'. It may be that, bythe time we're ready to start for Bayport, Little Frank will be providedfor. "

"Provided for? What do you mean?"

"I mean provided for by somebody else. There's at least two candidatesfor the job: Don't you think so?"

"You mean--"

"I mean Mr. Worcester and Herbert Bayliss. That Worcester man is a gonecase, or I'm no judge. He's keepin' company with Frances, or would, ifshe'd let him. 'Twould be funny if she married a curate, wouldn't it. "

"Not very, " I answered. "Married life on a curate's salary is not myidea of humor. "

"I suppose likely that's so. And I can't imagine her a minister's wife, can you?"

I could not; nor, unless I was greatly mistaken, could the young ladyherself. In fact, anything as serious as marriage was far from herthoughts at present, I judged. But Hephzy did not seem so sure. 

"No, " she went on, "I don't think the curate's got much chance. Butyoung Doctor Bayliss is different. He's good-lookin' and smart and he'sgot prospects. I like him first-rate and I think Frances likes him, too. I shouldn't wonder if THAT affair came to somethin'. Wouldn't it besplendid if it did!"

I said that it would. And yet, even as I said it, I was conscious of apeculiar feeling of insincerity. I liked young Bayliss. He was all thatHephzy had said, and more. He would, doubtless, make a good husband forany girl. And his engagement to Frances Morley might make easier theexplanation which was bound to come. I believed I could tell HerbertBayliss the truth concerning the ridiculous "claim. " A man would besusceptible to reason and proof; I could convince him. I should havewelcomed the possibility, but, somehow or other, I did not. Somehow orother, the idea of her marrying anyone was repugnant to me. I did notlike to think of it. 

"Oh dear!" sighed Hephzy; "if only things were different. If only sheknew all about her father and his rascality and was livin' with usbecause she wanted to--if that was the way of it, it would be sodifferent. If you and I had really adopted her! If she only was yourniece. "

"Nonsense!" I snapped. "She isn't my niece. "

"I know it. That's what makes your goodness to her seem so wonderfulto me. You treat her as if you cared as much as I do. And of course youdon't. It isn't natural you should. She's my sister's child, and she'shardly any relation to you at all. You're awful good, Hosy. She'snoticed it, too. I think she likes you now a lot better than she did;she as much as said so. She's beginning to understand you. "

"Nonsense!" I said again. Understand me! I didn't understand myself. Nevertheless I was foolishly pleased to hear that she liked me. It waspleasant to be liked even by one who was destined to hate me later on. 

"I hope she won't feel too hard against us, " continued Hephzy. "I can'tbear to think of her doin' that. She--she seems so near and dear to menow. We--I shall miss her dreadfully when it's all over. "

I think she hoped that I might say that I should miss her, also. But Idid not say anything of the kind. 

I was resolved not to permit myself to miss her. Hadn't I been schemingand planning to get rid of her ever since she thrust herself upon us? Tobe sorry when she, at last, was gotten rid of would be too idiotic. 

"Well, " observed Hephzy, in conclusion, "perhaps she and Doctor Baylisswill make a match after all. We ought to help it all we can, I suppose. "

This conversation had various effects upon me. One was to make meunaccountably "blue" for the rest of that day. Another was that Iregarded the visits of Worcester and Herbert Bayliss with a differenteye. I speculated foolishly concerning those visits and watched bothyoung gentlemen more closely. 

I did not have to watch the curate long. Suddenly he ceased calling atthe rectory. Not altogether, of course, but he called only occasionallyand his manner toward my "niece" was oddly formal and constrained. Shewas very kind to him, kinder than before, I thought, but there was adifference in their manner. Hephzy, of course, had an explanation ready. 

"She's given him his clearance papers, " was her way of expressing it. "She's told him that it's no use so far as he's concerned. Well, I neverdid think she cared for him. And that leaves the course clear for thedoctor, doesn't it. "

The doctor took advantage of the clear course. His calls and invitationsfor rides and tennis and golf were more frequent than ever. She musthave understood; but, being a normal young woman, as well as a very, very pretty one, she was a bit of a coquette and kept the boy--for, after all, he was scarcely more than that--at arm's length and in astate of alternate hope and despair. I shared his varying moods. If hecould not be sure of her feelings toward him, neither could I, and Ifound myself wondering, wondering constantly. It was foolish for meto wonder, of course. Why should I waste time in speculation on thatsubject? Why should I care whether she married or not? What differencedid it make to me whom she married? I resolved not to think of her atall. And that resolution, like so many I had made, amounted to nothing, for I did think of her constantly. 

And then to add a new complication to the already over-complicatedsituation, came A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire. 

Frances and Herbert Bayliss were scheduled for nine holes of golf on theManor House course that morning. I had had no intention of playing. Myprojected novel had reached the stage where, plot building completed, Ihad really begun the writing. The first chapter was finished and I hadintended beginning the second one that day. But, just as I seated myselfat the desk in the Reverend Cole's study, the young lady appeared andinsisted that the twosome become a threesome, that I leave my "stupidold papers and pencils" and come for a round on the links. I protested, of course, but she was in one of her wilful moods that morning anddeclared that she would not play unless I did. 

"It will do you good, " she said. "You'll write all the better thisafternoon. Now, come along. "

"Is Doctor Bayliss as anxious for my company as you seem to be?" I askedmaliciously. 

She tossed her head. "Of course he is, " she retorted. "Besides itdoesn't make any difference whether he is or not. _I_ want you to play, and that is enough. "

"Humph! he may not agree with you. "

"Then he can play by himself. It will do him good, too. He takesaltogether too much for granted. Come! I am waiting. "

So, after a few more fruitless protests, I reluctantly laid aside thepaper and pencils, changed to golfing regalia and, with my bag of clubson my shoulder, joined the two young people on the lawn. 

Frances greeted me very cordially indeed. Her clubs--I had bought themmyself on one of my trips to London: having once yielded, in the matterof the tennis outfit, I now bought various little things which I thoughtwould please her--were carried by Herbert Bayliss, who, of course, alsocarried his own. His greeting was not as enthusiastic. He seemed ratherglum and out of sorts. Frances addressed most of her conversation to meand I was inclined to think the pair had had some sort of disagreement, what Hephzy would have called a "lover's quarrel, " perhaps. 

We walked across the main street of Mayberry, through the lane past thecricket field, on by the path over the pastures, and entered the greatgate of the Manor, the gate with the Carey arms emblazoned above it. Then a quarter of a mile over rolling hills, with rare shrubs andflowers everywhere, brought us to the top of the hill at the edge of thelittle wood which these English people persisted in calling a "forest. "The first tee was there. You drove--if you were skillful or lucky--downthe long slope to the green two hundred yards away. If you were neitherskillful nor lucky you were quite as likely to drive into the long grasson either side of the fair green. Then you hunted for your ball and, having found it, wasted more or less labor and temper in pounding it outof the "rough. "

At the first tee a man arrayed in the perfection of natty golfing togswas practicing his "swing. " A caddy was carrying his bag. This of itselfargued the swinger a person of privilege and consequence, for caddies onthose links were strictly forbidden by the Lady of the Manor. Why theywere forbidden she alone knew. 

As we approached the tee the player turned to look at us. He was not aMayberryite and yet there was something familiar in his appearance. Heregarded us for a moment and then, dropping his driver, lounged towardme and extended his hand. 

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "It is you, isn't it! How do you do?"

"Why, Mr. Heathcroft!" I said. "This is a surprise. "

We shook hands. He, apparently, was not at all surprised. 

"Heard about your being here, Knowles, " he drawled. "My aunt told me;that is, she said there were Americans at the rectory and when shementioned the name I knew, of course, it must be you. Odd you shouldhave located here, isn't it! Jolly glad to see you. "

I said I was glad to see him. Then I introduced my companions. 

"Bayliss and I have met before, " observed Heathcroft. "Played a roundwith him in the tournament last year. How do, Bayliss? Don't thinkMiss Morley and I have met, though. Great pleasure, really. Are you aresident of Mayberry, Miss Morley?"

Frances said that she was a temporary resident. 

"Ah! visiting here, I suppose?"

"Yes. Yes, I am visiting. I am living at the rectory, also. "

"Miss Morley is Mr. Knowles's niece, " explained Bayliss. 

Heathcroft seemed surprised. 

"Indeed!" he drawled. "Didn't know you had a niece, Knowles. She wasn'twith you on the ship, now was she. "

"Miss Morley had been living in England--here and on the Continent, " Ianswered. I could have kicked Bayliss for his officious explanation ofkinship. Now I should have that ridiculous "uncle" business to contendwith, in our acquaintance with Heathcroft as with the Baylisses and therest. Frances, I am sure, read my thoughts, for the corners of her mouthtwitched and she looked away over the course. 

"Won't you ask Mr. Heathcroft to join our game--Uncle?" she said. Shehad dropped the hated "Hosea, " I am happy to say, but in the presenceof those outside the family she still addressed me as "Uncle. " Of courseshe could not do otherwise without arousing comment, but I did not likeit. Uncle! there was a venerable, antique quality in the term whichI resented more and more each time I heard it. It emphasized thedifference in our ages--and that difference needed no emphasis. 

Heathcroft looked pleased at the invitation, but he hesitated inaccepting it. 

"Oh, I shouldn't do that, really, " he declared. "I should be in the way, now shouldn't I. "

Bayliss, to whom the remark was addressed, made no answer. I judged thathe did not care for the honor of the Heathcroft company. But Frances, after a glance in his direction, answered for him. 

"Oh, not in the least, " she said. "A foursome is ever so much moresporting than a threesome. Mr. Heathcroft, you and I will play DoctorBayliss and--Uncle. Shall we?"

Heathcroft declared himself delighted and honored. He looked theformer. He had scarcely taken his eyes from Miss Morley since theirintroduction. 

That match was hard fought. Our new acquaintance was a fair playerand he played to win. Frances was learning to play and had a naturalaptitude for the game. I played better than my usual form and I neededto, for Bayliss played wretchedly. He "dubbed" his approaches andmissed easy putts. If he had kept his eye on the ball instead of onhis opponents he might have done better, but that he would not do. Hewatched Heathcroft and Miss Morley continually, and the more he watchedthe less he seemed to like what he saw. 

Perhaps he was not altogether to blame, everything considered. Franceswas quite aware of the scrutiny and apparently enjoyed his discomfiture. She--well, perhaps she did not precisely flirt with A. CarletonHeathcroft, but she was very, very agreeable to him and exulted over thewinning of each hole without regard to the feelings of the losers. Asfor Heathcroft, himself, he was quite as agreeable to her, complimentedher on her playing, insisted on his caddy's carrying her clubs, assistedher over the rough places on the course, and generally acted the gallantin a most polished manner. Bayliss and I were beaten three down. 

Heathcroft walked with us as far as the lodge gate. Then he said good-bywith evident reluctance. 

"Thank you so much for the game, Miss Morley, " he said. "Enjoyed ithugely. You play remarkably well, if you don't mind my saying so. "

Frances was pleased. "Thank you, " she answered. "I know it isn'ttrue--that about my playing--but it is awfully nice of you to say it. Ihope we may play together again. Are you staying here long?"

"Don't know, I'm sure. I am visiting my aunt and she will keep me aslong as she can. Seems to think I have neglected her of late. Of coursewe must play again. By the way, Knowles, why don't you run over and meetLady Carey? She'll be awfully pleased to meet any friends of mine. BringMiss Morley with you. Perhaps she would care to see the greenhouses. They're quite worth looking over, really. Like to have you, too, Bayliss, of course. "

Bayliss's thanks were not effusive. Frances, however, declared thatshe should love to see the greenhouses. For my part, common politenessdemanded my asking Mr. Heathcroft to call at the rectory. He acceptedthe invitation at once and heartily. 

He called the very next day and joined us at tea. The followingafternoon we, Hephzy, Frances and I, visited the greenhouses. On thisoccasion we met, for the first time, the lady of the Manor herself. LadyKent Carey was a stout, gray-haired person, of very decided manner anda mannish taste in dress. She was gracious and affable, although Isuspected that much of her affability toward the American visitors wasassumed because she wished to please her nephew. A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was plainly her ladyship's pride and pet. She called him"Carleton, dear, " and "Carleton, dear" was, in his aunt's estimation, the model of everything desirable in man. 

The greenhouses were spacious and the display of rare plants and flowersmore varied and beautiful than any I had ever seen. We walked throughthe grounds surrounding the mansion, and viewed with becoming reverencethe trees planted by various distinguished personages, His RoyalHighness the Prince of Wales, Her late Majesty Queen Victoria, Ex-President Carnot of France, and others. Hephzy whispered to me as wewere standing before the Queen Victoria specimen:

"I don't believe Queen Victoria ever planted that in the world, doyou, Hosy. She'd look pretty, a fleshy old lady like her, puffin' awaydiggin' holes with a spade, now would she!"

I hastily explained the probability that the hole was dug by someoneelse. 

Hephzy nodded. 

"I guess so, " she added. "And the tree was put in by someone else andthe dirt put back by the same one. Queen Victoria planted that tree theway Susanna Wixon said she broke my best platter, by not doin' a singlething to it. I could plant a whole grove that way and not get a bittired. "

Lady Carey bade us farewell at the fish-ponds and asked us to comeagain. Her nephew, however, accompanied us all the way home--that is, heaccompanied Frances, while Hephzy and I made up the rear guard. The nextday he dropped in for some tennis. Herbert Bayliss was there beforehim, so the tennis was abandoned, and a three-cornered chat on thelawn substituted. Heathcroft treated the young doctor with a politecondescension which would have irritated me exceedingly. 

From then on, during the fortnight which followed, there was a greatdeal of Heathcroft in the rectory social circle. And when he wasnot there, it was fairly certain that he and Frances were togethersomewhere, golfing, walking or riding. Sometimes I accompanied them, sometimes Herbert Bayliss made one of the party. Frances' behavior tothe young doctor was tantalizingly contradictory. At times she was verycordial and kind, at others almost cold and repellent. She kept theyoung fellow in a state of uncertainty most of the time. She treatedHeathcroft much the same, but there was this difference betweenthem--Heathcroft didn't seem to mind; her whims appeared to amuse ratherthan to annoy him. Bayliss, on the contrary, was either in the seventhheaven of bliss or the subcellar of despair. I sympathized with him, toan extent; the young lady's attitude toward me had an effect which, inmy case, was ridiculous. My reason told me that I should not care atall whether she liked me or whether she didn't, whether I pleased ordispleased her. But I did care, I couldn't help it, I cared altogethertoo much. A middle-aged quahaug should be phlegmatic and philosophical;I once had a reputation for both qualities, but I seemed to possessneither now. 

I found myself speculating and wondering more than ever concerning theoutcome of all this. Was there anything serious in the wind at all?Herbert Bayliss was in love with Frances Morley, that was obvious now. But was she in love with him? I doubted it. Did she care in the leastfor him? I did not know. She seemed to enjoy his society. I did not wanther to fall in love with A. Carleton Heathcroft, certainly. Nor, to beperfectly honest, did I wish her to marry Bayliss, although I like himmuch better than I did Lady Carey's blasé nephew. Somehow, I didn'tlike the idea of her falling in love with anyone. The present stateof affairs in our household was pleasant enough. We three were happytogether. Why could not that happiness continue just as it was?

The answer was obvious: It could not continue. Each day that passedbrought the inevitable end nearer. My determination to put the thoughtof that end from my mind and enjoy the present was shaken. In thesolitude of the study, in the midst of my writing, after I had gone tomy room for the night, I found my thoughts drifting toward the day inOctober when, our lease of the rectory ended, we must pack up and gosomewhere. And when we went, would she go with us? Hardly. Shewould demand the promised "settlement, " and then--What then?Explanations--quarrels--parting. A parting for all time. I had reacheda point where, like Hephzy, I would have gladly suggested a real"adoption, " the permanent addition to our family of Strickland Morley'sdaughter, but she would not consent to that. She was proud--very proud. And she idolized her father's memory. No, she would not remain under anysuch conditions--I knew it. And the certainty of that knowledgebrought with it a pang which I could not analyze. A man of my age andtemperament should not have such feelings. 

Hephzy did not fancy Heathcroft. She had liked him well enough duringour first acquaintance aboard the steamer, but now, when she knew himbetter, she did not fancy him. His lofty, condescending manner irritatedher and, as he seemed to enjoy joking at her expense, the pair had someamusing set-tos. I will say this for Hephzy: In the most of these shegave at least as good as she received. 

For example: we were sitting about the tea-table on the lawn, Hephzy, Frances, Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss, their son, and Heathcroft. Theconversation had drifted to the subject of eatables, a topic suggested, doubtless, by the plum cake and cookies on the table. Mr. Heathcroft wasamusing himself by poking fun at the American custom of serving cerealsat breakfast. 

"And the variety is amazing, " he declared. "Oats and wheat and corn!My word! I felt like some sort of animal--a horse, by Jove! We feed ourhorses that sort of thing over here, Miss Cahoon. "

Hephzy sniffed. "So do we, " she admitted, "but we eat 'em ourselves, sometimes, when they're cooked as they ought to be. I think somebreakfast foods are fine. "

"Do you indeed? What an extraordinary taste! Do you eat hay as well, mayI ask?"

"No, of course we don't. "

"Why not? Why draw the line? I should think a bit of hay might bethe--ah--the crowning tit-bit to a breakfasting American. Your horsesand donkeys enjoy it quite as much as they do oats, don't they?"

"Don't know, I'm sure. I'm neither a horse nor a donkey, I hope. "

"Yes. Oh, yes. But I assure you, Miss Morley, I had extraordinaryexperiences on the other side. I visited in a place called Milwaukee andmy host there insisted on my trying a new cereal each morning. We didthe oats and the corn and all the rest and, upon my word, I expectedthe hay. It was the only donkey food he didn't have in the house, and Idon't see why he hadn't provided a supply of that. "

"Perhaps he didn't know you were comin', " observed Hephzy, cheerfully. "Won't you have another cup, Mrs. Bayliss? Or a cooky or somethin'?"

The doctor's wife consented to the refilling of her cup. 

"I suppose--what do you call them?--cereals, are an American custom, "she said, evidently aware that her hostess's feelings were ruffled. "Every country has its customs, so travelers say. Even our own has some, doubtless, though I can't recall any at the moment. "

Heathcroft stroked his mustache. 

"Oh, " he drawled, "we have some, possibly; but our breakfasts are not asqueer as the American breakfasts. You mustn't mind my fun, Miss Cahoon, I hope you're not offended. "

"Not a bit, " was the calm reply. "We humans ARE animals, after all, Isuppose, and some like one kind of food and some another. Donkeys likehay and pigs like sweets, and I don't know as I hadn't just as soon livein a stable as a sty. Do help yourself to the cake, Mr. Heathcroft. "

No, our aristocratic acquaintance did not, as a general rule, come outahead in these little encounters and I more than once was obliged tosuppress a chuckle at my plucky relative's spirited retorts. Frances, too, seemed to appreciate and enjoy the Yankee victories. Her prejudiceagainst America had, so far as outward expression went, almostdisappeared. She was more likely to champion than criticize our ways andhabits now. 

But, in spite of all this, she seemed to enjoy the Heathcroft society. The two were together a great deal. The village people noticed theintimacy and comments reached my ears which were not intended for them. Hephzy and I had some discussions on the subject. 

"You don't suppose he means anything serious, do you, Hosy?" she asked. "Or that she thinks he does?"

"I don't know, " I answered. I didn't like the idea any better than shedid. 

"I hope not. Of course he's a big man around here. When his aunt dieshe'll come in for the estate and the money, so everybody says. Andif Frances should marry him she'd be--I don't know whether she'd be a'Lady' or not, but she'd have an awful high place in society. "

"I suppose she would. But I hope she won't do it. "

"So do I, for poor young Doctor Bayliss's sake, if nothin' else. He's sogood and so patient with it all. And he's just eaten up with jealousy;anybody can see that. I'm scared to death that he and this Heathcroftman will have some sort of--of a fight or somethin'. That would beawful, wouldn't it!"

I did not answer. My apprehensions were not on Herbert Bayliss'saccount. He could look out for himself. It was Frances' happiness I wasthinking of. 

"Hosy, " said Hephzy, very seriously indeed, "there's somethin' else. I'mnot sure that Mr. Heathcroft is serious at all. Somethin' Mrs. Baylisssaid to me makes me feel a little mite anxious. She said CarletonHeathcroft was a great lady's man. She told me some things about himthat--that--Well, I wish Frances wasn't so friendly with him, that'sall. "

I shrugged my shoulders, pretending more indifference than I felt. 

"She's a sensible girl, " said I. "She doesn't need a guardian. "

"I know, but--but he's way up in society, Lady Carey's heir and allthat. She can't help bein' flattered by his attentions to her. Any girlwould be, especially an English girl that thinks as much of class andall that as they do over here and as she does. I wish I knew how she didfeel toward him. "

"Why don't you ask her?"

Hephzy shook her head. "I wouldn't dare, " she said. "She'd take my headoff. We're on awful thin ice, you and I, with her, as it is. She treatsus real nicely now, but that's because we don't interfere. If I shouldtry just once to tell her what she ought to do she'd flare up like abonfire. And then do the other thing to show her independence. "

"I suppose she would, " I admitted, gloomily. 

"I know she would. No, we mustn't say anything to her. But--but youmight say somethin' to him, mightn't you. Just hint around and findout what he does mean by bein' with her so much. Couldn't you do that, Hosy?"

I smiled. "Possibly I could, but I sha'n't, " I answered. "He would tellme to go to perdition, probably, and I shouldn't blame him. "

"Why no, he wouldn't. He thinks you're her uncle, her guardian, youknow. You'd have a right to do it. "

I did not propose to exercise that right, and I said so, emphatically. And yet, before that week was ended, I did do what amounted to that verything. The reason which led to this rash act on my part was a talk I hadwith Lady Kent Carey. 

I met her ladyship on the putting green of the ninth hole of the golfcourse. I was playing a round alone. She came strolling over the green, dressed as mannishly as usual, but carrying a very feminine parasol, which by comparison with the rest of her get-up, looked as out of placeas a silk hat on the head of a girl in a ball dress. She greeted me veryaffably, waited until I putted out, and then sat beside me on the benchunder the big oak and chatted for some time. 

The subject of her conversation was her nephew. She was, apparently, only too glad to talk about him at any time. He was her dead sister'schild and practically the only relative she had. He seemed like a son toher. Such a charming fellow, wasn't he, now? And so considerate and kindto her. Everyone liked him; he was a great favorite. 

"And he is very fond of you, Mr. Knowles, " she said. "He enjoys youracquaintance so much. He says that there is a freshness and noveltyabout you Americans which is quite delightfully amusing. ThisMiss--ah--Cahoon--your cousin, I think she is--is a constant joy to him. He never tires of repeating her speeches. He does it very well, don'tyou think. He mimics the American accent wonderfully. "

I agreed that the Heathcroft American accent was wonderful indeed. Itwas all that and more. Lady Carey went on. 

"And this Miss Morley, your niece, " she said, poking holes in the turfwith the tip of her parasol, "she is a charming girl, isn't she. She andCarleton are quite friendly, really. "

"Yes, " I admitted, "they seem to be. "

"Yes. Tell me about your niece, Mr. Knowles. Has she lived in Englandlong? Who were her parents?"

I dodged the ticklish subject as best I could, told her that Frances'father was an Englishman, her mother an American, and that most of theyoung lady's life had been spent in France. I feared more searchingquestions, but she did not ask them. 

"I see, " she said, nodding, and was silent for a moment. Then shechanged the subject, returning once more to her beloved Carleton. 

"He's a dear boy, " she declared. "I am planning great things for him. Some day he will have the estate here, of course. And I am hoping toget him the seat in Parliament when our party returns to power, as itis sure to do before long. He will marry then; in fact everything isarranged, so far as that goes. Of course there is no actual engagementas yet, but we all understand. "

I had been rather bored, now I was interested. 

"Indeed!" said I. "And may I ask who is the fortunate young lady?"

"A daughter of an old friend of ours in Warwickshire--a fine family, oneof the oldest in England. She and Carleton have always been so fond ofeach other. Her parents and I have considered the affair settled foryears. The young people will be so happy together. "

Here was news. I offered congratulations. 

"Thank you so much, " she said. "It is pleasant to know that his futureis provided for. Margaret will make him a good wife. She worships him. If anything should happen to--ah--disturb the arrangement her heartwould break, I am sure. Of course nothing will happen. I should notpermit it. "

I made some comment, I don't remember what. She rose from the bench. 

"I have been chatting about family affairs and matchmaking like agarrulous old woman, haven't I, " she observed, smiling. "So silly of me. You have been charmingly kind to listen, Mr. Knowles. Forgive me, won'tyou. Carleton dear is my one interest in life and I talk of him on theleast excuse, or without any. So sorry to have inflicted my garrulityupon you. I may count upon you entering our invitation golf tournamentnext month, may I not? Oh, do say yes. Thank you so much. Au revoir. "

She moved off, as imposing and majestic as a frigate under full sail. Iwalked slowly toward home, thinking hard. 

I should have been flattered, perhaps, at her taking me into confidenceconcerning her nephew's matrimonial projects. If I had believed the"garrulity, " as she called it, to have been unintentional, I might havebeen flattered. But I did not so believe. I was pretty certain there wasintention in it and that she expected Frances and Hephzy and me to takeit as a warning. Carleton dear was, in her eyes, altogether too friendlywith the youngest tenant in Mayberry rectory. The "garrulity" was anotice to keep hands off. 

I was not incensed at her; she amused me, rather. But with Heathcroft Iwas growing more incensed every moment. Engaged to be married, was he!He and this Warwickshire girl of "fine family" had been "so fond" ofeach other for years. Everything was understood, was it? Then what didhe mean by his attentions to Frances, attentions which half of Mayberrywas probably discussing at the moment? The more I considered his conductthe angrier I became. It was the worst time possible for a meeting withA. Carleton Heathcroft, and yet meet him I did at the loneliest and mostsecluded spot in the hedged lane leading to the lodge gate. 

He greeted me cordially enough, if his languid drawl could be calledcordial. 

"Ah, Knowles, " he said. "Been doing the round I see. A bit stupid byoneself, I should think. What? Miss Morley and I have been riding. Had aripping canter together. "

It was an unfortunate remark, just at that time. It had the effect ofspurring my determination to the striking point. I would have it outwith him then and there. 

"Heathcroft, " I said, bluntly, "I am not sure that I approve of MissMorley's riding with you so often. "

He regarded me with astonishment. 

"You don't approve!" he repeated. "And why not? There's no danger. Sherides extremely well. "

"It's not a question of danger. It is one of proprieties, if I mustput it that way. She is a young woman, hardly more than a girl, and sheprobably does not realize that being seen in your company so frequentlyis likely to cause comment and gossip. Her aunt and I realize it, however. "

His expression of surprise was changing to one of languid amusement. 

"Really!" he drawled. "By Jove! I say, Knowles, am I such a dangerouslyfascinating character? You flatter me. "

"I don't know anything concerning your character. I do know that thereis gossip. I am not accusing you of anything. I have no doubt you havebeen merely careless. Your intentions may have been--"

He interrupted me. "My intentions?" he repeated. "My dear fellow, I haveno intentions. None whatever concerning your niece, if that is what youmean. She is a jolly pretty girl and jolly good company. I like her andshe seems to like me. That is all, upon my word it is. "

He was quite sincere, I was convinced of it. But I had gone too far toback out. 

"Then you have been thoughtless--or careless, " I said. "It seems to methat you should have considered her. "

"Considered her! Oh, I say now! Why should I consider her pray?"

"Why shouldn't you? You are much older than she is and a man of theworld besides. And you are engaged to be married, or so I am told. "

His smile disappeared. 

"Now who the devil told you that?" he demanded. 

"I was told, by one who should know, that you were engaged, or whatamounts to the same thing. It is true, isn't it?"

"Of course it's true! But--but--why, good God, man! you weren't underthe impression that I was planning to marry your niece, were you? Oh, Isay! that would be TOO good!"

He laughed heartily. He did not appear in the least annoyed or angry, but seemed to consider the whole affair a huge joke. I failed to see thejoke, myself. 

"Oh, no, " he went on, before I could reply, "not that, I assure you. Onecan't afford luxuries of that kind, unless one is a luckier beggar thanI am. Auntie is attending to all that sort of thing. She has me booked, you know, and I can't afford to play the high-spirited independent withher. I should say not! Rather!"

He laughed again. 

"So you think I've been a bit too prevalent in your niece'sneighborhood, do you?" he observed. "Sorry. I'd best keep off the lawn abit, you mean to say, I suppose. Very well! I'll mind the notice boards, of course. Very glad you spoke. Possibly I have been a bit careless. Nooffence meant, Knowles, and none taken, I trust. "

"No, " I said, with some reluctance. "I'm glad you understand my--ourposition, and take my--my hint so well. I disliked to give it, but Ithought it best that we have a clear understanding. "

"Of course! Stern uncle and pretty niece, and all that sort of thing. You Americans are queer beggars. You don't strike me as the usual typeof stern uncle at all, Knowles. Oh, by the way, does the niece know thatuncle is putting up the notice boards?"

"Of course she doesn't, " I replied, hastily. 

His smile broadened. "I wonder what she'll say when she finds it out, "he observed. "She has never struck me as being greatly in awe ofher relatives. I should call HER independent, if I was asked. Well, farewell. You and I may have some golf together still, I presume? Good!By-by. "

He sauntered on, his serene coolness and calm condescension apparentlyunruffled. I continued on my way also. But my serenity had vanished. Ihad the feeling that I had come off second-best in the encounter. I hadmade a fool of myself, I feared. And more than all, I wondered, as hedid, what Frances Morley would say when she learned of my interferencein her personal affairs. 

I foresaw trouble--more trouble. 

CHAPTER XII

In Which the Truth Is Told at Last

I said nothing to Hephzibah or Frances of my talk with Lady Carey orwith Heathcroft. I was not proud of my share in the putting up of "thenotice boards. " I did not mention meeting either the titled aunt or thefavored nephew. I kept quiet concerning them both and nervously awaiteddevelopments. 

There were none immediately. That day and the next passed and nothing ofimportance happened. It did seem to me, however, that Frances was ratherquiet during luncheon on the third day. She said very little andseveral times I found her regarding me with an odd expression. My guiltyconscience smote me and I expected to be asked questions answering whichwould be difficult. But the questions were not asked--then. I went to mystudy and attempted to write; the attempt was a failure. 

For an hour or so I stared hopelessly at the blank paper. I hadn't anidea in my head, apparently. At last I threw down the pencil and gave upthe battle for the day. I was not in a writing mood. I lit my pipe, and, moving to the arm-chair by the window, sat there, looking out at thelawn and flower beds. No one was in sight except Grimmer, the gardener, who was trimming a hedge. 

I sat there for some time, smoking and thinking. Hephzy dressed in herbest, passed the window on her way to the gate. She was going for a callin the village and had asked me to accompany her, but I declined. I didnot feel like calling. 

My pipe, smoked out, I put in my pocket. If I could have gotten rid ofmy thoughts as easily I should have been happier, but that I couldnot do. They were strange thoughts, hopeless thoughts, ridiculous, unavailing thoughts. For me, Kent Knowles, quahaug, to permit myself tothink in that way was worse than ridiculous; it was pitiful. This was astern reality, this summer of mine in England, not a chapter in one ofmy romances. They ended happily; it was easy to make them end in thatway. But this--this was no romance, or, if it was, I was but the comicrelief in the story, the queer old bachelor who had made a fool ofhimself. That was what I was, an old fool. Well, I must stop beinga fool before it was too late. No one knew I was such a fool. No oneshould know--now or ever. 

And having reached this philosophical conclusion I proceeded to dreamof dark eyes looking into mine across a breakfast table--our table; of ahome in Bayport--our home; of someone always with me, to share my life, my hopes, to spur me on to a work worth while, to glory in my triumphsand comfort me in my reverses; to dream of what might have been if--ifit were not absolutely impossible. Oh, fool, fool, fool!

A quick step sounded on the gravel walk outside the window. I knew thestep, should have recognized it anywhere. She was walking rapidly towardthe house, her head bent and her eyes fixed upon the path beforeher. Grimmer touched his hat and said "Good afternoon, miss, " but sheapparently did not hear him. She passed on and I heard her enter thehall. A moment later she knocked at the study door. 

She entered the room in answer to my invitation and closed the doorbehind her. She was dressed in her golfing costume, a plain whiteshirtwaist--blouse, she would have called it--a short, dark skirt andstout boots. The light garden hat was set upon her dark hair and hercheeks were flushed from rapid walking. The hat and waist and skirt wereextremely becoming. She was pretty--yes, beautiful--and young. I was farfrom beautiful and far from young. I make this obvious statement becauseit was my thought at the moment. 

She did not apologize for interrupting me, as she usually did when sheentered the study during my supposed working periods. This was strange, of itself, and my sense of guilt caused me to fear all sorts of things. But she smiled and answered my greeting pleasantly enough and, for themoment, I experienced relief. Perhaps, after all, she had not learned ofmy interview with Heathcroft. 

"I have come to talk with you, " she began. "May I sit down?"

"Certainly. Of course you may, " I answered, smiling as cheerfully as Icould. "Was it necessary to ask permission?"

She took a chair and I seated myself in the one from which I had justrisen. For a moment she was silent. I ventured a remark. 

"This begins very solemnly, " I said. "Is the talk to be so veryserious?"

She was serious enough and my apprehensions returned. 

"I don't know, " she answered. "I hope it may not be serious at all, Mr. Knowles. "

I interrupted. "Mr. Knowles!" I repeated. "Whew! this IS a formalinterview. I thought the 'Mr. Knowles' had been banished along with'Uncle Hosea'. "

She smiled slightly then. "Perhaps it has, " she said. "I am just alittle troubled--or puzzled--and I have come to you for advice. "

"Advice?" I repeated. "I'm afraid my advice isn't worth much. What sortof advice do you want?"

"I wanted to know what I should do in regard to an invitation I havereceived to motor with Doctor Bayliss--Doctor Herbert Bayliss. He hasasked me to go with him to Edgeboro to-morrow. Should I accept?"

I hesitated. Then: "Alone?" I asked. 

"No. His cousin, Miss Tomlinson, will go also. "

"I see no reason why you should not, if you wish to go. "

"Thank you. But suppose it was alone?"

"Then--Well, I presume that would be all right, too. You have motoredwith him before, you know. "

As a matter of fact, I couldn't see why she asked my opinion in such amatter. She had never asked it before. Her next remark was more puzzlingstill. 

"You approve of Doctor Bayliss, don't you, " she said. It did seem to methere was a hint of sarcasm in her tone. 

"Yes--certainly, " I answered. I did approve of young Bayliss, generallyspeaking; there was no sane reason why I should not have approved of himabsolutely. 

"And you trust me? You believe me capable of judging what is right orwrong?"

"Of course I do. "

"If you didn't you would not presume to interfere in my personalaffairs? You would not think of doing that, of course?"

"No--o, " more slowly. 

"Why do you hesitate? Of course you realize that you have no shadow ofright to interfere. You know perfectly well why I consented to remainhere for the present and why I have remained?"

"Yes, yes, I know that. "

"And you wouldn't presume to interfere?"

"Doctor Herbert Bayliss is--"

She sprang to her feet. She was not smiling now. 

"Stop!" she interrupted, sharply. "Stop! I did not come to discussDoctor Bayliss. I have asked you a question. I ask you if you wouldpresume to interfere in my personal affairs. Would you?"

"Why, no. That is, I--"

"You say that to me! YOU!"

"Frances, if you mean that I have interfered between you and the Doctor, I--"

She stamped her foot. 

"Stop! Oh, stop!" she cried. "You know what I mean. What did you say toMr. Heathcroft? Do you dare tell me you have not interfered there?"

It had come, the expected. Her smile and the asking for "advice" hadbeen apparently but traps to catch me off my guard. I had been preparedfor some such scene as this, but, in spite of my preparations, I hesitated and faltered. I must have looked like the meanest ofpickpockets caught in the act. 

"Frances, " I stammered, "Frances--"

Her fury took my breath away. 

"Don't call me Frances, " she cried. "How dare you call me that?"

Perturbed as I was I couldn't resist making the obvious retort. 

"You asked me to, " I said. 

"I asked you! Yes, I did. You had been kind to me, or I thought youhad, and I--I was foolish. Oh, how I hate myself for doing it! But Iwas beginning to think you a gentleman. In spite of everything, I wasbeginning to--And now! Oh, at least I thought you wouldn't LIE to me. "

I rose now. 

"Frances--Miss Morley, " I said, "do you realize what you are saying?"

"Realize it! Oh, " with a scornful laugh, "I realize it quite well; youmay be sure of that. Don't you like the word? What else do you call adenial of what we both know to be the truth. You did see Mr. Heathcroft. You did speak with him. "

"Yes, I did. "

"You did! You admit it!"

"I admit it. But did he tell you what I said?"

"He did not. Mr. Heathcroft IS a gentleman. He told me very little andthat only in answer to my questions. I knew you and he met the otherday. You did not mention it, but you were seen together, and when he didnot come for the ride to which he had invited me I thought it strange. And his note to me was stranger still. I began to suspect then, and whenwe next met I asked him some questions. He told me next to nothing, buthe is honorable and he does not LIE. I learned enough, quite enough. "

I wondered if she had learned of the essential thing, of Heathcroft'sengagement. 

"Did he tell you why I objected to his intimacy with you?" I asked. 

"He told me nothing! Nothing! The very fact that you had objected, asyou call it, was sufficient. Object! YOU object to my doing as I please!YOU meddle with my affairs! And humiliate me in the eyes of my friends!I could--I could die of shame! I. .. And as if I did not know yourreasons. As if they were not perfectly plain. "

The real reason could not be plain to her. Heathcroft evidently had nottold her of the Warwickshire heiress. 

"I don't understand, " I said, trying my hardest to speak calmly. "Whatreasons?"

"Must I tell you? Did you OBJECT to my friendship with Doctor Bayliss, pray?"

"Doctor Bayliss! Why, Doctor Bayliss is quite different. He is a fineyoung fellow, and--"

"Yes, " with scornful sarcasm, "so it would appear. You and my aunt andhe have the most evident of understandings. You need not praise himfor my benefit. It is quite apparent how you both feel toward DoctorBayliss. I am not blind. I have seen how you have thrown him in mycompany, and made opportunities for me to meet him. Oh, of course, I cansee! I did not believe it at first. It was too absurd, too outrageouslyimpertinent. I COULDN'T believe it. But now I know. "

This was a little too much. The idea that I--_I_ had been playing thematchmaker for Bayliss's benefit made me almost as angry as she was. 

"Nonsense!" I declared. "Miss Morley, this is too ridiculous to go on. I did speak to Mr. Heathcroft. There was a reason, a good reason, for mydoing so. "

"I do not wish to hear your reason, as you call it. The fact that youdid speak to him concerning me is enough. Mr. Knowles, this arrangementof ours, my living here with you, has gone on too long. I should haveknown it was impossible in the beginning. But I did not know. I wasalone--and ill--and I did need friends--I was SO alone. I had beenthrough so much. I had struggled and suffered and--"

Again, as in our quarrel at Wrayton, she was on the verge of tears. Andagain that unreasonable conscience of mine smote me. I longed to--Well, to prove myself the fool I was. 

But she did not give me the opportunity. Before I could speak or moveshe was on her way to the door. 

"This ends it, " she said. "I shall go away from here at once. Ishall put the whole matter in my solicitor's hands. This is an end offorbearance and all the rest. I am going. You have made me hate you anddespise you. I only hope that--that some day you will despise yourselfas much. But you won't, " scornfully. "You are not that sort. "

The door closed. She was gone. Gone! And soon--the next day at thelatest--she would have been gone for good. This WAS the end. 

I walked many miles that day, how many I do not know. Dinner was waitingfor me when I returned, but I could not eat. I rose from the table, wentto the study and sat there, alone with my misery. I was torn with thewildest longings and desires. One, I think, was to kill Heathcroftforthwith. Another was to kill myself. 

There came another knock at the door. This time I made no answer. I didnot want to see anyone. 

But the door opened, nevertheless, and Hephzy came in. She crossed theroom and stood by my chair. 

"What is it, Hosy?" she said, gently. "You must tell me all about it. "

I made some answer, told her to go away and leave me, I think. If thatwas it she did not heed. She put her hand upon my shoulder. 

"You must tell me, Hosy, " she said. "What has happened? You and Franceshave had some fallin' out, I know. She wouldn't come to dinner, either, and she won't see me. She's up in her room with the door shut. Tell me, Hosy; you and I have fought each other's battles for a good many years. You can't fight this one alone; I've got to do my share. Tell me, dearie, please. "

And tell her I did. I did not mean to, and yet somehow the thought thatshe was there, so strong and quiet and big-hearted and sensible, was, ifnot a comfort to me, at least a marvelous help. I began by telling her alittle and then went on to tell her all, of my talk with Lady Carey, mymeeting with Heathcroft, the scene with Frances--everything, word forword. 

When it was over she patted my shoulder. 

"You did just right, Hosy, " she said. "There was nothin' else you coulddo. I never liked that Heathcroft man. And to think of him, engaged toanother girl, trottin' around with Frances the way he has. I'D like totalk with him. He'd get a piece of MY mind. "

"He's all right enough, " I admitted grudgingly. "He took my warning in avery good sort, I must say. He has never meant anything serious. It wasjust his way, that's all. He was amusing himself in her company, and doubtless thought she would be flattered with his aristocraticattentions. "

"Humph! Well, I guess she wouldn't be if she'd known of that other girl. You didn't tell her that, you say. "

"I couldn't. I think I should, perhaps, if she would have listened. I'mglad I didn't. It isn't a thing for me to tell her. "

"I understand. But she ought to know it, just the same. And she ought toknow how good you've been to her. Nobody could be better. She must knowit. Whether she goes or whether she doesn't she must know that. "

I seized her arm. "You mustn't tell her a word, " I cried. "She mustn'tknow. It is better she should go. Better for her and for me--My God, yes! so much better for me. "

I could feel the arm on my shoulder start. Hephzy bent down and lookedinto my face. I tried to avoid the scrutiny, but she looked and looked. Then she drew a long breath. 

"Hosy!" she exclaimed. "Hosy!"

"Don't speak to me. Oh, Hephzy, " with a bitter laugh, "did you everdream there could be such a hopeless lunatic as I am! You needn't sayit. I know the answer. "

"Hosy! Hosy! you poor boy!"

She kissed me, soothing me as she had when I came home to our emptyhouse at the time of my mother's death. That memory came back to me eventhen. 

"Forgive me, Hephzy, " I said. "I am ashamed of myself, of course. Anddon't worry. Nobody knows this but you and I, and nobody else shall. I'mgoing to behave and I'm going to be sensible. Just forget all this formy sake. I mean to forget it, too. "

But Hephzy shook her head. 

"It's all my fault, " she said. "I'm to blame more than anybody else. It was me that brought her here in the first place and me that kept youfrom tellin' her the truth in the beginnin'. So it's me who must tellher now. "

"Hephzy!"

"Oh, I don't mean the truth about--about what you and I have just said, Hosy. She'll never know that, perhaps. Certainly she'll never know itfrom me. But the rest of it she must know. This has gone far enough. Shesha'n't go away from this house misjudgin' you, thinkin' you're a thief, as well as all the rest of it. That she sha'n't do. I shall see tothat--now. "

"Hephzy, I forbid you to--"

"You can't forbid me, Hosy. It's my duty, and I've been a silly, wickedold woman and shirked that duty long enough. Now don't worry any more. Go to your room, dearie, and lay down. If you get to sleep so much thebetter. Though I guess, " with a sigh, "we sha'n't either of us sleepmuch this night. "

Before I could prevent her she had left the room. I sprang after her, tocall her back, to order her not to do the thing she had threatened. But, in the drawing-room, Charlotte, the housemaid, met me with anannouncement. 

"Doctor Bayliss--Doctor Herbert Bayliss--is here, sir, " she said. "Hehas called to see you. "

"To see me?" I repeated, trying hard to recover some measure ofcomposure. "To see Miss Frances, you mean. "

"No, sir. He says he wants to see you alone. He's in the hall now, sir. "

He was; I could hear him. Certainly I never wished to see anyone less, but I could not refuse. 

"Ask him to come into the study, Charlotte, " said I. 

The young doctor found me sitting in the chair by the desk. The longEnglish twilight was almost over and the room was in deep shadow. Charlotte entered and lighted the lamp. I was strongly tempted to orderher to desist, but I could scarcely ask my visitor to sit in the dark, however much I might prefer to do so. I compromised by moving to a seatfarther from the lamp where my face would be less plainly visible. Then, Bayliss having, on my invitation, also taken a chair, I waited for himto state his business. 

It was not easy to state, that was plain. Ordinarily Herbert Bayliss wascool and self-possessed. I had never before seen him as embarrassed ashe seemed to be now. He fidgeted on the edge of the chair, crossed andrecrossed his legs, and, finally, offered the original remark that ithad been an extremely pleasant day. I admitted the fact and again therewas an interval of silence. I should have helped him, I suppose. Itwas quite apparent that his was no casual call and, under ordinarycircumstances, I should have been interested and curious. Now I didnot care. If he would say his say and go away and leave me I should begrateful. 

And, at last, he said it. His next speech was very much nearer thepoint. 

"Mr. Knowles, " he said, "I have called to--to see you concerning yourniece, Miss Morley. I--I have come to ask your consent to my asking herto marry me. "

I was not greatly surprised. I had vaguely suspected his purpose whenhe entered the room. I had long foreseen the likelihood of some suchinterview as this, had considered what I should say when the time came. But now it had come, I could say nothing. I sat in silence, looking athim. 

Perhaps he thought I did not understand. At any rate he hastened toexplain. 

"I wish your permission to marry your niece, " he repeated. "I have nodoubt you are surprised. Perhaps you fancy I am a bit hasty. I supposeyou do. But I--I care a great deal for her, Mr. Knowles. I will tryto make her a good husband. Not that I am good enough for her, ofcourse--no one could be that, you know; but I'll try and--and--"

He was very red in the face and floundered, amid his jerky sentences, like a newly-landed fish, but he stuck to it manfully. I could not helpadmiring the young fellow. He was so young and handsome and so honestand boyishly eager in his embarrassment. I admired him--yes, but Ihated him, too, hated him for his youth and all that it meant, I wasjealous--bitterly, wickedly jealous, and of all jealousy, hopeless, unreasonable jealousy is the worst, I imagine. 

He went on to speak of his ambitions and prospects. He did not intend toremain always in Mayberry as his father's assistant, not he. He shouldremain for a time, of course, but then he intended to go back to London. There were opportunities there. A fellow with the right stuff in himcould get on there. He had friends in the London hospitals and they hadpromised to put chances his way. He should not presume to marry Francesat once, of course. He would not be such a selfish goat as that. All heasked was that, my permission granted, she would be patient and wait abit until he got on his feet, professionally he meant to say, and then--

I interrupted. 

"One moment, " said I, trying to appear calm and succeeding remarkablywell, considering the turmoil in my brain; "just a moment, Bayliss, ifyou please. Have you spoken to Miss Morley yet? Do you know her feelingstoward you?"

No, he had not. Of course he wouldn't do that until he and I had had ourunderstanding. He had tried to be honorable and all that. But--but hethought she did not object to him. She--well, she had seemed to like himwell enough. There had been times when he thought she--she--

"Well, you see, sir, " he said, "she's a girl, of course, and a fellownever knows just what a girl is going to say or do. There are times whenone is sure everything is quite right and then that it is all wrong. ButI have hoped--I believe--She's such a ripping girl, you know. She wouldnot flirt with a chap and--I don't mean flirt exactly, she isn't aflirt, of course--but--don't you think she likes me, now?"

"I have no reason to suppose she doesn't, " I answered grudgingly. Afterall, he was acting very honorably; I could scarcely do less. 

He seemed to find much comfort in my equivocal reply. 

"Thanks, thanks awfully, " he exclaimed. "I--I--by Jove, you know, Ican't tell you how I like to hear you say that! I'm awfully gratefulto you, Knowles, I am really. And you'll give me permission to speak toher?"

I smiled; it was not a happy smile, but there was a certain ironic humorin the situation. The idea of anyone's seeking my "permission" in anymatter concerning Frances Morley. He noticed the smile and was, I think, inclined to be offended. 

"Is it a joke?" he asked. "I say, now! it isn't a joke to me. "

"Nor to me, I assure you, " I answered, seriously. "If I gave thatimpression it was a mistaken one. I never felt less like joking. "

He put his own interpretation on the last sentence. "I'm sorry, " hesaid, quickly. "I beg your pardon. I understand, of course. You're veryfond of her; no one could help being that, could they. And she is yourniece. "

I hesitated. I was minded to blurt out the fact that she was not myniece at all; that I had no authority over her in any way. But whatwould be the use? It would lead only to explanations and I did notwish to make explanations. I wanted to get through with the whole inanebusiness and be left alone. 

"But you haven't said yes, have you, " he urged. "You will say it, won'tyou?"

I nodded. "You have my permission, so far as that goes, " I answered. 

He sprang to his feet and seized my hand. 

"That's topping!" he cried, his face radiant. "I can't thank youenough. "

"That's all right. But there is one thing more. Perhaps it isn't myaffair, and you needn't answer unless you wish. Have you consulted yourparents? How do they feel about your--your intentions?"

His expression changed. My question was answered before he spoke. 

"No, " he admitted, "I haven't told them yet. I--Well, you see, the Materand Father have been making plans about my future, naturally. They havesome silly ideas about a friend of the family that--Oh, she's a niceenough girl; I like her jolly well, but she isn't Miss Morley. Well, hardly! They'll take it quite well. By Jove!" excitedly, "they must. They've GOT to. Oh, they will. And they're very fond of--of Frances. "

There seemed nothing more for me to say, nothing at that time, at anyrate. I, too, rose. He shook my hand again. 

"You've been a trump to me, Knowles, " he declared. "I appreciate it, youknow; I do indeed. I'm jolly grateful. "

"You needn't be. It is all right. I--I suppose I should wish you luckand happiness. I do. Yes, why shouldn't you be happy, even if--"

"Even if--what? Oh, but you don't think she will turn me off, do you?You don't think that?"

"I've told you that I see no reason why she should. "

"Thank you. Thank you so much. Is there anything else that you mightwish to say to me?"

"Not now. Perhaps some day I--But not now. No, there's nothing else. Good night, Bayliss; good night and--and good luck. "

"Good night. I--She's not in now, I suppose, is she?"

"She is in, but--Well, I scarcely think you had better see her to-night. She has gone to her room. "

"Oh, I say! it's very early. She's not ill, is she?"

"No, but I think you had best not see her to-night. "

He was disappointed, that was plain, but he yielded. He would haveagreed, doubtless, with any opinion of mine just then. 

"No doubt you're right, " he said. "Good night. And thank you again. "

He left the room. I did not accompany him to the door. Instead Ireturned to my chair. I did not occupy it long, I could not. I could notsit still. I rose and went out on the lawn. There, in the night mist, Ipaced up and down, up and down. I had longed to be alone; now that I wasalone I was more miserable than ever. 

Charlotte, the maid, called to me from the doorway. 

"Would you wish the light in the study any longer, sir?" she asked. 

"No, " said I, curtly. "You may put it out. "

"And shall I lock up, sir; all but this door, I mean?"

"Yes. Where is Miss Cahoon?"

"She's above, sir. With Miss Morley, I think, sir. "

"Very well, Charlotte. That is all. Good night. "

"Good night, sir. "

She went into the house. The lamp in the study was extinguished. Icontinued my pacing up and down. Occasionally I glanced at the upperstory of the rectory. There was a lighted window there, the window ofFrances' room. She and Hephzy were together in that room. What was goingon there? What had Hephzy said to her? What--Oh, WHAT would happen next?

Some time later--I don't know how much later it may have been--I heardsomeone calling me again. 

"Hosy!" called Hephzy in a loud whisper; "Hosy, where are you?"

"Here I am, " I answered. 

She came to me across the lawn. I could not, of course, see her face, but her tone was very anxious. 

"Hosy, " she whispered, putting her hand on my arm, "what are you doin'out here all alone?"

I laughed. "I'm taking the air, " I answered. "It is good for me. I amenjoying the glorious English air old Doctor Bayliss is always talkingabout. Fresh air and exercise--those will cure anything, so he says. Perhaps they will cure me. God knows I need curing. "

"Sshh! shh, Hosy! Don't talk that way. I don't like to hear you. Outhere bareheaded and in all this damp! You'll get your death. "

"Will I? Well, that will be a complete cure, then. "

"Hush! I tell you. Come in the house with me. I want to talk to you. Come!"

Still holding my arm she led me toward the house. I hung back. 

"You have been up there with her?" I said, with a nod toward the lightedwindow of the room above. "What has happened? What have you said anddone?"

"Hush! I'll tell you; I'll tell you all about it. Only come in now. Isha'n't feel safe until I get you inside. Oh, Hosy, DON'T act this way!Do you want to frighten me to death?"

That appeal had an effect. I was ashamed of myself. 

"Forgive me, Hephzy, " I said. "I'll try to be decent. You needn't worryabout me. I'm a fool, of course, but now that I realize it I shall tryto stop behaving like one. Come along; I'm ready. "

In the drawing-room she closed the door. 

"Shall I light the lamp?" she asked. 

"No. Oh, for heaven's sake, can't you see that I'm crazy to know whatyou said to that girl and what she said to you? Tell me, and hurry up, will you!"

She did not resent my sudden burst of temper and impatience. Instead sheput her arm about me. 

"Sit down, Hosy, " she pleaded. "Sit down and I'll tell you all about it. Do sit down. "

I refused to sit. 

"Tell me now, " I commanded. "What did you say to her? You didn't--youdidn't--"

"I did. I told her everything. "

"EVERYTHING! You don't mean--"

"I mean everything. 'Twas time she knew it. I went to that room meanin'to tell her and I did. At first she didn't want to listen, didn't wantto see me at all or even let me in. But I made her let me in and thenshe and I had it out. "

"Hephzy!"

"Don't say it that way, Hosy. The good Lord knows I hate myself fordoin' it, hated myself while I was doin' it, but it had to be done. Every word I spoke cut me as bad as it must have cut her. I keptthinkin', 'This is Little Frank I'm talkin' to. This is Ardelia'sdaughter I'm makin' miserable. ' A dozen times I stopped and thought Icouldn't go on, but every time I thought of you and what you'd put upwith and been through, and I went on. "

"Hephzy! you told her--"

"I said it was time she understood just the plain truth about her fatherand mother and grandfather and the money, and everything. She must knowit, I said; things couldn't go on as they have been. I told it all. Atfirst she wouldn't listen, said I was--well, everything that was meanand lyin' and bad. If she could she'd have put me out of her room, Ipresume likely, but I wouldn't go. And, of course, at first she wouldn'tbelieve, but I made her believe. "

"Made her believe! Made her believe her father was a thief! How couldyou do that! No one could. "

"I did it. I don't know how exactly. I just went on tellin' it allstraight from the beginnin', and pretty soon I could see she wascommencin' to believe. And she believes now, Hosy; she does, I know it. "

"Did she say so?"

"No, she didn't say anything, scarcely--not at the last. She didn't cry, either; I almost wish she had. Oh, Hosy, don't ask me any more questionsthan you have to. I can't bear to answer 'em. "

She paused and turned away. 

"How she must hate us!" I said, after a moment. 

"Why, no--why, no, Hosy, I don't think she does; at least I'm tryin' tohope she doesn't. I softened it all I could. I told her why we took herwith us in the first place; how we couldn't tell her the truth at first, or leave her, either, when she was so sick and alone. I told her whywe brought her here, hopin' it would make her well and strong, and how, after she got that way, we put off tellin' her because it was such adreadful hard thing to do. Hard! When I think of her sittin' there, white as a sheet, and lookin' at me with those big eyes of hers, herfingers twistin' and untwistin' in her lap--a way her mother used tohave when she was troubled--and every word I spoke soundin' so crueland--and--"

She paused once more. I did not speak. Soon she recovered and went on. 

"I told her that I was tellin' her these things now because themisunderstandin's and all the rest had to stop and there was no useputtin' off any longer. I told her I loved her as if she was my very ownand that this needn't make the least bit of difference unless she wantedit to. I said you felt just the same. I told her your speakin' to thatHeathcroft man was only for her good and for no other reason. You'dlearned that he was engaged to be married--"

"You told her that?" I interrupted, involuntarily. "What did she say?"

"Nothin', nothin' at all. I think she heard me and understood, but shedidn't say anything. Just sat there, white and trembling and crushed, sort of, and looked and looked at me. I wanted to put my arms aroundher and ask her pardon and beg her to love me as I did her, but I didn'tdare--I didn't dare. I did say that you and I would be only too glad tohave her stay with us always, as one of the family, you know. If she'donly forget all the bad part that had gone and do that, I said--but sheinterrupted me. She said 'Forget!' and the way she said it made mesure she never would forget. And then--and then she asked me if I wouldplease go away and leave her. Would I PLEASE not say any more now, butjust leave her, only leave her alone. So I came away and--and that'sall. "

"That's all, " I repeated. "It is enough, I should say. Oh, Hephzy, whydid you do it? Why couldn't it have gone on as it has been going? Whydid you do it?"

It was an unthinking, wicked speech. But Hephzy did not resent it. Herreply was as patient and kind as if she had been answering a child. 

"I had to do it, Hosy, " she said. "After our talk this evenin' therewas only one thing to do. It had to be done--for your sake, if nothin'else--and so I did it. But--but--" with a choking sob, "it was SO hardto do! My Ardelia's baby!"

And at last, I am glad to say, I began to realize how very hard it hadbeen for her. To understand what she had gone through for my sake andwhat a selfish brute I had been. I put my hands on her shoulders andkissed her almost reverently. 

"Hephzy, " said I, "you're a saint and a martyr and I am--what I am. Please forgive me. "

"There isn't anything to forgive, Hosy. And, " with a shake of the head, "I'm an awful poor kind of saint, I guess. They'd never put my image upin the churches over here--not if they knew how I felt this minute. Anda saint from Cape Cod wouldn't be very welcome anyway, I'm afraid. Imeant well, but that's a poor sort of recommendation. Oh, Hosy, you DOthink I did for the best, don't you?"

"You did the only thing to be done, " I answered, with decision. "You didwhat I lacked the courage to do. Of course it was best. "

"You're awful good to say so, but I don't know. What'll come of itgoodness knows. When I think of you and--and--"

"Don't think of me. I'm going to be a man if I can--a quahaug, ifI can't. At least I'm not going to be what I have been for the lastmonth. "

"I know. But when I think of to-morrow and what she'll say to me, then, I--"

"You mustn't think. You must go to bed and so must I. To-morrow willtake care of itself. Come. Let's both sleep and forget it. "

Which was the very best of advice, but, like much good advice, impossible to follow. I did not sleep at all that night, nor did Iforget. God help me! I was realizing that I never could forget. 

At six o'clock I came downstairs, made a pretence at eating somebiscuits and cheese which I found on the sideboard, scribbled a briefnote to Hephzy stating that I had gone for a walk and should not be backto breakfast, and started out. The walk developed into a long one andI did not return to the rectory until nearly eleven in the forenoon. Bythat time I was in a better mood, more reconciled to the inevitable--orI thought I was. I believed I could play the man, could even see hermarried to Herbert Bayliss and still behave like a man. I vowed andrevowed it. No one--no one but Hephzy and I should ever know what weknew. 

Charlotte, the maid, seemed greatly relieved to see me. She hastened tothe drawing-room. 

"Here he is, Miss Cahoon, " she said. "He's come back, ma'am. He's here. "

"Of course I'm here, Charlotte, " I said. "You didn't suppose I had runaway, did you?. .. Why--why, Hephzy, what is the matter?"

For Hephzy was coming to meet me, her hands outstretched and on her facean expression which I did not understand--sorrow, agitation--yes, andpity--were in that expression, or so it seemed to me. 

"Oh, Hosy!" she cried, "I'm so glad you've come. I wanted you so. "

"Wanted me?" I repeated. "Why, what do you mean? Has anything happened?"

She nodded, solemnly. 

"Yes, " she said, "somethin' has happened. Somethin' we might haveexpected, perhaps, but--but--Hosy, read that. "

I took what she handed me. It was a sheet of note paper, folded across, and with Hephzibah's name written upon one side. I recognized thewriting and, with a sinking heart, unfolded it. Upon the other side waswritten in pencil this:

"I am going away. I could not stay, of course. When I think how I havestayed and how I have treated you both, who have been so very, verykind to me, I feel--I can't tell you how I feel. You must not think meungrateful. You must not think of me at all. And you must not try tofind me, even if you should wish to do such a thing. I have the moneywhich I intended using for my new frocks and I shall use it to paymy expenses and my fare to the place I am going. It is your money, ofcourse, and some day I shall send it to you. And someday, if I can, I shall repay all that you have spent on my account. But you must notfollow me and you must not think of asking me to come back. That I shallnever do. I do thank you for all that you have done for me, both of you. I cannot understand why you did it, but I shall always remember. Don'tworry about me. I know what I am going to do and I shall not starve orbe in want. Good-by. Please try to forget me. 

"FRANCES MORLEY. 

"Please tell Mr. Knowles that I am sorry for what I said to him thisafternoon and so many times before. How he could have been so kind andpatient I can't understand. I shall always remember it--always. Perhapshe may forgive me some day. I shall try and hope that he may. "

I read to the end. Then, without speaking, I looked at Hephzy. Her eyeswere brimming with tears. 

"She has gone, " she said, in answer to my unspoken question. "She musthave gone some time in the night. The man at the inn stable drove herto the depot at Haddington on Hill. She took the early train for London. That is all we know. "

CHAPTER XIII

In Which Hephzy and I Agree to Live for Each Other

I shall condense the record of that day as much as possible. I shouldomit it altogether, if I could. We tried to trace her, of course. Thatis, I tried and Hephzy did not dissuade me, although she realized, I amsure, the hopelessness of the quest. Frances had left the rectory veryearly in the morning. The hostler at the inn had been much surprised tofind her awaiting him when he came down to the yard at five o'clock. She was obliged to go to London, she said, and must take the veryfirst train: Would he drive her to Haddington on Hill at once? He didso--probably she had offered him a great deal more than the regularfare--and she had taken the train. 

Questioning the hostler, who was a surly, uncommunicative lout, resultedin my learning very little in addition to this. The young lady seemedabout as usual, so far as he could see. She might 'ave been a bitnervous, impatient like, but he attributed that to her anxiety to makethe train. Yes, she had a bag with her, but no other luggage. No, shedidn't talk on the way to the station: Why should she? He wasn't the manto ask a lady questions about what wasn't his affair. She minded her ownbusiness and he minded his. No, he didn't know nothin' more about it. What was I a-pumpin' him for, anyway?

I gave up the "pumping" and hurried back to the rectory. There Hephzytold me a few additional facts. Frances had taken with her only thebarest necessities, for the most part those which she had when shecame to us. Her new frocks, those which she had bought with what sheconsidered her money, she had left behind. All the presents which we hadgiven her were in her room, or so we thought at the time. As she came, so she had gone, and the thought that she had gone, that I should neversee her again, was driving me insane. 

And like an insane man I must have behaved, at first. The things Idid and said, and the way in which I treated Hephzy shame me now, as Iremember them. I was going to London at once. I would find her and bringher back. I would seek help from the police, I would employ detectives, I would do anything--everything. She was almost without money; so far asI knew without friends. What would she do? What would become of her? Imust find her. I must bring her back. 

I stormed up and down the room, incoherently declaring my intentions andupbraiding Hephzy for not having sent the groom or the gardener to findme, for allowing all the precious time to elapse. Hephzy offered noexcuse. She did not attempt justification. Instead she brought therailway time-table, gave orders that the horse be harnessed, helped mein every way. She would have prepared a meal for me with her own hands, would have fed me like a baby, if I had permitted it. One thing she didinsist upon. 

"You must rest a few minutes, Hosy, " she said. "You must, or you'llbe down sick. You haven't slept a wink all night. You haven't eatenanything to speak of since yesterday noon. You can't go this way. Youmust go to your room and rest a few minutes. Lie down and rest, if youcan. "

"Rest!"

"You must. The train doesn't leave Haddington for pretty nigh two hours, and we've got lots of time. I'll fetch you up some tea and toast orsomethin' by and by and I'll be all ready to start when you are. Now goand lie down, Hosy dear, to please me. "

I ignored the last sentence. "You will be ready?" I repeated. "Do youmean you're going with me?"

"Of course I am. It isn't likely I'll let you start off all alone, whenyou're in a state like this. Of course I'm goin' with you. Now go andlie down. You're so worn out, poor boy. "

I must have had a glimmer of reason then, a trace of decency andunselfishness. For the first time I thought of her. I remembered thatshe, too, had loved Little Frank; that she, too, must be suffering. 

"I am no more tired than you are, " I said. "You have slept and eaten nomore than I. You are the one who must rest. I sha'n't let you go withme. "

"It isn't a question of lettin'. I shall go if you do, Hosy. And a womandon't need rest like a man. Please go upstairs and lie down, Hosy. Oh, "with a sudden burst of feeling, "don't you see I've got about all I canbear as it is? I can't--I can't have YOU to worry about too. "

My conscience smote me. "I'll go, Hephzy, " said I. "I'll do whatever youwish; it is the least I can do. "

She thanked me. Then she said, hesitatingly:

"Here is--here is her letter, Hosy. You may like to read it again. Perhaps it may help you to decide what is best to do. "

She handed me the letter. I took it and went to my room. There I read itagain and again. And, as I read, the meaning of Hephzy's last sentence, that the letter might help me to decide what was best to do, began toforce itself upon my overwrought brain. I began to understand what shehad understood from the first, that my trip to London was hopeless, absolutely useless--yes, worse than useless. 

"You must not try to find me. .. You must not follow me or think ofasking me to come back. That I shall never do. "

I was understanding, at last. I might go to London; I might even, through the help of the police, or by other means, find Frances Morley. But, having found her, what then? What claim had I upon her? What righthad I to pursue her and force my presence upon her? I knew the shock shehad undergone, the shattering of her belief in her father, the knowledgethat she had--as she must feel--forced herself upon our kindness andcharity. I knew how proud she was and how fiercely she had relented theslightest hint that she was in any way dependent upon us or underthe least obligation to us. I knew all this and I was beginning tocomprehend what her feelings toward us and toward herself must be--now. 

I might find her--yes; but as for convincing her that she should returnto Mayberry, to live with us as she had been doing, that was so clearlyimpossible as to seem ridiculous even to me. My following her, myhunting her down against her expressed wish, would almost surely makematters worse. She would probably refuse to see me. She would considermy following her a persecution and the result might be to drive herstill further away. I must not do it, for her sake I must not. She hadgone and, because I loved her, I must not follow her; I must not add toher misery. No, against my will I was forcing myself to realize that myduty was to make no attempt to see her again, but to face the situationas it was, to cover the running away with a lie, to pretend she hadgone--gone somewhere or other with our permission and understanding; toprotect her name from scandal and to conceal my own feelings from allthe world. That was my duty; that was the situation I must face. But howcould I face it!

That hour was the worst I have ever spent and I trust I may never becalled upon to face such another. But, at last, I am glad to say, Ihad made up my mind, and when Hephzy came with the tea and toast I wasmeasurably composed and ready to express my determination. 

"Hephzy, " said I, "I am not going to London. I have been thinking, andI'm not going. "

Hephzy put down the tray she was carrying. She did seem surprised, but Iam sure she was relieved. 

"You're not goin'!" she exclaimed. "Why, Hosy!"

"No, I am not going. I've been crazy, Hephzy, I think, but I am fairlysane now. I have reached the conclusion that you reached sometime ago, I am certain. We have no right to follow her. Our finding her would onlymake it harder for her and no good could come of it. She went, of herown accord, and we must let her go. "

"Let her go? And not try--"

"No. We have no right to try. You know it as well as I do. Now, behonest, won't you?"

Hephzy hesitated. 

"Why, " she faltered; "well, I--Oh, Hosy, I guess likely you're right. Atfirst I was all for goin' after her right away and bringin' her backby main strength, if I had to. But the more I thought of it the moreI--I--"

"Of course, " I interrupted. "It is the only thing we can do. You musthave been ashamed of me this morning. Well, I'll try and give you nocause to be ashamed again. That part of our lives is over. Now we'llstart afresh. "

Hephzy, after a long look at my face, covered her own with her handsand began to cry. I stepped to her side, but she recovered almostimmediately. 

"There! there!" she said, "don't mind me, Hosy. I've been holdin' thatcry back for a long spell. Now I've had it and it's over and done with. After all, you and I have got each other left and we'll start fresh, just as you say. And the first thing is for you to eat that toast anddrink that tea. "

I smiled, or tried to smile. 

"The first thing, " I declared, "is for us to decide what story we shalltell young Bayliss and the rest of the people to account for her leavingso suddenly. I expect Herbert Bayliss here any moment. He came to see meabout--about her last evening. "

Hephzy nodded. 

"I guessed as much, " she said. "I knew he came and I guessed what 'twasabout. Poor fellow, 'twill be dreadful hard for him, too. He was herethis mornin' and I said Frances had been called away sudden and wouldn'tbe back to-day. And I said you would be away all day, too, Hosy. It wasa fib, I guess, but I can't help it if it was. You mustn't see him nowand you mustn't talk with me either. You must clear off that tray thefirst thing. We'll have our talk to-morrow, maybe. We'll--we'll see thecourse plainer then, perhaps. Now be a good boy and mind me. You AREmy boy, you know, and always will be, no matter how old and famous youget. "

Herbert Bayliss called again that afternoon. I did not see him, butHephzy did. The young fellow was frightfully disappointed at Frances'sudden departure and asked all sorts of questions as to when she wouldreturn, her London address and the like. Hephzy dodged the questions asbest she could, but we both foresaw that soon he would have to be toldsome portion of the truth--not the whole truth; he need never know that, but something--and that something would be very hard to tell. 

The servants, too, must not know or surmise what had happened or thereason for it. Hephzy had already given them some excuse, fabricated onthe spur of the moment. They knew Miss Morley had gone away and mightnot return for some time. But we realized that upon our behaviordepended a great deal and so we agreed to appear as much like ourordinary selves as possible. 

It was a hard task. I shall never forget those first meals when wetwo were alone. We did not mention her name, but the shadow was alwaysthere--the vacant place at the table where she used to sit, the rosesshe had picked the morning before; and, afterward, in the drawing-room, the piano with her music upon the rack--the hundred and one littlereminders that were like so many poisoned needles to aggravate mysuffering and to remind me of the torture of the days to come. She hadbade me forget her. Forget! I might forget when I was dead, but notbefore. If I could only die then and there it would seem so easy bycomparison. 

The next forenoon Hephzy and I had our talk. We discussed our future. Should we leave the rectory and England and go back to Bayport wherewe belonged? I was in favor of this, but Hephzy seemed reluctant. She, apparently, had some reason which made her wish to remain for a time, atleast. At last the reason was disclosed. 

"I supposed you'll laugh at me when I say it, Hosy, " she said; "or atany rate you'll think I'm awful silly. But I know--I just KNOW thatthis isn't the end. We shall see her again, you and I. She'll come to usagain or we'll go to her. I know it; somethin' inside me tells me so. "

 I shook my head. 

"It's true, " she went on. "You don't believe it, but it's true. It's apresentiment and you haven't believed in my presentiments before, butthey've come true. Why, you didn't believe we'd ever find Little Frankat all, but we did. And do you suppose all that has happened so far hasbeen just for nothin'? Indeed and indeed it hasn't. No, this isn't theend; it's only the beginnin'. "

Her conviction was so strong that I hadn't the heart to contradict her. I said nothing. 

"And that's why, " she went on, "I don't like to have us leave here rightaway. She knows we're here, here in England, and if--if she ever shouldbe in trouble and need our help she could find us here waitin' to giveit. If we was away off on the Cape, way on the other side of the ocean, she couldn't reach us, or not until 'twas too late anyhow. That's whyI'd like to stay here a while longer, Hosy. But, " she hastened to add, "I wouldn't stay a minute if you really wanted to go. "

I was silent for a moment. The temptation was to go, to get as far fromthe scene of my trouble as I could; but, after all, what did it matter?I could never flee from that trouble. 

"All right, Hephzy, " I said. "I'll stay, if it pleases you. "

"Thank you, Hosy. It may be foolish, our stayin', but I don't believeit is. And--and there's somethin' else. I don't know whether I ought totell you or not. I don't know whether it will make you feel better orworse. But I've heard you say that she must hate you. She doesn't--Iknow she doesn't. I've been lookin' over her things, those she left inher room. Everythin' we've given her or bought for her since she's beenhere, she left behind--every single thing except one. That little pinyou bought for her in London the last time you was there and gave her towear at the Samsons' lawn party, I can't find it anywhere. She must havetaken it with her. Now why should she take that and leave all the rest?"

"Probably she forgot it, " I said. 

"Humph! Queer she should forget that and nothin' else. I don't believeshe forgot it. _I_ think she took it because you gave it to her and shewanted to keep it to remind her of you. "

I dismissed the idea as absurd, but I found a ray of comfort in it whichI should have been ashamed to confess. The idea that she wished to bereminded of me was foolish, but--but I was glad she had forgotten toleave the pin. It MIGHT remind her of me, even against her will. 

A day or two later Herbert Bayliss and I had our delayed interview. Hehad called several times, but Hephzy had kept him out of my way. Thistime our meeting was in the main street of Mayberry, when dodging himwas an impossibility. He hurried up to me and seized my hand. 

"So you're back, Knowles, " he said. "When did you return?"

For the moment I was at a loss to understand his meaning. I hadforgotten Hephzy's "fib" concerning my going away. Fortunately he didnot wait for an answer. 

"Did Frances--did Miss Morley return with you?" he asked eagerly. 

"No, " said I. 

His smile vanished. 

"Oh!" he said, soberly. "She is still in London, then?"

"I--I presume she is. "

"You presume--? Why, I say! don't you know?"

"I am not sure. "

He seemed puzzled and troubled, but he was too well bred to ask why Iwas not sure. Instead he asked when she would return. I announced that Idid not know that either. 

"You don't know when she is coming back?" he repeated. 

"No. "

He regarded me keenly. There was a change in the tone of his nextremark. 

"You are not sure that she is in London and you don't know when she iscoming back, " he said, slowly. "Would you mind telling me why she leftMayberry so suddenly? She had not intended going; at least she did notmention her intention to me. "

"She did not mention it to anyone, " I answered. "It was a very suddendetermination on her part. "

He considered this. 

"It would seem so, " he said. "Knowles, you'll excuse my saying it, butthis whole matter seems deucedly odd to me. There is something whichI don't understand. You haven't answered my question. Under thecircumstances, considering our talk the other evening, I think I have aright to ask it. Why did she leave so suddenly?"

I hesitated. Mayberry's principal thoroughfare was far from crowded, butit was scarcely the place for an interview like this. 

"She had a reason for leaving, " I answered, slowly. "I will tell youlater, perhaps, what it was. Just now I cannot. "

"You cannot!" he repeated. He was evidently struggling with hisimpatience and growing suspicious. "You cannot! But I think I have aright to know. "

"I appreciate your feelings, but I cannot tell you now. "

"Why not?"

"Because--Well, because I don't think it would be fair to her. She wouldnot wish me to tell you. "

"She would not wish it? Was it because of me she left?"

"No; not in the least. "

"Was it--was it because of someone else? By Jove! it wasn't because ofthat Heathcroft cad? Don't tell me that! My God! she--she didn't--"

I interrupted. His suspicion angered me. I should have understood hisfeelings, should have realized that he had been and was disappointedand agitated and that my answers to his questions must have aroused allsorts of fears and forebodings in his mind. I should have pitied him, but just then I had little pity for others. 

"She did nothing but what she considered right, " I said sharply. "Herleaving had nothing to do with Heathcroft or with you. I doubt if shethought of either of you at all. "

It was a brutal speech, and he took it like a man. I saw him turn paleand bite his lips, but when he next spoke it was in a calmer tone. 

"I'm sorry, " he said. "I was a silly ass even to think such a thing. But--but you see, Knowles, I--I--this means so much to me. I'm sorry, though. I ask her pardon and yours. "

I was sorry, too. "Of course I didn't mean that, exactly, " I said. "Herfeelings toward you are of the kindest, I have no doubt, but her reasonfor leaving was a purely personal one. You were not concerned in it. "

He reflected. He was far from satisfied, naturally, and his next speechshowed it. 

"It is extraordinary, all this, " he said. "You are quite sure you don'tknow when she is coming back?"

"Quite. "

"Would you mind giving me her London address?"

"I don't know it. "

"You don't KNOW it! Oh, I say! that's damned nonsense! You don't knowwhen she is coming back and you don't know her address! Do you mean youdon't know where she has gone?"

"Yes. "

"What--? Are you trying to tell me she is not coming back at all?"

"I am afraid not. "

He was very pale. He seized my arm. 

"What is all this?" he demanded, fiercely. "What has happened? Tell me;I want to know. Where is she? Why did she go? Tell me!"

"I can tell you nothing, " I said, as calmly as I could. "She left usvery suddenly and she is not coming back. Her reason for leaving I can'ttell you, now. I don't know where she is and I have no right to try andfind out. She has asked that no one follow her or interfere with her inany way. I respect her wish and I advise you, if you wish to remain herfriend, to do the same, for the present, at least. That is all I cantell you. "

He shook my arm savagely. 

"By George!" he cried, "you must tell me. I'll make you! I--I--Do youthink me a fool? Do you suppose I believe such rot as that? You tell meshe has gone--has left Mayberry--and you don't know where she has goneand don't intend trying to find out. Why--"

"There, Bayliss! that is enough. This is not the place for us toquarrel. And there is no reason why we should quarrel at all. I havetold you all that I can tell you now. Some day I may tell you more, butuntil then you must be patient, for her sake. Her leaving Mayberry hadno connection with you whatever. You must be contented with that. "

"Contented! Why, man, you're mad. She is your niece. You are herguardian and--"

"I am not her guardian. Neither is she my niece. "

I had spoken involuntarily. Certainly I had not intended telling himthat. The speech had the effect of causing him to drop my arm and stepback. He stared at me blankly. No doubt he did think me crazy, then. 

"I have no authority over her in any way, " I went on. "She is MissCahoon's niece, but we are not her guardians. She has left our home ofher own free will and neither I nor you nor anyone else shall followher if I can help it. I am sorry to have deceived you. The deceit wasunavoidable, or seemed to be. I am very, very sorry for you. That is allI can say now. Good morning. "

I left him standing there in the street and walked away. He called afterme, but I did not turn back. He would have followed me, of course, butwhen I did look back I saw that the landlord of the inn was trying totalk with him and was detaining him. I was glad that the landlord hadappeared so opportunely. I had said too much already. I had bungled thisinterview as I had that with Heathcroft. 

I told Hephzy all about it. She appeared to think that, after all, perhaps it was best. 

"When you've got a toothache, " she said, "you might as well go to thedentist's right off. The old thing will go on growlin' and grumblin' andit's always there to keep you in misery. You'd have had to tell him sometime. Well, you've told him now, the worst of it, anyhow. The tooth'sout; though, " with a one-sided smile, "I must say you didn't give thepoor chap any ether to help along. "

"I'm afraid it isn't out, " I said, truthfully. "He won't be satisfiedwith one operation. "

"Then I'll be on hand to help with the next one. And, between us, Ical'late we can make that final. Poor boy! Well, he's young, that's onecomfort. You get over things quicker when you're young. "

I nodded. "That is true, " I said, "but there is something else, Hephzy. You say I have acted for the best. Have I? I don't know. We know hecares for her, but--but does she--"

"Does she care for him, you mean? I don't think so, Hosy. For a spellI thought she did, but now I doubt it. I think--Well, never mind whatI think. I think a lot of foolish things. My brain's softenin' up, Ishouldn't wonder. It's a longshore brain, anyhow, and it needs thesalt to keep it from spoilin'. I wish you and I could go clammin'. When you're diggin' clams you're too full of backache to worry abouttoothaches--or heartaches, either. "

I expected a visit from young Bayliss that very evening, but he did notcome to the rectory. Instead Doctor Bayliss, Senior, came and requestedan interview with me. Hephzy announced the visitor. 

"He acts pretty solemn, Hosy, " she said. "I wouldn't wonder if his sonhad told him. I guess it's another toothache. Would you like to have mestay and help?"

I said I should be glad of her help. So, when the old gentleman wasshown into the study, he found her there with me. The doctor was verygrave and his usually ruddy, pleasant face was haggard and careworn. Hetook the chair which I offered him and, without preliminaries, began tospeak of the subject which had brought him there. 

It was as Hephzy had surmised. His son had told him everything, of hislove for Frances, of his asking my permission to marry her, and of ourtalk before the inn. 

"I am sure I don't need to tell you, Knowles, " he said, "that all thishas shaken the boy's mother and me dreadfully. We knew, of course, thatthe young people liked each other, were together a great deal, and allthat. But we had not dreamed of any serious attachment between them. "

Hephzy put in a word. 

"We don't know as there has been any attachment between them, " she said. "Your boy cared for her--we know that--but whether she cared for him ornot we don't know. "

Our visitor straightened in his chair. The idea that his son could loveanyone and not be loved in return was plainly quite inconceivable. 

"I think we may take that for granted, madame, " he said. "The news was, as I say, a great shock to my wife and myself. Herbert is our only childand we had, naturally, planned somewhat concerning his future. The--theoverthrow of our plans was and is a great grief and disappointmentto us. Not, please understand, that we question your niece's worth oranything of that sort. She is a very attractive young woman and woulddoubtless make my son a good wife. But, if you will pardon my sayingso, we know very little about her or her family. You are comparativestrangers to us and although we have enjoyed your--ah--societyand--ah--"

Hephzy interrupted. 

"I beg your pardon for saying it, Doctor Bayliss, " she said, "but youknow as much about us as we do about you. "

The doctor's composure was ruffled still more. He regarded Hephzythrough his spectacles and then said, with dignity. 

"Madame, I have resided in this vicinity for nearly forty years. I thinkmy record and that of my family will bear inspection. "

"I don't doubt it a bit. But, as far as that goes, I have lived inBayport for fifty-odd years myself and our folks have lived there fora hundred and fifty. I'm not questionin' you or your family, DoctorBayliss. If I had questioned 'em I could easily have looked up therecord. All I'm sayin' is that I haven't thought of questionin', and Idon't just see why you shouldn't take as much for granted as I have. "

The old gentleman was a bit disconcerted. He cleared his throat andfidgeted in his seat. 

"I do--I do, Miss Cahoon, of course, " he said. "But--ah--Well, toreturn to the subject of my son and Miss Morley. The boy is dreadfullyagitated, Mr. Knowles. He is quite mad about the girl and his motherand I are much concerned about him. We would--I assure you we would doanything and sacrifice anything for his sake. We like your niece, and, although, as I say, we had planned otherwise, nevertheless wewill--provided all is as it should be--give our consent to--to thearrangement, for his sake. "

I did not answer. The idea that marrying Frances Morley would entail asacrifice upon anyone's part except hers angered me and I did not trustmyself to speak. But Hephzy spoke for me. 

"What do you mean by providin' everything is as it should be?" sheasked. 

"Why, I mean--I mean provided we learn that she is--is--That is, --Well, one naturally likes to know something concerning his prospectivedaughter-in-law's history, you know. That is to be expected, now isn'tit. "

Hephzy looked at me and I looked at her. 

"Doctor, " she said. "I wonder if your son told you about some thingsHosy--Mr. Knowles, I mean--told him this mornin'. Did he tell you that?"

The doctor colored slightly. "Yes--yes, he did, " he admitted. "He saidhe had a most extraordinary sort of interview with Mr. Knowles andwas told by him some quite extraordinary things. Of course, we couldscarcely believe that he had heard aright. There was some mistake, ofcourse. "

"There was no mistake, Doctor Bayliss, " said I. "I told your son thetruth, a very little of the truth. "

"The truth! But it couldn't be true, you know, as Herbert reported itto me. He said Miss Morley had left Mayberry, had gone away for someunexplained reason, and was not coming back--that you did not knowwhere she had gone, that she had asked not to be hindered or followed orsomething. And he said--My word! he even said you, Knowles, had declaredyourself to be neither her uncle nor her guardian. THAT couldn't betrue, now could it!"

Again Hephzy and I looked at each other. Without speaking we reached thesame conclusion. Hephzy voiced that conclusion. 

"I guess, Doctor Bayliss, " she said, "that the time has come when youhad better be told the whole truth, or as much of the whole truth aboutFrances as Hosy and I know. I'm goin' to tell it to you. It's a kind oflong story, but I guess likely you ought to know it. "

She began to tell that story, beginning at the very beginning, withArdelia and Strickland Morley and continuing on, through the history ofthe latter's rascality and the fleeing of the pair from America, toour own pilgrimage, the finding of Little Frank and the astonishinghappenings since. 

"She's gone, " she said. "She found out what sort of man her fatherreally was and, bein' a high-spirited, proud girl--as proud andhigh-spirited as she is clever and pretty and good--she ran away andleft us. We don't blame her, Hosy and I. We understand just how shefeels and we've made up our minds to do as she asks and not try tofollow her or try to bring her back to us against her will. We thinkthe world of her. We haven't known her but a little while, but we'vecome--that is, " with a sudden glance in my direction, "I've come to loveher as if she was my own. It pretty nigh kills me to have her go. WhenI think of her strugglin' along tryin' to earn her own way by singin'and--and all, I have to hold myself by main strength to keep from goin'after her and beggin' her on my knees to come back. But I sha'n't do it, because she doesn't want me to. Of course I hope and believe that someday she will come back, but until she does and of her own accord, I'mgoin' to wait. And, if your son really cares for her as much as we--as Ido, he'll wait, too. "

She paused and hastily dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. I turned in order that the Doctor might not see my face. It was anunnecessary precaution. Doctor Bayliss' mind was busy, apparently, withbut one thought. 

"An opera singer!" he exclaimed, under his breath. "An opera singer!Herbert to marry an opera singer! The granddaughter of a Yankee sailorand--and--"

"And the daughter of an English thief, " put in Hephzy, sharply. "Maybewe'd better leave nationalities out, Doctor Bayliss. The Yankees havethe best end of it, 'cordin' to my notion. "

He paid no attention to this. 

He was greatly upset. "It is impossible!" he declared. "Absolutelyimpossible! Why haven't we known of this before? Why did not Herbertknow of it? Mr. Knowles, I must say that--that you have been mostunthinking in this matter. "

"I have been thinking of her, " I answered, curtly. "It was and is hersecret and we rely upon you to keep it as such. We trust to your honorto tell no one, not even your son. "

"My son! Herbert? Why I must tell him! I must tell my wife. "

"You may tell your wife. And your son as much as you think necessary. Further than that it must not go. "

"Of course, of course. I understand. But an opera singer!"

"She isn't a real opera singer, " said Hephzy. "That is, not one of thosegreat ones. And she told me once that she realized now that she nevercould be. She has a real sweet voice, a beautiful voice, but it isn'tpowerful enough to make her a place in the big companies. She tried andtried, she said, but all the managers said the same thing. "

"Hephzy, " I said, "when did she tell you this? I didn't know of it. "

"I know you didn't, Hosy. She told me one day when we were alone. It wasthe only time she ever spoke of herself and she didn't say much then. She spoke about her livin' with her relatives here in England and whatawful, mean, hard people they were. She didn't say who they were norwhere they lived, but she did say she ran away from them to go onthe stage as a singer and what trials and troubles she went throughafterward. She told me that much and then she seemed sorry that she had. She made me promise not to tell anyone, not even you. I haven't, untilnow. "

Doctor Bayliss was sitting with a hand to his forehead. 

"A provincial opera singer, " he repeated. "Oh, impossible! Quiteimpossible!"

"It may seem impossible to you, " I couldn't help observing, "but Iquestion if it will seem so to your son. I doubt if her being an operasinger will make much difference to him. "

The doctor groaned. "The boy is mad about her, quite mad, " he admitted. 

I was sorry for him. Perhaps if I were in his position I might feel ashe did. 

"I will say this, " I said: "In no way, so far as I know, has Miss Morleygiven your son encouragement. He told me himself that he had neverspoken to her of his feelings and we have no reason to think that sheregards him as anything more than a friend. She left no message for himwhen she went away. "

He seemed to find some ground for hope in this. He rose from the chairand extended his hand. 

"Knowles, " he said, "if I have said anything to hurt your feelings orthose of Miss Cahoon I am very sorry. I trust it will make no differencein our friendship. My wife and I respect and like you both and I think Iunderstand how deeply you must feel the loss of your--of Miss Morley. Ihope she--I hope you may be reunited some day. No doubt you will be. Asfor Herbert--he is our son and if you ever have a son of your own, Mr. Knowles, you may appreciate his mother's feelings and mine. We haveplanned and--and--Even now I should not stand in the way of hishappiness if--if I believed happiness could come of it. But suchmarriages are never happy. And, " with a sudden burst of hope, "as yousay, she may not be aware of his attachment. The boy is young. He mayforget. "

"Yes, " said I, with a sigh. "He IS young, and he may forget. "

After he had gone Hephzy turned to me. 

"If I hadn't understood that old man's feelin's, " she declared, "I'dhave given him one talkin' to. The idea of his speakin' as if Franceswouldn't be a wife anybody, a lord or anybody else, might be proud of!But he didn't know. He's been brought up that way, and he doesn't know. And, of course, his son IS the only person on earth to him. Well, that'sover! We haven't got to worry about them any more. We'll begin to livefor each other now, Hosy, same as we used to do. And we'll wait for therest. It'll come and come right for all of us. Just you see. "

CHAPTER XIV

In Which I Play Golf and Cross the Channel

And so we began "to live for each other again, " Hephzy and I. Thismeant, of course, that Hephzy forgot herself entirely and spent thegreater part of her time trying to find ways to make my living morecomfortable, just as she had always done. And I--well, I did my best toappear, if not happy, at least reasonably calm and companionable. It wasa hard job for both of us; certainly my part of it was hard enough. 

Appearances had to be considered and so we invented a tale of a visitto relatives in another part of England to account for the unannounceddeparture of Miss Morley. This excuse served with the neighbors andfriends not in the secret and, for the benefit of the servants, Hephzyelaborated the deceit by pretending eagerness at the arrival of themails and by certain vague remarks at table concerning letters she waswriting. 

"I AM writing 'em, too, Hosy, " she said. "I write to her every few days. Of course I don't mail the letters, but it sort of squares things withmy conscience to really write after talking so much about it. As for hervisitin' relatives--well, she's got relatives somewhere in England, weknow that much, and she MAY be visitin' 'em. At any rate I try to thinkshe is. Oh, dear, I 'most wish I'd had more experience in tellin' lies;then I wouldn't have to invent so many extra ones to make me believethose I told at the beginnin'. I wish I'd been brought up a book agentor a weather prophet or somethin' like that; then I'd have been intrainin'. "

Without any definite agreement we had fallen into the habit of notmentioning the name of Little Frank, even when we were alone together. In consequence, on these occasions, there would be long intervalsof silence suddenly broken by Hephzy's bursting out with a surmiseconcerning what was happening in Bayport, whether they had painted thepublic library building yet, or how Susanna was getting on with the catand hens. She had received three letters from Miss Wixon and, as newsbearers, they were far from satisfactory. 

"That girl makes me so provoked, " sniffed Hephzy, dropping the mostrecent letter in her lap with a gesture of disgust. "She says she's gota cold in the head and she's scared to death for fear it'll get 'setonto her, ' whatever that is. Two pages of this letter is nothin' butcold in the head and t'other two is about a new hat she's goin' to haveand she don't know whether to trim it with roses or forget-me-nots. Ifshe trimmed it with cabbage 'twould match her head better'n anythingelse. I declare! she ought to be thankful she's got a cold in a headlike hers; it must be comfortin' to know there's SOMETHIN' there. You'vegot a letter, too, Hosy. Who is it from?"

"From Campbell, " I answered, wearily. "He wants to know how the novel isgetting on, of course. "

"Humph! Well, you write him that it's gettin' on the way a squid getsahead--by goin' backwards. Don't let him pester you one bit, Hosy. Youwrite that novel just as fast or slow as you feel like. He told you totake a vacation, anyway. "

I smiled. Mine was a delightful vacation. 

The summer dragged on. The days passed. Pleasant days they were, so faras the weather was concerned. I spent them somehow, walking, riding, golfing, reading. I gave up trying to work; the half-written novelremained half written. I could not concentrate my thoughts upon it and Ilacked the courage to force myself to try. I wrote Campbell that he mustbe patient, I was doing the best I could. He answered by telling me notto worry, to enjoy myself. "Why do you stay there in England?" he wrote. "I ordered you to travel, not to plant yourself in one place and dieof dry rot. A British oyster is mighty little improvement on a Cape Codquahaug. You have been in that rectory about long enough. Go to MonteCarlo for change. You'll find it there--or lose it. "

It may have been good advice--or bad--according to the way in whichit was understood, but, good or bad, it didn't appeal to me. I had nodesire to travel, unless it were to travel back to Bayport, where Ibelonged. I felt no interest in Monte Carlo--for the matter of that, Ifelt no interest in Mayberry or anywhere else. I was not interested inanything or anybody--except one, and that one had gone out of my life. Night after night I went to sleep determining to forget and morningafter morning I awoke only to remember, and with the same dull, hopelessheartache and longing. 

July passed, August was half gone. Still we remained at the rectory. Ourlease was up on the first of October. The Coles would return then and weshould be obliged to go elsewhere, whether we wished to or not. Hephzy, although she did not say much about it, was willing to go, I think. Her"presentiment" had remained only a presentiment so far; no word camefrom Little Frank. We had heard or learned nothing concerning her or herwhereabouts. 

Our neighbors and friends in Mayberry were as kind and neighborly asever. For the first few days after our interview with Doctor Bayliss, Senior, Hephzy and I saw nothing of him or his family. Then the doctorcalled again. He seemed in better spirits. His son had yielded to hisparents' entreaties and had departed for a walking tour through theBlack Forest with some friends. 

"The invitation came at exactly the right time, " said the old gentleman. "Herbert was ready to go anywhere or do anything. The poor boy was inthe depths and when his mother and I urged him to accept he did so. Weare hoping that when he returns he will have forgotten, or, if not that, at least be more reconciled. "

Heathcroft came and went at various times during the summer. I met himon the golf course and he was condescendingly friendly as ever. Our talkconcerning Frances, which had brought such momentous consequences toher and to Hephzy and to me, had, apparently, not disturbed him in theleast. He greeted me blandly and cheerfully, asked how we all were, saidhe had been given to understand that "my charming little niece" was nolonger with us, and proceeded to beat me two down in eighteen holes. I played several times with him afterward and, under differentcircumstances, should have enjoyed doing so, for we were pretty evenlymatched. 

His aunt, the Lady of the Manor, I also met. She went out of her way tobe as sweetly gracious as possible. I presume she inferred from Frances'departure that I had taken her hint and had removed the disturbinginfluence from her nephew's primrose-bordered path. At each of ourmeetings she spoke of the "invitation golf tournament, " several timespostponed and now to be played within a fortnight. She insisted thatI must take part in it. At last, having done everything except declineabsolutely, I finally consented to enter the tournament. It is noteasy to refuse to obey an imperial decree and Lady Carey was Empress ofMayberry. 

After accepting I returned to the rectory to find that Hephzy also hadreceived an invitation. Not to play golf, of course; her invitation wasof a totally different kind. 

"What do you think, Hosy!" she cried. "I've got a letter and you can'tguess who it's from. "

"From Susanna?" I ventured. 

"Susanna! You don't suppose I'd be as excited as all this over a letterfrom Susanna Wixon, do you? No indeed! I've got a letter from Mrs. Hepton, who had the Nickerson cottage last summer. She and her husbandare in Paris and they want us to meet 'em there in a couple of weeks andgo for a short trip through Switzerland. They got our address from Mr. Campbell before they left home. Mrs. Hepton writes that they're countin'on our company. They're goin' to Lake Lucerne and to Mont Blanc andeverywhere. Wouldn't it be splendid!"

The Heptons had been summer neighbors of ours on the Cape for severalseasons. They were friends of Jim Campbell's and had first come toBayport on his recommendation. I liked them very well, and, oddlyenough, for I was not popular with the summer colony, they had seemed tolike me. 

"It was very kind of them to think of us, " I said. "Campbell shouldn'thave given them our address, of course, but their invitation was wellmeant. You must write them at once. Make our refusal as polite aspossible. "

Hephzy seemed disappointed, I thought. 

"Then you think I'd better say no?" she observed. 

"Why, of course. You weren't thinking of accepting, were you?"

"Well, I didn't know. I'm not sure that our goin' wouldn't be the rightthing. I've been considerin' for some time, Hosy, and I've about come tothe conclusion that stayin' here is bad for you. Maybe it's bad for bothof us. Perhaps a change would do us both good. "

I was astonished. "Humph!" I exclaimed; "this is a change of heart, Hephzy. A while ago, when I suggested going back to Bayport, youwouldn't hear of it. You wanted to stay here and--and wait. "

"I know I did. And I've been waitin', but nothin' has come of it. I'vestill got my presentiment, Hosy. I believe just as strong as I ever didthat some time or other she and you and I will be together again. Butstayin' here and seein' nobody but each other and broodin' don't do usany good. It's doin' you harm; that's plain enough. You don't write andyou don't eat--that is, not much--and you're gettin' bluer and more thinand peaked every day. You have just got to go away from here, no matterwhether I do or not. And I've reached the point where I'm willin' to go, too. Not for good, maybe. We'll come back here again. Our lease isn'tup until October and we can leave the servants here and give them ouraddress to have mail forwarded. If--if she--that is, if a letter or--oranything--SHOULD come we could hurry right back. The Heptons are realnice folks; you always liked 'em, Hosy. And you always wanted to seeSwitzerland; you used to say so. Why don't we say yes and go along?"

I did not answer. I believed I understood the reason for Campbell'sgiving our address to the Heptons; also the reason for the invitation. Jim was very anxious to have me leave Mayberry; he believed travel andchange of scene were what I needed. Doubtless he had put the Heptons upto asking us to join them on their trip. It was merely an addition tohis precious prescription. 

"Why don't we go?" urged Hephzy. 

"Not much!" I answered, decidedly. "I should be poor company on apleasure trip like that. But you might go, Hephzy. There is no reason inthe world why you shouldn't go. I'll stay here until you return. Go, byall means, and enjoy yourself. "

Hephzy shook her head. 

"I'd do a lot of enjoyin' without you, wouldn't I, " she observed. "While I was lookin' at the scenery I'd be wonderin' what you had forbreakfast. Every mite of rain would set me to thinkin' of your gettin'your feet wet and when I laid eyes on a snow peak I'd wonder if you hadblankets enough on your bed. I'd be like that yellow cat we used to haveback in the time when Father was alive. That cat had kittens and Fatherhad 'em all drowned but one. After that you never saw the cat anywhereunless the kitten was there, too. She wouldn't eat unless it were withher and between bites she'd sit down on it so it couldn't run off. Shelugged it around in her mouth until Father used to vow he'd have eyeletholes punched in the scruff of its neck for her teeth to fit into andmake it easier for both of 'em. It died, finally; she wore it out, I guess likely. Then she adopted a chicken and started luggin' thataround. She had the habit, you see. I'm a good deal like her, Hosy. I'vetook care of you so long that I've got the habit. No, I shouldn't gounless you did. "

No amount of urging moved her, so we dropped the subject. 

The morning of the golf tournament was clear and fine. I shouldered mybag of clubs and walked through the lane toward the first tee. I neverfelt less like playing or more inclined to feign illness and remain athome. But I had promised Lady Carey and the promise must be kept. 

There was a group of people, players and guests, awaiting me at the tee. Her ladyship was there, of course; so also was her nephew, Mr. CarletonHeathcroft, whom I had not seen for some time. Heathcroft was inconversation with a young fellow who, when he turned in my direction, I recognized as Herbert Bayliss. I was surprised to see him; I had notheard of his return from the Black Forest trip. 

Lady Carey was affable and gracious, also very important and busy. Shewelcomed me absent-mindedly, introduced me to several of her guests, ladies and gentlemen from London down for the week-end, and then bustledaway to confer with Mr. Handliss, steward of the estate, concerning thearrangements for the tournament. I felt a touch on my arm and, turning, found Doctor Bayliss standing beside me. He was smiling and in apparentgood humor. 

"The boy is back, Knowles, " he said. "Have you seen him?"

"Yes, " said I, "I have seen him, although we haven't met yet. I wassurprised to find him here. When did he return?"

"Only yesterday. His mother and I were surprised also. We hadn'texpected him so soon. He's looking very fit, don't you think?"

"Very. " I had not noticed that young Bayliss was looking either more orless fit than usual, but I answered as I did because the old gentlemanseemed so very anxious that I should. He was evidently gratified. "Yes, "he said, "he's looking very fit indeed. I think his trip has benefitedhim hugely. And I think--Yes, I think he is beginning to forgethis--that is to say, I believe he does not dwell upon the--the recenthappenings as he did. I think he is forgetting; I really think he is. "

"Indeed, " said I. It struck me that, if Herbert Bayliss was forgetting, his memory must be remarkably short. I imagined that his father's wishwas parent to the thought. 

"He has--ah--scarcely mentioned our--our young friend's name since hisreturn, " went on the doctor. "He did ask if you had heard--ah--by theway, Knowles, you haven't heard, have you?"

"No. "

"Dear me! dear me! That's very odd, now isn't it. "

He did not say he was sorry. If he had said it I should not havebelieved him. If ever anything was plain it was that the longer weremained without news of Frances Morley the better pleased HerbertBayliss's parents would be. 

"But I say, Knowles, " he added, "you and he must meet, you know. Hedoesn't hold any ill-feeling or--or resentment toward you. Really hedoesn't. Herbert! Oh, I say, Herbert! Come here, will you. "

Young Bayliss turned. The doctor whispered in my ear. 

"Perhaps it would be just as well not to refer to--to--You understandme, Knowles. Better let sleeping dogs lie, eh? Oh, Herbert, here isKnowles waiting to shake hands with you. "

We shook hands. The shake, on his part, was cordial enough, perhaps, butnot too cordial. It struck me that young Bayliss was neither as "fit"nor as forgetful as his fond parents wished to believe. He looked ratherworn and nervous, it seemed to me. I asked him about his tramping tripand we chatted for a few moments. Then Bayliss, Senior, was called byLady Carey and Handliss to join the discussion concerning the tournamentrules and the young man and I were left alone together. 

"Knowles, " he asked, the moment after his father's departure, "have youheard anything? Anything concerning--her?"

"No. "

"You're sure? You're not--"

"I am quite sure. We haven't heard nor do we expect to. "

He looked away across the course and I heard him draw a long breath. 

"It's deucedly odd, this, " he said. "How she could disappear so entirelyI don't understand. And you have no idea where she may be?"

"No. "

"But--but, confound it, man, aren't you trying to find her?"

"No. "

"You're not! Why not?"

"You know why not as well as I. She left us of her own free will and herparting request was that we should not follow her. That is sufficientfor us. Pardon me, but I think it should be for all her friends. "

He was silent for a moment. Then his teeth snapped together. 

"I'll find her, " he declared, fiercely. "I'll find her some day. "

"In spite of her request?"

"Yes. In spite of the devil. "

He turned on his heel and walked off. Mr. Handliss stepped to the firsttee, clapped his hands to attract attention and began a little speech. 

The tournament, he said, was about to begin. Play would be, owing to thelength and difficulty of the course, but eighteen holes instead of theusual thirty-six. This meant that each pair of contestants would playthe nine holes twice. Handicaps had been fixed as equitably as possibleaccording to each player's previous record, and players havingsimilar handicaps were to play against each other. A light lunch andrefreshments would be served after the first round had been completedby all. Prizes would be distributed by her ladyship when the final roundwas finished. Her ladyship bade us all welcome and was gratified by ouracceptance of her invitation. He would now proceed to read the namesof those who were to play against each other, stating handicaps and thelike. He read accordingly, and I learned that my opponent was to be Mr. Heathcroft, each of us having a handicap of two. 

Considering everything I thought my particular handicap a stiff one. Heathcroft had been in the habit of beating me in two out of threeof our matches. However, I determined to play my best. Being the onlyoutlander on the course I couldn't help feeling that the sportingreputation of Yankeeland rested, for this day at least, upon myshoulders. 

The players were sent off in pairs, the less skilled first. Heathcroftand I were next to the last. A London attorney by the name of Jaynesand a Wrayton divine named Wilson followed us. Their rating was one plusand, judging by the conversation of the "gallery, " they were looked uponas winners of the first and second prizes respectively. The Reverend Mr. Wilson was called, behind his back, "the sporting curate. " In gorgeoustweeds and a shepherd's plaid cap he looked the part. 

The first nine went to me. An usually long drive and a lucky putt on theeighth gave me the round by one. I played with care and tried myhardest to keep my mind on the game. Heathcroft was, as always, calm andcareful, but between tees he was pleased to be chatty and affable. 

"And how is the aunt with the odd name, Knowles?" he inquired. "Does shestill devour her--er--washing flannels and treacle for breakfast?"

"She does when she cares to, " I replied. "She is an independent lady, asI think you know. "

"My word! I believe you. And how are the literary labors progressing? Ihad my bookselling fellow look up a novel of yours the other day. Beganit that same night, by Jove! It was quite interesting, really. I shouldhave finished it, I think, but some of the chaps at the club telephonedme to join them for a bit of bridge and of course that ended literaturefor the time. My respected aunt tells me I'm quite dotty on bridge. Sheforesees a gambler's end for me, stony broke, languishing in dungeonsand all that sort of thing. I am to die of starvation, I think. Is itstarvation gamblers die of? 'Pon my soul, I should say most of those Iknow would be more likely to die of thirst. Rather!"

Later on he asked another question. 

"And how is the pretty niece, Knowles?" he inquired. "When is she comingback to the monastery or the nunnery or rectory, or whatever it is?"

"I don't know, " I replied, curtly. 

"Oh, I say! Isn't she coming at all? That would be a calamity, nowwouldn't it? Not to me in particular. I should mind your notice boards, of course. But if I were condemned, as you are, to spend a summer amongthe feminine beauties of Mayberry, a face like hers would be like awhisky and soda in a thirsty land, as a chap I know is fond of saying. Oh, and by the way, speaking of your niece, I had a curious experiencein Paris a week ago. Most extraordinary thing. For the moment I beganto believe I really was going dotty, as Auntie fears. I. .. Your drive, Knowles. I'll tell you the story later. "

He did not tell it during that round, forgot it probably. I did notremind him. The longer he kept clear of the subject of my "niece" themore satisfied I was. We lunched in the pavilion by the first tee. Therewere sandwiches and biscuits--crackers, of course--and cakes and sweetsgalore. Also thirst-quenching materials sufficient to satisfy even thegamblers of Mr. Heathcroft's acquaintance. The "sporting curate, " behinda huge Scotch and soda, was relating his mishaps in approaching theseventh hole for the benefit of his brother churchmen, Messrs. Judsonand Worcester. Lady Carey was dilating upon her pet subject, the talentsand virtues of "Carleton, dear, " for the benefit of the London attorney, who was pretending to listen with the respectful interest due blood andtitle, but who was thinking of something else, I am sure. "Carleton, dear, " himself, was chatting languidly with young Bayliss. The latterseemed greatly interested. There was a curious expression on his face. I was surprised to see him so cordial to Heathcroft; I knew he did notlike Lady Carey's nephew. 

The second and final round of the tournament began. For six holesHeathcroft and I broke even. The seventh he won, making us square forthe match so far and, with an equal number of strokes. The eighth wehalved. All depended on the ninth. Halving there would mean a drawnmatch between us and a drawing for choice of prizes, provided we were inthe prize-winning class. A win for either of us meant the match itself. 

Heathcroft, in spite of the close play, was as bland and unconcerned asever. I tried to appear likewise. As a matter of fact, I wanted to win. Not because of the possible prize, I cared little for that, but for thepleasure of winning against him. We drove from the ninth tee, each gota long brassy shot which put us on the edge of the green, and thenstrolled up the hill together. 

"I say, Knowles, " he observed; "I haven't finished telling you of myParis experience, have I. Odd coincidence, by Jove! I was telling youngBayliss about it just now and he thought it odd, too. I was--some otherchaps and I drifted into the Abbey over in Paris a week or so ago andwhile we were there a girl came out and sang. She was an extremelypretty girl, you understand, but that wasn't the extraordinary part ofit. She was the image--my word! the very picture of your niece, MissMorley. It quite staggered me for the moment. Upon my soul I thought itwas she! She sang extremely well, but not for long. I tried to get nearher--meant to speak to her, you know, but she had gone before I reachedher. Eh! What did you say?"

I had not said anything--at least I think I had not. He misinterpretedmy silence. 

"Oh, you mustn't be offended, " he said, laughing. "Of course I knewit wasn't she--that is, I should have known it if I hadn't been sostaggered by the resemblance. It was amazing, that resemblance. Theface, the voice--everything was like hers. I was so dotty about it thatI even hunted up one of the chaps in charge and asked him who thegirl was. He said she was an Austrian--Mademoiselle Juno or Junotte orsomething. That ended it, of course. I was a fool to imagine anythingelse, of course. But you would have been a bit staggered if you hadseen her. And she didn't look Austrian, either. She looked English orAmerican--rather! I say, I hope I haven't hurt your feelings, old chap. I apologize to you and Miss Morley, you understand. I couldn't helptelling you; it was extraordinary now, wasn't it. "

I made some answer. He rattled on about that sort of thing making onebelieve in the Prisoner of Zenda stuff, doubles and all that. We reachedthe green. My ball lay nearest the pin and it was his putt. He madeit, a beauty, the ball halting just at the edge of the cup. My puttwas wild. He holed out on the next shot. It took me two and I had toconcentrate my thought by main strength even then. The hole and matchwere his. 

He was very decent about it, proclaimed himself lucky, declared I had, generally speaking, played much the better game and should have woneasily. I paid little attention to what he said although I did, ofcourse, congratulate him and laughed at the idea that luck had anythingto do with the result. I no longer cared about the match or thetournament in general or anything connected with them. His story of thegirl who was singing in Paris was what I was interested in now. I wantedhim to tell me more, to give me particulars. I wanted to ask him a dozenquestions; and, yet, excited as I was, I realized that those questionsmust be asked carefully. His suspicions must not be aroused. 

Before I could ask the first of the dozen Mr. Handliss bustled over tous to learn the result of our play and to announce that the distributionof prizes would take place in a few moments; also that Lady Carey wishedto speak with her nephew. The latter sauntered off to join the group bythe pavilion and my opportunity for questioning had gone, for the time. 

Of the distribution of prizes, with its accompanying ceremony, I seemto recall very little. Lady Carey made a little speech, I remember that, but just what she said I have forgotten. "Much pleasure in rewardingskill, " "Dear old Scottish game, " "English sportsmanship, " "Race not tothe swift"--I must have been splashed with these drops from the fountainof oratory, for they stick in my memory. Then, in turn, the winners werecalled up to select their prizes. Wilson, the London attorney, headedthe list; the sporting curate came next; Heathcroft next; and then I. It had not occurred to me that I should win a prize. In fact I had notthought anything about it. My thoughts were far from the golf coursejust then. They were in Paris, in a cathedral--Heathcroft had called itan abbey, but cathedral he must have meant--where a girl who looked likeFrances Morley was singing. 

However, when Mr. Handliss called my name I answered and steppedforward. Her Ladyship said something or other about "our cousin fromacross the sea" and "Anglo-Saxon blood" and her especial pleasure inawarding the prize. I stammered thanks, rather incoherently expressedthey were, I fear, selected the first article that came to hand--ithappened to be a cigarette case; I never smoke cigarettes--and retiredto the outer circle. The other winners--Herbert Bayliss and Worcesteramong them--selected their prizes and then Mr. Wilson, winner of thetournament, speaking in behalf of us all, thanked the hostess for herkindness and hospitality. 

Her gracious invitation to play upon the Manor-House course Mr. Wilsonmentioned feelingly. Also the gracious condescension in presenting theprizes with her own hand. They would be cherished, not only for theirown sake, but for that of the donor. He begged the liberty of proposingher ladyship's health. 

The "liberty" was, apparently, expected, for Mr. Handliss had fullglasses ready and waiting. The health was drunk. Lady Carey drank oursin return, and the ceremony was over. 

I tried in vain to get another word with Heathcroft. He was inconversation with his aunt and several of the feminine friends and, although I waited for some time, I, at last, gave up the attempt andwalked home. The Reverend Judson would have accompanied me, but Iavoided him. I did not wish to listen to Mayberry gossip; I wanted to bealone. 

Heathcroft's tale had made a great impression upon me--a mostunreasonable impression, unwarranted by the scant facts as he relatedthem. The girl whom he had seen resembled Frances--yes; but she was anAustrian, her name was not Morley. And resemblances were common enough. That Frances should be singing in a Paris church was most improbable;but, so far as that went, the fact of A. Carleton Heathcroft's attendinga church service I should, ordinarily, have considered improbable. Improbable things did happen. Suppose the girl he had seen was Frances. My heart leaped at the thought. 

But even supposing it was she, what difference did it make--to me? None, of course. She had asked us not to follow her, to make no attempt tofind her. I had preached compliance with her wish to Hephzy, to DoctorBayliss--yes, to Herbert Bayliss that very afternoon. But HerbertBayliss was sworn to find her, in spite of me, in spite of the Evil One. And Heathcroft had told young Bayliss the same story he had told me. HEwould not be deterred by scruples; her wish would not prevent his goingto Paris in search of her. 

I reached the rectory, to be welcomed by Hephzy with questionsconcerning the outcome of the tournament and triumphant gloatings overmy perfectly useless prize. I did not tell her of Heathcroft's story. I merely said I had met that gentleman and that Herbert Bayliss hadreturned to Mayberry. And I asked a question. 

"Hephzy, " I asked, "when do the Heptons leave Paris for their tripthrough Switzerland?"

Hephzy considered. "Let me see, " she said. "Today is the eighteenth, isn't it. They start on the twenty-second; that's four days from now. "

"Of course you have written them that we cannot accept their invitationto go along?"

She hesitated. "Why, no, " she admitted, "I haven't. That is, I havewritten 'em, but I haven't posted the letter. Humph! did you noticethat 'posted'? Shows what livin' in a different place'll do even toas settled a body as I am. In Bayport I should have said 'mailed' theletter, same as anybody else. I must be careful or I'll go back homeand call the expressman a 'carrier' and a pie a 'tart' and a cracker a'biscuit. ' Land sakes! I remember readin' how David Copperfield's auntalways used to eat biscuits soaked in port wine before she went to bed. I used to think 'twas dreadful dissipated business and that the oldlady must have been ready for bed by the time she got through. You seeI always had riz biscuits in mind. A cracker's different; crackers don'tsoak up much. We'd ought to be careful how we judge folks, hadn't we, Hosy. "

"Yes, " said I, absently. "So you haven't posted the letter to theHeptons. Why not?"

"Well--well, to tell you the truth, Hosy, I was kind of hopin' you mightchange your mind and decide to go, after all. I wish you would; 'twoulddo you good. And, " wistfully, "Switzerland must be lovely. But there! Iknow just how you feel, you poor boy. I'll mail the letter to-night. "

"Give it to me, " said I. "I'll--I'll see to it. "

Hephzy handed me the letter. I put it in my pocket, but I did notpost it that evening. A plan--or the possible beginning of a plan--wasforming in my mind. 

That night was another of my bad ones. The little sleep I had was filledwith dreams, dreams from which I awoke to toss restlessly. I rose andwalked the floor, calling myself a fool, a silly old fool, over andover again. But when morning came my plan, a ridiculous, wild plan fromwhich, even if it succeeded--which was most unlikely--nothing but addedtrouble and despair could possibly come, my plan was nearer its ultimateformation. 

At eleven o'clock that forenoon I walked up the marble steps of theManor House and rang the bell. The butler, an exalted personage inlivery, answered my ring. Mr. Heathcroft? No, sir. Mr. Heathcroft hadleft for London by the morning train. Her ladyship was in her boudoir. She did not see anyone in the morning, sir. I had no wish to see herladyship, but Heathcroft's departure was a distinct disappointment. Ithanked the butler and, remembering that even cathedral ushers acceptedtips, slipped a shilling into his hand. His dignity thawed at the silvertouch, and he expressed regret at Mr. Heathcroft's absence. 

"You're not the only gentleman who has been here to see him thismorning, sir, " he said. "Doctor Bayliss, the younger one, called aboutan hour ago. He seemed quite as sorry to find him gone as you are, sir. "

I think that settled it. When I again entered the rectory my mind wasmade up. The decision was foolish, insane, even dishonorable perhaps, but the decision was made. 

"Hephzy, " said I, "I have changed my mind. Travel may do me good. I havetelegraphed the Heptons that we will join them in Paris on the eveningof the twenty-first. After that--Well, we'll see. "

Hephzy's delight was as great as her surprise. She said I was a dear, unselfish boy. Considering what I intended doing I felt decidedly mean;but I did not tell her what that intention was. 

We took the two-twenty train from Charing Cross on the afternoon of thetwenty-first. The servants had been left in charge of the rectory. Wewould return in a fortnight, so we told them. 

It was a beautiful day, bright and sunshiny, but, after smoky, grimyLondon had been left behind and we were whizzing through the Kentishcountryside, between the hop fields and the pastures where the sheepwere feeding, we noticed that a stiff breeze was blowing. Further on, as we wound amid the downs near Folkestone, the bending trees and shrubsproved that the breeze was a miniature gale. And when we came in sightof the Channel, it was thickly sprinkled with whitecaps from beach tohorizon. 

"I imagine we shall have a rather rough passage, Hephzy, " said I. 

Hephzy's attention was otherwise engaged. 

"Why do they call a hill a 'down' over here?" she asked. "I should thinkan 'up' would be better. What did you say, Hosy? A rough passage? Iguess that won't bother you and me much. This little mite of water can'tseem very much stirred up to folks who have sailed clear across theAtlantic Ocean. But there! I mustn't put on airs. I used to think CapeCod Bay was about all the water there was. Travelin' does make sucha difference in a person's ideas. Do you remember the Englishwoman atBancroft's who told me that she supposed the Thames must remind us ofour own Mississippi?"

"So that's the famous English Channel, is it, " she observed, a momentlater. "How wide is it, Hosy?"

"About twenty miles at the narrowest point, I believe, " I said. 

"Twenty miles! About as far as Bayport to Provincetown. Well, I don'tknow whether any of your ancestors or mine came over with William theConquerer or not, but if they did, they didn't have far to come. Ical'late I'll be contented with having my folks cross in the Mayflower. They came three thousand miles anyway. "

She was inclined to regard the Channel rather contemptuously just then. A half hour later she was more respectful. 

The steamer was awaiting us at the pier. As the throng of passengersfiled up the gang-plank she suddenly squeezed my arm. 

"Look! Hosy!" she cried. "Look! Isn't that him?"

I looked where she was pointing. 

"Him? Who?" I asked. 

"Look! There he goes now. No, he's gone. I can't see him any more. Andyet I was almost certain 'twas him. "

"Who?" I asked again. "Did you see someone you knew?"

"I thought I did, but I guess I was mistaken. He's just got home; hewouldn't be startin' off again so soon. No, it couldn't have been him, but I did think--"

I stopped short. "Who did you think you saw?" I demanded. 

"I thought I saw Doctor Herbert Bayliss goin' up those stairs to thesteamboat. It looked like him enough to be his twin brother, if he hadone. "

I did not answer. I looked about as we stepped aboard the boat, butif young Bayliss was there he was not in sight. Hephzy rattled onexcitedly. 

"You can't tell much by seein' folks's backs, " she declared. "I rememberone time your cousin Hezekiah Knowles--You don't remember him, Hosy; hedied when you was little--One time Cousin Hezzy was up to Boston withhis wife and they was shoppin' in one of the big stores. That is, MarthaAnn--the wife--was shoppin' and he was taggin' along and complainin', same as men generally do. He was kind of nearsighted, Hezzy was, andwhen Martha was fightin' to get a place in front of a bargain counter hestayed astern and kept his eyes fixed on a hat she was wearin'. 'Twas anew hat with blue and yellow flowers on it. Hezzy always said, when hetold the yarn afterward, that he never once figured that there couldbe another hat like that one. I saw it myself and, if I'd been in hisplace, I'd have HOPED there wasn't anyway. Well, he followed that hatfrom one counter to another and, at last, he stepped up and said, 'Lookhere, dearie, ' he says--They hadn't been married very long, not longenough to get out of the mushy stage--'Look here, dearie, ' he says, 'hadn't we better be gettin' on home? You'll tire those little feet ofyours all out trottin' around this way. ' And when the hat turned aroundthere was a face under it as black as a crow. He'd been followin' adarkey woman for ten minutes. She thought he was makin' fun of her feetand was awful mad, and when Martha came along and found who he'd takenfor her she was madder still. Hezzy said, 'I couldn't help it, Martha. Nobody could. I never saw two craft look more alike from twenty footastern. And she wears that hat just the way you do. ' That didn't helpmatters any, of course, and--Why, Hosy, where are you goin'? Why don'tyou say somethin'? Hadn't we better sit down? All the good seats will begone if we don't. "

I had been struggling through the crowd, trying my best to get a glimpseof the man she had thought to be Herbert Bayliss. If it was he then mysuspicions were confirmed. Heathcroft's story of the girl who sang inParis had impressed him as it had me and he was on his way to see forhimself. But the man, whoever he might be, had disappeared. 

"How the wind does blow, " said Hephzy. "What are the people doin' withthose black tarpaulins?"

Sailors in uniform were passing among the seated passengers distributinglarge squares of black waterproof canvas. I watched the use to which thetarpaulins were put and I understood. I beckoned to the nearest sailorand rented two of the canvases for use during the voyage. 

"How much?" I asked. 

"One franc each, " said the man, curtly. 

I had visited the money-changers near the Charing Cross station and wasprepared. Hephzy's eyes opened. 

"A franc, " she repeated. "That's French money, isn't it. Is he aFrenchman?"

"Yes, " said I. "This is a French boat, I think. "

She watched the sailor for a moment. Then she sighed. 

"And he's a Frenchman, " she said. "I thought Frenchmen wore mustachesand goatees and were awful polite. He was about as polite as a pig. And all he needs is a hand-organ and a monkey to be an Italian. A bodycouldn't tell the difference without specs. What did you get thosetarpaulins for, Hosy?"

I covered our traveling bags with one of the tarpaulins, as I saw ourfellow-passengers doing, and the other I tucked about Hephzy, envelopingher from her waist down. 

"I don't need that, " she protested. "It isn't cold and it isn't rainin', either. I tell you I don't need it, Hosy. Don't tuck me in any more. Ifeel as if I was goin' to France in a baby carriage, not a steamboat. And what are they passin' round those--those tin dippers for?"

"They may be useful later on, " I said, watching the seas leap andfoam against the stone breakwater. "You'll probably understand later, Hephzy. "

She understood. The breakwater was scarcely passed when our boat, whichhad seemed so large and steady and substantial, began to manifest adesire to stand on both ends at once and to roll like a log in a rapid. The sun was shining brightly overhead, the verandas of the hotels alongthe beach were crowded with gaily dressed people, the surf fringingthat beach was dotted with bathers, everything on shore wore a look ofholiday and joy--and yet out here, on the edge of the Channel, there wasanything but calm and anything but joy. 

How that blessed boat did toss and rock and dip and leap and pitch! Andhow the spray began to fly as we pushed farther and farther from land!It came over the bows in sheets; it swept before the wind in showers, in torrents. Hephzy hastily removed her hat and thrust it beneath thetarpaulin. I turned up the collar of my steamer coat and slid as fardown into that collar as I could. 

"My soul!" exclaimed Hephzy, the salt water running down her face. "Mysoul and body!"

"I agree with you, " said I. 

On we went, over the waves or through them. Our fellow-passengers curledup beneath their tarpaulins, smiled stoically or groaned dismally, according to their dispositions--or digestions. A huge wave--the upperthird of it, at least--swept across the deck and spilled a gallon or twoof cold water upon us. A sturdy, red-faced Englishman, sitting next me, grinned cheerfully and observed:

"Trickles down one's neck a bit, doesn't it, sir. "

I agreed that it did. Hephzy, huddled under the lee of my shoulder, sputtered. 

"Trickles!" she whispered. "My heavens and earth! If this is a tricklethen Noah's flood couldn't have been more than a splash. Trickles!There's a Niagara Falls back of both of my ears this minute. "

Another passenger, also English, but gray-haired and elderly, cametacking down the deck, bound somewhere or other. His was a zig-zagtransit. He dove for the rail, caught it, steadied himself, took a freshstart, swooped to the row of chairs by the deck house, carromed fromthem, and, in company with a barrel or two of flying brine, came headfirst into my lap. I expected profanity and temper. I did get a littleof the former. 

"This damned French boat!" he observed, rising with difficulty. "Sheabsolutely WON'T be still. "

"The sea is pretty rough. "

"Oh, the sea is all right. A bit damp, that's all. It's the blessedboat. Foreigners are such wretched sailors. "

He was off on another tack. Hephzy watched him wonderingly. 

"A bit damp, " she repeated. "Yes, I shouldn't wonder if 'twas. I supposelikely he wouldn't call it wet if he fell overboard. "

"Not on this side of the Channel, " I answered. "This side is Englishwater, therefore it is all right. "

A few minutes later Hephzy spoke again. 

"Look at those poor women, " she said. 

Opposite us were two English ladies, middle-aged, wretchedly ill and sowet that the feathers on their hats hung down in strings. 

"Just like drowned cats' tails, " observed Hephzy. "Ain't it awful!And they're too miserable to care. You poor thing, " she said, leaningforward and addressing the nearest, "can't I fix you so you're morecomfortable?"

The woman addressed looked up and tried her best to smile. 

"Oh, no, thank you, " she said, weakly but cheerfully. "We're doing quitewell. It will soon be over. "

Hephzy shook her head. 

"Did you hear that, Hosy?" she whispered. "I declare! if it wasn't offalready, and that's a mercy, I'd take off my hat to England and theEnglish people. Not a whimper, not a complaint, just sit still and soakand tumble around and grin and say it's 'a bit damp. ' Whenever I readabout the grumblin', fault-findin' Englishman I'll think of the folks onthis boat. It may be patriotism or it may be the race pride and reservewe hear so much about--but, whatever it is, it's fine. They've all gotit, men and women and children. I presume likely the boy that stood onthe burnin' deck would have said 'twas a bit sultry, and that's all. .. . What is it, Hosy?"

I had uttered an exclamation. A young man had just reeled by us on hisway forward. His cap was pulled down over his eyes and his coat collarwas turned up, but I recognized him. He was Herbert Bayliss. 

We were three hours crossing from Folkestone to Boulogne, instead of theusual scant two. We entered the harbor, where the great crucifix on thehill above the town attracted Hephzy's attention and the French signsover the doors of hotels and shops by the quay made her realize, so shesaid, that we really were in a foreign country. 

"Somehow England never did seem so very foreign, " she said. "And theMayberry folks were so nice and homey and kind I've come to think of 'emas, not just neighbors, but friends. But this--THIS is foreign enough, goodness knows! Let go of my arm!" to the smiling, gesticulating porterwho was proffering his services. "DON'T wave your hands like that; youmake me dizzy. Keep 'em still, man! I could understand you just as wellif they was tied. Hosy, you'll have to be skipper from now on. Now IKNOW Cape Cod is three thousand miles off. "

We got through the customs without trouble, found our places in thetrain, and the train, after backing and fussing and fidgeting andtooting in a manner thoroughly French, rolled out of the station. 

We ate our dinner, and a very good dinner it was, in the dining-car. Hephzy, having asked me to translate the heading "CompagnieInternationale des Wagon Lits" on the bill of fare, declared shecouldn't see why a dining-car should be called a "wagon bed. " "There'senough to eat to put you to sleep, " she declared, "but you couldn'tstay asleep any more than you could in the nail factory up to Tremont. Inever heard such a rattlin' and slambangin' in my life. "

We whizzed through the French country, catching glimpses of littletowns, with red-roofed cottages clustered about the inevitable churchand chateau, until night came and looking out of the window was nolonger profitable. At nine, or thereabouts, we alighted from the trainat Paris. 

In the cab, on the way to the hotel where we were to meet the Heptons, Hephzy talked incessantly. 

"Paris!" she said, over and over again. "Paris! where they had the ThreeMusketeers and Notre Dame and Henry of Navarre and Saint Bartholomew andNapoleon and the guillotine and Innocents Abroad and--and everything. Paris! And I'm in it!"

At the door of the hotel Mr. Hepton met us. 

Before we retired that night I told Hephzy what I had deferred tellinguntil then, namely, that I did not intend leaving for Switzerland withher and with the Heptons the following day. I did not tell her my realreason for staying; I had invented a reason and told her that instead. 

"I want to be alone here in Paris for a few days, " I said. "I think Imay find some material here which will help me with my novel. You andthe Heptons must go, just as you have planned, and I will join you atLucerne or Interlaken. "

Hephzy stared at me. 

"I sha'n't stir one step without you, " she declared. "If I'd known youhad such an idea as that in your head I--"

"You wouldn't have come, " I interrupted. "I know that; that's why Ididn't tell you. Of course you will go and of course you will leave mehere. We will be separated only two or three days. I'll ask Hepton togive me an itinerary of the trip and I will wire when and where I willjoin you. You must go, Hephzy; I insist upon it. "

In spite of my insisting Hephzy still declared she should not go. It wasnearly midnight before she gave in. 

"And if you DON'T come in three days at the longest, " she said, "you'llfind me back here huntin' you up. I mean that, Hosy, so you'd betterunderstand it. And now, " rising from her chair, "I'm goin' to see aboutthe things you're to wear while we're separated. If I don't you'reliable to keep on wet stockin's and shoes and things all the time andforget to change 'em. You needn't say you won't, for I know you toowell. Mercy sakes! do you suppose I've taken care of you all these yearsand DON'T know?"

The next forenoon I said good-by to her and the Heptons at the railwaystation. Hephzy's last words to me were these:

"Remember, " she said, "if you do get caught in the rain, there's drythings in the lower tray of your trunk. Collars and neckties and shirtsare in the upper tray. I've hung your dress suit in the closet in caseyou want it, though that isn't likely. And be careful what you eat, anddon't smoke too much, and--Yes, Mr. Hepton, I'm comin'--and don't spendALL your money in book-stores; you'll need some of it in Switzerland. And--Oh, dear, Hosy! do be a good boy. I know you're always good, but, from all I've heard, this Paris is an awful place and--good-by. Good-by. In Lucerne in two days or Interlaken in three. It's got to be that, or back I come, remember. I HATE to leave you all alone amongst thesejabberin' foreigners. I'm glad you can jabber, too, that's one comfort. If it was me, all I could do would be to holler United States languageat 'em, and if they didn't understand that, just holler louder. I--Yes, Mr. Hepton, I AM comin' now. Good-by, Hosy, dear. "

The train rolled out of the station. I watched it go. Then I turned andwalked to the street. So far my scheme had worked well. I was alonein Paris as I had planned to be. And now--and now to find where a girlsang, a girl who looked like Frances Morley. 

CHAPTER XV

In Which I Learn that All Abbeys Are Not Churches

And that, now that I really stopped to consider it, began to appear moreand more of a task. Paris must be full of churches; to visit each ofthem in turn would take weeks at least. Hephzy had given me three days. I must join her at Interlaken in three days or there would be trouble. And how was I to make even the most superficial search in three days?

Of course I had realized something of this before. Even in the state ofmind which Heathcroft's story had left me, I had realized that my errandin Paris was a difficult one. I realized that I had set out on thewildest of wild goose chases and that, even in the improbable eventof the singer's being Frances, my finding her was most unlikely. Thechances of success were a hundred to one against me. But I was in themood to take the hundredth chance. I should have taken it if the oddswere higher still. My plan--if it could be called a plan--was first ofall to buy a Paris Baedeker and look over the list of churches. This Idid, and, back in the hotel room, I consulted that list. It staggeredme. There were churches enough--there were far too many. Cathedrals andchapels and churches galore--Catholic and Protestant. But there was nochurch calling itself an abbey. I closed the Baedeker, lit a cigar, andsettled myself for further reflection. 

The girl was singing somewhere and she called herself Mademoiselle Junoor Junotte, so Heathcroft had said. So much I knew and that was all. It was very, very little. But Herbert Bayliss had come to Paris, Ibelieved, because of what Heathcroft had told him. Did he know morethan I? It was possible. At any rate he had come. I had seen him onthe steamer, and I believed he had seen and recognized me. Of coursehe might not be in Paris now; he might have gone elsewhere. I did notbelieve it, however. I believed he had crossed the Channel on the sameerrand as I. There was a possible chance. I might, if the other meansproved profitless, discover at which hotel Bayliss was staying andquestion him. He might tell me nothing, even if he knew, but I couldkeep him in sight, I could follow him and discover where he went. It would be dishonorable, perhaps, but I was desperate and doggedlyregardless of scruples. I was set upon one thing--to find her, to seeher and speak with her again. 

Shadowing Bayliss, however, I set aside as a last resort. Before that Iwould search on my own hook. And, tossing aside the useless Baedeker, I tried to think of someone whose advice might be of value. At last, I resolved to question the concierge of the hotel. Concierges, Iknew, were the ever present helps of travelers in trouble. They kneweverything, spoke all languages, and expected to be asked all sorts ofunreasonable questions. 

The concierge at my hotel was a transcendant specimen of his talentedclass. His name and title was Monsieur Louis--at least that is what Ihad heard the other guests call him. And the questions which he had beencalled upon to answer, in my hearing, ranged in subject from the hour ofclosing the Luxemburg galleries to that of opening the Bal Tabarin, withvarious interruptions during which he settled squabbles over cab fares, took orders for theater and opera tickets, and explained why fruit atthe tables of the Cafe des Ambassadeurs was so very expensive. 

Monsieur Louis received me politely, listened, with every appearance ofinterest, to my tale of a young lady, a relative, who was singing at oneof the Paris churches and whose name was Juno or Junotte, but, when Ihad finished, reluctantly shook his head. There were many, many churchesin Paris--yes, and, at some of them, young ladies sang; but these were, for the most part, the Protestant churches. At the larger churches, theCatholic churches, most of the singers were men or boys. He could recallnone where a lady of that name sang. Monsieur had not been told the nameof the church?

"The person who told me referred to it as an abbey, " I said. 

Louis raised his shoulders. "I am sorry, Monsieur, " he said, "but thereis no abbey, where ladies sing, in Paris. It is, alas, regrettable, butit is so. "

He announced it as he might have broken to me the news of the death ofa friend. Incidentally, having heard a few sentences of my French, hespoke in English, very good English. 

"I will, however, make inquiries, Monsieur, " he went on. "Possibly I maydiscover something which will be of help to Monsieur in his difficulty. "In the meantime there was to be a parade of troops at the Champ deMars at four, and the evening performance at the Folies Bergeres wasunusually good and English and American gentlemen always enjoyed it. Itwould give him pleasure to book a place for me. 

I thanked him but I declined the offer, so far as the Folies wereconcerned. I did ask him, however, to give me the name of a few churchesat which ladies sang. This he did and I set out to find them, in a cabwhich whizzed through the Paris streets as if the driver was bent uponsuicide and manslaughter. 

I visited four places of worship that afternoon and two more thatevening. Those in charge--for I attended no services--knew nothing ofMademoiselle Junotte or Juno. I retired at ten, somewhat discouraged, but stubbornly determined to keep on, for my three days at least. 

The next morning I consulted Baedeker again, this time for the list ofhotels, a list which I found quite as lengthy as that of the churches. Then I once more sought the help of Monsieur Louis. Could he tell me afew of the hotels where English visitors were most likely to stay. 

He could do more than that, apparently. Would I be so good as to informhim if the lady or gentleman--being Parisian he put the lady first--whomI wished to find had recently arrived in Paris. I told him that thegentleman had arrived the same evening as I. Whereupon he produceda list of guests at all the prominent hotels. Herbert Bayliss wasregistered at the Continental. 

To the Continental I went and made inquiries of the concierge there. Mr. Bayliss was there, he was in his room, so the concierge believed. Hewould be pleased to ascertain. Would I give my name? I declined to givethe name, saying that I did not wish to disturb Mr. Bayliss. If he wasin his room I would wait until he came down. He was in his room, had notyet breakfasted, although it was nearly ten in the forenoon. I sat downin a chair from which I could command a good view of the elevators, andwaited. 

The concierge strolled over and chatted. Was I a friend of Mr. Bayliss?Ah, a charming young gentleman, was he not. This was not his first visitto Paris, no indeed; he came frequently--though not as frequently oflate--and he invariably stayed at the Continental. He had been out latethe evening before, which doubtless explained his non-appearance. Ah, he was breakfasting now; had ordered his "cafe complete. " Doubtless hewould be down very soon? Would I wish to send up my name now?

Again I declined, to the polite astonishment of the concierge, whoevidently considered me a queer sort of a friend. He was called to hisdesk by a guest, who wished to ask questions, of course, and I waitedwhere I was. At a quarter to eleven Herbert Bayliss emerged from theelevator. 

His appearance almost shocked me. Out late the night before! He lookedas if he had been out all night for many nights. He was pale and solemn. I stepped forward to greet him and the start he gave when he saw mewas evidence of the state of his nerves. I had never thought of him aspossessing any nerves. 

"Eh? Why, Knowles!" he exclaimed. 

"Good morning, Bayliss, " said I. 

We both were embarrassed, he more than I, for I had expected to see himand he had not expected to see me. I made a move to shake hands but hedid not respond. His manner toward me was formal and, I thought, colderthan it had been at our meeting the day of the golf tournament. 

"I called, " I said, "to see you, Bayliss. If you are not engaged Ishould like to talk with you for a few moments. "

His answer was a question. 

"How did you know I was here?" he asked. 

"I saw your name in the list of recent arrivals at the Continental, " Ianswered. 

"I mean how did you know I was in Paris?"

"I didn't know. I thought I caught a glimpse of you on the boat. I wasalmost sure it was you, but you did not appear to recognize me and I hadno opportunity to speak then. "

He did not speak at once, he did not even attempt denial of having seenand recognized me during the Channel crossing. He regarded me intentlyand, I thought, suspiciously. 

"Who sent you here?" he asked, suddenly. 

"Sent me! No one sent me. I don't understand you. "

"Why did you follow me?"

"Follow you?"

"Yes. Why did you follow me to Paris? No one knew I was coming here, not even my own people. They think I am--Well, they don't know that I amhere. "

His speech and his manner were decidedly irritating. I had made a firmresolve to keep my temper, no matter what the result of this interviewmight be, but I could not help answering rather sharply. 

"I had no intention of following you--here or anywhere else, " I said. "Your action and whereabouts, generally speaking, are of no particularinterest to me. I did not follow you to Paris, Doctor Bayliss. "

He reddened and hesitated. Then he led the way to a divan in a retiredcorner of the lobby and motioned to me to be seated. There he sat downbeside me and waited for me to speak. I, in turn, waited for him tospeak. 

At last he spoke. 

"I'm sorry, Knowles, " he said. "I am not myself today. I've had a devilof a night and I feel like a beast this morning. I should probably haveinsulted my own father, had he appeared suddenly, as you did. Of courseI should have known you did not follow me to Paris. But--but why did youcome?"

I hesitated now. "I came, " I said, "to--to--Well, to be perfectly honestwith you, I came because of something I heard concerning--concerning--"

He interrupted me. "Then Heathcroft did tell you!" he exclaimed. "Ithought as much. "

"He told you, I know. He said he did. "

"Yes. He did. My God, man, isn't it awful! Have you seen her?"

His manner convinced me that he had seen her. In my eagerness I forgotto be careful. 

"No, " I answered, breathlessly; "I have not seen her. Where is she?"

He turned and stared at me. 

"Don't you know where she is?" he asked, slowly. 

"I know nothing. I have been told that she--or someone very like her--issinging in a Paris church. Heathcroft told me that and then we wereinterrupted. I--What is the matter?"

He was staring at me more oddly than ever. There was the strangestexpression on his face. 

"In a church!" he repeated. "Heathcroft told you--"

"He told me that he had seen a girl, whose resemblance to Miss Morleywas so striking as to be marvelous, singing in a Paris church. He calledit an abbey, but of course it couldn't be that. Do you know anythingmore definite? What did he tell you?"

He did not answer. 

"In a church!" he said again. "You thought--Oh, good heavens!"

He began to laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh to hear. Moreover, itangered me. 

"This may be very humorous, " I said, brusquely. "Perhaps it is--to you. But--Bayliss, you know more of this than I. I am certain now that youdo. I want you to tell me what you know. Is that girl Frances Morley?Have you seen her? Where is she?"

He had stopped laughing. Now he seemed to be considering. 

"Then you did come over here to find her, " he said, more slowly still. "You were following her, why?"

"WHY?"

"Yes, why. She is nothing to you. You told my father that. You told methat she was not your niece. You told Father that you had no claim uponher whatever and that she had asked you not to try to trace her or tolearn where she was. You said all that and preached about respecting herwish and all that sort of thing. And yet you are here now trying to findher. "

The only answer I could make to this was a rather childish retort. 

"And so are you, " I said. 

His fists clinched. 

"I!" he cried, fiercely. "I! Did _I_ ever say she was nothing to me? Did_I_ ever tell anyone I should not try to find her? I told you, onlythe other day, that I would find her in spite of the devil. I meant it. Knowles, I don't understand you. When I came to you thinking you heruncle and guardian, and asked your permission to ask her to marry me, you gave that permission. You did. You didn't tell me that she wasnothing to you. I don't understand you at all. You told my father a lotof rot--"

"I told your father the truth. And, when I told you that she had leftno message for you, that was the truth also. I have no reason to believeshe cares for you--"

"And none to think that she doesn't. At all events she did not tell MEnot to follow her. She did tell you. Why are you following her?"

It was a question I could not answer--to him. That reason no one shouldknow. And yet what excuse could I give, after all my protestations?

"I--I feel that I have the right, everything considered, " I stammered. "She is not my niece, but she is Miss Cahoon's. "

"And she ran away from both of you, asking, as a last request, that youboth make no attempt to learn where she was. The whole affair is beyondunderstanding. What the truth may be--"

"Are you hinting that I have lied to you?"

"I am not hinting at anything. All I can say is that it is deuced queer, all of it. And I sha'n't say more. "

"Will you tell me--"

"I shall tell you nothing. That would be her wish, according to your ownstatement and I will respect that wish, if you don't. "

I rose to my feet. There was little use in an open quarrel between usand I was by far the older man. Yes, and his position was infinitelystronger than mine, as he understood it. But I never was more stronglytempted. He knew where she was. He had seen her. The thought wasmaddening. 

He had risen also and was facing me defiantly. 

"Good morning, Doctor Bayliss, " said I, and walked away. I turned as Ireached the entrance of the hotel and looked back. He was still standingthere, staring at me. 

That afternoon I spent in my room. There is little use describing myfeelings. That she was in Paris I was sure now. That Bayliss had seenher I was equally sure. But why had he spoken and looked as he didwhen I first spoke of Heathcroft's story? What had he meant by sayingsomething or other was "awful?" And why had he seemed so astonished, whyhad he laughed in that strange way when I had said she was singing in achurch?

That evening I sought Monsieur Louis, the concierge, once more. 

"Is there any building here in Paris, " I asked, "a building in whichpeople sing, which is called an abbey? One that is not a church or anabbey, but is called that?"

Louis looked at me in an odd way. He seemed a bit embarrassed, anembarrassment I should not have expected from him. 

"Monsieur asks the question, " he said, smiling. "It was in my mind lastnight, the thought, but Monsieur asked for a church. There is a placecalled L'Abbaye and there young women sing, but--" he hesitated, shrugged and then added, "but L'Abbaye is not a church. No, it is notthat. "

"What is it?" I asked. 

"A restaurant, Monsieur. A cafe chantant at Montmartre. "

Montmartre at ten that evening was just beginning to awaken. At the hourwhen respectable Paris, home-loving, domestic Paris, the Paris of whichthe tourist sees so little, is thinking of retiring, Montmartre--or thatsection of it in which L'Abbaye is situated--begins to open its eyes. Atten-thirty, as my cab buzzed into the square and pulled up at the curb, the electric signs were blazing, the sidewalks were, if not yet crowded, at least well filled, and the sounds of music from the open windows ofThe Dead Rat and the other cafes with the cheerful names were minglingwith noises of the street. 

Monsieur Louis had given me my sailing orders, so to speak. He hadtold me that arriving at L'Abbaye before ten-thirty was quite useless. Midnight was the accepted hour, he said; prior to that I would find itrather dull, triste. But after that--Ah, Monsieur would, at least, beentertained. 

"But of course Monsieur does not expect to find the young lady of whomhe is in search there, " he said. "A relative is she not?"

Remembering that I had, when I first mentioned the object of my quest tohim, referred to her as a relative, I nodded. 

He smiled and shrugged. 

"A relative of Monsieur's would scarcely be found singing at L'Abbaye, "he said. "But it is a most interesting place, entertaining and chic. Many English and American gentlemen sup there after the theater. "

I smiled and intimated that the desire to pass a pleasant evening was mysole reason for visiting the place. He was certain I would be pleased. 

The doorway of L'Abbaye was not deserted, even at the "triste" hour often-thirty. Other cabs were drawn up at the curb and, upon the stairsleading to the upper floors, were several gaily dressed couples bound, as I had proclaimed myself to be, in search of supper and entertainment. I had, acting upon the concierge's hint, arrayed myself in my eveningclothes and I handed my silk hat, purchased in London--where, asHephzy said, "a man without a tall hat is like a rooster without tailfeathers"--to a polite and busy attendant. Then a personage with avery straight beard and a very curly mustache, ushered me into the maindining-room. 

"Monsieur would wish seats for how many?" he asked, in French. 

"For myself only, " I answered, also in French. His next remark was inEnglish. I was beginning to notice that when I addressed a Parisian inhis native language, he usually answered in mine. This may have beenbecause of a desire to please me, or in self-defence; I am inclined tothink the latter. 

"Ah, for one only. This way, Monsieur. "

I was given a seat at one end of a long table, and in a corner. Therewere plenty of small tables yet unoccupied, but my guide was apparentlyreserving these for couples or quartettes; at any rate he did not offerone to me. I took the seat indicated. 

"I shall wish to remain here for some time?" I said. "Probably theentire--" I hesitated; considering the hour I scarcely knew whether tosay "evening" or "morning. " At last I said "night" as a compromise. 

The bearded person seemed doubtful. 

"There will be a great demand later, " he said. "To oblige Monsieur is ofcourse our desire, but. .. . Ah, merci, Monsieur, I will see that Monsieuris not disturbed. "

The reason for his change of heart was the universal one in restaurants. He put the reason in his pocket and summoned a waiter to take my order. 

I gave the order, a modest one, which dropped me a mile or two in thewaiter's estimation. However, after a glance at my fellow-diners atnearby tables, I achieved a partial uplift by ordering a bottle ofextremely expensive wine. I had had the idea that, being in France, thehome of champagne, that beverage would be cheap or, at least, moderatelypriced. But in L'Abbaye the idea seemed to be erroneous. 

The wine was brought immediately; the supper was somewhat delayed. Idid not care. I had not come there to eat--or to drink, either, for thatmatter. I had come--I scarcely knew why I had come. That Frances Morleywould be singing in a place like this I did not believe. This was thesort of "abbey" that A. Carleton Heathcroft would be most likely tovisit, that was true, but that he had seen her here was most improbable. The coincidence of the "abbey" name would not have brought me there, ofitself. Herbert Bayliss had given me to understand, although he had notsaid it, that she was not singing in a church and he had found the ideaof her being where she was "awful. " It was because of what he had saidthat I had come, as a sort of last chance, a forlorn hope. Of course shewould not be here, a hired singer in a Paris night restaurant; that wasimpossible. 

How impossible it was likely to be I realized more fully during thenext hour. There was nothing particularly "awful" about L'Abbaye ofitself--at first, nor, perhaps, even later; at least the awfulness waswell covered. The program of entertainment was awful enough, if deadlymediocrity is awful. A big darkey, dressed in a suit which reminded meof the "end man" at an old-time minstrel show, sang "My Alabama Coon, "accompanying himself, more or less intimately, on the banjo. I couldhave heard the same thing, better done, at a ten cent theater in theStates, where this chap had doubtless served an apprenticeship. However, the audience, which was growing larger every minute, seemed to find thebellowing enjoyable and applauded loudly. Then a feminine person did aCastilian dance between the tables. I was ready to declare a second warwith Spain when she had finished. Then there was an orchestral interval, during which the tables filled. 

The impossibility of Frances singing in a place like this became morecertain each minute, to my mind. I called the waiter. 

"Does Mademoiselle Juno sing here this evening?" I asked, in my lameFrench. 

He shook his head. "Non, Monsieur, " he answered, absently, and hastenedon with the bottle he was carrying. 

Apparently that settled it. I might as well go. Then I decided to remaina little longer. After all, I was there, and I, or Heathcroft, mighthave misunderstood the name. I would stay for a while. 

The long table at which I sat was now occupied from end to end. Therewere several couples, male and female, and a number of unattachedyoung ladies, well-dressed, pretty for the most part, and vivaciousand inclined to be companionable. They chatted with their neighbors andwould have chatted with me if I had been in the mood. For the matter ofthat everyone talked with everyone else, in French or English, good, badand indifferent, and there was much laughter and gaiety. L'Abbaye waswide awake by this time. 

The bearded personage who had shown me to my seat, appeared, followedby a dozen attendants bearing paper parasols and bags containing littlecelluloid balls, red, white, and blue. They were distributed among thefeminine guests. The parasols, it developed, were to be waved and theballs to be thrown. You were supposed to catch as many as were thrownat you and throw them back. It was wonderful fun--or would have been forchildren--and very, very amusing--after the second bottle. 

For my part I found it very stupid. As I have said at least once in thishistory I am not what is called a "good mixer" and in an assemblage likethis I was as out of place as a piece of ice on a hot stove. Worse thanthat, for the ice would have melted and I congealed the more. My bottleof champagne remained almost untouched and when a celluloid ball bouncedon the top of my head I did not scream "Whoopee! Bullseye!" as myAmerican neighbors did or "Voila! Touche!" like the French. There wereplenty of Americans and English there, and they seemed to be having agood time, but their good time was incomprehensible to me. This was "gayParis, " of course, but somehow the gaiety seemed forced and artificialand silly, except to the proprietors of L'Abbaye. If I had been gettingthe price for food and liquids which they received I might, perhaps, have been gay. 

The young Frenchman at my right was gay enough. He had early discoveredmy nationality and did his best to be entertaining. When a performerfrom the Olympia, the music hall on the Boulevard des Italiens, sang adistressing love ballad in a series of shrieks like those of a circularsaw in a lumber mill, this person shouted his "Bravos" with the rest andthen, waving his hands before my face, called for, "De cheer Americain!One, two, tree--Heep! Heep! Heep! Oo--ray-y-y!" I did not join in "thecheer Americain, " but I did burst out laughing, a proceeding whichcaused the young lady at my left to pat my arm and nod delightedapproval. She evidently thought I was becoming gay and lighthearted atlast. She was never more mistaken. 

It was nearly two o'clock and I had had quite enough of L'Abbaye. I hadnot enjoyed myself--had not expected to, so far as that went. I hope Iam not a prig, and, whatever I am or am not, priggishness had no part inmy feelings then. Under ordinary circumstances I should not have enjoyedmyself in a place like that. Mine is not the temperament--I shouldn'tknow how. I must have appeared the most solemn ass in creation, and if Ihad come there with the idea of amusement, I should have felt like one. As it was, my feeling was not disgust, but unreasonable disappointment. Certainly I did not wish--now that I had seen L'Abbaye--to find FrancesMorley there; but just as certainly I was disappointed. 

I called for my bill, paid it, and stood up. I gave one look about thecrowded, noisy place, and then I started violently and sat down again. Ihad seen Herbert Bayliss. He had, apparently, just entered and a waiterwas finding a seat for him at a table some distance away and on theopposite side of the great room. 

There was no doubt about it; it was he. My heart gave a bound thatalmost choked me and all sorts of possibilities surged through my brain. He had come to Paris to find her, he had found her--in our conversationhe had intimated as much. And now, he was here at the "Abbey. " Why? Wasit here that he had found her? Was she singing here after all?

Bayliss glanced in my direction and I sank lower in my chair. I didnot wish him to see me. Fortunately the lady opposite waved her paperparasol just then and I went into eclipse, so far as he was concerned. When the eclipse was over he was looking elsewhere. 

The black-bearded Frenchman, who seemed to be, if not one of theproprietors, at least one of the managers of L'Abbaye, appeared in theclear space at the center of the room between the tables and wavedhis hands. He was either much excited or wished to seem so. He shoutedsomething in French which I could not understand. There was a buzz ofinterest all about me; then the place grew still--or stiller. Somethingwas going to happen, that was evident. I leaned toward my volubleneighbor, the French gentleman who had called for "de cheer Americain. "

"What is it?" I asked. "What is the matter?"

He ignored, or did not hear, my question. The bearded person was stillwaving his hands. The orchestra burst into a sort of triumphal march andthen into the open space between the tables came--Frances Morley. 

She was dressed in a simple evening gown, she was not painted orpowdered to the extent that women who had sung before her had been, herhair was simply dressed. She looked thinner than she had when I last sawher, but otherwise she was unchanged. In that place, amid the lights andthe riot of color, the silks and satins and jewels, the flushed faces ofthe crowd, she stood and bowed, a white rose in a bed of tiger lilies, and the crowd rose and shouted at her. 

The orchestra broke off its triumphal march and the leader stood up, hisviolin at his shoulder. He played a bar or two and she began to sing. 

She sang a simple, almost childish, love song in French. There wasnothing sensational about it, nothing risque, certainly nothing whichshould have appealed to the frequenters of L'Abbaye. And her voice, although sweet and clear and pure, was not extraordinary. And yet, whenshe had finished, there was a perfect storm of "Bravos. " Parasols waved, flowers were thrown, and a roar of applause lasted for minutes. Why thisshould have been is a puzzle to me even now. Perhaps it was because ofher clean, girlish beauty; perhaps because it was so unexpected and sodifferent; perhaps because of the mystery concerning her. I don't know. Then I did not ask. I sat in my chair at the table, trembling from headto foot, and looking at her. I had never expected to see her again andnow she was before my eyes--here in this place. 

She sang again; this time a jolly little ballad of soldiers and gloryand the victory of the Tri-Color. And again she swept them off theirfeet. She bowed and smiled in answer to their applause and, motioningto the orchestra leader, began without accompaniment, "Loch Lomond, " inEnglish. It was one of the songs I had asked her to sing at the rectory, one I had found in the music cabinet, one that her mother and mine hadsung years before. 

 "Ye'll take the high road And I'll take the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye--"

I was on my feet. I have no remembrance of having risen, but I wasstanding, leaning across the table, looking at her. There were cries of"Sit down" in English and other cries in French. There were tugs at mycoat tails. 

 "But me and my true love Shall never meet again, By the bonny, bonny banks Of Loch--"

She saw me. The song stopped. I saw her turn white, so white that therouge on her cheeks looked like fever spots. She looked at me and I ather. Then she raised her hand to her throat, turned and almost ran fromthe room. 

I should have followed her, then and there, I think. I was on my wayaround the end of the table, regardless of masculine boots and feminineskirts. But a stout Englishman got in my way and detained me and thecrowd was so dense that I could not push through it. It was an excitedcrowd, too. For a moment there had been a surprised silence, but noweveryone was exclaiming and talking in his or her native language. 

"Oh, I say! What happened? What made her do that?" demanded the stoutEnglishman. Then he politely requested me to get off his foot. 

The bearded manager--or proprietor--was waving his hands once more andbegging attention and silence. He got both, in a measure. Then he madehis announcement. 

He begged ten thousand pardons, but Mademoiselle Guinot--That was it, Guinot, not Juno or Junotte--had been seized with a most regrettableillness. She had been unable to continue her performance. It was notserious, but she could sing no more that evening. To-morrow evening--ah, yes. Most certainly. But to-night--no. Monsieur Hairee Opkins, themost famous Engleesh comedy artiste would now entertain the patrons ofL'Abbaye. He begged, he entreated attention for Monsieur Opkins. 

I did not wait for "Monsieur Hairee. " I forced my way to the door. As Ipassed out I cast a glance in the direction of young Bayliss. He wason his feet, loudly shouting for a waiter and his bill. I had so muchstart, at all events. 

Through the waiters and uniformed attendants I elbowed. Another man witha beard--he looked enough like the other to be his brother, and perhapshe was--got in my way at last. A million or more pardons, but Monsieurcould not go in that direction. The exit was there, pointing. 

As patiently and carefully as I could, considering my agitation, Iexplained that I did not wish to find the exit. I was a friend, a--yes, a--er--relative of the young lady who had just sung and who had beentaken ill. I wanted to go to her. 

Another million pardons, but that was impossible. I did not understand, Mademoiselle was--well, she did not see gentlemen. She was--withthe most expressive of shrugs--peculiar. She desired no friends. Itwas--ah--quite impossible. 

I found my pocketbook and pressed my card into his hand. Would he giveMademoiselle my card? Would he tell her that I must see her, if only fora minute? Just give her the card and tell her that. 

He shook his head, smiling but firm. I could have punched him for thesmile, but instead I took other measures. I reached into mypocket, found some gold pieces--I have no idea how many or of whatdenomination--and squeezed them in the hand with the card. He stillsmiled and shook his head, but his firmness was shaken. 

"I will give the card, " he said, "but I warn Monsieur it is quiteuseless. She will not see him. "

The waiter with whom I had seen Herbert Bayliss in altercation washurrying by me. I caught his arm. 

"Pardon, Monsieur, " he protested, "but I must go. The gentleman yonderdesires his bill. "

"Don't give it to him, " I whispered, trying hard to think of the Frenchwords. "Don't give it to him yet. Keep him where he is for a time. "

I backed the demand with another gold piece, the last in my pocket. Thewaiter seemed surprised. 

"Not give the bill?" he repeated. 

"No, not yet. " I did my best to look wicked and knowing--"He and I wishto meet the same young lady and I prefer to be first. "

That was sufficient--in Paris. The waiter bowed low. 

"Rest in peace, Monsieur, " he said. "The gentleman shall wait. "

I waited also, for what seemed a long time. Then the bearded onereappeared. He looked surprised but pleased. 

"Bon, Monsieur, " he whispered, patting my arm. "She will see you. Youare to wait at the private door. I will conduct you there. It is mostunusual. Monsieur is a most fortunate gentleman. "

At the door, at the foot of a narrow staircase--decidedly lacking in thewhite and gold of the other, the public one--I waited, for another age. The staircase was lighted by one sickly gas jet and the street outsidewas dark and dirty. I waited on the narrow sidewalk, listening to theroar of nocturnal Montmartre around the corner, to the beating of my ownheart, and for her footstep on the stairs. 

At last I heard it. The door opened and she came out. She wore a cloakover her street costume and her hat was one that she had bought inLondon with my money. She wore a veil and I could not see her face. 

I seized her hands with both of mine. 

"Frances!" I cried, chokingly. "Oh, Frances!"

She withdrew her hands. When she spoke her tone was quiet but very firm. 

"Why did you come here?" she asked. 

"Why did I come? Why--"

"Yes. Why did you come? Was it to find me? Did you know I was here?"

"I did not know. I had heard--"

"Did Doctor Bayliss tell you?"

I hesitated. So she HAD seen Bayliss and spoken with him. 

"No, " I answered, after a moment, "he did not tell me, exactly. But Ihad heard that someone who resembled you was singing here in Paris. "

"And you followed me. In spite of my letter begging you, for my sake, not to try to find me. Did you get that letter?"

"Yes, I got it. "

"Then why did you do it? Oh, WHY did you?"

For the first time there was a break in her voice. We were standingbefore the door. The street, it was little more than an alley, wasalmost deserted, but I felt it was not the place for explanations. Iwanted to get her away from there, as far from that dreadful "Abbey" aspossible. I took her arm. 

"Come, " I said, "I will tell you as we go. Come with me now. "

She freed her arm. 

"I am not coming with you, " she said. "Why did you come here?"

"I came--I came--Why did YOU come? Why did you leave us as you did?Without a word!"

She turned and faced me. 

"You know why I left you, " she said. "You know. You knew all thetime. And yet you let me believe--You let me think--I lived upon yourmoney--I--I--Oh, don't speak of it! Go away! please go away and leaveme. "

"I am not going away--without you. I came to get you to go back with me. You don't understand. Your aunt and I want you to come with us. We wantyou to come and live with us again. We--"

She interrupted. I doubt if she had comprehended more than the first fewwords of what I was saying. 

"Please go away, " she begged. "I know I owe you money, so much money. I shall pay it. I mean to pay it all. At first I could not. I could notearn it. I tried. Oh, I tried SO hard! In London I tried and tried, butall the companies were filled, it was late in the season and I--no onewould have me. Then I got this chance through an agency. I am succeedinghere. I am earning the money at last. I am saving--I have saved--And nowyou come to--Oh, PLEASE go and leave me!"

Her firmness had gone. She was on the verge of tears. I tried to takeher hands again, but she would not permit it. 

"I shall not go, " I persisted, as gently as I could. "Or when I go youmust go with me. You don't understand. "

"But I do understand. My aunt--Miss Cahoon told me. I understand it all. Oh, if I had only understood at first. "

"But you don't understand--now. Your aunt and I knew the truth from thebeginning. That made no difference. We were glad to have you with us. Wewant you to come back. You are our relative--"

"I am not. I am not really related to you in any way. You know I amnot. "

"You are related to Miss Cahoon. You are her sister's daughter. Shewants you to come. She wants you to live with us again, just as you didbefore. "

"She wants that! She--But it was your money that paid for the veryclothes I wore. Your money--not hers; she said so. "

"That doesn't make any difference. She wants you and--"

I was about to add "and so do I, " but she did not permit me to finishthe sentence. She interrupted again, and there was a change in her tone. 

"Stop! Oh, stop!" she cried. "She wanted me and--and so you--Did youthink I would consent? To live upon your charity?"

"There is no charity about it. "

"There is. You know there is. And you believed that I--knowing what Iknow--that my father--my own father--"

"Hush! hush! That is all past and done with. "

"It may be for you, but not for me. Mr. Knowles, your opinion of memust be a very poor one. Or your desire to please your aunt as great asyour--your charity to me. I thank you both, but I shall stay here. Youmust go and you must not try to see me again. "

There was firmness enough in this speech; altogether too much. But I wasas firm as she was. 

"I shall not go, " I reiterated. "I shall not leave you--in a place likethis. It isn't a fit place for you to be in. You know it is not. Goodheavens! you MUST know it?"

"I know what the place is, " she said quietly. 

"You know! And yet you stay here! Why? You can't like it!"

It was a foolish speech, and I blurted it without thought. She did notanswer. Instead she began to walk toward the corner. I followed her. 

"I beg your pardon, " I stammered, contritely. "I did not mean that, ofcourse. But I cannot think of your singing night after night in such aplace--before those men and women. It isn't right; it isn't--you shallnot do it. "

She answered without halting in her walk. 

"I shall do it, " she said. "They pay me well, very well, and I--I needthe money. When I have earned and saved what I need I shall give it up, of course. As for liking the work--Like it! Oh, how can you!"

"I beg your pardon. Forgive me. I ought to be shot for saying that. Iknow you can't like it. But you must not stay here. You must come withme. "

"No, Mr. Knowles, I am not coming with you. And you must leave me andnever come back. My sole reason for seeing you to-night was to tell youthat. But--" she hesitated and then said, with quiet emphasis, "you maytell my aunt not to worry about me. In spite of my singing in a cafechantant I shall keep my self-respect. I shall not be--like thoseothers. And when I have paid my debt--I can't pay my father's; I wish Icould--I shall send you the money. When I do that you will know thatI have resigned my present position and am trying to find a morerespectable one. Good-by. "

We had reached the corner. Beyond was the square, with its lights andits crowds of people and vehicles. I seized her arm. 

"It shall not be good-by, " I cried, desperately. "I shall not let yougo. "

"You must. "

"I sha'n't. I shall come here night after night until you consent tocome back to Mayberry. "

She stopped then. But when she spoke her tone was firmer than ever. 

"Then you will force me to give it up, " she said. "Before I came here Iwas very close to--There were days when I had little or nothing to eat, and, with no prospects, no hope, I--if you don't leave me, Mr. Knowles, if you do come here night after night, as you say, you may force me tothat again. You can, of course, if you choose; I can't prevent you. ButI shall NOT go back to Mayberry. Now, will you say good-by?"

She meant it. If I persisted in my determination she would do as shesaid; I was sure of it. 

"I am sure my aunt would not wish you to continue to see me, against mywill, " she went on. "If she cares for me at all she would not wish that. You have done your best to please her. I--I thank you both. Good-by. "

What could I do, or say?

"Good-by, " I faltered. 

She turned and started across the square. A flying cab shut her from myview. And then I realized what was happening, realized it and realized, too, what it meant. She should not go; I would not let her leave me norwould I leave her. I sprang after her. 

The square was thronged with cabs and motor cars. The Abbey and The DeadRat and all the rest were emptying their patrons into the street. Paristraffic regulations are lax and uncertain. I dodged between a limousineand a hansom and caught a glimpse of her just as she reached theopposite sidewalk. 

"Frances!" I called. "Frances!"

She turned and saw me. Then I heard my own name shouted from thesidewalk I had just left. 

"Knowles! Knowles!"

I looked over my shoulder. Herbert Bayliss was at the curb. He wasshaking a hand, it may have been a fist, in my direction. 

"Knowles!" he shouted. "Stop! I want to see you. "

I did not reply. Instead I ran on. I saw her face among the crowd andupon it was a curious expression, of fear, of frantic entreaty. 

"Kent! Kent!" she cried. "Oh, be careful! KENT!"

There was a roar, a shout; I have a jumbled recollection of being throwninto the air, and rolling over and over upon the stones of the street. And there my recollections end, for the time. 

CHAPTER XVI

In Which I Take My Turn at Playing the Invalid

Not for a very long time. They begin again--those recollections--afew minutes later, break off once more, and then return and break offalternately, over and over again. 

The first thing I remember, after my whirligig flight over the Parispavement, is a crowd of faces above me and someone pawing at my collarand holding my wrist. This someone, a man, a stranger, said in French:

"He is not dead, Mademoiselle. "

And then a voice, a voice that I seemed to recognize, said:

"You are sure, Doctor? You are sure? Oh, thank God!"

I tried to turn my head toward the last speaker--whom I decided, forsome unexplainable reason, must be Hephzy--and to tell her that ofcourse I wasn't dead, and then all faded away and there was anotherblank. 

The next interval of remembrance begins with a sense of pain, athrobbing, savage pain, in my head and chest principally, and a wishthat the buzzing in my ears would stop. It did not stop, on the contraryit grew louder and there was a squeak and rumble and rattle along withit. A head--particularly a head bumped as hard as mine had been--mightbe expected to buzz, but it should not rattle, or squeak either. Gradually I began to understand that the rattle and squeak were externaland I was in some sort of vehicle, a sleeping car apparently, for Iseemed to be lying down. I tried to rise and ask a question and a handwas laid on my forehead and a voice--the voice which I had decided wasHephzy's--said, gently:

"Lie still. You mustn't move. Lie still, please. We shall be theresoon. "

Where "there" might be I had no idea and it was too much trouble to ask, so I drifted off again. 

Next I was being lifted out of the car; men were lifting me--or tryingto. And, being wider awake by this time, I protested. 

"Here! What are you doing?" I asked. "I am all right. Let go of me. Letgo, I tell you. "

Again the voice--it sounded less and less like Hephzy's--saying:

"Don't! Please don't! You mustn't move. "

But I kept on moving, although moving was a decidedly uncomfortableprocess. 

"What are they doing to me?" I asked. "Where am I? Hephzy, where am I?"

"You are at the hospital. You have been hurt and we are taking you tothe hospital. Lie still and they will carry you in. "

That woke me more thoroughly. 

"Nonsense!" I said, as forcefully as I could. "Nonsense! I'm not badlyhurt. I am all right now. I don't want to go to a hospital. I won't gothere. Take me to the hotel. I am all right, I tell you. "

The man's voice--the doctor's, I learned afterward--broke in, orderingme to be quiet. But I refused to be quiet. I was not going to be takento any hospital. 

"I am all right, " I declared. "Or I shall be in a little while. Take meto my hotel. I will be looked after, there. Hephzy will look after me. "

The doctor continued to protest--in French--and I to affirm--in English. Also I tried to stand. At length my declarations of independence seemedto have some effect, for they ceased trying to lift me. A dialogue inFrench followed. I heard it with growing impatience. 

"Hephzy, " I said, fretfully. "Hephzy, make them take me to my hotel. Iinsist upon it. "

"Which hotel is it? Kent--Kent, answer me. What is the name of thehotel?"

I gave the name; goodness knows how I remembered it. There was moreargument, and, after a time, the rattle and buzz and squeak began again. The next thing I remember distinctly is being carried to my room andhearing the voice of Monsieur Louis in excited questioning and command. 

After that my recollections are clearer. But it was broad daylight whenI became my normal self and realized thoroughly where I was. I was inmy room at the hotel, the sunlight was streaming in at the window andHephzy--I still supposed it was Hephzy--was sitting by that window. And for the first time it occurred to me that she should not have beenthere; by all that was right and proper she should be waiting for me inInterlaken. 

"Hephzy, " I said, weakly, "when did you get here?"

The figure at the window rose and came to the bedside. It was notHephzy. With a thrill I realized who it was. 

"Frances!" I cried. "Frances! Why--what--"

"Hush! You mustn't talk. You mustn't. You must be quiet and keepperfectly still. The doctor said so. "

"But what happened? How did I get here? What--?"

"Hush! There was an accident; you were hurt. We brought you here in acarriage. Don't you remember?"

What I remembered was provokingly little. 

"I seem to remember something, " I said. "Something about a hospital. Someone was going to take me to a hospital and I wouldn't go. Hephzy--No, it couldn't have been Hephzy. Was it--was it you?"

"Yes. We were taking you to the hospital. We did take you there, but asthey were taking you from the ambulance you--"

"Ambulance! Was I in an ambulance? What happened to me? What sort of anaccident was it?"

"Please don't try to talk. You must not talk. "

"I won't if you tell me that. What happened?"

"Don't you remember? I left you and crossed the street. You followed meand then--and then you stopped. And then--Oh, don't ask me! Don't!"

"I know. Now I do remember. It was that big motor car. I saw it coming. But who brought me here? You--I remember you; I thought you were Hephzy. And there was someone else. "

"Yes, the doctor--the doctor they called--and Doctor Bayliss. "

"Doctor Bayliss! Herbert Bayliss, do you mean? Yes, I saw him at the'Abbey'--and afterward. Did he come here with me?"

"Yes. He was very kind. I don't know what I should have done if it hadnot been for him. Now you MUST not speak another word. "

I did not, for a few moments. I lay there, feebly trying to think, and looking at her. I was grateful to young Bayliss, of course, but Iwished--even then I wished someone else and not he had helped me. I didnot like to be under obligations to him. I liked him, too; he was a goodfellow and I had always liked him, but I did not like THAT. 

She rose from the chair by the bed and walked across the room. 

"Don't go, " I said. 

She came back almost immediately. 

"It is time for your medicine, " she said. 

I took the medicine. She turned away once more. 

"Don't go, " I repeated. 

"I am not going. Not for the present. "

I was quite contented with the present. The future had no charms justthen. I lay there, looking at her. She was paler and thinner than shehad been when she left Mayberry, almost as pale and thin as when I firstmet her in the back room of Mrs. Briggs' lodging house. And therewas another change, a subtle, undefinable change in her manner andappearance that puzzled me. Then I realized what it was; she had grownolder, more mature. In Mayberry she had been an extraordinarily prettygirl. Now she was a beautiful woman. These last weeks had worked thechange. And I began to understand what she had undergone during thoseweeks. 

"Have you been with me ever since it happened--since I was hurt?" Iasked, suddenly. 

"Yes, of course. "

"All night?"

She smiled. "There was very little of the night left, " she answered. 

"But you have had no rest at all. You must be worn out. "

"Oh, no; I am used to it. My--" with a slight pause before theword--"work of late has accustomed me to resting in the daytime. And Ishall rest by and by, when my aunt--when Miss Cahoon comes. "

"Miss Cahoon? Hephzy? Have you sent for her?"

My tone of surprise startled her, I think. She looked at me. 

"Sent for her?" she repeated. "Isn't she here--in Paris?"

"She is in Interlaken, at the Victoria. Didn't the concierge tell you?"

"He told us she was not here, at this hotel, at present. He said shehad gone away with some friends. But we took it for granted she was inParis. I told them I would stay until she came. I--"

I interrupted. 

"Stay until she comes!" I repeated. "Stay--! Why you can't do that! Youcan't! You must not!"

"Hush! hush! Remember you are ill. Think of yourself!"

"Of myself! I am thinking of you. You mustn't stay here--with me. Whatwill they think? What--"

"Hush! hush, please. Think! It makes no difference what they think. If Ihad cared what people thought I should not be singing at--Hush! you mustnot excite yourself in this way. "

But I refused to hush. 

"You must not!" I cried. "You shall not! Why did you do it? They couldhave found a nurse, if one was needed. Bayliss--"

"Doctor Bayliss does not know. If he did I should not care. As for theothers--" she colored, slightly, "Well, I told the concierge that you were my uncle. It was only a whitelie; you used to say you were, you know. "

"Say! Oh, Frances, for your own sake, please--"

"Hush! Do you suppose, " her cheeks reddened and her eyes flashed as Ihad seen them flash before, "do you suppose I would go away and leaveyou now? Now, when you are hurt and ill and--and--after all that youhave done! After I treated you as I did! Oh, let me do something! Let medo a little, the veriest little in return. I--Oh, stop! stop! What areyou doing?"

I suppose I was trying to sit up; I remember raising myself on my elbow. Then came the pain again, the throbbing in my head and the agonizingpain in my side. And after that there is another long interval in myrecollections. 

For a week--of course I did not know it was a week then--my memoriesconsist only of a series of flashes like the memory of the hoursimmediately following the accident. I remember people talking, but notwhat they said; I remember her voice, or I think I do, and the touchof her hand on my forehead. And afterward, other voices, Hephzy's inparticular. But when I came to myself, weak and shaky, but to remainmyself for good and all, Hephzy--the real Hephzy--was in the room withme. 

Even then they would not let me ask questions. Another day dragged bybefore I was permitted to do that. Then Hephzy told me I had a crackedrib and a variety of assorted bruises, that I had suffered slightconcussion of the brain, and that my immediate job was to behave myselfand get well. 

"Land sakes!" she exclaimed, "there was a time when I thought you neverwas goin' to get well. Hour after hour I've set here and listenedto your gabblin' away about everything under the sun and nothin' inparticular, as crazy as a kitten in a patch of catnip, and thought andthought, what should I do, what SHOULD I do. And now I KNOW what I'mgoin' to do. I'm goin' to keep you in that bed till you're strong andwell enough to get out of it, if I have to sit on you to hold you down. And I'm no hummin'-bird when it comes to perchin', either. "

She had received the telegram which Frances sent and had come fromInterlaken post haste. 

"And I don't know, " she declared, "which part of that telegram upset memost--what there was in it or the name signed at the bottom of it. HERname! I couldn't believe my eyes. I didn't stop to believe 'em long. Ijust came. And then I found you like this. "

"Was she here?" I asked. 

"Who--Frances! My, yes, she was here. So pale and tired lookin' that Ithought she was goin' to collapse. But she wouldn't give in to it. She told me all about how it happened and what the doctor said andeverything. I didn't pay much attention to it then. All I could think ofwas you. Oh, Hosy! my poor boy! I--I--"

"There! there!" I broke in, gently. "I'm all right now, or I'm going tobe. You will have the quahaug on your hands for a while longer. But, "returning to the subject which interested me most, "what else did shetell you? Did she tell you how I met her--and where?"

"Why, yes. She's singin' somewhere--she didn't say where exactly, but itis in some kind of opera-house, I judged. There's a perfectly beautifulopera-house a little ways from here on the Avenue de L'Opera, right bythe Boulevard des Italiens, though there's precious few Italians there, far's I can see. And why an opera is a l'opera I--"

"Wait a moment, Hephzy. Did she tell you of our meeting? And how I foundher?"

"Why, not so dreadful much, Hosy. She's acted kind of queer about that, seemed to me. She said you went to this opera-house, wherever it was, and saw her there. Then you and she were crossin' the road and one ofthese dreadful French automobiles--the way they let the things tearround is a disgrace--ran into you. I declare! It almost made ME sickto hear about it. And to think of me away off amongst those mountains, enjoyin' myself and not knowin' a thing! Oh, it makes me ashamed to lookin the glass. I NEVER ought to have left you alone, and I knew it. It'sa judgment on me, what's happened is. "

"Or on me, I should rather say, " I added. Frances had not told Hephzy ofL'Abbaye, that was evident. Well, I would keep silence also. 

"Where is she now?" I asked. I asked it with as much indifference as Icould assume, but Hephzy smiled and patted my hand. 

"Oh, she comes every day to ask about you, " she said. "And DoctorBayliss comes too. He's been real kind. "

"Bayliss!" I exclaimed. "Is he with--Does he come here?"

"Yes, he comes real often, mostly about the time she does. He hasn'tbeen here for two days now, though. Hosy, do you suppose he has spokento her about--about what he spoke to you?"

"I don't know, " I answered, curtly. Then I changed the subject. 

"Has she said anything to you about coming back to Mayberry?" I asked. "Have you told her how we feel toward her?"

Hephzy's manner changed. "Yes, " she said, reluctantly, "I've told her. I've told her everything. "

"Not everything? Hephzy, you haven't told her--"

"No, no. Of course I didn't tell her THAT. You know I wouldn't, Hosy. But I told her that her money havin' turned out to be our money didn'tmake a mite of difference. I told her how much we come to think of herand how we wanted her to come with us and be the same as she had alwaysbeen. I begged her to come. I said everything I could say. "

"And she said?"

"She said no, Hosy. She wouldn't consider it at all. She asked me not totalk about it. It was settled, she said. She must go her way and we oursand we must forget her. She was more grateful than she could tell--shemost cried when she said that--but she won't come back and if I askedher again she declared she should have to go away for good. "

"I know. That is what she said to me. "

"Yes. I can't make it out exactly. It's her pride, I suppose. Her motherwas just as proud. Oh, dear! When I saw her here for the first time, after I raced back from Interlaken, I thought--I almost hoped--but Iguess it can't be. "

I did not answer. I knew only too well that it could not be. 

"Does she seem happy?" I asked. 

"Why, no; I don't think she is happy. There are times, especially whenyou began to get better, when she seemed happier, but the last few timesshe was here she was--well, different. "

"How different?"

"It's hard to tell you. She looked sort of worn and sad and discouraged. Hosy, what sort of a place is it she is singin' in?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Some things you said when you were out of your headmade me wonder. That, and some talk I overheard her and Doctor Baylisshavin' one time when they were in the other room--my room--together. Ihad stepped out for a minute and when I came back, I came in this doorinstead of the other. They were in the other room talkin' and he wasbeggin' her not to stay somewhere any more. It wasn't a fit place forher to be, he said; her reputation would be ruined. She cut him shortby sayin' that her reputation was her own and that she should do as shethought best, or somethin' like that. Then I coughed, so they would knowI was around, and they commenced talkin' of somethin' else. But it setme thinkin' and when you said--"

She paused. "What did I say?" I asked. 

"Why, 'twas when she and I were here. You had been quiet for a while andall at once you broke out--delirious you was--beggin' somebody or othernot to do somethin'. For your sake, for their own sake, they mustn't doit. 'Twas awful to hear you. A mixed-up jumble about Abbie, whoevershe is--not much, by the way you went on about her--and please, please, please, for the Lord's sake, give it up. I tried to quiet you, but youwouldn't be quieted. And finally you said: 'Frances! Oh, Frances! don't!Say that you won't any more. ' I gave you your sleepin' drops then; Ithought 'twas time. I was afraid you'd say somethin' that you wouldn'twant her to hear. You understand, don't you, Hosy?"

"I understand. Thank you, Hephzy. "

"Yes. Well, _I_ didn't understand and I asked her if she did. She saidno, but she was dreadfully upset and I think she did understand, inspite of her sayin' it. What sort of a place is it, this opera-housewhere she sings?"

I dodged the question as best I could. I doubt if Hephzy's suspicionswere allayed, but she did not press the subject. Instead she told me Ihad talked enough for that afternoon and must rest. 

That evening I saw Bayliss for the first time since the accident. He congratulated me on my recovery and I thanked him for his help inbringing me to the hotel. He waved my thanks aside. 

"Quite unnecessary, thanking me, " he said, shortly. "I couldn't doanything else, of course. Well, I must be going. Glad you're feelingmore fit, Knowles, I'm sure. "

"And you?" I asked. "How are you?"

"I? Oh, I'm fit enough, I suppose. Good-by. "

He didn't look fit. He looked more haggard and worn and moody than ever. And his manner was absent and distrait. Hephzy noticed it; there werefew things she did not notice. 

"Either that boy's meals don't agree with him, " she announced, "orsomethin's weighin' on his mind. He looks as if he'd lost his lastfriend. Hosy, do you suppose he's spoken to--to her about what he spokeof to you?"

"I don't know. I suppose he has. He was only too anxious to speak, therein Mayberry. "

"Humph! Well, IF he has, then--Hosy, sometimes I think this, all thispilgrimage of ours--that's what you used to call it, a pilgrimage--isgoin' to turn out right, after all. Don't it remind you of a book, thislast part of it?"

"A dismal sort of book, " I said, gloomily. 

"Well, I don't know. Here are you, the hero, and here's she, theheroine. And the hero is sick and the heroine comes to take care ofhim--she WAS takin' care of you afore I came, you know; and she falls inlove with him and--"

"Yes, " I observed, sarcastically. "She always does--in books. But inthose books the hero is not a middle-aged quahaug. Suppose we stick toreal life and possibilities, Hephzy. "

Hephzy was unconvinced. "I don't care, " she said. "She ought to even ifshe doesn't. _I_ fell in love with you long ago, Hosy. And she DID bringyou here after you were hurt and took care of you. "

"Hush! hush!" I broke in. "She took care of me, as you call it, becauseshe thought it was her duty. She thinks she is under great obligation tous because we did not pitch her into the street when we first met her. She insists that she owes us money and gratitude. Her kindness to me andher care are part payment of the debt. She told me so, herself. "

"But--"

"There aren't any 'buts. ' You mustn't be an idiot because I have beenone, Hephzy. We agreed not to speak of that again. Don't remind me ofit. "

Hephzy sighed. "All right, " she said. "I suppose you are right, Hosy. But--but how is all this goin' to end? She won't go with us. Are wegoin' to leave her here alone?"

I was silent. The same question was in my mind, but I had answered it. Iwas NOT going to leave her there alone. And yet--

"If I was sure, " mused Hephzy, "that she was in love with HerbertBayliss, then 'twould be all right, I suppose. They would get marriedand it would be all right--or near right--wouldn't it, Hosy. "

I said nothing. 

The next morning I saw her. She came to inquire for me and Hephzybrought her into my room for a stay of a minute or two. She seemed gladto find me so much improved in health and well on the road to recovery. I tried to thank her for her care of me, for her sending for Hephzy andall the rest of it, but she would not listen. She chatted about Parisand the French people, about Monsieur Louis, the concierge, and jokedwith Hephzy about that gentleman's admiration for "the wonderfulAmerican lady, " meaning Hephzy herself. 

"He calls you 'Madame Cay-hoo-on, '" she said, "and he thinks you amiracle of decision and management. I think he is almost afraid of you, I really do. "

Hephzy smiled, grimly. "He'd better be, " she declared. "The wayeverybody was flyin' around when I first got here after comin' fromInterlaken, and the way the help jabbered and hunched up their shoulderswhen I asked questions made me so fidgety I couldn't keep still. Iwanted an egg for breakfast, that first mornin' and when the waiterbrought it, it was in the shell, the way they eat eggs over here. Ican't eat 'em that way--I'm no weasel--and I told the waiter I wanted anegg cup. Nigh as I could make out from his pigeon English he wastellin' me there was a cup there. Well, there was, one of those little, two-for-a-cent contraptions, just big enough to stick one end of theegg into. 'I want a big one, ' says I. 'We, Madame, ' says he, and offhe trotted. When he came back he brought me a big EGG, a duck's egg, Iguess 'twas. Then I scolded and he jabbered some more and by and by hewent and fetched this Monsieur Louis man. He could speak English, thankgoodness, and he was real nice, in his French way. He begged my pardonfor the waiter's stupidness, said he was a new hand, and the like ofthat, and went on apologizin' and bowin' and smilin' till I almost had afit. 

"'For mercy sakes!' I says, 'don't say any more about it. If that lastegg hadn't been boiled 'twould have hatched out an--an ostrich, orsomethin' or other, by this time. And it's stone cold, of course. Have this--this jumpin'-jack of yours bring me a hot egg--a hen'segg--opened, in a cup big enough to see without spectacles, and tellhim to bring some cream with the coffee. At any rate, if there isn'tany cream, have him bring some real milk instead of this watery stuff. I might wash clothes with that, for I declare I think there's bluin'in it, but I sha'n't drink it; I'd be afraid of swallowin' a fish byaccident. And do hurry!'

"He went away then, hurryin' accordin' to orders, and ever since thenhe's been bobbin' up to ask if 'Madame finds everything satisfactory. ' Isuppose likely I shouldn't have spoken as I did, he means well--it isn'this fault, or the waiter's either, that they can't talk without wavin'their hands as if they were givin' three cheers--but I was terriblynervous that mornin' and I barked like a tied-up dog. Oh dear, Hosy! ifever I missed you and your help it's in this blessed country. "

Frances laughed at all this; she seemed just then to be in high spirits;but I thought, or imagined, that her high spirits were assumed for ourbenefit. At the first hint of questioning concerning her own life, whereshe lodged or what her plans might be, she rose and announced that shemust go. 

Each morning of that week she came, remaining but a short time, andalways refusing to speak of herself or her plans. Hephzy and I, findingthat a reference to those plans meant the abrupt termination of thecall, ceased trying to question. And we did not mention our life at therectory, either; that, too, she seemed unwilling to discuss. Once, when I spoke of our drive to Wrayton, she began a reply, stopped in themiddle of a sentence, and then left the room. 

Hephzy hastened after her. She returned alone. 

"She was cryin', Hosy, " she said. "She said she wasn't, but she was. Thepoor thing! she's unhappy and I know it; she's miserable. But she's soproud she won't own it and, although I'm dyin' to put my arms around herand comfort her, I know if I did she'd go away and never come back. Do you notice she hasn't called me 'Auntie' once. And she always usedto--at the rectory. I'm afraid--I'm afraid she's just as determined asshe was when she ran away, never to live with us again. What SHALL wedo?"

I did not know and I did not dare to think. I was as certain that thesevisits would cease very soon as I was that they were the only thingswhich made my life bearable. How I did look forward to them! And whileshe was there, with us, how short the time seemed and how it draggedwhen she had gone. The worst thing possible for me, this seeing her andbeing with her; I knew it. I knew it perfectly well. But, knowing it, and realizing that it could not last and that it was but the prelude toa worse loneliness which was sure to come, made no difference. I dreadedto be well again, fearing that would mean the end of those visits. 

But I was getting well and rapidly. I sat up for longer and longerperiods each day. I began to read my letters now, instead of havingHephzy read them to me, letters from Matthews at the London office andfrom Jim Campbell at home. Matthews had cabled Jim of the accident andlater that I was recovering. So Jim wrote, professing to find materialgain in the affair. 

"Great stuff, " he wrote. "Two chapters at least. The hero, pursuing thevillain through the streets of Paris at midnight, is run down by anauto driven by said villain. 'Ah ha!' says the villain: 'Now will you begood?' or words to that effect. 'Desmond, ' says the hero, unflinchingly, as they extract the cobble-stones from his cuticle, 'you triumph for themoment, but beware! there will be something doing later on. ' See? Ifit wasn't for the cracked rib and the rest I should be almost glad ithappened. All you need is the beautiful heroine nursing you to recovery. Can't you find her?"

He did not know that I had found her, or that the hoped-for novel wasless likely to be finished than ever. 

Hephzy was now able to leave me occasionally, to take the walks which Iinsisted upon. She had some queer experiences in these walks. 

"Lost again to-day, Hosy, " she said, cheerfully, removing her bonnet. "Iwent cruisin' through the streets over to the south'ard and they were sonarrow and so crooked--to say nothin' of bein' dirty and smelly--that Ithought I never should get out. Of course I could have hired a hackand let it bring me to the hotel but I wouldn't do that. I was set onfindin' my own way. I'd walked in and I was goin' to walk out, that wasall there was to it. 'Twasn't the first time I'd been lost in this Parisplace and I've got a system of my own. When I get to the square 'Placedelay Concorde, ' they call it, I know where I am. And 'Concorde' isenough like Concord, Mass. , to make me remember the name. So I walk upto a nice appearin' Frenchman with a tall hat and whiskers--I didn'tknow there was so many chin whiskers outside of East Harniss, or someother back number place--and I say, 'Pardon, Monseer. Place delayConcorde?' Just like that with a question mark after it. After I say ittwo or three times he begins to get a floatin' sniff of what I'm drivin'at and says he: 'Place delay Concorde? Oh, we, we, we, Madame!' Then awhole string of jabber and arm wavin', with some countin' in the middleof it. Now I've learned 'one, two, three' in French and I know hemeans for me to keep on for two or three more streets in the way he'spointin'. So I keep on, and, when I get there, I go through the wholerigamarole with another Frenchman. About the third session and I'm backon the Concord Place. THERE I am all right. No, I don't propose to staylost long. My father and grandfather and all my men folks spent theirlives cruisin' through crooked passages and crowded shoals and I guessI've inherited some of the knack. "

At last I was strong enough to take a short outing in Hephzy's company. I returned to the hotel, where Hephzy left me. She was going to do alittle shopping by herself. I went to my room and sat down to rest. A bell boy--at least that is what we should have called him in theStates--knocked at the door. 

"A lady to see Monsieur, " he said. 

The lady was Frances. 

She entered the room and I rose to greet her. 

"Why, you are alone!" she exclaimed. "Where is Miss Cahoon?"

"She is out, on a shopping expedition, " I explained. "She will be backsoon. I have been out too. We have been driving together. What do youthink of that!"

She seemed pleased at the news but when I urged her to sit and waitfor Hephzy's return she hesitated. Her hesitation, however, was onlymomentary. She took the chair by the window and we chatted together, of my newly-gained strength, of Hephzy's adventures as a pathfinder inParis, of the weather, of a dozen inconsequential things. I found itdifficult to sustain my part in the conversation. There was so muchof real importance which I wanted to say. I wanted to ask her aboutherself, where she lodged, if she was still singing at L'Abbaye, whather plans for the future might be. And I did not dare. 

My remarks became more and more disjointed and she, too, seemed uneasyand absent-minded. At length there was an interval of silence. She brokethat silence. 

"I suppose, " she said, "you will be going back to Mayberry soon. "

"Back to Mayberry?" I repeated. 

"Yes. You and Miss Cahoon will go back there, of course, now that youare strong enough to travel. She told me that the American friends withwhom you and she were to visit Switzerland had changed their plans andwere going on to Italy. She said that she had written them that yourproposed Continental trip was abandoned. "

"Yes. Yes, that was given up, of course. "

"Then you will go back to England, will you not?"

"I don't know. We have made no plans as yet. "

"But you will go back. Miss Cahoon said you would. And, when your leaseof the rectory expires, you will sail for America. "

"I don't know. "

"But you must know, " with a momentary impatience. "Surely you don'tintend to remain here in Paris. "

"I don't know that, either. I haven't considered what I shall do. Itdepends--that is--"

I did not finish the sentence. I had said more than I intended and itwas high time I stopped. But I had said too much, as it was. She askedmore questions. 

"Upon what does it depend?" she asked. 

"Oh, nothing. I did not mean that it depended upon anything inparticular. I--"

"You must have meant something. Tell me--answer me truthfully, please:Does it depend upon me?"

Of course that was just what it did depend upon. And suddenly Idetermined to tell her so. 

"Frances, " I demanded, "are you still there--at that place?"

"At L'Abbaye. Yes. "

"You sing there every night?"

"Yes. "

"Why do you do it? You know--"

"I know everything. But you know, too. I told you I sang there becauseI must earn my living in some way and that seems to be the only placewhere I can earn it. They pay me well there, and the people--theproprietors--are considerate and kind, in their way. "

"But it isn't a fit place for you. And you don't like it; I know youdon't. "

"No, " quietly. "I don't like it. "

"Then don't do it. Give it up. "

"If I give it up what shall I do?"

"You know. Come back with us and live with us as you did before. I wantyou; Hephzy is crazy to have you. We--she has missed you dreadfully. Shegrieves for you and worries about you. We offer you a home and--"

She interrupted. "Please don't, " she said. "I have told you that that isimpossible. It is. I shall never go back to Mayberry. "

"But why? Your aunt--"

"Don't! My aunt is very kind--she has been so kind that I cannot bear tospeak of her. Her kindness and--and yours are the few pleasant memoriesthat I have--of this last dreadful year. To please you both I would doanything--anything--except--"

"Don't make any exceptions. Come with us. If not to Mayberry, thensomewhere else. Come to America with us. "

"No. "

"Frances--"

"Don't! My mind is made up. Please don't speak of that again. "

Again I realized the finality in her tone. The same finality was in mineas I answered. 

"Then I shall stay here, " I declared. "I shall not leave you alone, without friends or a protector of any kind, to sing night after night inthat place. I shall not do it. I shall stay here as long as you do. "

She was silent. I wondered what was coming next. I expected her tosay, as she had said before, that I was forcing her to give up her oneopportunity. I expected reproaches and was doggedly prepared to meetthem. But she did not reproach me. She said nothing; instead she seemedto be thinking, to be making up her mind. 

"Don't do it, Frances, " I pleaded. "Don't sing there any longer. Give itup. You don't like the work; it isn't fit work for you. Give it up. "

She rose from her chair and standing by the window looked out into thestreet. Suddenly she turned and looked at me. 

"Would it please you if I gave up singing at L'Abbaye?" she askedquietly. "You know it would. "

"And if I did would you and Miss Cahoon go back to England--at once?"

Here was another question, one that I found very hard to answer. I triedto temporize. 

"We want you to come with us, " I said, earnestly. "We want you. Hephzy--"

"Oh, don't, don't, don't! Why will you persist? Can't you understandthat you hurt me? I am trying to believe I have some self-respect left, even after all that has happened. And you--What CAN you think of me! No, I tell you! NO!"

"But for Hephzy's sake. She is your only relative. "

She looked at me oddly. And when she spoke her answer surprised me. 

"You are mistaken, " she said. "I have other--relatives. Good-by, Mr. Knowles. "

She was on her way to the door. 

"But, Frances, " I cried, "you are not going. Wait. Hephzy will be hereany moment. Don't go. "

She shook her head. 

"I must go, " she said. At the door she turned and looked back. 

"Good-by, " she said, again. "Good-by, Kent. "

She had gone and when I reached the door she had turned the corner ofthe corridor. 

When Hephzy came I told her of the visit and what had taken place. 

"That's queer, " said Hephzy. "I can't think what she meant. I don't knowof any other relatives she's got except Strickland Morley's tribe. Andthey threw him overboard long, long ago. I can't understand who shemeant; can you, Hosy?"

I had been thinking. 

"Wasn't there someone else--some English cousins of hers with whom shelived for a time after her father's death? Didn't she tell you aboutthem?"

Hephzy nodded vigorously. "That's so, " she declared. "There was. Andshe did live with 'em, too. She never told me their names or where theylived, but I know she despised and hated 'em. She gave me to understandthat. And she ran away from 'em, too, just as she did from us. I don'tsee why she should have meant them. I don't believe she did. Perhapsshe'll tell us more next time she comes. That'll be tomorrow, mostlikely. "

I hoped that it might be to-morrow, but I was fearful. The way in whichshe had said good-by made me so. Her look, her manner, seemed to implymore than a good-by for a day. And, though this I did not tell Hephzy, she had called me "Kent" for the first time since the happy days at therectory. I feared--all sorts of things. 

She did not come on the morrow, or the following day, or the day afterthat. Another week passed and she did not come, nor had we received anyword from her. By that time Hephzy was as anxious and fretful as I. And, when I proposed going in search of her, Hephzy, for a wonder, considering how very, very careful she was of my precious health, didnot say no. 

"You're pretty close to bein' as well as ever you was, Hosy, " she said. "And I know how terribly worried you are. If you do go out at nightyou may be sick again, but if you don't go and lay awake frettin' andfrettin' about her I KNOW you'll be sick. So perhaps you'd better do it. Shall I--Sha'n't I go with you?"

"I think you had better not, " I said. 

"Well, perhaps you're right. You never would tell me much about thisopera-house, or whatever 'tis, but I shouldn't wonder if, bein' aYankee, I'd guessed considerable. Go, Hosy, and bring her back if youcan. Find her anyhow. There! there run along. The hack's down at thedoor waitin'. Is your head feelin' all right? You're sure? And youhaven't any pain? And you'll keep wrapped up? All right? Good-by, dearie. Hurry back! Do hurry back, for my sake. And I hope--Oh, I dohope you'll bring no bad news. "

L'Abbaye, at eight-thirty in the evening was a deserted place comparedto what it had been when I visited it at midnight. The waiters andattendants were there, of course, and a few early bird patrons, but notmany. The bearded proprietors, or managers, were flying about, and Icaught one of them in the middle of a flight. 

He did not recognize me at first, but when I stated my errand, he did. Out went his hands and up went his shoulders. 

"The Mademoiselle, " he said. "Ah, yes! You are her friend, Monsieur; Iremember perfectly. Oh, no, no, no! she is not here any more. Shehas left us. She sings no longer at L'Abbaye. We are desolate; we areinconsolable. We pleaded, but she was firm. She has gone. Where? Ah, Monsieur, so many ask that; but alas! we do not know. "

"But you do know where she lives, " I urged. "You must know her homeaddress. Give me that. It is of the greatest importance that I see herat once. "

At first he declared that he did not know her address, the address whereshe lodged. I persisted and, at last, he admitted that he did know it, but that he was bound by the most solemn promise to reveal it to no one. 

"It was her wish, Monsieur. It was a part of the agreement under whichshe sang for us. No one should know who she was or where she lived. AndI--I am an honorable man, Monsieur. I have promised and--" the businessof shoulders and hands again--"my pledged word to a lady, how shall itbe broken?"

I found a way to break it, nevertheless. A trio of gold pieces and thestatement that I was her uncle did the trick. An uncle! Ah, that wasdifferent. And, Mademoiselle had consented to see me when I came before, that was true. She had seen the young English gentleman also--but wetwo only. Was the young English Monsieur--"the Doctor Baylees"--was he arelative also?

I did not answer that question. It was not his business and, beside, Idid not wish to speak of Herbert Bayliss. 

The address which the manager of L'Abbaye gave me, penciled on a card, was a number in a street in Montmartre, and not far away. I might easilyhave walked there, I was quite strong enough for walking now, but Ipreferred a cab. Paris motor cabs, as I knew from experience, movedrapidly. This one bore me to my destination in a few minutes. 

A stout middle-aged French woman answered my ring. But her answer to myinquiries was most unsatisfactory. And, worse than all, I was certainshe was telling me the truth. 

The Mademoiselle was no longer there, she said. She had given upher room three days ago and had gone away. Where? That, alas, was aquestion. She had told no one. She had gone and she was not coming back. Was it not a pity, a great pity! Such a beautiful Mademoiselle! such anartiste! who sang so sweetly! Ah, the success she had made. And such agood young lady, too! Not like the others--oh, no, no, no! No one was toknow she lodged there; she would see no one. Ah, a good girl, Monsieur, if ever one lived. 

"Did she--did she go alone?" I asked. 

The stout lady hesitated. Was Monsieur a very close friend? Perhaps arelative?

"An uncle, " I said, telling the old lie once more. 

Ah, an uncle! It was all right then. No, Mademoiselle had not gonealone. A young gentleman, a young English gentleman had gone with her, or, at least, had brought the cab in which she went and had drivenoff in it with her. A young English gentleman with a yellow mustache. Perhaps I knew him. 

I recognized the description. She had left the house with HerbertBayliss. What did that mean? Had she said yes to him? Were they married?I dreaded to know, but know I must. 

And, as the one possible chance of settling the question, I bade my cabdriver take me to the Hotel Continental. There, at the desk, I asked ifDoctor Bayliss was still in the hotel. They said he was. I think I musthave appeared strange or the gasp of relief with which I received thenews was audible, for the concierge asked me if I was ill. I said no, and then he told me that Bayliss was planning to leave the next day, butwas just then in his room. Did I wish to see him? I said I did and gavethem my card. 

He came down soon afterward. I had not seen him for a fortnight, for hiscalls had ceased even before Frances' last visit. Hephzy had said that, in her opinion, his meals must be disagreeing with him. Judging by hisappearance his digestion was still very much impaired. He was in eveningdress, of course; being an English gentleman he would have dressed forhis own execution, if it was scheduled to take place after six o'clock. But his tie was carelessly arranged, his shirt bosom was slightlycrumpled and there was a general "don't care" look about his raimentwhich was, for him, most unusual. And he was very solemn. I decided atonce, whatever might have happened, it was not what I surmised. He wasneither a happy bridegroom nor a prospective one. 

"Good evening, Bayliss, " said I, and extended my hand. 

"Good evening, Knowles, " he said, but he kept his own hands in hispockets. And he did not ask me to be seated. 

"Well?" he said, after a moment. 

"I came to you, " I began--mine was a delicate errand and hard tostate--"I came to you to ask if you could tell me where Miss Morley hasgone. She has left L'Abbaye and has given up her room at her lodgings. She has gone--somewhere. Do you know where she is?"

It was quite evident that he did know. I could see it in his face. Hedid not answer, however. Instead he glanced about uneasily and then, turning, led the way toward a small reception room adjoining the lobby. This room was, save for ourselves, unoccupied. 

"We can be more private here, " he explained, briefly. "What did youask?"

"I asked if you knew where Miss Morley had gone and where she was at thepresent time?"

He hesitated, pulling at his mustache, and frowning. "I don't see whyyou should ask me that?" he said, after a moment. 

"But I do ask it. Do you know where she is?"

Another pause. "Well, if I did, " he said, stiffly, "I see no reasonwhy I should tell you. To be perfectly frank, and as I have said to youbefore, I don't consider myself bound to tell you anything concerningher. "

His manner was most offensive. Again, as at the time I came to him atthat very hotel on a similar errand, after my arrival in Paris, I foundit hard to keep my temper. 

"Don't misunderstand me, " I said, as calmly as I could. "I am notpretending now to have a claim upon Miss Morley. I am not asking you totell me just where she is, if you don't wish to tell. And it is not formy sake--that is, not primarily for that--that I am anxious about her. It is for hers. I wish you might tell me this: Is she safe? Is she amongfriends? Is she--is she quite safe and in a respectable place and likelyto be happy? Will you tell me that?"

He hesitated again. "She is quite safe, " he said, after a moment. "Andshe is among friends, or I suppose they are friends. As to her beinghappy--well, you ought to know that better than I, it seems to me. "

I was puzzled. "_I_ ought to know?" I repeated. "I ought to know whethershe is happy or not? I don't understand. "

He looked at me intently. "Don't you?" he asked. "You are certain youdon't? Humph! Well, if I were in your place I would jolly well find out;you may be sure of that. "

"What are you driving at, Bayliss? I tell you I don't know what youmean. "

He did not answer. He was frowning and kicking the corner of a rug withhis foot. 

"I don't understand what you mean, " I repeated. "You are saying too muchor too little for my comprehension. "

"I've said too much, " he muttered. "At all events, I have said allI shall say. Was there any other subject you wished to see me about, Knowles? If not I must be going. I'm rather busy this evening. "

"There was no subject but that one. And you will tell me nothing moreconcerning Miss Morley?"

"No. "

"Good night, " I said, and turned away. Then I turned back. 

"Bayliss, " said I, "I think perhaps I had better say this: I have onlythe kindest feelings toward you. You may have misunderstood my attitudein all this. I have said nothing to prejudice her--Miss Morley againstyou. I never shall. You care for her, I know. If she cares for you thatis enough, so far as I am concerned. Her happiness is my sole wish. Iwant you to consider me your friend--and hers. "

Once more I extended my hand. For an instant I thought he was going totake it, but he did not. 

"No, " he said, sullenly. "I won't shake hands with you. Why should I?You don't mean what you say. At least I don't think you do. I--I--ByJove! you can't!"

"But I do, " I said, patiently. 

"You can't! Look here! you say I care for her. God knows I do! Butyou--suppose you knew where she was, what would you do? Would you go toher?"

I had been considering this very thing, during my ride to the lodgingsand on the way to the hotel; and I had reached a conclusion. 

"No, " I answered, slowly. "I think I should not. I know she does notwish me to follow her. I suppose she went away to avoid me. If I wereconvinced that she was among friends, in a respectable place, and quitesafe, I should try to respect her wish. I think I should not follow herthere. "

He stared at me, wide-eyed. 

"You wouldn't!" he repeated. "You wouldn't! And you--Oh, I say! And youtalked of her happiness!"

"It is her happiness I am thinking of. If it were my own I should--"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. She will be happier if I do not follow her, Isuppose. That is enough for me. "

He regarded me with the same intent stare. 

"Knowles, " he said, suddenly, "she is at the home of a relative ofhers--Cripps is the name--in Leatherhead, England. There! I have toldyou. Why I should be such a fool I don't know. And now you will gothere, I suppose. What?"

"No, " I answered. "No. I thank you for telling me, Bayliss, but it shallmake no difference. I will respect her wish. I will not go there. "

"You won't!"

"No, I will not trouble her again. "

To my surprise he laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh, there was moresarcasm than mirth in it, or so it seemed, but why he should laugh atall I could not understand. 

"Knowles, " he said, "you're a good fellow, but--"

"But what?" I asked, stiffly. 

"You're no end of a silly ass in some ways. Good night. "

He turned on his heel and walked off. 

CHAPTER XVII

In Which I, as Well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, Am Surprised

"And to think, " cried Hephzy, for at least the fifth time since I toldher, "that those Crippses are her people, the cousins she lived withafter her pa's death! No wonder she was surprised when I told her howyou and I went to Leatherhead and looked at their 'Ash Dump'--'AshChump, ' I mean. And we came just as near hirin' it, too; we would havehired it if she hadn't put her foot down and said she wouldn't go there. A good many queer things have happened on this pilgrimage of ours, Hosy, but I do believe our goin' straight to those Crippses, of all the folksin England, is about the strangest. Seems as if we was sent there with apurpose, don't it?"

"It is a strange coincidence, " I admitted. 

"It's more'n that. And her goin' back to them is queerer still. Shehates 'em, I know she does. She as much as said so, not mention' theirnames, of course. Why did she do it?"

I knew why she had done it, or I believed I did. 

"She did it to please you and me, Hephzy, " I said. "And to get rid ofus. She said she would do anything to please us, and she knew I did notwant her to remain here in Paris. I told her I should stay here as longas she did, or at least as long as she sang at--at the place where shewas singing. And she asked if, provided she gave up singing there, youand I would go back to England--or America?"

"Yes, I know; you told me that, Hosy. But you said you didn't promise todo it. "

"I didn't promise anything. I couldn't promise not to follow her. Ididn't believe I could keep the promise. But I sha'n't follow her, Hephzy. I shall not go to Leatherhead. "

Hephzy was silent for a moment. Then she said: "Why not?"

"You know why. That night when I first met her, the night after you hadgone to Lucerne, she told me that if I persisted in following her andtrying to see her I would force her to give up the only means of earninga living she had been able to find. Well, I have forced her to do that. She has been obliged to run away once more in order to get rid of us. I am not going to persecute her further. I am going to try and beunselfish and decent, if I can. Now that we know she is safe and amongfriends--"

"Friends! A healthy lot of friends they are--that Solomon Cripps and hiswife! If ever I ran afoul of a sanctimonious pair of hypocrites they'rethe pair. Oh, they were sweet and buttery enough to us, I give in, butthat was because they thought we was goin' to hire their Dump or Chump, or whatever 'twas. I'll bet they could be hard as nails to anybody theyhad under their thumbs. Whenever I see a woman or a man with a mouththat shuts up like a crack in a plate, the way theirs do, it takes morethan Scriptur' texts from that mouth to make me believe it won't bitewhen it has the chance. Safe! poor Little Frank may be safe enough atLeatherhead, but I'll bet she's miserable. WHAT made her go there?"

"Because she had no other place to go, I suppose, " I said. "Andthere, among her relatives, she thought she would be free from ourpersecution. "

"There's some things worse than persecution, " Hephzy declared; "and, so far as that goes, there are different kinds of persecution. But whatmakes those Crippses willin' to take her in and look after her is what_I_ can't understand. They MAY be generous and forgivin' and kind, but, if they are, then I miss my guess. The whole business is awful queer. Tell me all about your talk with Doctor Bayliss, Hosy. What did he say?And how did he look when he said it?"

I told her, repeating our conversation word for word, as near as I couldremember it. She listened intently and when I had finished there was anodd expression on her face. 

"Humph!" she exclaimed. "He seemed surprised to think you weren't goin'to Leatherhead, you say?"

"Yes. At least I thought he was surprised. He knew I had chased her fromMayberry to Paris and was there at the hotel trying to learn from himwhere she was. And he knows you are her aunt. I suppose he thought itstrange that we were not going to follow her any further. "

"Maybe so. .. Maybe so. But why did he call you a--what was it?--a sillydonkey?"

"Because I am one, I imagine, " I answered, bitterly. "It's my naturalstate. I was born one. "

"Humph! Well, 'twould take more than that boy's word to make me believeit. No there's something!--I wish I could see that young fellow myself. He's at the Continental Hotel, you say?"

"Yes; but he leaves to-morrow. There, Hephzy, that's enough. Don't talkabout it. Change the subject. I am ready to go back to England--yes, or America either, whenever you say the word. The sooner the better forme. "

Hephzy obediently changed the subject and we decided to leave Paris thefollowing afternoon. We would go back to the rectory, of course, andleave there for home as soon as the necessary arrangements could bemade. Hephzy agreed to everything, she offered no objections, in factit seemed to me that she was paying very little attention. Her lack ofinterest--yes, and apparent lack of sympathy, for I knew she must knowwhat my decision meant to me--hurt and irritated me. 

I rose. 

"Good night, " I said, curtly. "I'm going to bed. "

"That's right, Hosy. You ought to go. You'll be sick again if you sit upany longer. Good night, dearie. "

"And you?" I asked. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to set up a spell longer. I want to think. "

"I don't. I wish I might never think again. Or dream, either. I am awakeat last. God knows I wish I wasn't!"

She moved toward me. There was the same odd expression on her face and aqueer, excited look in her eyes. 

"Perhaps you aren't really awake, Hosy, " she said, gently. "Perhaps thisis the final dream and when you do wake you'll find--"

"Oh, bosh!" I interrupted. "Don't tell me you have another presentiment. If you have keep it to yourself. Good night. "

I was weak from my recent illness and I had been under a great nervousstrain all that evening. These are my only excuses and they are poorones. I spoke and acted abominably and I was sorry for it afterward. Ihave told Hephzy so a good many times since, but I think she understoodwithout my telling her. 

"Well, " she said, quietly, "dreams are somethin', after all. It'ssomethin' to have had dreams. I sha'n't forget mine. Good night, Hosy. "

The next morning after breakfast she announced that she had an errandor two to do. She would run out and do them, she said, but she would begone only a little while. She was gone nearly two hours during which Ipaced the floor or sat by the window looking out. The crowded boulevardwas below me, but I did not see it. All I saw was a future as desolateand blank as the Bayport flats at low tide, and I, a quahaug on thoseflats, doomed to live, or exist, forever and ever and ever, with nothingto live for. 

Hephzy, when she did return to the hotel, was surprisingly chatty andgood-humored. She talked, talked, talked all the time, about nothing inparticular, laughed a good deal, and flew about, packing our belongingsand humming to herself. She acted more like the Hephzy of old than shehad for weeks. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her whichI could not understand. I attributed it to the fact of our leaving forAmerica in the near future and her good humor irritated me. My spiritswere lower than ever. 

"You seem to be remarkably happy, " I observed, fretfully. 

"What makes you think so, Hosy? Because I was singin'? Father usedto say my singin' was the most doleful noise he ever heard, excepta fog-horn on a lee shore. I'm glad if you think it's a proof ofhappiness: I'm much obliged for the compliment. "

"Well, you are happy, or you are trying to appear so. If you arepretending for my benefit, don't. I'M not happy. "

"I know, Hosy; I know. Well, perhaps you--"

She didn't finish the sentence. 

"Perhaps what?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'. How many shirts did you bring with you? is thisall?"

She sang no more, probably because she saw that the "fog-horn" annoyedme, but her manner was just as strange and her nervous energy aspronounced. I began to doubt if my surmise, that her excitement andexaltation were due to the anticipation of an early return to Bayport, was a correct one. I began to thing there must be some other course andto speculate concerning it. And I, too, grew a bit excited. 

"Hephzy, " I said, suddenly, "where did you go when you went out thismorning? What sort of 'errands' were those of yours?"

She was folding my ties, her back toward me, and she answered withoutturning. 

"Oh, I had some odds and ends of things to do, " she said. "This plaidnecktie of yours is gettin' pretty shabby, Hosy. I guess you can'twear it again. There! I mustn't stop to talk. I've got my own things topack. "

She hurried to her own room and I asked no more questions just then. But I was more suspicious than ever. I remembered a question of hersthe previous evening and I believed. .. . But, if she had gone to theContinental and seen Herbert Bayliss, what could he have told her tomake her happy?

We took the train for Calais and crossed the Channel to Dover. This timethe eccentric strip of water was as calm as a pond at sunset. No jumpy, white-capped billows, no flying spray, no seasick passengers. Tarpaulinswere a drag on the market. 

"I wouldn't believe, " declared Hephzy, "that this lookin'-glass wasthe same as that churned-up tub of suds we slopped through before. Itdoesn't trickle down one's neck now, does it, Hosy. A 'nahsty' cross-in'comin' and a smooth one comin' back. I wonder if that's a sign. "

"Oh, don't talk about signs, Hephzy, " I pleaded, wearily. "You'll beginto dream again, I suppose, pretty soon. "

"No, I won't. I think you and I have stopped dreamin', Hosy. Maybe we'rejust wakin' up, same as I told you. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Mean? Oh, I guess I didn't mean anything. Good-by, old France! You're alovely country and a lively one, but I sha'n't cry at sayin' good-by toyou this time. And there's England dead ahead. Won't it seem good tobe where they talk instead of jabber! I sha'n't have to navigate by the'one-two-three' chart over there. "

Dover, a flying trip through the customs, the train again, an Englishdinner in an English restaurant car--not a "wagon bed, " as Hephzy said, exultantly--and then London. 

We took a cab to the hotel, not Bancroft's this time, but a moderndowntown hostelry where there were at least as many Americans asEnglish. In our rooms I would have cross-questioned Hephzy, but shewould not be questioned, declaring that she was tired and sleepy. I wastired, also, but not sleepy. I was almost as excited as she seemed tobe by this time. I was sure she had learned something that morning inParis, something which pleased her greatly. What that something mightbe I could not imagine; but I believed she had learned it from HerbertBayliss. 

And the next morning, after breakfast, she announced that she hadarranged for a cab and we must start for the station at once. I saidnothing then, but when the cab pulled up before a railway station, astation which was not our accustomed one but another, I said a greatdeal. 

"What in the world, Hephzy!" I exclaimed. "We can't go to Mayberry fromhere. "

"Hush, hush, Hosy. Wait a minute--wait till I've paid the driver. Yes, I'm doin' it myself. I'm skipper on this cruise. You're an invalid, didn't you know it. Invalids have to obey orders. "

The cabman paid, she took my arm and led me into the station. 

"And now, Hosy, " she said, "let me tell you. We aren't goin' toMayberry--not yet. We're going to Leatherhead. "

"To Leatherhead!" I repeated. "To Leatherhead! To--her? We certainlywill do no such thing. "

"Yes, we will, Hosy, " quietly. "I haven't said anything about it before, but I've made up my mind. It's our duty to see her just once more, oncemore before--before we say good-by for good. It's our duty. "

"Duty! Our duty is to let her alone, to leave her in peace, as she askedus. "

"How do you know she is in peace? Suppose she isn't. Suppose she'smiserable and unhappy. Isn't it our duty to find out? I think it is?"

I looked her full in the face. "Hephzy, " I said, sharply, "you knowsomething about her, something that I don't know. What is it?"

"I don't know as I know anything, Hosy. I can't say that I do. But--"

"You saw Herbert Bayliss yesterday. That was the 'errand' you went uponyesterday morning in Paris. Wasn't it?"

She was very much taken aback. She has told me since that she had noidea I suspected the truth. 

"Wasn't it?" I repeated. 

"Why--why, yes, it was, Hosy. I did go to see him, there at his hotel. When you told me how he acted and what he said to you I thought 'twasawfully funny, and the more I thought it over the funnier it seemed. SoI made up my mind to see him and talk with him myself. And I did. "

"What did he tell you?" I asked. 

"He told me--he told me--Well, he didn't tell me so much, maybe, but hegave me to understand a whole lot. She's gone to those Crippses, Hosy, just as I suspicioned, not because she likes 'em--she hates 'em--orbecause she wanted to go, but because she thought 'twould please us ifshe did. It doesn't please us; it doesn't please me, anyway. She sha'n'tbe miserable for our sake, not without a word from us. No, we must gothere and see her and--and tell her once more just how we feel about it. It's our duty to go and we must. And, " with decision, "we're goin' now. "

She had poured out this explanation breathlessly, hurrying as if fearfulthat I might interrupt and ask more questions. I asked one of them themoment she paused. 

"We knew all that before, " I said. "That is, we were practically sureshe had left Paris to get rid of us and had gone to her cousins, theCrippses, because of her half-promise to me not to sing at places likethe Abbey again. We knew all that. And she asked me to promise that wewould not follow her. I didn't promise, but that makes no difference. Was that all Bayliss told you?"

Hephzy was still embarrassed and confused, though she answered promptlyenough. 

"He told me he knew she didn't want to go to--to those Leatherheadedfolks, " she declared. "We guessed she didn't, but we didn't know it forsure. And he said we ought to go to her. He said that. "

"But why did he say it? Our going will not alter her determination tostay and our seeing her again will only make it harder for her. "

"No, it won't--no it won't, " hastily. "Besides I want to see that Crippsman and have a talk with him, myself. I want to know why a man likehim--I'm pretty well along in years; I've met folks and bargained anddealt with 'em all my grown-up life and I KNOW he isn't the kind to dothings for nothin' for ANYBODY--I want to know why he and his wife areso generous to her. There's somethin' behind it. "

"There's something behind you, Hephzy. Some other reason that youhaven't told me. Was that all Bayliss said?"

She hesitated. "Yes, " she said, after a moment, "that's all, all I cantell you now, anyway. But I want you to go with me to that Ash Dump andsee her once more. "

"I shall not, Hephzy. "

"Well, then I'll have to go by myself. And if you don't go, too, Ithink you'll be awfully sorry. I think you will. Oh, Hosy, " pleadingly, "please go with me. I don't ask you to do many things, now do I? I doask you to do this. "

I shook my head. 

"I would do almost anything for your sake, Hephzy, " I began. 

"But this isn't for my sake. It's for hers. For hers. I'm sure--I'mALMOST sure you and she will both be glad you did it. "

I could not understand it at all. I had never seen her more earnest. Shewas not the one to ask unreasonable things and yet where her sister'schild was concerned she could be obstinate enough--I knew that. 

"I shall go whether you do or not, " she said, as I stood looking at her. 

"You mean that, Hephzy?"

"I surely do. I'm goin' to see her this very forenoon. And I do hopeyou'll go with me. "

I reflected. If she went alone it would be almost as hard for Francesas if I went with her. And the temptation was very strong. The desire tosee her once more, only once. .. . 

"I'll go, Hephzy, " I said. I didn't mean to say it; the words seemed tocome of themselves. 

"You will! Oh, I'm so glad! I'm so glad! And I think--I think you'll beglad, too, Hosy. I'm hopin' you will. "

"I'll go, " I said. "But this is the last time you and I must troubleher. I'll go--not because of any reason you have given me, Hephzy, butbecause I believe there must be some other and stronger reason, whichyou haven't told me. "

Hephzy drew a long breath. She seemed to be struggling between a desireto tell me more--whatever that more might be--and a determination not totell. 

"Maybe there is, Hosy, " she said, slowly. "Maybe there is. I--I--Well, there! I must go and buy the tickets. You sit down and wait. I'm skipperof this craft to-day, you know. I'm in command on this voyage. "

Leatherhead looked exactly as it had on our previous visit. "Ash Clump, "the villa which the Crippses had been so anxious for us to hire, wasstill untenanted, or looked to be. We walked on until we reached theCripps home and entered the Cripps gate. I rang the bell and the maidanswered the ring. 

In answer to our inquiries she told us that Mr. Cripps was not in. Heand Mrs. Cripps had gone to chapel. I remembered then that the day wasSunday. I had actually forgotten it. 

"Is Miss Morley in?" asked Hephzy. 

The maid shook her head. 

"No, ma'am, " she said. "Miss Morley ain't in, either. I think she's goneto chapel, too. I ain't sure, ma'am, but I think she 'as. She's not in. "

She asked if we would leave cards. Hephzy said no. 

"It's 'most noon, " she said. "They'll be back pretty soon. We'll wait. No, we won't come in. We'll wait out here, I guess. "

There was a rustic seat on the lawn near the house and Hephzy seatedherself upon it. I walked up and down. I was in a state of what Hephzywould have called "nerves. " I had determined to be very calm when Imet her, to show no emotion, to be very calm and cool, no matter whathappened. But this waiting was hard. I grew more nervous every minute. 

"I'm going to stroll about, Hephzy, " I said. "About the garden andgrounds. I sha'n't go far and I'll return soon. I shall be within call. Send one of the servants for me if she--if the Crippses come before Iget back. "

Hephzy did not urge me to remain. Nor did she offer to accompany me. Asusual she seemed to read my thoughts and understand them. 

"All right, Hosy, " she said. "You go and have your walk. I'll wait here. But don't be long, will you. "

I promised not to be long. The Cripps gardens and grounds were notextensive, but they were well kept even if the beds were geometricallyugly and the color masses jarring and in bad taste. The birds sang, thebreeze stirred the leaves and petals, and there was a Sunday quiet, therestful hush of an English Sunday, everywhere. 

I strolled on along the paths, through the gap in the hedge dividingthe kitchen garden from the purely ornamental section, past the stables, until I emerged from the shrubbery at the top of a little hill. Therewas a pleasant view from this hill, the customary view of hedged fieldsand meadows, flocks of sheep and groups of grazing cattle, and over allthe soft blue haze and misty sky. 

I paused. And then close beside me, I heard a startled exclamation. 

I turned. In a nook of the shrubbery was another rustic seat. Risingfrom that seat and gazing at me with a look of amazed incredulity, was--Frances Morley. 

I did not speak. I could not, for the moment. She spoke first. 

"You!" she exclaimed. "You--here!"

And still I did not speak. Where was the calm with which I was to meether? Where were the carefully planned sentences which were to explainhow I had come and why? I don't know where they were; I seemed toknow only that she was there, that I was alone with her as I had neverthought or meant to be again, and that if I spoke I should say thingsfar different from those I had intended. 

She was recovering from her surprise. She came toward me. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Why did you come?"

I stammered a word or two, some incoherences to the effect that I hadnot expected to find her there, that I had been told she was at church. She shook her head, impatiently. 

"I mean why did you come here--to Leatherhead?" she asked. "Why did youcome? Did you know--"

I interrupted her. If ever I was to explain, or attempt to explain, Irealized that it must be at that moment. She might listen to me then, before she had had time to think. Later I knew she would not. 

"I knew you were here, " I broke in, quickly. "I--we--your aunt knew andwe came. "

"But HOW did you know? Who told you?"

"The--we learned, " I answered. "And we came. "

It was a poor explanation--or none at all. She seemed to think it so. And yet she seemed more hurt than offended. 

"You came--yes, " she said. "And you knew that I left Paris because--Oh, you knew that! I asked you not to follow me. You promised you wouldnot. "

I was ashamed, thoroughly ashamed and disgusted with myself for yieldingto Hephzy's entreaties. 

"No, no, " I protested, "I did not promise. I did not promise, Frances. "

"But you know I did not wish you to do it. I did not wish you to followme to Paris, but you did it. I told you you would force me to give up myonly means of earning money. You did force me to give it up. I gave itup to please you, for your sake, and now--"

"Did you?" I cried, eagerly. "Did you give it up for my sake, Frances?Did you?"

"You know I did. You must know it. And now that I have done it, now thatI have given up my opportunity and my--my self-respect and my one chanceand come here to this--to this place, you--you--Oh, how could you!Wasn't I unhappy enough before? And unhappy enough now? Oh, how couldyou!"

I was more ashamed than ever. I tried desperately to justify my action. 

"But that was it, " I persisted. "Don't you see? It was your happiness, the thought that you were unhappy which brought me here. I know--youtold your aunt how unhappy you had been when you were with these peoplebefore. I know how much you disliked them. That was why I came. To askyou to give this up as you did the other. To come with us and BE happy. I want you to come, Frances. Think! Think how much I must want you. "

And, for the moment I thought this appeal had some effect. It seemed tome that her resolution was shaken, that she was wavering. 

"You--you really want me?" she repeated. 

"Yes. Yes, I can't tell you--I must not tell you how much I want you. And your aunt--she wants you to come. She is here, too. She will tellyou. "

Her manner changed once more. The tone in which she spoke was different. There were no signs of the wavering which I had noticed--or hoped Inoticed. 

"No, " she said. "No. I shall not see my aunt. And I must not talk withyou any longer. I asked you not to follow me here. You did it, in spiteof my asking. Now, unless you wish to drive me away from here, as youdid from Paris, you will leave me and not try to see me again. Oh, don'tyou see--CAN'T you see how miserable you are making me? And yet youtalk of my happiness!"

"But you aren't happy here. ARE you happy?"

"I am happy enough. Yes, I am happy. "

"I don't believe it. Are these Crippses kind to you?"

"Yes. "

I didn't believe that, either, but I did not say so. Instead I said whatI had determined to say, the same thing that I should have said before, in Mayberry and in Paris--if I could have mustered the courage anddecency to say it. 

"Frances, " I said, "there is something else, something which may havea bearing on your happiness, or may not, I don't know. The night beforeyou left us, at Mayberry, Herbert Bayliss came to me and asked mypermission to marry you, if you were willing. He thought you were myniece--then. I said that--I said that, although of course I had noshadow of authority over you, I did care for your happiness. I cared forthat a great deal. If you loved him I should certainly--"

"I see, " she broke in, scornfully. "I see. He told you I was here. Thatis why you came. Did he send you to me to say--what you are trying tosay?"

"Oh, no, no! You are mistaken. You wrong him, Frances. He did not dothat. He's not that sort. He's a good fellow, an honorable man. And hedoes care for you. I know it. He cares greatly. He would, I am sure, make you a good husband, and if you care for him, he would do his bestto make you happy, I--"

Again she interrupted. "One moment, " she said, "Let me understand. Areyou urging me to marry Herbert Bayliss?"

"No. I am not urging you, of course. But if you do care for him--"

"I do not. "

"Oh, you don't love him?"

I wonder if there was relief in my tone. There should not have been, ofcourse, but I fear there was. 

"No, I do not--love him. He is a gentleman and I like him well enough, but not in that way. Please don't say any more. "

"Very well. I only meant--Tell me this, if you will: Is there someoneyou do care for?"

She did not answer. I had offended her again. She had cause to beoffended. What business was it of mine?

"I beg your pardon, " I said, humbly. "I should not have asked that. Ihave no right to ask it. But if there is someone for whom you care inthat way and he cares for you, it--"

"Oh, don't, don't! He doesn't. "

"Then there is someone?"

She was silent. I tried to speak like a man, like the man I waspretending to be. 

"I am glad to know it, " I said. "If you care for him he must care foryou. He cannot help it. I am sure you will be happy by and by. I canleave you here now with more--with less reluctance. I--"

I could not trust myself to go on, although I tried to do so. Sheanswered, without looking at me. 

"Yes, " she said, "you can leave me now. I am safe and--and happy. Good-by. "

I took her hand. 

"Good-by, " I said. "Forgive me for coming. I shall not trouble youagain. This time I promise. You may not wish to write us, but we shallwrite you. And I--I hope you won't forget us. "

It was a lame conclusion and trite enough. She must have thought so. 

"I shall not forget you, " she said, simply. "And I will try to writeoccasionally. Yes, I will try. Now please go. Good-by. "

I went, without looking back. I strode along the paths, scarcelynoticing where I was going. As I neared the corner of the house I heardvoices, loud voices. One of them, though it was not as loud as theothers, was Hephzy's. 

"I knew it, " she was saying, as I turned the corner. "I knew it. I knewthere was some reason, some mean selfish reason why you were willin' totake that girl under your wing. I knew it wasn't kind-heartedness andrelationship. I knew it. "

It was Solomon Cripps who answered. Mr. And Mrs. Cripps, arrayed intheir Sabbath black and white, were standing by the door of their villa. Hephzy was standing before them. Her face was set and determined and shelooked highly indignant. Mr. Cripps' face was red and frowning and hegesticulated with a red hand, which clasped a Testament. His English wasby no means as pure and undefiled as when he had endeavored to persuadeus into hiring "Ash Clump. "

"Look 'ere, " he snarled. "Don't you talk to me like that. Don't yousuppose I know what I'm doing. You Yankees may be clever at your tricks, but you can't trick me. Don't I know about the money you stole from 'erfather? Don't I, eh? You can tell 'er your lies about it being stolen bysomeone else, but I can see a 'ole through a millstone. You can't trickme, I tell you. They're giving that girl a good 'ome and care and allthat, but we're goin' to see she 'as 'er rights. You've filled 'er silly'ead with your stories. You've made 'er think you're all that's goodand--"

I was at hand by this time. 

"What's all this, Hephzy?" I asked. 

Before Hephzy could reply Mrs. Cripps spoke. 

"It's him!" she cried, seizing her husband's arm with one hand andpointing at me with the other. "It's him, " she cried, venomously. "He'shere, too. "

The sight of me appeared to upset what little self-control Mr. Crippshad left. 

"You!" he shouted, "I might 'ave known you were 'ere. You're the onethat's done it. You're responsible. Filling her silly 'ead with liesabout your goodness and all that. Making her fall in love with youand--"

I sprang forward. 

"WHAT?" I cried. "What are you saying?"

Hephzy was frightened. 

"Hosy, " she cried, "don't look so. Don't! You frighten me. "

I scarcely heard her. 

"WHAT did you say?" I demanded, addressing Cripps, who shrank back, rather alarmed apparently. "Why, you scoundrel! What do you mean bysaying that? Speak up! What do you mean by it?"

If Mr. Cripps was alarmed his wife was not. She stepped forward andfaced me defiantly. 

"He means just what he says, " she declared, her shrill voice quiveringwith vindictive spite. "And you know what he means perfectly well. Youought to be ashamed of yourself, a man as old as you and she an innocentyoung girl! You've hypnotized her--that is what you've done, hypnotizedher. All those ridiculous stories about her having no money she believesbecause you told them to her. She would believe the moon was made ofgreen cheese if you said so. She's mad about you--the poor little fool!She won't hear a word against you--says you're the best, noblest man inthe world! You! Why she won't even deny that she's in love with you; shewas brazen enough to tell me she was proud of it. Oh. .. . Stop! Where areyou going? Solomon, stop him!"

Solomon did not stop me. I am very glad he didn't try. No one could havestopped me then. I was on my way back along the garden path, and if Idid not keep to that path, but plunged ruthlessly through flower bedsand shrubbery I did not care, nor do I care now. 

She was sitting on the rustic seat where I had left her. There weretears on her cheeks. She had heard me coming--a deaf person would haveheard that--and she rose as I burst into view. 

"What is it?" she cried, in alarm. "Oh, what is it?"

At the sight of her I paused. I had not meant to pause; I had intendedto take her in my arms, to ask her if what I had just heard was true, tomake her answer me. But now, as she stood there before me, so young, sogirlish, so beautiful, the hopeless idiocy of the thing struck me withoverwhelming force. It WAS idiocy. It couldn't be true. 

"What is it?" she repeated. "Oh, Kent! what is the matter? Why did youcome back? What has happened?"

I stepped forward. True or false I must know. I must know then andthere. It was now or never for me. 

"Frances, " I stammered, "I came back because--I--I have justheard--Frances, you told me you loved someone--not Bayliss, but someoneelse. Who is that someone?"

She had been pale. My sudden and unexpected appearance had frightenedher. Now as we faced each other, as I stood looking down into her face, I saw the color rise and spread over that face from throat to brow. 

"Who is it?" I repeated. 

She drew back. 

"I--I can't tell you, " she faltered. "You mustn't ask me. "

"But I do ask. You must tell me, Frances--Frances, it isn't--it can't bethat you love ME. Do you?"

She drew back still further. If there had been a way of escape I thinkshe would have taken it. But there was none. The thick shrubbery wasbehind her and I was between her and the path. And I would not let herpass. 

"Oh, Frances, do you?" I repeated. "I never meant to ask you. I nevermeant that you should know. I am so much older, and so--so unworthy--ithas seemed so hopeless and ridiculous. But I love you, Frances, I haveloved you from the very beginning, although at first I didn't realizeit. I--If you do--if you can--I--I--"

I faltered, hesitated, and stopped. She did not answer for a moment, along, long moment. Then:

"Mr. Knowles, " she said, "you surprise me. I didn't suspect--I didn'tthink--"

I sighed. I had had my answer. Of course it was idiotic. I should haveknown; I did know. 

"I see, " I said. "I understand. Forgive me, please. I was a fool to eventhink of such a thing. I didn't think it. I didn't dare until--untiljust now. Then I was told--your cousin said--I might have known hedidn't mean what he said. But he said it and--and--"

"What did he say? Mr. Cripps, do you mean? What did he say?"

"He said--he said you--you cared for me--in that way. Of course youdon't--you can't. I know better. But for the moment I dared to hope. Iwas crazy, of course. Forgive me, Frances. "

She looked up and then down again. 

"There is nothing to forgive, " she said. 

"Yes, there is. There is a great deal. An old--"

"Hush! hush, please. Don't speak like that. I--I thank you. I--youmustn't suppose I am not grateful. I know you pity me. I know howgenerous you are. But your pity--"

"It isn't pity. I should pity myself, if that were all. I love youFrances, and I shall always love you. I am not ashamed of it. I shallhave that love to comfort me till I die. I am ashamed of having toldyou, of troubling you again, that is all. "

I was turning away, but I heard her step beside me and felt her handupon my sleeve. I turned back again. She was looking me full in the facenow and her eyes were shining. 

"What Mr. Cripps said was true, " she said. 

I could not believe it. I did not believe it even then. 

"True!" I repeated. "No, no! You don't mean--"

"I do mean it. I told him that I loved you. "

I don't know what more she would have said. I did not wait to hear. Shewas in my arms at last and all England was whirling about me like a top. 

"But you can't!" I found myself saying over and over. I must havesaid other things before, but I don't remember them. "You can't! it isimpossible. You! marry an old fossil like me! Oh, Frances, are you sure?Are you sure?"

"Yes, Kent, " softly, "I am sure. "

"But you can't love me. You are sure that your--You have no reason to begrateful to me, but you have said you were, you know. You are sure youare not doing this because--"

"I am sure. It is not because I am grateful. "

"But, my dear--think! Think what it means, I am--"

"I know what you are, " tenderly. "No one knows as well. But, Kent--Kent, are YOU sure? It isn't pity for me?"

I think I convinced her that it was not pity. I know I tried. And I wasstill trying when the sound of steps and voices on the other side ofthe shrubbery caused us--or caused her; I doubt if I should have heardanything except her voice just then--to start and exclaim:

"Someone is coming! Don't, dear, don't! Someone is coming. "

It was the Crippses who were coming, of course. Mr. And Mrs. Cripps andHephzy. They would have come sooner, I learned afterwards, but Hephzyhad prevented it. 

Solomon's red face was redder still when he saw us together. And Mrs. Cripps' mouth looked more like "a crack in a plate" than ever. 

"So!" she exclaimed. "Here's where you are! I thought as much. Andyou--you brazen creature!"

I objected strongly to "brazen creature" as a term applied to my futurewife. I intended saying so, but Mr. Cripps got ahead of me. 

"You get off my grounds, " he blurted, waving his fist. "You get out of'ere now or I'll 'ave you put off. Do you 'ear?"

I should have answered him as he deserved to be answered, but Franceswould not let me. 

"Don't, Kent, " she whispered. "Don't quarrel with him, please. He isgoing, Mr. Cripps. We are going--now. "

Mrs. Cripps fairly shrieked. "WE are going?" she repeated. "Do you meanyou are going with him?"

Hephzy joined in, but in a quite different tone. 

"You are goin'?" she said, joyfully. "Oh, Frances, are you comin' withus?"

It was my turn now and I rejoiced in the prospect. An entire brigade ofCrippses would not have daunted me then. I should have enjoyed defyingthem all. 

"Yes, " said I, "she is coming with us, Hephzy. Mr. Cripps, will you begood enough to stand out of the way? Come, Frances. "

It is not worth while repeating what Mr. And Mrs. Cripps said. They saida good deal, threatened all sorts of things, lawsuits among the rest. Hephzy fired the last guns for our side. 

"Yes, yes, " she retorted, impatiently. "I know you're goin' to sue. Goahead and sue and prosecute yourselves to death, if you want to. Thelawyers'll get their fees out of you, and that's some comfort--thoughI shouldn't wonder if THEY had to sue to get even that. And I tell youthis: If you don't send Little Frank's--Miss Morley's trunks to Mayberryinside of two days we'll come and get 'em and we'll come with thesheriff and the police. "

Mrs. Cripps, standing by the gate, fell back upon her last line ofintrenchments, the line of piety. 

"And to think, " she declared, with upturned eyes, "that this is the 'olySabbath! Never mind, Solomon. The Lord will punish 'em. I shall pray toHim not to curse them too hard. "

Hephzy's retort was to the point. 

"I wouldn't, " she said. "If I had been doin' what you two have been upto, pretendin' to care for a young girl and offerin' to give her a home, and all the time doin' it just because I thought I could squeeze moneyout of her, I shouldn't trouble the Lord much. I wouldn't take the riskof callin' His attention to me. "

CHAPTER XVIII

In Which the Pilgrimage Ends Where It Began

We did not go to Mayberry that day. We went to London and to the hotel;not Bancroft's, but the hotel where Hephzy and I had stayed the previousnight. It was Frances' wish that we should not go to Bancroft's. 

"I don't think that I could go there, Kent, " she whispered to me, on thetrain. "Mr. And Mrs Jameson were very kind, and I liked them so much, but--but they would ask questions; they wouldn't understand. It would behard to make them understand. Don't you see, Kent?"

I saw perfectly. Considering that the Jamesons believed Miss Morley tobe my niece, it would indeed be hard to make them understand. I was notinclined to try. I had had quite enough of the uncle and niece business. 

So we went to the other hotel and if the clerk was surprised to see usagain so soon he said nothing about it. Perhaps he was not surprised. Itmust take a good deal to surprise a hotel clerk. 

On the train, in our compartment--a first-class compartment, you may besure; I would have hired the whole train if it had been necessary; therewas nothing too good or too expensive for us that afternoon--on thetrain, discussing the ride to London, Hephzy did most of the talking. I was too happy to talk much and Frances, sitting in her corner andpretending to look out of the window, was silent also. I should havebeen fearful that she was not happy, that she was already repenting herrashness in promising to marry the Bayport "quahaug, " but occasionallyshe looked at me, and, whenever she did, the wireless message our eyesexchanged, sent that quahaug aloft on a flight through paradise. Aflying clam is an unusual specimen, I admit, but no other quahaug inthis wide, wide world had an excuse like mine for developing wings. 

Hephzy did not appear to notice our silence. She chatted and laughedcontinuously. We had not told her our secret--the great secret--and ifshe suspected it she kept her suspicions to herself. Her chatter was acurious mixture: triumph over the detached Crippses; joy because, afterall, "Little Frank" had consented to come with us, to live with usagain; and triumph over me because her dreams and presentiments had cometrue. 

"I told you, Hosy, " she kept saying. "I told you! I said it would allcome out in the end. He wouldn't believe it, Frances. He said I was anold lunatic and--"

"I didn't say anything of the kind, " I broke in. 

"You said what amounted to that and I don't know as I blame you. ButI knew--I just KNEW he and I had been 'sent' on this course and thatwe--all three of us--would make the right port in the end. And wehave--we have, haven't we, Frances?"

"Yes, " said Frances, simply. "We have, Auntie--"

"There! do you hear that, Hosy? Isn't it good to hear her callme 'Auntie' again! Now I'm satisfied; or"--with a momentaryhesitation--"pretty nearly satisfied, anyway. "

"Oh, then you're not quite satisfied, after all, " I observed. "What moredo you want?"

"I want just one thing more; just one, that's all. "

I believed I know what that one thing was, but I asked her. She shot alook at me, a look of indignant meaning. 

"Never mind, " she said, decidedly. "That's my affair. Oh, Ho!" with areminiscent chuckle, "how that Cripps woman did glare at me when I said'twas pretty risky her callin' the Almighty's attention to their doin's. I hope it did her good. Maybe she'll think of it next time she goes tochapel. But I suppose she won't. All such folks care for is money. Theywouldn't be so anxious to get to Heaven if they hadn't read about thegolden streets. "

That evening, at the hotel, Frances told us her story, the storyof which we had guessed a good deal, but of which she had told solittle--how, after her father's death, she had gone to live with theCrippses because, as she thought, they wished her to do so from motivesof generosity and kindness. 

"They are not really relatives of mine, " she said. "I am glad of that. Mrs. Cripps married a cousin of my father's; he died and then shemarried Mr. Cripps. After Father's death they wrote me a very kindletter, or I thought it kind at the time. They said all sorts of kindlythings, they offered me a home, they said I should be like their owndaughter. So, having nowhere else to go, I went to them. I lived therenearly two years. Oh, what a life it was! They are very churchly people, they call themselves religious, but I don't. They pretend to be--perhapsthey think they are--good, very good. But they aren't--they aren't. Theyare hard and cruel. Mr. Cripps owns several tenements where poor peoplelive. I have heard things from those people that--Oh, I can't tell you!I ran away because I had learned what they really were. "

Hephzy nodded. "What I can't understand, " she said, "is why they offeredyou a home in the first place. It was because they thought you had moneycomin' to you, that's plain enough now; but how did they know?"

Frances colored. "I'm afraid--I'm afraid Father must have written them, "she said. "He needed money very much in his later years and he may havewritten them asking--asking for loans and offering my 'inheritance' assecurity. I think now that that was it. But I did not think so then. And--and, Oh, Auntie, you mustn't think too harshly of Father. He wasvery good to me, he really was. And DON'T you think he believed--he hadmade himself believe--that there was money of his there in America? Ican't believe he--he would lie to me. "

"Of course he didn't lie, " said Hephzy, promptly. I could have huggedher for saying it. "He was sick and--and sort of out of his head, poorman, and I don't doubt he made himself believe all sorts of things. Ofcourse he didn't lie--to his own daughter. But why, " she added, quickly, before Frances could ask another question, "did you go back to thoseprecious Cripps critters after you left Paris?"

Frances looked at me. "I thought it would please you, " she said, simply. "I knew you didn't want me to sing in public. Kent had said he would behappier if he knew I had given up that life and was among friends. Andthey--they had called themselves my friends. When I went back to themthey welcomed me. Mr. Cripps called me his 'prodigal daughter, ' andMrs. Cripps prayed over me. It wasn't until I told them I had no'inheritance, ' except one of debt, that they began to show me what theyreally were. They wouldn't believe it. They said you were trying todefraud me. It was dreadful. I--I think I should have run away againif--if you had not come. "

"Well, we did come, " said Hephzy, cheerfully, "and I thank the good Lordfor it. Now we won't talk any more about THAT. "

She left us alone soon afterward, going to my room--we were in hers, hers and Frances'--to unpack my trunk once more. She wouldn't hear of myunpacking it. When she was gone Frances turned to me. 

"You--you haven't told her, " she faltered. 

"No, " said I, "not yet. I wanted to speak with you first. I can'tbelieve it is true. Or, if it is, that it is right. Oh, my dear, do yourealize what you are doing? I am--I am ever so much older than you. I amnot worthy of you. You could have made a so much better marriage. "

She looked at me. She was smiling, but there was a tiny wrinkle betweenher brows. 

"Meaning, " she said, "I suppose, that I might have married DoctorBayliss. I might perhaps marry him even yet, if I wished. I--I think hewould have me, if I threw myself at his head. "

"Yes, " I admitted, grudgingly. "Yes, he loves you, Frances. "

"Kent, when we were there in Mayberry it seemed to me that my aunt andyou were almost anxious that I should marry him. It seemed to me thatyou took every opportunity to throw me in his way; you refused myinvitations for golf and tennis and suggested that I play with himinstead. It used to annoy me. I resented it. I thought you were eager toget rid of me. I did not know then the truth about Father and--and themoney. And I thought you hoped I might marry him and--and not troubleyou any more. But I think I understand now. You--you did not care for meso much then. Was that it?"

I shook my head. "Care for you!" I repeated. "I cared for you so muchthat I did not dare trust myself with you. I did not dare to think ofyou, and yet I could think of no one else. I know now that I fell inlove with you when I first met you at that horrible Briggs woman'slodging-house. Don't you see? That was the very reason why. Don't yousee?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't quite see. If you cared for me like that howcould you be willing for me to marry him? That is what puzzles me. Idon't understand it. "

"It was because I did care for you. It was because I cared so much, Iwanted you to be happy. I never dreamed that you could care for an old, staid, broken-down bookworm like me. It wasn't thinkable. I can scarcelythink it now. Oh, Frances, are you SURE you are not making a mistake?Are you sure it isn't gratitude which makes you--"

She rose from her chair and came to me. Her eyes were wet, but there wasa light in them like the sunlight behind a summer shower. 

"Don't, please don't!" she begged. "And caring for me like that youcould still come to me as you did this morning and suggest my marryinghim. "

"Yes, yes, I came because--because I knew he loved you and Ithought that you might not know it. And if you did know it Ithought--perhaps--you might be happier and--"

I faltered and stopped. She was standing beside me, looking up into myface. 

"I did know it, " she said. "He told me, there in Paris. And I toldhim--"

"You told him--?"

"I told him that I liked him; I do, I do; he is a good man. But I toldhim--" she rose on tiptoe and kissed me--"I told him that I loved you, dear. See! here is the pin you gave me. It is the one thing I couldnot leave behind when I ran away from Mayberry. I meant to keep thatalways--and I always shall. "

After a time we remembered Hephzy. It would be more truthful to say thatFrances remembered her. I had forgotten Hephzy altogether, I am ashamedto say. 

"Kent, " she said; "don't you think we should tell Auntie now? She willbe pleased, I hope. "

"Pleased! She will be--I can't think of a word to describe it. She lovesyou, too, dear. "

"I know. I hope she will love me more now. She worships you, Kent. "

"I am afraid she does. She doesn't realize what a tinsel god I am. AndI fear you don't either. I am not a great man. I am not even a famousauthor. I--Are you SURE, Frances?"

She laughed lightly. "Kent, " she whispered, "what was it Doctor Baylisscalled you when you offered to promise not to follow me to Leatherhead?"

I had told her the whole story of my last interview with Bayliss at theContinental. 

"He called me a silly ass, " I answered promptly. "I don't care. "

"Neither do I; but don't you think you are one, just a little bit ofone, in some things? You mustn't ask me if I am sure again. Come! wewill go to Auntie. "

Hephzy had finished unpacking my trunk and was standing by the closetdoor, shaking the wrinkles out of my dinner coat. She heard us enter andturned. 

"I never saw clothes in such a mess in my life, " she announced. "And Ipacked this trunk, too. I guess the trembles in my head must have gotinto my fingers when I did it. I--"

She stopped at the beginning of the sentence. I had taken Frances by thehand and led her up to where she was standing. Hephzy said nothing, shestood there and stared at us, but the coat fell to the floor. 

"Hephzy, " said I, "I've come to make an apology. I believe in dreamsand presentiments and Spiritualism and all the rest of it now. You wereright. Our pilgrimage has ended just as you declared it would. I knownow that we were 'sent' upon it. Frances has said--"

Hephzy didn't wait to hear any more. She threw her arms aboutFrances' neck, then about mine, hugged us both, and then, to my utterastonishment, sat down upon the closed trunk and burst into tears. Whenwe tried to comfort her she waved us away. 

"Don't touch me, " she commanded. "Don't say anything to me. Just let mebe. I've done all kinds of loony things in my life and this attackis just natural, that's all. I--I'll get over it in a minute. There!"rising and dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, "I'm over it now. Hosy Knowles, I've cried about a million times since--since that awfulmornin' in Mayberry. You didn't know it, but I have. I'm through now. I'm never goin' to cry any more. I'm goin' to laugh! I'm going to sing!I declare if you don't grab me and hold me down I shall dance! Oh, Oh, OH! I'm so glad! I'm so glad!"

We sat up until the early morning hours, talking and planning. We wereto go back to America as soon as we could secure passage; upon that weall agreed in the end. I was the only one who hesitated. I had a vaguefeeling of uneasiness, a dread, that Frances might not wish it, that hersaying she would love to go was merely to please me. I remembered howshe had hated America and Americans, or professed to hate them, in thedays of our first acquaintanceship. I thought of quiet, sleepy, humdrumold Bayport and the fear that she might be disappointed when she saw it, that she might be lonely and unhappy there, was strong. So when Hephzytalked of our going straight to the steamship offices next day Idemurred. I suggested a Continental trip, to Switzerland, to theMediterranean--anywhere. I forgot that my means were limited, that I hadbeen idle for longer than I should have been, and that I absolutely mustwork soon. I forgot everything, and talked, as Hephzy said afterward, "regardless, like a whole kerosene oil company. "

But, to my surprise, it was Frances herself who was most insistent uponour going to America. She wanted to go, she said. Of course she didnot mean to be selfish, and if Auntie and I really wished to go to theContinent or remain in England she would be quite content. 

"But, Oh Kent, " she said, "if you are suggesting all this merely becauseyou think I will like it, please don't. I have lived in France and Ihave been very unhappy there. I have been happier here in England, butI have been unhappy here, too. I have no friends here now. I have nofriends anywhere except you. I know you both want to see your homeagain--you must. And--and your home will be mine now. "

So we decided to sail for America, and that without delay. And thenext morning, before breakfast, Hephzy came to my room with anothersuggestion. 

"Hosy, " she said, "I've been thinkin'. All our things, or most of 'em, are at Mayberry. Somebody's got to go there, of course, to pack up andmake arrangements for our leavin'. She--Frances, I mean--would go, too, if we asked her, I suppose likely; she'd do anything you asked, now. Butit would be awful hard for her. She'd meet all the people she used toknow there and they wouldn't understand and 'twould be hard to explain. The Baylisses know the real truth, but the rest of 'em don't. You'd haveall that niece and uncle mess again, and I don't suppose you want anymore of THAT. "

"I should say I didn't!" I exclaimed, fervently. 

"Yes, that's the way it seemed to me. So she hadn't ought to goto Mayberry. And we can't leave her here alone in London. She'd belonesome, for one thing, and those everlastin' Crippses might find outwhere she was, for another. It may be that that Solomon and his wifewill let her go and say nothin', but I doubt it. So long as they thinkshe's got a cent comin' to her they'll pester her in every way they can, I believe. That woman's nose can smell money as far as a cat can smellfish. No, we can't leave Little Frank here alone. Of course, I mightstay with her and you might go by yourself, but--"

This way out of the difficulty had occurred to me; so when she seemed tohesitate, I asked: "But what?"

"But it won't be very pleasant for you in Mayberry. You'd haveconsiderable explainin' to do. And, more'n that, Hosy, there's all thatpackin' up to do and I've seen you try to pack a trunk too often before. You're just as likely to pack a flat-iron on top of a lookin' glass asto do the other thing. No, I'm the one to go to Mayberry. I must go bymyself and you must stay here in London with her. "

"I can't do that, Hephzy, " I said. "How could I?"

"You couldn't, as things are, of course. But if they were different. If she was your wife you could. And then if that Solomon thing came youcould--"

I interrupted. "My wife!" I repeated. "Hephzy, what are you talkingabout? Do you mean--"

"I mean that you and she might be married right off, to-day perhaps. Then everything would be all right. "

I stared at her. 

"But--but she wouldn't consent, " I stammered. "It is impossible. Shewouldn't think of such a thing. "

Hephzy nodded. "Oh, yes, she would, " she said. "She is thinkin' of itnow. She and I have just had a long talk. She's a sensible girl, Hosy, and she listened to reason. If she was sure that you wanted to marry herso soon she--"

"Wanted to!" I cried. "Hephzy!"

Hephzy nodded again. "Then that's settled, " she said. "It's a bigdisappointment to me, I give in. I'd set my heart on your bein' marriedat our meetin'-house in Bayport, with Mr. Partridge to do the marryin', and a weddin' reception at our house and--and everything. But I guessthis is the best, and I know it's the most sensible. But, Oh Hosy, there's one thing I can't give up. I want you to be married at theAmerican Ambassador's or somewhere like it and by an American minister. I sha'n't feel safe if it's done anywhere else and by a foreigner, evenif he's English, which don't seem foreign to me at all any more. No, he's got to be an American and--and, Oh, Hosy! DO try to get aMethodist. "

I couldn't get a Methodist, but by consulting the hotel register I foundan American clergyman, a Congregationalist, who was a fine fellow andconsented to perform the ceremony. And, if we were not married atthe American Embassy, we were at the rooms of the London consul, whom Matthews, at the Camford Street office, knew and who was anothersplendid chap and glad to oblige a fellow-countryman, particularly afterseeing the lady he was to marry. 

The consul and his wife and Hephzy were our only witnesses. Frances'wedding gown was not new, but it was very becoming--the consul's wifesaid so, and she should know. Also she said she had never seen asweeter or more beautiful bride. No one said anything concerning thebridegroom's appearance, but he did not care. It was a drizzly, foggyday, but that made no difference. A Kansas cyclone and a Bayportno'theaster combined could not have cast a damper on that day. 

When it was over, Hephzy, who had been heroically struggling to keep hervow not to shed another tear during our pilgrimage, hugged us both. 

"I--I--" she faltered, "I--I can't say it, but you know how I feel. There's nothin' I sha'n't believe after this. I used to believe I'dnever travel, but I have. And there in Mayberry I believed I'd neverbe happy again, but I am. HAPPY! hap--hap--Oh dear! WHAT a fool I am!I ca--I can't help it! I expect I look like the most miserable thing onearth, but that's because I AM so happy. God bless you both! Now--nowdon't so much as look at me for a few minutes. "

That afternoon she left for Mayberry to do the "packing up" and my wifeand I were alone--and together. 

I saw London again during the next few days. We rode on the tops ofbusses, we visited Kew Gardens and Hampton Court and Windsor. We tooklong trips up and down the Thames on the little steamers. Frances calledthem our honeymoon trips. The time flew by. Then I received a notefrom Hephzy that the "packing up" was finished at last and that she wasreturning to London. 

It was raining hard, the morning of her arrival, and I went alone tomeet her at the railway station. I was early there and, as I was walkingup, awaiting the train, I heard someone speak my name. I turnedand there, immaculate, serene and debonair as ever, was A. CarletonHeathcroft. 

"Ah, Knowles, " he said, cheerfully. "Thought it was you. Haven't seenyou of late. Missed you at Burgleston, on the course. How are you?"

I told him I was quite well, and inquired concerning his own health. 

"Topping, " he replied. "Rotten weather, eh--what? And how's Miss--Oh, dear me, always forget the name! The eccentric aunt who is so intenselypatriotic and American--How is she?"

"She is well, too, " I answered. 

"Couldn't think of her being ill, somehow, " he observed. "And where haveyou been, may I ask?"

I said I had been on the Continent for a short stay. 

"Oh, yes! I remember now. Someone said you had gone. That reminds me:Did you go to Paris? Did you see the girl who sang at the Abbey--the oneI told you of, who looked so like that pretty niece of yours? Hope youdid. The resemblance was quite extraordinary. Did you see her?"

I dodged the question. I asked him what he had been doing since the dayof the golf tournament. 

"I--Oh, by Jove!" he exclaimed, "now I am going to surprise you. I havebeen getting ready to take the fatal step. I'm going to be married. "

"Married!" I repeated. "Really? The--the Warwickshire young lady, Ipresume. "

"Yes. How did you know of her?"

"Your aunt--Lady Carey--mentioned that your--your affections weresomewhat engaged in that quarter. "

"Did she? Really! Yes, she would mention it, I suppose. She mentions itto everybody; it's a sort of hobby of hers, like my humble self, and theroses. She has been more insistent of late and at last I consented tooblige her. Do you know, Knowles, I think she was rather fearful that Imight be smitten by your Miss Morley. Shared your fears, eh?"

I smiled, but I said nothing. A train which I believed to be the oneupon which Hephzy was expected, was drawing into the station. 

"A remarkably attractive girl, your niece, " he went on. "Have you heardfrom her?"

"Yes, " I said, absently. "I must say good-by, Heathcroft. That is thetrain I have been waiting for. "

"Oh, is it. Then, au revoir, Knowles. By the way, kindly remember me toyour niece when you see her, will you. "

"I will. But--" I could not resist the temptation; "but she isn't myniece, " I said. 

"Oh, I say! What? Not your niece? What is she then?"

"She is my wife--now, " I said. "Good-by, Mr. Heathcroft. "

I hurried away before he could do more than gasp. I think I shook evenhis serene composure at last. 

I told Hephzy about it as we rode to the hotel in the cab. 

"It was silly, I suppose, " I said. "I told him on the spur of themoment. I imagine all Mayberry, not to mention Burgleston Bogs, willhave something to talk about now. They expect almost anything ofAmericans, or some of them do, but the marriage of an uncle and nieceought to be a surprise, I should think. "

Hephzy laughed. "The Baylisses will explain, " she said. "I told the olddoctor and his wife all about it. They were very much pleased, that wasplain enough. They knew she wasn't your niece and they'll tell the otherfolks. That'll be all right, Hosy. Yes, Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss weretickled almost to death. It stops all their worry about their son andFrances, of course. He is in Switzerland now, poor chap. They'll writehim and he'll come home again by and by where he ought to be. And he'llforget by and by, too. He's only a boy and he'll forget. So THAT'S allright. 

"Everybody sent their love to you, " she went on. "The curates and theSamsons and everybody. Mr. Cole and his wife are comin' back next weekand the servants'll take care of the rectory till they come. Everybodywas so glad to see me, and they're goin' to write and everything. Ideclare! I felt real bad to leave 'em. They're SUCH nice people, theseEnglish folks. Aren't they, Hosy. "

They were and are. I hope that some day I may have, in my own country, the opportunity to repay a little of the hospitality and kindness thatmy Mayberry friends bestowed on me in theirs. 

We sailed for home two days later. A pleasant voyage it was, on a goodship and with agreeable fellow-passengers. And, at last, one bright, cloudless morning, a stiff breeze blowing and the green and whitewaves leaping and tossing in the sunlight, we saw ahead of us a littlespeck--the South Shoal lightship. Everyone crowded to the rail, ofcourse. Hephzy sighed, a sigh of pure happiness. 

"Nantucket!" she said, reading the big letters on the side of the littlevessel. "Nantucket! Don't that sound like home, Hosy! Nantucket andCape Cod are next-door neighbors, as you might say! My! the air seemsdifferent already. I believe I can almost smell the Bayport flats. Doyou know what I am goin' to do as soon as I get into my kitchen? AfterI've seen some of my neighbors and the cat and the hens, of course. I'mgoing to make a clam chowder. I've been just dyin' for a clam chowderever since we left England. "

And the next morning we landed at New York. Jim Campbell was at thewharf to meet us. His handshake was a welcome home which was good tofeel. He welcomed Hephzy just as heartily. But I saw him lookingat Frances with curiosity and I flattered myself, admiration, and Ichuckled as I thought of the surprise which I was about to give him. It would be a surprise, sure enough. I had written him nothing of therecent wonderful happenings in Paris and in London, and I had swornMatthews to secrecy likewise. No, he did not know, he did not suspect, and I gloried in the opportunity which was mine. 

"Jim, " I said, "there is one member of our party whom you have not met. Frances, you have heard me speak of Mr. Campbell very often. Here he is. Jim, I have the pleasure of presenting you to Mrs. Knowles, my wife. "

Jim stood the shock remarkably well, considering. He gave me one glance, a glance which expressed a portion of his feelings, and then he andFrances shook hands. 

"Mrs. Knowles, " he said, "I--you'll excuse my apparent lack ofintellect, but--but this husband of yours has--I've known him a goodwhile and I thought I had lost all capacity for surprise at anythinghe might do, but--but I hadn't. I--I--Please don't mind me; I'm reallyquite sane at times. I am very, very glad. May we shake hands again?"

He insisted upon our breakfasting with him at a near-by hotel. When heand I were alone together he seized my arm. 

"Confound you!" he exclaimed. "You old chump! What do you mean byspringing this thing on me without a word of warning? I never was asnearly knocked out in my life. What do you mean by it?"

I laughed. "It is all part of your prescription, " I said. "You told me Ishould marry, you know. Do you approve of my selection?"

"Approve of it! Why, man, she's--she's wonderful. Approve of YOURselection! How about hers? You durned quahaug! How did you do it?"

I gave him a condensed and hurried resume of the whole story. He didnot interrupt once--a perfectly amazing feat for him--and when I hadfinished he shook his head. 

"It's no use, " he said. "I'm too good for the business I am in. I amwasting my talents. _I_ sent you over there. _I_ told you to go. _I_prescribed travel and a wife and all the rest. _I_ did it. I'm going toquit the publishing game. I'm going to set up as a specialist, a brainspecialist, for clams. And I'll use your face as a testimonial: 'KentKnowles, Quahaug. Before and After Taking. ' Man, you look ten yearsyounger than you did when you went away. "

"You must not take all the credit, " I told him. "You forget Hephzy andher dreams, the dream she told us about that day at Bayport. That dreamhas come true; do you realize it?"

He nodded. "I admit it, " he said. "She is a better specialist than I. I shall have to take her into partnership. 'Campbell and Cahoon. Prescribers and Predictors. Authors Made Human. ' I'll speak to her aboutit. "

As he said good-by to us at the Grand Central Station he asked meanother question. 

"Kent, " he whispered, "what are you going to do now? What are you goingto do with her? Are you and she going back to Bayport to be Mr. And Mrs. Quahaug? Is that your idea?"

I shook my head. "We're going back to Bayport, " I said, "but how longwe shall stay there I don't know. One thing you may be sure of, Jim; Ishall be a quahaug no more. "

He nodded. "I think you're right, " he declared. "She'll see to that, orI miss my guess. No, my boy, your quahaug days are over. There's nothingof the shellfish about her; she's a live woman, as well as a mightypretty one, and she cares enough about you to keep you awake and in thegame. I congratulate you, Kent, and I'm almost as happy as you are. AlsoI shall play the optimist at our next directors' meeting; I see signsof a boom in the literature factory. Go to it, my son. You have myblessing. "

We took the one o'clock train for Boston, remained there over night, andleft on the early morning "accommodation"--so called, I think, becauseit accommodates the train hands--for Cape Cod. As we neared Buzzard'sBay my spirits, which had been at topnotch, began to sink. When the sanddunes of Barnstable harbor hove in sight they sank lower and lower. It was October, the summer people, most of them, had gone, the stationplatforms were almost deserted, the more pretentious cottages wereclosed. The Cape looked bare and brown and wind-swept. I thought ofthe English fields and hedges, of the verdant beauty of the Mayberrypastures. What SORT of a place would she think this, the home to which Iwas bringing her?

She had been very much excited and very much interested. New York, with its sky-scrapers and trolleys, its electric signs and clean whitebuildings, the latter so different from the grimy, gray dwellings andshops of London, had been a wonderland to her. She had liked the Pullmanand the dining-car and the Boston hotel. But this, this was different. How would she like sleepy, old Bayport and the people of Bayport. 

Well, I should soon know. Even the morning "accommodation" reachesBayport some time or other. We were the only passengers to alight at thestation, and Elmer Snow, the station agent, and Gabe Lumley, who drivesthe depot wagon, were the only ones to welcome us. Their welcome washearty enough, I admit. Gabe would have asked a hundred questions if Ihad answered the first of the hundred, but he seemed strangely reluctantto answer those I asked him. 

Bayport was gettin' along first-rate, he told me. Tad Simpson's youngestchild had diphtheria, but was sittin' up now and the fish weirs hadcaught consider'ble mackerel that summer. So much he was willing to say, but he said little more. I asked how the house and garden were lookingand he cal'lated they were all right. Pumping Gabe Lumley was a newexperience for me. Ordinarily he doesn't need pumping. I could notunderstand it. I saw Hephzy and he in consultation on the stationplatform and I wondered if she had been able to get more news than I. 

We rattled along the main road, up the hill by the Whittaker place--Ilooked eagerly for a glimpse of Captain Cy himself, but I didn't seehim--and on until we reached our gate. Frances said very little duringour progress through the village. I did not dare speak to her; I wasafraid of asking her how she liked what she had seen of Bayport. AndHephzy, too, was silent, although she kept her head out of the windowmost of the time. 

But when the depot wagon entered the big gate and stopped before theside door I felt that I must say something. I must not appear fearful oruneasy. 

"Here we are!" I cried, springing out and helping her and Hephzy toalight. "Here we are at last. This is home, dear. "

And then the door opened and I saw that the dining-room was filledwith people, people whom I had known all my life. Mr. Partridge, theminister, was there, and his wife, and Captain Whittaker and his wife, and the Dimicks and the Salterses and more. Before I could recover frommy surprise Mr. Partridge stepped forward. 

"Mr. Knowles, " he said, "on this happy occasion it is our privilegeto--"

But Captain Cy interrupted him. 

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "don't make a speech to him now, Mr. Partridge. Welcome home, Kent! We're all mighty glad to see you backagain safe and sound. And Hephzy, too. By the big dipper, Hephzy, thesight of you is good for sore eyes! And I suppose this is your wife, Kent. Well, we--Hey! I might have known Phoebe would get ahead of me. "

For Mrs. Whittaker and Frances were shaking hands. Others werecrowding forward to do so. And the table was set and there were flowerseverywhere and, in the background, was Susanna Wixon, grinning from earto ear, with the cat--our cat--who seemed the least happy of the party, in her arms. 

Hephzy had written Mrs. Whittaker from London, telling her of mymarriage; she had telegraphed from New York the day before, announcingthe hour of our return. And this was the result. 

When it was all over and they had gone--they would not remain fordinner, although we begged them to do so--when they had gone and Hephzyhad fled to the yard to inspect the hens, I turned to my wife. 

"Frances, " I said, "this is home. Here is where Hephzy and I have livedfor so long. I--I hope you may be happy here. It is a rather crudeplace, but--"

She came to me and put her arms about my neck. 

"Don't, my dear, don't!" she said. "It is beautiful. It is home. And--and you know I have never had a home, a real home before. "

"Then you like it?" I cried. "You really like it? It is so differentfrom England. The people--"

"They are dear, kind people. And they like you and respect you, Kent. How could you say they didn't! I know I shall love them all. "

I made a dash for the kitchen. "Hephzy!" I shouted. "Hephzy! She doeslike it. She likes Bayport and the people and everything. "

Hephzy was just entering at the back door. She did not seem in the leastsurprised. 

"Of course she likes it, " she said, with decision. "How could anybodyhelp likin' Bayport?"

CHAPTER XIX

Which Treats of Quahaugs in General

Asaph Tidditt helped me to begin this long chronicle of a quahaug'spilgrimage. Perhaps it is fitting that Asaph should end it. He droppedin for a call the other afternoon and, as I had finished my day's"stunt" at the desk, I assisted in entertaining him. Frances was in thesitting-room also and Hephzy joined us soon afterward. Mr. Tidditt hadstopped at the post-office on his way down and he had the Boston morningpaper in his hand. Of course he was filled to the brim with war news. Wediscuss little else in Bayport now; even the new baby at the parsonagehas to play second fiddle. 

"My godfreys!" exclaimed Asaph, as soon as he sat down in the rockingchair and put his cap on the floor beneath it. "My godfreys, but they'rehavin' awful times over across, now ain't they. Killin' and fightin' andbattlin' and slaughterin'! It don't seem human to me somehow. "

"It is human, I'm afraid, " I said, with a sigh. "Altogether too human. We're a poor lot, we, humans, after all. We pride ourselves on ourcivilization, but after all, it takes very little to send us back tosavagery. "

"That's so, " said Asaph, with conviction. "That's true about everybodybut us folks in the United States. We are awful fortunate, we are. Weain't savages. We was born in a free country, and we've been brought upright, I declare! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Knowles; I forgot you wasn'tborn in Bayport. "

Frances smiled. "No apology is needed, Mr. Tidditt, " she said. "Iconfess to having been born a--savage. "

"But you're all right now, " said Asaph, hastily, trying to cover hisslip. "You're all right now. You're just as American as the rest of us. Kent, suppose this war in Europe is goin' to hurt your trade any? It'sgoin' to hurt a good many folks's. They tell me groceries and such likeis goin' way up. Lucky we've got fish and clams to depend on. Clamsand quahaugs'll keep us from starvin' for a spell. Oh, " with a chuckle, "speakin' of quahaugs reminds me. Did you know they used to call yourhusband a quahaug, Mrs. Knowles? That's what they used to call him roundhere--'The Quahaug. ' They called him that 'count of his keepin' insidehis shell all the time and not mixin' with folks, not toadyin' up to thesummer crowd and all. I always respected him for it. _I_ don't toady tonobody neither. "

Hephzy had come in by this time and now she took a part in theconversation. 

"They don't call him 'The Quahaug' any more, " she declared, indignantly. "He's been out of his shell more and seen more than most of the folks inthis town. "

"I know it; I know it. And he's kept goin' ever since. Runnin' toNew York, he and you, " with a nod toward Frances, "and travelin' toWashin'ton and Niagary Falls and all. Wonder to me how he does as muchwritin' as he does. That last book of yours is sellin' first-rate, theytell me, Kent. "

He referred to the novel I began in Mayberry. I have rewritten andfinished it since, and it has had a surprising sale. The critics seem tothink I have achieved my first genuine success. 

"What are you writin' now?" asked Asaph. "More of them yarns aboutpirates and such? Land sakes! when I go by this house nights and see alight in your library window there, Kent, and know you're pluggin' alongamongst all them adventures, I wonder how you can stand it. 'Twould giveme the shivers. Godfreys! the last time I read one of them yarns--thatabout the 'Black Brig' 'twas--I hardly dast to go to bed. And I DIDN'Tdast to put out the light. I see a pirate in every corner, grittin' histeeth. Writin' another of that kind, are you?"

"No, " I said; "this one is quite different. You will have no trouble insleeping over this one, Ase. "

"That's a comfort. Got a little Bayport in it? Seems to me you ought toput a little Bayport in, for a change. "

I smiled. "There is a little in this, " I answered. "A little at thebeginning, and, perhaps, at the end. "

"You don't say! You ain't got me in it, have you? I'd--I'd look kind offunny in a book, wouldn't I?"

I laughed, but I did not answer. 

"Not that I ain't seen things in my life, " went on Asaph, hopefully. "Aman can't be town clerk in a live town like this and not see things. ButI hope you won't put any more foreigners in. This we're readin' now, "rapping the newspaper with his knuckles, "gives us all we want to knowabout foreigners. Just savages, they be, as you say, and nothin' more. Ipity 'em. "

I laughed again. 

"Asaph, " said I, "what would you say if I told you that the English andFrench--yes, and the Germans, too, though I haven't seen them at home asI have the others--were no more savages than we are?"

"I'd say you was crazy, " was the prompt answer. 

"Well, I'm not. And you're not very complimentary. You're forgettingagain. You forget that I married one of those savages. "

Asaph was taken aback, but he recovered promptly, as he had before. 

"She ain't any savage, " he announced. "Her mother was born right here inBayport. And she knows, just as I do, that Bayport's the best place inthe world; don't you, Mrs. Knowles?"

"Yes, " said Frances, "I am sure of it, Mr. Tidditt. "

So Asaph went away triumphantly happy. After he had gone I apologizedfor him. 

"He's a fair sample, " I said. "He is a quahaug, although he doesn't knowit. He is a certain type, an exaggerated type, of American. "

Frances smiled. "He's not much worse than I used to be, " she said. "Iused to call America an uncivilized country, you remember. I supposeI--and Mr. Heathcroft--were exaggerated types of a certain kind ofEnglish. We were English quahaugs, weren't we?"

Hephzy nodded. "We're all quahaugs, " she declared. "Most of us, anyhow. That's the trouble with all the folks of all the nations; they stay intheir shells and they don't try to know and understand their neighbors. Kent, you used to be a quahaug--a different kind of one--but that kind, too. I was a quahaug afore I lived in Mayberry. That's who makes warslike this dreadful one--quahaugs. We know better now--you and Francesand I. We've found out that, down underneath, there's precious littledifference. Humans are humans. "

She paused and then, as a final summing up, added:

"I guess that's it: American or German or French or anything--nice folksare nice folks anywhere. "

THE END