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+Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by J. C. Lincoln
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+Title:  The Rise of Roscoe Paine
+
+Author:  Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+Release Date:  March, 2001  [Etext #3137]
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+Edition:  10
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+This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com.
+
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+
+
+
+THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE
+
+by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"I'm going up to the village," I told Dorinda, taking my cap from
+the hook behind the dining-room door.
+
+"What for?" asked Dorinda, pushing me to one side and reaching for
+the dust-cloth, which also was behind the door.
+
+"Oh, just for the walk," I answered, carelessly.
+
+"Um-hm," observed Dorinda.
+
+"Um-hm" is, I believe, good Scotch for "Yes."  I have read that it
+is, somewhere--in one of Barrie's yarns, I think.  I had never been
+in Scotland, or much of anywhere else, except the city I was born
+in, and my college town, and Boston--and Cape Cod.  "Um-hm" meant
+yes on the Cape, too, except when Dorinda said it; then it might
+mean almost anything.  When Mother asked her to lower the window
+shade in the bed-room she said "Um-hm" and lowered it.  And, five
+minutes later, when Lute came in, loaded to the guards with
+explanations as to why he had forgotten to clean the fish for
+dinner, she said it again.  And the Equator and the North Pole are
+no nearer alike, so far as temperature is concerned, than those two
+"Um-hms."  And between them she had others, expressing all degrees
+from frigid to semi-torrid.
+
+Her "Um-hm" this time was somewhere along the northern edge of
+Labrador.
+
+"It's a good morning for a walk," I said.
+
+"Um-hm," repeated Dorinda, crossing over to Greenland, so to speak.
+
+I opened the outside door.  The warm spring sunshine, pouring in,
+was a pleasant contrast and made me forget, for the moment, the
+glacier at my back.  Come to think of it, "glacier" isn't a good
+word; glaciers move slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way.
+
+"What are you going to do?" I asked.
+
+"Work," snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth.  "It's a good
+mornin' for that, too."
+
+I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound
+asleep on the wash bench behind the kitchen.  His full name was
+Luther Millard Filmore Rogers, and he was Dorinda's husband by law,
+and the burden which Providence, or hard luck, had ordered her to
+carry through this vale of tears.  She was a good Methodist and
+there was no doubt in her mind that Providence was responsible.
+When she rose to testify in prayer-meeting she always mentioned her
+"cross" and everybody knew that the cross was Luther.  She carried
+him, but it is no more than fair to say that she didn't provide him
+with cushions.  She never let him forget that he was a steerage
+passenger.  However, Lute was well upholstered with philosophy, of
+a kind, and, so long as he didn't have to work his passage, was
+happy, even if the voyage was a rather rough one.
+
+Just now he was supposed to be raking the back yard, but the rake
+was between his knees, his head was tipped back against the
+shingled wall of the kitchen, and he was sleeping, with the
+sunshine illuminating his open mouth, "for all the world like a
+lamp in a potato cellar," as his wife had said the last time she
+caught him in this position.  She went on to say that it was a pity
+he wouldn't stand on his head when he slept.  "Then I could see if
+your skull was as holler as I believe it is," she told him.
+
+Lute heard me as I passed him and woke up.  The "potato cellar"
+closed with a snap and he seized the rake handles with both hands.
+
+"I was takin' a sort of observation," he explained hurriedly.
+"Figgerin' whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn.  Oh,
+it's you, Roscoe, is it!  Land sakes!  I thought first 'twas
+Dorindy.  Where you bound?"
+
+"Up to the village," I said.
+
+"Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?"
+
+"I may; I don't know."
+
+Lute sighed.  "I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself," he
+observed, regretfully.  "Thoph Newcomb and Cap'n Jed Dean and the
+rest of us was havin' a talk on politics last night up there and
+'twas mighty interestin'.  Old Dean had Thoph pretty well out of
+the race when I hauled alongside, but when I got into the argument
+'twas different.  'What's goin' to become of the laborin' men of
+this country if you have free trade?' I says.  Dean had to give in
+that he didn't know.  'Might have to let their wives support 'em,'
+he says, pompous as ever.  'That would be a calamity, wouldn't it,
+Lute?'  That wasn't no answer, of course.  But you can't expect
+sense of a Democrat.  I left him fumin' and come away.  I've
+thought of a lot more questions to ask him since and I was hopin' I
+could get at him this mornin'.  But no!  Dorindy's sot on havin'
+this yard raked, so I s'pose I've got to do it."
+
+He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and
+rose from the wash bench.
+
+"I s'pose I've got to do it," he repeated, "unless," hopefully,
+"you want me to run up to the village and do your errand for you."
+
+"No; I hadn't any errand."
+
+"Well, then I s'pose I'd better start in.  Unless there was
+somethin' else you'd ruther I'd do to-day.  If there was I could do
+this to-morrer."
+
+"To-morrow would have one advantage: there would be more to rake
+then.  However, judging by Dorinda's temper this morning, I think,
+perhaps, you had better do it to-day."
+
+"What's Dorindy doin'?"
+
+"She is dusting the dining-room."
+
+"I'll bet you!  And she dusted it yesterday and the day afore.  Do
+you know--" Lute sat down again on the bench--"sometimes I get real
+worried about her."
+
+"No!  Do you?"
+
+"Yes, I do.  I think she works too hard.  Seems's if sometimes it
+had kind of struck to her brains--work, I mean.  She don't think of
+nothin' else.  Now take the dustin', for instance.  Dustin's all
+right; I believe in dustin' things.  But I don't believe in wearin'
+'em out dustin' 'em.  That ain't sense, is it?"
+
+"It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact."
+
+"You bet it don't!  And it ain't good religion, neither.  Now take--
+well, take this yard, for instance.  What is it that I'm slavin'
+myself over this fine mornin'?  Why, rakin' this yard!  And what am
+I rakin'?  Why, dead leaves from last fall, and straws and sticks
+and pieces of seaweed and such that have blowed in durin' the
+winter.  And what blowed 'em in?  Why, the wind, sartin!  And whose
+wind was it?  The Almighty's, that's whose!  Now then! if the
+Almighty didn't intend to have dead leaves around why did he put
+trees for 'em to fall off of?  If he didn't want straws and seaweed
+and truck around why did He send them everlastin' no'theasters last
+November?  Did that idea ever strike you?"
+
+"I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way."
+
+"No.  Well, that's 'cause you ain't reasoned it out, same as I
+have.  You've got the same trouble that most folks have, you don't
+reason things out.  Now, let's look at it straight in the face."
+Lute let go of the rake altogether and used both hands to
+illustrate his point.  "That finger there, we'll say, is me, rakin'
+and rakin' hard as ever I can.  And that fist there is the
+Almighty, not meanin' anything irreverent.  I rake, same as I'm
+doin' this mornin'.  The yard's all cleaned up.  Then--zing!"
+Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the offending finger
+out of the way.  "Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's
+no'theasters, same as we're likely to have to-morrer, and the
+consarned yard is just as dirty as ever.  Ain't that so?"
+
+I looked at the yard.  "It seems to be about as it was," I agreed,
+with some sarcasm.  Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was
+concerned.
+
+"Yup," he said, triumphantly.  "Now, Dorindy, she's a good, pious
+woman.  She believes the Powers above order everything.  If that's
+so, then ain't it sacrilegious to be all the time flyin' in the
+face of them Powers by rakin' and rakin' and dustin' and dustin'?
+That's the question."
+
+"But, according to that reasoning," I observed, "we should neither
+rake nor dust.  Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather
+uncomfortable, after a while?"
+
+"Sartin.  But when they got uncomfortable then we could turn to and
+make 'em comfortable again.  I ain't arguin' against work--needful
+work, you understand.  I like it.  And I ain't thinkin' of myself,
+you know, but about Dorindy.  It worries me to see her wearin'
+herself out with--with dustin' and such.  It ain't sense and
+'tain't good religion.  She's my wife and it's my duty to think for
+her and look out for her."
+
+He paused and reached into his overalls pocket for a pipe.  Finding
+it, he reached into another pocket for the wherewithal to fill it.
+
+"Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of
+Providence?" I asked.
+
+Lute shook his head.  "No," he admitted, "I ain't.  Got any tobacco
+about you?  Dorindy hove my plug away yesterday.  I left it back of
+the clock and she found it and was mad--dustin' again, of course."
+
+He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put
+the pouch in his pocket.
+
+"Got a match?" he asked.  "Thanks.  No, I ain't spoke to her about
+it, though it's been on my mind for a long spell.  I didn't know
+but you might say somethin' to her along that line, Roscoe.
+'Twouldn't sound so personal, comin' from you.  What do you think?"
+
+I shook my head.  "Dorinda wouldn't pay much attention to my ideas
+on such subjects, I'm afraid," I answered.  "She knows I'm not a
+regular church-goer."
+
+Lute was plainly disappointed.  "Well," he said, with a sigh,
+"maybe you're right.  She does cal'late you're kind of heathen,
+though she hopes you'll see the light some day.  But, just the
+same," he added, "it's a good argument.  I tried it on the gang up
+to the post-office last night.  I says to 'em, says I, 'Work's all
+right.  I believe in it.  I'm a workin' man, myself.  But to work
+when you don't have to is wrong.  Take Ros Paine,' I says--"
+
+"Why should you take me?" I interrupted, rather sharply.
+
+"'Cause you're the best example I could think of.  Everybody knows
+you don't do no work.  Shootin' and sailin' and fishin' ain't work,
+and that's about all you do.  'Take Ros,' says I.  'He might be to
+work.  He was in a bank up to the city once and he knows the
+bankin' trade.  He might be at it now, but what would be the use?'
+I says.  'He's got enough to live on and he lives on it, 'stead of
+keepin' some poor feller out of a job.'  That's right, too, ain't
+it?"
+
+I didn't answer at once.  There was no reason why I should be
+irritated because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example
+of the do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country
+post-office.  What did I care for Denboro opinion?  Six years in
+that gossipy village had made me, so I thought, capable of rising
+above such things.
+
+"Well," I asked after a moment, "what did they say to that?"
+
+"Oh, nothin' much.  They couldn't; I had 'em, you see.  Some of 'em
+laughed and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a
+feather stickin' up for each other.  No sense to it.  But, as I
+said afore, what can you expect of a Democrat?"
+
+I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate.  "Ain't goin',
+be you?" asked Lute.  "Hadn't you better set down and rest your
+breakfast a spell?"
+
+"No, I'm going.  By the way, if you're through with that tobacco
+pouch of mine, I'll take it off your hands.  I may want to smoke by
+and by."
+
+Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had "gone
+clean out of his head."  However, he handed it over and I left him
+seated on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the
+shingles.  I opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by
+the edge of the bluff.  I had gone perhaps a hundred yards when I
+heard a shrill voice behind me.  Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by
+the corner of the kitchen, dust cloth in hand.  Her husband was
+raking for dear life.
+
+I walked on.  The morning was a beautiful one.  Beside the path, on
+the landward side, the bayberry and beach-plum bushes were in bud,
+the green of the new grass was showing above the dead brown of the
+old, a bluebird was swaying on the stump of a wild cherry tree, and
+the pines and scrub oaks of the grove by the Shore Lane were
+bright, vivid splashes of color against the blue of the sky.  At my
+right hand the yellow sand of the bluff broke sharply down to the
+white beach and the waters of the bay, now beginning to ebb.
+Across the bay the lighthouse at Crow Point glistened with new
+paint and I could see a moving black speck, which I knew was Ben
+Small, the keeper, busy whitewashing the fence beside it.  Down on
+the beach Zeb Kendrick was overhauling his dory.  In the distance,
+beyond the grove, I could hear the carpenters' hammers on the roof
+of the big Atwater mansion, which was now the property of James
+Colton, the New York millionaire, whose rumored coming to Denboro
+to live had filled the columns of the country weekly for three
+months.  The quahaug boats were anchored just inside the Point; a
+clam digger was wading along the outer edge of the sedge; a
+lobsterman was hauling his pots in the channel; even the bluebird
+on the wild cherry stump had a straw in his beak and was plainly in
+the midst of nest building.  Everyone had something to do and was
+doing it--everyone except Lute Rogers and myself, the "birds of a
+feather."  And even Lute was working now, under compulsion.
+
+Ordinarily the sight of all this industry would not have affected
+me.  I had seen it all before, or something like it.  The six years
+I had spent in Denboro, the six everlasting, idle, monotonous
+years, had had their effect.  I had grown hardened and had come to
+accept my fate, at first rebelliously, then with more of Lute's
+peculiar kind of philosophy.  Circumstances had doomed me to be a
+good-for-nothing, a gentleman loafer without the usual excuse--
+money--and, as it was my doom, I forced myself to accept it, if not
+with pleasure, at least with resignation.  And I determined to get
+whatever pleasure there might be in it.  So, when I saw the
+majority of the human race, each with a purpose in life, struggling
+to attain that purpose, I passed them by with my gun or fishing rod
+on my shoulder, and a smile on my lips.  If my remnant of a
+conscience presumed to rise and reprove me, I stamped it down.  It
+had no reasonable excuse for rising; I wasn't what I was from
+choice.
+
+But, somehow, on this particular morning, my unreasonable
+conscience was again alive and kicking.  Perhaps it was the
+quickening influence of the spring which resurrected it; perhaps
+Luther's quotation from the remarks of Captain Jedediah Dean had
+stirred it to rebellion.  A man may know, in his heart, that he is
+no good and still resent having others say that he is, particularly
+when they say that he and Luther Rogers are birds of a feather.  I
+didn't care for Dean's good opinion; of course I didn't!  Nor for
+that of any one else in Denboro, my mother excepted.  But Dean and
+the rest should keep their opinions to themselves, confound them!
+
+The path from our house--the latter every Denboro native spoke of
+as the "Paine Place"--wound along the edge of the bluff for perhaps
+three hundred yards, then turned sharply through the grove of scrub
+oaks and pitch pines and emerged on the Shore Lane.  The Shore Lane
+was not a public road, in the strictest sense of the term.  It was
+really a part of my land and, leading, as it did, from the Lower
+Road to the beach, was used as a public road merely because mother
+and I permitted it to be.  It had been so used, by sufferance of
+the former owner, for years, and when we came into possession of
+the property we did not interfere with the custom.  Land along the
+shore was worth precious little at that time and, besides, it was
+pleasant, rather than disagreeable, to hear the fish carts going
+out to the weirs, and the wagons coming to the beach for seaweed,
+or, filled with picnic parties, rattling down the Lane.  We could
+not see them from the house until they had passed the grove and
+emerged upon the beach, but even the noise of them was welcome.
+The Paine Place was a good half-mile from the Lower Road and there
+were few neighbors; therefore, especially in the winter months, any
+sounds of society were comforting.
+
+I strode through the grove, kicking the dead branches out of my
+way, for my mind was still busy with Luther and Captain Dean.  As I
+came out into the Lane I looked across at the Atwater mansion, now
+the property of the great and only Colton, "Big Jim" Colton, whose
+deals and corners in Wall Street supplied so many and such varied
+sensations for the financial pages of the city papers, just as
+those of his wife and family supplied news for the society columns;
+I looked across, I say, and then I stopped short to take a longer
+look.
+
+I could see the carpenters, whose hammers I had heard, at work upon
+the roof of the barn, now destined to do double duty as a stable
+and garage.  They, and the painters and plumbers, had been busy on
+the premises for months.  The establishment had been a big one,
+even when Major Atwater owned it, but the new owners had torn down
+and added and rebuilt until the house loomed up like a palace or a
+Newport villa.  A Newport villa in Denboro!  Why on earth any one
+should deliberately choose Denboro as a place to live in I couldn't
+understand; but why a millionaire, with all creation to select
+from, should build a Newport villa on the bluff overlooking Denboro
+Bay was beyond comprehension.  The reason given in the Cape Cod
+Item was that Mrs. Colton was "in debilitated health," whatever
+that is, and had been commanded by her doctors to seek sea air and
+seclusion and rest.  Well, there was sea air and rest, not to
+mention seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square mile about
+the new villa, and no one knew that better than I, condemned to
+live within the square.  But if Mrs. Colton had deliberately chosen
+the spot, with malice aforethought, the place for her was a home
+for the feeble minded.  At least, that was my opinion on that
+particular morning.
+
+It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and
+look across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's
+residence.  What caught my attention was that the place looked to
+be inhabited.  The windows were open--fifty or so of them--smoke
+was issuing from one of the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and
+apron was standing by the servants' entrance.  Yes, and a tall,
+bulky man with a yachting cap on the back of his head and a cigar
+in his mouth was talking with Asa Peters, the boss carpenter, by
+the big door of the barn.
+
+I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed
+at our boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor
+dory into commission for the summer.  But now I remembered that
+Lute had said something about the Coltons being expected, or having
+arrived, and that he seemed much excited over it.  He would have
+said more, but Dorinda had pounced on him and sent him out to shut
+up the chickens, which gave him the excuse to play truant and take
+his evening's trip to the post-office.  It was plain that the
+Coltons HAD arrived.  Very likely the stout man with the yachting
+cap was the mighty "Big Jim" himself.  Well, I didn't envy him in
+his present situation.  He had my pity, if anything.
+
+Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself
+helped to raise my spirits.  At any rate I managed to shake off a
+little of my gloom and tramped on up the Lane, feeling more like a
+human being and less like a yellow dog.  Less as I should imagine a
+yellow dog ought to feel, I mean, for, as a matter of fact, most
+yellow dogs of my acquaintance seem to be as happy as their brown
+or white or black relatives.  I walked up the Lane, turned into the
+Lower Road, and headed for the village.  The day was a gorgeous
+one, the air bracing as a tonic, and my thirtieth birthday was not
+yet so far astern as to be lost in the fog.  After all, there were
+some consolations in being alive and in a state of health not
+"debilitated."  I began to whistle.
+
+A quarter of a mile from the junction of the Shore Lane, on the
+Lower Road, was a willow-shaded spot, where the brook which
+irrigated Elnathan Mullet's cranberry swamp ran under a small
+wooden bridge.  It was there that I first heard the horn and,
+turning, saw the automobile coming from behind me.  It was
+approaching at a speed of, I should say, thirty miles an hour, and
+I jumped to the rail of the bridge to let it pass.  Autos were not
+as common on the Cape then as they have become since.  Now the
+average pedestrian of common-sense jumps first and looks
+afterwards.
+
+However, I jumped in time, and stood still to watch the car as it
+went by.  But it did not go by--not then.  Its speed slackened as
+it approached and it came to a halt on the bridge beside me.  A big
+car; an aristocratic car; a machine of pomp and price and polish,
+such as Denboro saw but seldom.  It contained three persons--a
+capped and goggled chauffeur on the front seat, and a young fellow
+and a girl in the tonneau.  They attracted my attention in just
+that order--first the chauffeur, then the young fellow, and, last
+of all, the girl.
+
+It was the chauffeur who hailed me.  He leaned across the
+upholstery beside him and, still holding the wheel, said:
+
+"Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport?"
+
+Now my name doesn't happen to be Bill and just then I objected to
+the re-christening.  At another time I might have appreciated the
+joke and given him the information without comment.  But this
+morning I didn't feel like joking.  My dissatisfaction with the
+world in general included automobilists who made common folks get
+out of their way, and I was resentful.
+
+"I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any," I
+answered.
+
+The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this
+brilliant bit.
+
+"Aw, what--" he stammered.  "Say, what--look here, I asked you--"
+
+Then the young man in the tonneau took charge of the conversation.
+He was a very young man, with blond hair and a silky mustache, and
+his clothes fitted him as clothes have no right to fit--on Cape
+Cod.
+
+"That'll do, Oscar," he ordered.  Then, turning to me, he said:
+
+"See here, my man, we want to go to Bayport."
+
+I was not his man, and wouldn't have been for something.  The
+chauffeur had irritated me, but he irritated me more.  I didn't
+like him, his looks, his clothes, and, particularly, his manner.
+Therefore, because I didn't feel like answering, I showed my
+independence by remaining silent.
+
+"What's the matter?" he demanded, impatiently.  "Are you deaf?  I
+say we want to go to Bayport."
+
+A newspaper joke which I had recently read came to my mind.  "Very
+well," I said, "you have my permission."
+
+It was a rude thing to say, and not even original.  I don't attempt
+to excuse it.  In fact, I was sorry as soon as I had said it.  It
+had its effect.  The young man turned red.  Then he laughed aloud.
+
+"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed.  "What have we here?  A humorist, I
+do believe!  Mabel, we've discovered a genuine, rural humorist.
+Another David Harum, by Jove!  Look at him!"
+
+The girl in the tonneau swept aside her veil and looked, as
+directed.  And I looked at her.  The face that I saw was sweet and
+refined and delicate, a beautiful young face, the face of a lady,
+born and bred.  All this I saw and realized at a glance; but what I
+was most conscious of at the time was the look in the dark eyes as
+they surveyed me from head to foot.  Indifference was there, and
+contemptuous amusement; she didn't even condescend to smile, much
+less speak.  Under that look my self-importance shrank until the
+yellow dog with which I had compared myself loomed as large as an
+elephant.  She might have looked that way at some curious and
+rather ridiculous bug, just before calling a servant to step on it.
+
+The young man laughed again.  "Isn't it a wonder, Mabel?" he asked.
+"The native wit on his native heath!  Reuben--pardon me, your name
+is Reuben, isn't it?--now that you've had your little joke, would
+you condescend to tell us the road which we should take to reach
+Bayport in the shortest time?  Would you oblige us to that extent?"
+
+The young lady smiled at this.  "Victor," she said, "how idiotic
+you are!"
+
+I agreed with her.  Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which
+I should have applied to that young man.  I wanted very much to
+remove him from that car by what Lute would call the scruff of the
+neck.  But most of all, just then, I wanted to be alone, to see the
+last of the auto and its occupants.
+
+"First turn to the right, second to the left," I said, sullenly.
+
+"Thank you, Reuben," vouchsafed the young man.  "Here's hoping that
+your vegetables are fresher than your jokes.  Go ahead, Oscar."
+
+The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road,
+turning the corner at full speed.  There was a loose board
+projecting from the bridge just under my feet.  As a member--though
+an inactive one--of the Village Improvement Society I should have
+trodden it back into place.  I didn't; I kicked it into the brook.
+
+Then I walked on.  But the remainder of my march was a silent one,
+without music.  I did not whistle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The post-office was at Eldredge's store, and Eldredge's store,
+situated at the corners, where the Main Road and the Depot Road--
+which is also the direct road to South Denboro--join, was the
+mercantile and social center of Denboro.  Simeon Eldredge kept the
+store, and Simeon was also postmaster, as well as the town
+constable, undertaker, and auctioneer.  If you wanted a spool of
+thread, a coffin, or the latest bit of gossip, you applied at
+Eldredge's.  The gossip you could be morally certain of getting at
+once; the thread or the coffin you might have to wait for.
+
+I scarcely know why I went to Eldredge's that morning.  I did not
+expect mail, and I did not require Simeon's services in any one of
+his professional capacities.  Possibly Lute's suggestion had some
+sort of psychic effect and I stopped at the post-office
+involuntarily.  At any rate, I woke from the trance in which the
+encounter with the automobile had left me to find myself walking in
+at the door.
+
+The mail was not yet due, to say nothing of having arrived or been
+sorted, but there was a fair-sized crowd on the settees and perched
+on the edge of the counter.  Ezra Mullet was there, and Alonzo
+Black and Alvin Baker and Thoph Newcomb.  Beriah Doane and Sam
+Cahoon, who lived in South Denboro, were there, too, having driven
+over behind Beriah's horse, on an errand; that is, Beriah had an
+errand and Sam came along to help him remember it.  In the rear of
+the store, by the frame of letter boxes, Captain Jedediah Dean was
+talking with Simeon.
+
+Alvin Baker saw me first and hailed me as I entered.
+
+"Here's Ros Paine," he exclaimed.  "He'll know more about it than
+anybody else.  Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow?
+Thoph says it's eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself."
+
+"It's eight, I tell you," broke in Newcomb, before I could answer.
+"There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em--"
+
+"The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!" interrupted Mullet.
+"That's blame foolishness."
+
+"I never said he waited on the cooks.  I said he waited on them--on
+the family.  And there's a coachman--"
+
+"Why do they call them kind of fellers coachmen?" put in Thoph.
+"There ain't any coach.  I see the carriages when they come--two
+freight cars full of 'em.  There was a open two-seater, and a
+buckboard, and that high-wheeled thing they called a dog-cart."
+
+Beriah Doane laughed uproariously.  "Land of love!" he shouted.
+"Does the dog have a cart all to himself?  That's a good one!  You
+and me ain't got no dog, Sam, but we might have a couple of cat-
+carts, hey?  Haw! haw!"
+
+Thoph paid no attention to this pleasantry.  "There was the dog-
+cart," he repeated, "and another thing they called the 'trap.'  But
+there wan't any coach; I'll swear to it."
+
+"Don't make no difference," declared Alvin; "there was a man along
+that SAID he was the coachman, anyhow.  And a big minister-lookin'
+feller who was a butler, and two hired girls besides the cooks.
+That's nine, anyhow.  One more'n you said, Thoph."
+
+"And that don't count the chauffeur, the chap that runs the
+automobiles," said Alonzo Black.  "He's the tenth.  Say, Ros,"
+turning to me, "how many is there, altogether?"
+
+"How many what?" I asked.  It was my first opportunity to speak.
+
+"Why, hired help--servants, you know.  How many does Mr. Colton
+keep?"
+
+"I don't know how many he keeps," I said.  "Why should I?"
+
+The group looked at me in amazement.  Thoph Newcomb voiced the
+general astonishment.
+
+"Why should you!" he repeated.  "Why shouldn't you, you mean!
+You're livin' right next door to 'em, as you might say!  My soul!
+If I was you I cal'late I'd know afore this time."
+
+"No doubt you would, Thoph.  But I don't.  I didn't know the
+Coltons had arrived until I came by just now.  They have arrived, I
+take it."
+
+Arrived!  There was no question of the arrival, nor of its being
+witnessed by everyone present, myself and the South Denboro
+delegates excepted.  Newcomb and Baker and Mullet and Black began
+talking all together.  I learned that the Colton invasion of
+Denboro was a spectacle only equaled by the yearly coming of the
+circus to Hyannis, or the opening of the cattle show at Ostable.
+The carriages and horses had arrived by freight the morning before;
+the servants and the family on the afternoon train.
+
+"I see 'em myself," affirmed Alonzo.  "I was as nigh to 'em as I be
+to you.  Mrs. Colton is sort of fleshy, but as handsome a woman as
+you'd want to see.  I spoke to her, too.  'It's a nice day,' I
+says, 'ain't it?'"
+
+"What did she say?" asked Newcomb.
+
+"She didn't say nothin'.  Engine was makin' such a noise she didn't
+hear, I presume likely."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Baker, evidently envious; "I guess she heard you,
+all right.  Fellers like you make me tired.  Grabbin' every chance
+to curry favor with rich folks!  Wonder you didn't tell her you
+drove a fish-cart and wanted her trade!  As for me, I'm independent.
+Don't make no difference to me how well-off a person is.  They're
+human, just the same as I am, and _I_ don't toady to 'em.  If they
+want to talk they can send for me.  I'll wait till they do."
+
+"Hope you've got lots of patience, Alvin," observed Mullet drily.
+During the hilarity which followed, and while the offended apostle
+of independence was trying to think of a sufficiently cutting
+reply, I walked to the rear of the store.
+
+Our letter box was Number 218, in the center of the rack, and, as I
+approached, I glanced at it involuntarily.  To my surprise there
+was a letter in it; I could see it through the glass of the box
+door.  Lute had, as I knew, got the mail the previous evening and
+the morning's mail had not yet arrived.  Therefore this letter must
+have been written by some one in Denboro and posted late the night
+before or early that morning.  It was not the custom for Denboro
+residents to communicate with each other through the medium of the
+post.  They preferred to save the two cents stamp money, as a
+general thing.  Bills sometimes came by mail, but this was the
+tenth, not the first, of the month; and, besides, our bills were
+paid.
+
+I reached into my pocket for my keys, unlocked the box and took out
+the letter.  The envelope was square, of an expensive quality, and
+eminently aristocratic.  It was postmarked Denboro, dated that
+morning, and addressed in a sharp, clear masculine hand unfamiliar
+to me, to "Roscoe Paine, Esq."  The "Esq." would have settled it,
+if the handwriting had not.  No fellow-townsman of my acquaintance
+would address me, or any one else, as Esquire.  Misters and
+Captains were common enough, but Esquires--no.
+
+It was a Denboro custom, when one received a mysterious letter, to
+get the fullest enjoyment out of the mystery before solving it.  I
+had known Dorinda Rogers to guess, surmise and speculate for ten
+minutes before opening a patent medicine circular.  But, though
+mysteries were uncommon enough in my life, I think I should have
+reached the solution of this one in the next second--in fact, I had
+torn the end from the envelope--when I was interrupted.
+
+It was Captain Dean who interrupted me.  He had evidently concluded
+his conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down
+majestically upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie
+schooner.
+
+"Hey, you--Ros!" he roared.  He was at my elbow, but he roared just
+the same.  Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never
+outgrown the habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty-
+mile gale.  "Hey, Ros.  See here; I want to talk to you."
+
+I did not want to talk with any one, particularly with him.  He was
+the individual who, according to Lute, had bracketed Mr. Rogers and
+myself as birds of a feather, the remark which was primarily
+responsible for my ill humor of the morning.  If he had not said
+that, and if Lute had not quoted the saying to me, I might have
+behaved less like a fool when that automobile overtook me, I might
+not have given that young idiot, whose Christian name it seemed was
+Victor, the opportunity to be smart at my expense.  That girl with
+the dark eyes might not have looked at me as if I were a worm or a
+June bug.  Confound her! what right had she to look at me like
+that?  Victor, or whatever his name was, was a cub and a cad and as
+fresh as the new paint on Ben Small's lighthouse, but he had
+deigned to speak.  Whereas that girl--!
+
+No, I did not want to talk with Jedediah Dean.  However, he wanted
+to talk to me, and what he wanted he usually got.
+
+Captain Dean was one of Denboro's leading citizens.  His parents
+had been as poor as Job's turkey, but Jedediah had determined to
+get money and now he had it.  He was reputed to be worth "upwards
+of thirty thousand," owned acres and acres of cranberry swamps, and
+the new house he had just built was almost as big as it was ugly,
+which is saying considerable.  He had wanted to be a deacon in the
+church and, though the church was by no means so eager, deacon he
+became.  He was an uncompromising Democrat, but he had forced
+himself into the Board of Selectmen, every other member a
+Republican.  He was director in the Denboro bank, and it was town
+talk that his most ardent desire at the present time was to see his
+daughter Helen--Nellie, we all called her--married to George
+Taylor, cashier of that bank.  As George and Nellie were "keeping
+company" it seemed likely that Captain Jed would be gratified in
+this, as in all other desires.  He was a born boss, and did his
+best to run the town according to his ideas.  Captain Elisha
+Warren, who lived over in South Denboro and was also a director in
+the bank, covered the situation when he said:  "Jed Dean is one of
+those fellers who ought to have a big family to order around.  The
+Almighty gave him only one child and so he adopted Denboro and is
+bossin' that."
+
+"I want to talk to you, Ros," repeated Captain Jed.  "Come here."
+
+He led the way to the settee by the calico and dress goods counter.
+I put the unread letter in my pocket and followed him.
+
+"Set down," he ordered.  "Come to anchor alongside."
+
+I came to anchor.
+
+"How's your mother?" he asked.  "Matilda was cal'latin' to go down
+and set with her a spell this afternoon, if she didn't have
+anything else to do--if Matilda didn't, I mean."
+
+Matilda was his wife.  In her husband's company she was as dumb as
+a broken phonograph; when he was not with her she talked
+continuously, as if to get even.  A call from Matilda Dean was one
+of the additional trials which made Mother's invalid state harder
+to bear.
+
+"Course she may not come," Jedediah hastened to say.  "She's pretty
+busy these days.  But if she don't have anything else to do she
+will.  I told her she'd better."
+
+"Mother will be charmed," I said.  Captain Jed was no fool and he
+looked at me sharply.
+
+"Um; yes," he grunted.  "I presume likely.  You're charmed, too,
+ain't you?"
+
+I was not expecting this.  I murmured something to the effect that
+I was delighted, of course.
+
+"Sartin.  Well, that's all right.  I didn't get you on this settee
+to charm you.  I want to talk business with you a minute."
+
+"Business!  With me?"
+
+"Yup.  Or it may be business later on.  I've been thinkin' about
+that Shore Lane, the one that runs through your land.  Us town
+folks use that a whole lot.  I cal'late most everybody's come to
+look at it as a reg'lar public road to the beach."
+
+"Why, yes, I suppose they have," I said, puzzled to know what he
+was driving at.  "It is a public road, practically."
+
+"No, 'tain't, neither.  It's a private way, and if you wanted to
+you could shut it off any day.  A good many folks would have shut
+it off afore this."
+
+"Oh, I guess not."
+
+"I guess yes.  I'd shut it off myself.  I wouldn't have Tom, Dick
+and Harry drivin' fish wagons and tip carts full of seaweed through
+my premises free gratis for nothin'."
+
+"Why?" I asked.  "What harm does it do?"
+
+"I don't know as it does any.  But because a tramp sleepin' on my
+front piazza might not harm the piazza, that's no reason why I'd
+let him sleep there."
+
+I laughed.  "The two cases aren't exactly alike, are they?" I said.
+"The land is of no value to us at present.  Mother and I are glad
+to have the Lane used, if it is a convenience, as I suppose it is."
+
+"It's that, sartin.  Ros, who owns that land the Lane runs through--
+you or your mother?"
+
+"It is in my name," I said.
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, would you sell it?"
+
+"Sell it!  Sell that strip of sand and beach grass!  Who would buy
+it?"
+
+"I don't know as anybody would.  I just asked if you'd sell it,
+that's all."
+
+"Perhaps I would.  I presume I should, if I had the chance."
+
+"Ain't had any chance yet, have you?"
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"Oh, nothin', nothin'!  Well, you just think it over.  If you
+decide you would sell it and get so fur as fixin' a price on it,
+let me know, will you?"
+
+"Captain, what in the world do you want of that land?  See here!
+you don't want to shut off the Shore Lane, do you?"
+
+"What in time would I want to shut it off for?  I use it as much as
+anybody, don't I?"
+
+"Then I don't see--"
+
+"Maybe there ain't nothin' TO see.  Only, if you decide to sell,
+let me know.  Yes, and don't sell WITHOUT lettin' me know.
+Understand?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Well, you understand enough, I cal'late.  All I want you to do is
+to promise not to sell that land the Lane's on without speakin' to
+me fust.  Will you promise that?"
+
+I considered for a moment.  "Yes," I said, "I'll promise that.
+Though I can't imagine what you're driving at."
+
+"You don't need to.  Maybe I'm just drivin' blind; I hope I am.
+That's all I wanted to talk about," rising from the settee.  "Oh,
+by the way," he added, "your neighborhood's honored just now, ain't
+it?  The King of New York's arrived, they tell me."
+
+"King of New York?  Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons."
+
+"Sartin.  Who else?  Met his Majesty yet?"
+
+"No.  Have you?"
+
+"I met him when he was down a month ago.  Sim Eldredge introduced
+me right here in the store.  'Mr. Colton,' says Sim, proud but
+humble, so to speak, 'let me make you acquainted with one of our
+selectmen, Cap'n Dean.  Cap'n, shake hands with Mr. Colton of New
+York.'  We shook, and I cal'late I'd ought to have kept that hand
+in a glass case ever since.  But, somehow or other, I ain't."
+
+"What sort of a chap is Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, all right of his kind, I guess.  In amongst a gang of high
+financers like himself he'd size up as a pretty good sport, I
+shouldn't wonder.  And he was polite enough to me, I suppose.  But,
+darn him, I didn't like the way he looked at me!  He looked as if--
+as if--well, I can't tell you how he looked."
+
+"You don't need to," I said, brusquely.  "I know."
+
+"You do, hey?  He ain't looked at you, has he?  No, course he
+ain't!  You said you hadn't met him."
+
+"I've met others of his kind."
+
+"Yes.  Well, I'm a hayseed and I know it.  I'm just a countryman
+and he's a millionaire.  He'll be the big show in this town from
+now on.  When he blows his nose seven-eighths of this community 'll
+start in workin' up a cold in the head."
+
+He turned on his heel and started to go.
+
+"Will you?" I asked, slily.
+
+He looked back over his shoulder.  "I ain't subject to colds--
+much," he snapped.  "But YOU better lay in a supply of handkerchiefs,
+Ros."
+
+I smiled.  I knew what was troubling him.  A little tin god has a
+pleasant time of it, no doubt, until the coming of the eighteen
+carat gold idol.  Captain Jed had been boss of Denboro--self-
+appointed to that eminent position, but holding it nevertheless--
+and to be pushed from his perch by a city rival was disagreeable.
+If I knew him he would not be dethroned without a fight.  There
+were likely to be some interesting and lively times in our village.
+
+I could understand Dean's dislike of Colton, but his interest in
+the Shore Lane was a mystery.  Why should he wish to buy that
+worthless strip of land?  And what did he mean by asking if I had
+chances to sell it?  Still pondering over this puzzle, I walked
+toward the front of the store, past the group waiting for the mail,
+where the discussion concerning the Coltons was still going on,
+Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker both talking at once.
+
+"You ask Ros," shouted Alvin, pounding the counter beside him.
+"Say, Ros, Newcomb here seems to think that because a feller comes
+from the city and is rich that that gives him the right to order
+the rest of us around as if we was fo'mast hands.  He says--"
+
+"I don't neither!" yelled Thoph.  "What I say is that money counts,
+and--"
+
+"You do, too!  Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them
+Coltons?"
+
+I laughed and went on without replying.  I left the store and
+strolled across the road to the bank, intending to make a short
+call on George Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance
+and the one person in Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.
+
+But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a
+few moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I
+gave it up and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no
+desire to meet more automobilists.
+
+Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs.
+I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead.  I opened the
+door leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door
+behind me.
+
+The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the
+room was in deep shadow.  Mother had been asleep, I think, but she
+heard my step and recognized it.
+
+"Is that you, Boy?" she asked.  If I had been fifty, instead of
+thirty-one, Mother would have called me "Boy" just the same.
+
+"Yes, Mother," I said.
+
+"Where have you been?  For a walk?  It is a beautiful morning,
+isn't it."
+
+Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was
+that the shades were drawn.  She had not seen the sunlight on the
+bay, nor the blue sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her
+face, or the green grass beneath her feet.  Her only glimpses of
+the outside world were those which she got on cloudy or stormy days
+when the shades were raised a few inches and, turning her head on
+the pillow, she could see beneath them.  For six years she had been
+helpless and bedridden in that little room.  But she never
+complained.
+
+I told her that I had been uptown for a walk.
+
+"Did you meet any one?" she asked.
+
+I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest.  I
+said nothing of my encounter with the motor car.
+
+"Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to
+sit with you this afternoon," I said.  "Provided she didn't have
+anything else to do; he took pains to add that.  You mustn't see
+her, of course."
+
+She smiled.  "Why not?" she asked.  "Matilda is a little tiresome
+at times, but she means well."
+
+"Humph!  Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry
+himself.  That woman will talk you to death."
+
+"Oh, no!  Not as bad as that.  And poor Matilda doesn't talk much
+at home, I'm afraid."
+
+"Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him.  By the way, the
+Captain had a queer bee in his bonnet this morning.  He seems to be
+thinking of buying some of our property."
+
+I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint
+concerning its possible purchase.  She listened and then said
+thoughtfully:
+
+"What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?"
+
+"I haven't decided at all.  What do you think, Mother?"
+
+"It seems to me that I shouldn't sell, at least until I knew his
+reason for wanting to buy.  It would be different if we needed the
+money, but, of course, we don't."
+
+"Of course," I said, hastily.  "But why not sell?  We don't use the
+land."
+
+"No.  But the Denboro people need that Lane.  They use it a great
+deal.  If it were closed it would put many of them to a great
+inconvenience, particularly those who get their living alongshore.
+Every one in Denboro has been so kind to us.  I feel that we owe
+them a debt we never can repay."
+
+"No one could help being kind to you, Mother.  Oh! I have another
+piece of news.  Did you know that our new neighbors, the Coltons,
+have arrived?"
+
+"Yes.  Dorinda told me.  Have you met any of them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Dorinda says Mrs. Colton is an invalid.  Poor woman! it must be
+hard to be ill when one has so much to enjoy.  Dorinda says they
+have a very pretty daughter."
+
+I made no comment.  I was not interested in pretty daughters, just
+then.  The memory of the girl in the auto was too fresh in my mind.
+
+"Did you go to the post-office, Roscoe?" asked Mother.  "I suppose
+there were no letters.  There seldom are."
+
+Then I remembered the letter in my pocket.  I had forgotten it
+altogether.
+
+"Why, yes, there was a letter, a letter for me.  I haven't read it
+yet."
+
+I took the envelope from my pocket and drew out the enclosure.  The
+latter was a note, very brief and very much to the point.  I read
+it.
+
+"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, angrily.
+
+"What is it, Roscoe?"
+
+"It appears to be a summons from what Captain Jed called the King
+of New York.  A summons to appear at court."
+
+"At court?"
+
+"Oh, not the criminal court.  Merely the palace of his Majesty.
+Just listen."
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine, Esq.
+
+Dear Sir:
+
+I should like to see you at my house this--Thursday--forenoon, on a
+matter of business.  I shall expect you at any time after ten in
+the morning.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+"From Mr. Colton!" exclaimed Mother.  "Why! what can he want of
+you?"
+
+"I don't know," I answered.  "And I don't particularly care."
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"Mother, did you ever hear such a cool, nervy proposition in your
+life?  He wants to see me and he orders me to come to him.  Why
+doesn't he come to me?"
+
+"I suppose he didn't think of it.  He is a big man in New York and
+he has been accustomed to having people come at his convenience.
+It's his way of doing things, I suppose."
+
+"Then I don't like the way.  This is Denboro, not New York.  He
+will expect me at any time after ten, will he?  Well, as Mullet
+said to Alvin Baker just now at the post-office, I hope he has lots
+of patience.  He'll need it."
+
+"But what can he want of you?"
+
+"I don't know.  Wants to look over his nearest jay neighbor, I
+should imagine, and see what sort of a curio he is.  He thinks it
+may be necessary to put up barbed wire fences, I suppose."
+
+"Roscoe, don't be narrow-minded.  Mr. Colton's ways aren't ours and
+we must make allowances."
+
+"Let him make a few, for a change."
+
+"Aren't you going to see him?"
+
+"No.  At least not until I get good and ready."
+
+Dorinda came in just then to ask Mother some questions concerning
+dinner, for, though Mother had not seen the dining room since that
+day, six years ago, when she was carried from it to her bedroom,
+she kept her interest in household affairs and insisted on being
+consulted on all questions of management and internal economy.  I
+rose from my chair and started toward the door.
+
+"Are you going, Roscoe?" asked Mother.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Oh, just out of doors; perhaps to the boat-house."
+
+"Boy."
+
+"Yes, Mother?"
+
+"What is the matter?  Something has gone wrong; I knew it as soon
+as you came in.  What is it?"
+
+"Nothing.  That is, nothing of any consequence.  I'm a little out
+of sorts to-day and that man's letter irritates me.  I'll get over
+it.  I'll be back soon.  Good-by, Mother."
+
+"Good-by, Boy."
+
+I went out through the dining room and kitchen, to the back yard,
+where, seating myself on Lute's favorite resting place, the wash
+bench, I lit my pipe and sat thinking, gloomily thinking.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+It is a dreadful thing to hate one's own father; to hate him and be
+unable to forgive him even though he is dead, although he paid for
+his sin with his life.  Death is said to pay all debts, but there
+are some it cannot pay.  To my father I owed my present ambitionless,
+idle, good-for-nothing life, my mother's illness, years of disgrace,
+the loss of a name--everything.
+
+Paine was my mother's maiden name; she was christened Comfort
+Paine.  My own Christian name is Roscoe and my middle name is
+Paine.  My other name, the name I was born with, the name that
+Mother took when she married, we dropped when the disgrace came
+upon us.  It was honored and respected once; now when it was
+repeated people coupled it with shame and crime and dishonor and
+broken trust.
+
+As a boy I remember myself as a spoiled youngster who took the
+luxuries of this world for granted.  I attended an expensive and
+select private school, idled my way through that somehow, and
+entered college, a happy-go-lucky young fellow with money in my
+pocket.  For two-thirds of my Freshman year--which was all I
+experienced of University life--I enjoyed myself as much as
+possible, and studied as little.  Then came the telegram.  I
+remember the looks of the messenger who brought it, the cap he
+wore, and the grin on his young Irish face when the fellow sitting
+next me at the battered black oak table in the back room of Kelly's
+asked him to have a beer.  I remember the song we were singing, the
+crowd of us, how it began again and then stopped short when the
+others saw the look on my face.  The telegram contained but four
+words:  "Come home at once."  It was signed with the name of my
+father's lawyer.
+
+I presume I shall never forget even the smallest incident of that
+night journey in the train and the home-coming.  The lawyer's
+meeting me at the station in the early morning; his taking care
+that I should not see the newspapers, and his breaking the news to
+me.  Not of the illness or death which I had feared and dreaded,
+but of something worse--disgrace.  My father was an embezzler, a
+thief.  He had absconded, had run away, like the coward he was,
+taking with him what was left of his stealings.  The banking house
+of which he had been the head was insolvent.  The police were on
+his track.  And, worse and most disgraceful of all, he had not fled
+alone.  There was a woman with him, a woman whose escapades had
+furnished the papers with sensations for years.
+
+I had never been well acquainted with my father.  We had never been
+friends and companions, like other fathers and sons I knew.  I
+remember him as a harsh, red-faced man, whom, as a boy, I avoided
+as much as possible.  As I grew older I never went to him for
+advice; he was to me a sort of walking pocket-book, and not much
+else.  Mother has often told me that she remembers him as something
+quite different, and I suppose it must be true, otherwise she would
+not have married him; but to me he was a source of supply coupled
+with a bad temper, that was all.  That I was not utterly impossible,
+that, going my own gait as I did, I was not a complete young
+blackguard, I know now was due entirely to Mother.  She and I were
+as close friends as I would permit her to be.  Father had neglected
+us for years, though how much he had neglected and ill-treated her
+I did not know until she told me, afterward.  She was in delicate
+health even then, but, when the blow fell, it was she and not I who
+bore up bravely and it was her pluck and nerve, not mine, which
+pulled us through that dreadful time.
+
+And it was dreadful.  The stories and pictures in the papers!  The
+rumors, always contradicted, that the embezzler had been caught!
+The misrepresentation and lies and scandal!  The loss of those whom
+we had supposed were friends!  Mother bore them all, wore a calm,
+brave face in public, and only when alone with me gave way, and
+then but at rare intervals.  She clung to me as her only comfort
+and hope.  I was sullen and wrathful and resentful, an unlicked
+cub, I suspect, whose complaints were selfish ones concerning the
+giving up of my college life and its pleasures, and the sacrifice
+of social position and wealth.
+
+Mother had--or so we thought at the time--a sum in her own name
+which would enable us to live; although not as we had lived by a
+great deal.  We took an apartment in an unfashionable quarter of
+the city, and thanks to the lawyer--who proved himself a real and
+true friend--I was given a minor position in a small bank.  Oddly
+enough, considering my former life, I liked the work, it interested
+me, and during the next few years I was made, by successive
+promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at last, assistant cashier.
+No news came from the absconder.  The police had lost track of him,
+and it seemed probable that he would never be heard of again.  But
+over Mother and myself hung always the dread that he might be found
+and all the dreadful business revived once more.  Mother never
+mentioned it, nor did I, but the dread was there.
+
+Then came the first breakdown in Mother's health which necessitated
+her removal to the country.  Luther and Dorinda Rogers were distant
+relatives of our friend, the lawyer.  They owned the little house
+by the shore at Denboro and the lawyer had visited them occasionally
+on shooting and fishing trips.  They were in need of money, for, as
+Dorinda said:  "We've got two mouths in this family and only one
+pair of hands.  One of the mouths is so big that the hands can't
+fill it, let alone the mouth that belongs to THEM."  Mother--as Mrs.
+Paine, a widow--went there first as a boarder, intending to remain
+but a few months.  Dorinda took to her at once, being attracted in
+the beginning, I think, by the name.  "They call you Comfort Paine,"
+she said, "and you are a comfort to everybody else's pain.  Yet you
+ain't out of pain a minute scurcely, yourself.  I never see anything
+like it.  If 'twan't wicked I'd say that name was give you by the
+Old Scratch himself, as a sort of divilish joke.  But anybody can
+see that the Old Scratch never had anything in common with you, even
+a hand in the christenin'."
+
+Dorinda was very kind, and Lute was a never-ending joy in his
+peculiar way.  Mother would have been almost happy in the little
+Denboro home, if I had been with her.  But she was never really
+happy when we were separated, a condition of mind which grew more
+acute as her health declined.  I came down from the city once every
+month and those Sundays were great occasions.  The Denboro people
+know me as Roscoe Paine.
+
+For a time Mother seemed to be holding her own.  In answer to my
+questions she always declared that she was ever so much better.
+But Doctor Quimby, the town physician, looked serious
+
+"She must be kept absolutely quiet," he said.  "She must not be
+troubled in any way.  Worry or mental distress is what I fear most.
+Any sudden bad news or shock might--well, goodness knows what
+effect it might have.  She must not be worried.  Ros--" after one
+has visited Denboro five times in succession he is generally called
+by his Christian name--"Ros, if you've got any worries you keep 'em
+to yourself."
+
+I had worries, plenty of them.  Our little fortune, saved, as we
+thought, from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage.  A
+considerable portion of it, as the lawyers discovered, was involved
+and belonged to the creditors.  I said nothing to Mother about
+this: she supposed that we had a sufficient income for our needs,
+even without my salary.  Without telling her I gave up our city
+apartment, stored our furniture, and took a room in a boarding-
+house.  I was learning the banking business, was trusted with more
+and more responsibility, and believed my future was secure.  Then
+came the final blow.
+
+I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch.  "Embezzler
+and His Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro.  He Commits Suicide When
+Notified of His Arrest."  These headlines stared at me as I opened
+the paper at the restaurant table.  My father had shot himself when
+the police came.  I read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling
+of pity for him.  It was of Mother that I thought.  The news must
+be kept from her.  If she should hear of it!  What should I do?  I
+went first of all to the lawyer's office: he was out of town for
+the day.  I wandered up and down the streets for an hour.  Then I
+went back to the bank.  There I found a telegram from Doctor
+Quimby:  "Mrs. Paine very ill.  Come on first train."  I knew what
+it meant.  Mother had heard the news; the shock which the doctor
+dreaded had had its effect.
+
+I reached Denboro the next morning.  Lute met me at the station.
+From his disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had
+been "feelin' fust-rate for her" until the noon before.  "I come
+back from the post-office," said Lute, "and I was cal'latin' to
+read the newspaper, but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other
+for me to do--I believe she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left
+the paper on the dinin'-room table and went out to the barn.
+Dorindy she come along to boss me, as usual.  When we went back to
+the house there was Mrs. Comfort on the dinin'-room floor--dead, we
+was afraid at fust.  The paper was alongside of her, so we judge
+she was just a-goin' to read it when she was took.  The doctor says
+it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'.  We carried her into
+the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence."
+
+She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me.
+She called my name over and over again and, if I left her, even for
+a moment, she grew so much worse that the doctor forbade my going
+back to the city.  I obtained a leave of absence from the bank for
+three months.  By that time she was herself, so far as her reason
+was concerned, but very weak and unable to bear the least hint of
+disturbance or worry.  She must not be moved, so Doctor Quimby
+said, and he held out no immediate hope of her recovering the use
+of her limbs.  "She will be confined to her bed for a long time,"
+said the doctor, "and she is easy only when you are here.  If you
+should go away I am afraid she might die."  I did not go away.  I
+gave up my position in the bank and remained in Denboro.
+
+At the end of the year I bought the Rogers house and land, moved a
+portion of our furniture down there, sold the rest, and resigned
+myself to a period of idleness in the country.  Dorinda I hired as
+housekeeper, and when Dorinda accepted the engagement she threw in
+Lute, so to speak, for good measure.
+
+And here I have been ever since.  At first I looked upon my stay in
+Denboro as a sort of enforced vacation, which was to be, of course,
+only temporary.  But time went on and Mother's condition continued
+unchanged.  She needed me and I could not leave her.  I fished and,
+shot and sailed and loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware
+that the majority of the village people considered me too lazy to
+earn a living, and caring little for their opinion.  At first I had
+kept up a hit or miss correspondence with one or two of my
+associates in the bank, but after a while I dropped even this
+connection with the world.  I was ashamed to have my former
+acquaintances know what I had become, and they, apparently, were
+quite willing to forget me.  I expected to live and die in Denboro,
+and I faced the prospect with indifference.
+
+The summer people, cottagers and boarders, I avoided altogether and
+my only friend, and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor,
+the Denboro bank cashier.  He was fond of salt-water and out-door
+sports and we, occasionally enjoyed them together.
+
+Thanks to the lawyer, our names had been scarcely mentioned in the
+papers at the time of my father's death.  No one in the village
+knew our identity or our story.  And, because I knew that Mother
+would worry if she were told, I kept from her the fact that our
+little income was but half of what it had been.  Our wants were
+few, and if my clothes were no longer made by the best tailors, if
+they were ready-made and out-of-date and lacked pressing, they were
+whole, at all events, because Dorinda was a tip-top mender.  In
+fact, I had forgotten they were out-of-date until the sight of the
+immaculately garbed young chap in the automobile brought the
+comparison between us to my mind.
+
+But now, as I sat on the wash-bench, thinking of all this, I looked
+down at my baggy trousers and faded waistcoat with disgust.  One of
+the surest signs of the loss of self-respect is a disregard of
+one's personal appearance.  I looked like a hayseed--not the
+independent countryman who wears old clothes on week days from
+choice and is proudly conscious of a Sunday suit in the closet--but
+that other variety, the post-office and billiard-room idler who has
+reached the point of utter indifference, is too shiftless to care.
+Captain Jed was not so far wrong, after all--Lute Rogers and I were
+birds of a feather in more ways than one.
+
+No wonder that girl in the auto had looked at me as if I were
+something too contemptible for notice.  Yet I hated her for that
+look.  I had behaved like a boor, of course.  Because I was a
+failure, a country loafer with no prospect of ever being anything
+else, because I could not ride in automobiles and others could--
+these were no good reasons for insulting strangers more fortunate
+than I.  Yet I did hate that girl.  Just then I hated all creation,
+especially that portion of it which amounted to anything.
+
+I took the letter from my pocket and read it again.  "I should like
+to see you . . . on a matter of business."  What business could
+"Yours truly, James W. Colton" have with me?  And Captain Jed also
+had talked business.  I supposed that I had given up business long
+ago and for good; now, all at once, it seemed to be hunting me.
+Well, all the hunting should be on its side.
+
+At another time I might have treated the great Colton's "summons to
+court" as a joke.  I might, like Mother, have regarded the curtness
+of the command and its general tone of taking my prompt obedience
+for granted as an expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of
+mind, and nothing more.  He was used to having people jump when he
+snapped his fingers.  But now it made me angry.  I sympathized with
+Dean and Alvin Baker.  The possession of money did not necessarily
+imply omnipotence.  This was Cape Cod, not New York.  His Majesty
+might, as Captain Jed put it, have blown his Imperial nose, but I,
+for one, wouldn't "lay in a supply of handkerchiefs"--not yet.
+
+I heard a rustle in the bushes and, turning my head, saw Lute
+coming along the path.  He was walking fast--fast for him, that is--
+and seemed to be excited.  His excitement, however, did not cause
+him to forget prudence.  He looked carefully about to be sure his
+wife was not in sight, before he spoke.
+
+"Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?" was his
+first question.
+
+"I guess not," said I.  "She has been in the house since I got
+back.  But I don't know how long you've been gone."
+
+"Only a few minutes.  I--I just stepped over 'cross the Lane for a
+jiffy, that's all.  Say, by time; them Coltons must have money!"
+
+"That's a habit of millionaires, I believe."
+
+"Hey?  What do you mean by that?  If they didn't have money they
+couldn't be millionaires, could they?  How'd you like to be a
+millionaire, Ros?"
+
+"I don't know.  I never tried."
+
+"By time!  I'D like to try a spell.  I've been over lookin' 'round
+their place.  You never see such a place!  Why, their front
+doorstep's big as this yard, pretty nigh."
+
+"Does it have to be raked?" I asked.
+
+"Raked!  Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?"
+
+"Give it up!  But it does seem to me that I have heard of raking a
+yard.  I think Dorinda mentioned that, didn't she?"
+
+Lute looked at me: then he hurried over and picked up the rake
+which was lying near the barn, a pile--a very small pile--of chips
+and leaves beside it.
+
+"When did she mention it?" he asked.
+
+"A week ago, I think, was the first time.  She has referred to it
+occasionally since.  She was mentioning it to you when I went up
+town this morning.  I heard her."
+
+Lute looked relieved.  "Oh, THEN!" he said.  "I thought you meant
+lately.  Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I?  Say, Ros," he added,
+eagerly, "did you go to the post-office when you was uptown?  Was
+there a letter there for you?"
+
+"What makes you think there was?"
+
+"Asa Peters' boy, the bow-legged one, told me.  The chauffeur, the
+feller that pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office
+was and he see the address on the envelope.  He said the letter was
+for you.  I told him he was lyin'--"
+
+"What in the world did you tell him that for?" I interrupted.  I
+had known Lute a long time, but he sometimes surprised me, even
+yet.
+
+"'Cause he is, nine times out of ten," replied Lute, promptly.
+"You never see such a young-one for dodgin' the truth.  Why, one
+time he told his grandmother, Asa's ma, I mean, that--"
+
+"What did he say about the letter?"
+
+"Said 'twas for you.  And the chauffeur said Mr. Colton told him to
+mail it right off.  'Twan't for you, was it, Ros?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It WAS!  Well, by time!  What did a man like Mr. Colton write to
+you about?"
+
+Among his other lackings Lute was conspicuously short of tact.
+This was no time for him to ask me such a question, especially to
+emphasize the "you."
+
+"Why shouldn't he write to me?" I asked, tartly.
+
+"But--but HIM--writin' to YOU!"
+
+"Humph!  Even a god stoops once in a while.  Read your mythology,
+Lute."
+
+"Hey?  Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?"
+
+"Swearing?  Oh, that's all right.  The god I referred to was a
+heathen one."
+
+"Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on
+swearin', heathen or any other kind.  But what did Mr. Colton write
+to you for?"
+
+"He says he wants to see me."
+
+"See you?  What for?"
+
+"Don't know. Perhaps he wants to borrow money."
+
+"Borrow--!  I believe you're crazy!"
+
+"No, I'm tolerably sane.  There! there! don't look at me like that.
+Here's his letter.  Read it, if you want to."
+
+Lute's fingers were so eager to grasp that letter that they were
+all thumbs.  He dropped it on the grass, picked it up with as much
+care as if it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose--
+he had broken his spectacles and was afraid to ask Dorinda for the
+money to have them repaired--he spelt it out to the last word.
+
+"Well, by time!" he exclaimed, when he had finished. "He wants to
+see you at his house this forenoon!  And--and--why, the forenoon's
+all but gone now!  What are you settin' here for?"
+
+"Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard.  It is
+a pleasure deferred so far."
+
+"Watchin' me--!  Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head!  Ain't you
+goin' to see him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You AIN'T!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?"
+
+"Who's swearing now?  What fools do you mean?"
+
+"Darn ain't swearin'.  Dorindy herself says that once in a while.
+I mean Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em.  They was
+goin' on about Mr. Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run
+at his beck and call.  I told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the
+chance.  You'll run fast enough when you do.'"
+
+"Did you say that to Captain Jed?"
+
+"No-o.  I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad.  He's down
+on anybody that's got more'n he has.  But Ros, you ain't foolish
+enough to side with Jed Dean.  Just think!  Here's Mr. Colton,
+richer'n King Solomon and all his glory.  He's got servants and
+butlers and bonds and cowpons and horses and teams and automobiles
+and--"
+
+I rose from the wash bench.
+
+"I know what he's got, Lute," I interrupted. "And I know what he
+hasn't got."
+
+"What?  Is there anything he ain't got?"
+
+"He hasn't got me--not yet. If he wants to see me he may.  I expect
+to be at home for the next day or two."
+
+"You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin'
+after YOU!  Well, by time!  I think I see him!"
+
+"When you do, let me know," I said. "I should like to be prepared."
+
+"Well,--by--time!" said Lute, by way of summing up.  I ate dinner
+with Dorinda.  Her husband did not join us.  Dorinda paid a visit
+to the back yard and, seeing how little raking had been done,
+announced that until the job was finished there would be "no dinner
+for some folks."  So she and I ate and Lute raked, under protest,
+and vowing that he was so faint and holler he cal'lated to collapse
+'most any time.
+
+After the meal was finished I went down to the boathouse.  The
+boathouse was a little building on the beach at the foot of the
+bluff below the house.  It was a favorite resort of mine and I
+spent many hours there.  My eighteen foot motor launch, the
+Comfort, the one expensive luxury I allowed myself and which I had
+bought second-hand two years before, was jacked up in the middle of
+the floor.  The engine, which I had taken apart to clean, was in
+pieces beside it.  On the walls hung my two shot guns and my
+fishing rod.  Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed skiff,
+which I used for rowing about the bay, her oars under the thwarts.
+In the boathouse was a comfortable armchair and a small shelf of
+books, novels for the most part.  A cheap clock and a broken-down
+couch, the latter a discard from the original outfit of the
+cottage, made up the list of furniture.
+
+My idea in coming to the boathouse was to continue my work with the
+engine.  I tried it for a half hour or so and then gave it up.  It
+did not interest me then.  I shut the door at the side of the
+building, that by which I had entered--the big double doors in
+front I had not opened at all--and, taking a book from the shelf,
+stretched myself on the couch to read.
+
+The book I had chosen was one belonging to the Denboro Ladies'
+Library; Miss Almena Doane, the librarian, had recommended it
+highly, as a "real interesting story, with lots of uplifting
+thoughts in it."  The thoughts might be uplifting to Almena, but
+they did not elevate my spirits.  As for the story--well, the hero
+was a young gentleman who was poor but tremendously clever and
+handsome, and the heroine had eyes "as dark and deep as starlit
+pools."  The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed one at a
+concert, where he sat, "his whole soul transfigured by the music,"
+and she had been "fascinated in spite of herself" by the look on
+his face.  I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust.
+
+After that I must have fallen asleep.  What awakened me was a knock
+on the door.  It was Lute, of course.  Probably mother wanted me
+for something or other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me
+up.
+
+The knock was repeated.
+
+"Come in," I said, sleepily.
+
+The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with
+a yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his
+mouth.  He looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the
+couch and looked at him.
+
+"Afternoon," he said, curtly.  "Is your name Paine?"
+
+I nodded.  I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak.
+
+"Roscoe Paine?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, mine's Colton.  I sent you a letter this morning.  Did you
+get it?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+I sat up on the couch.  Mr. Colton knocked the ashes from his
+cigar, waited an instant, and then repeated his question.
+
+"Did you get my letter?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+"Oh, you did.  I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten
+to mail it."
+
+"No, I got it.  Won't you--er--won't you sit down?"  He pulled the
+armchair toward him and sat down.  I noticed that he had a habit of
+doing things quickly.  His sentences were short and to the point
+and he spoke and acted like one accustomed to having his own way.
+He crossed his knees and looked about the little building.
+
+"It is a pleasant day," I observed, for the sake of saying
+something.  He did not seem to hear me, or, if he did, he was not
+interested in the weather.  For my part I found the situation
+embarrassing.  I knew what his next question would be, and I did
+not know how to answer.  Sure enough, he asked it.
+
+"I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon," he said.
+"You didn't come."
+
+"No.  I--"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Here was the issue joined.  Here, if ever, was the opportunity to
+assert my independence a la Jed Dean and Alvin Baker.  But to
+assert it now, after he had done the unexpected, after the mountain
+had come to Mahomet, seemed caddish and ridiculous.  So I
+temporized, weakly.
+
+"I didn't read your letter until about noon," I said.
+
+"I see.  Well, I waited until two o'clock and then I decided to
+hunt you up.  I called at your house.  The woman there said you
+were down here.  Your mother?"
+
+"No."  My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was
+natural, perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother,
+but I did not like it.
+
+He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its
+curtness.  He did not refer to Dorinda again.  She might have been
+my wife or my great-aunt for all he cared.
+
+"This your workshop?" he asked, abruptly.  Then, nodding toward the
+dismembered engine, "What are you? a boat builder?"
+
+"No, not exactly."
+
+"What's the price of a boat like that?" indicating the Comfort with
+a kick in her direction.
+
+"About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe," I answered.
+
+"You believe!  Don't you know?"
+
+"No.  I bought that boat second-hand."
+
+He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether.
+His next move was to rise and turn toward the door.  I watched him,
+wondering what was going to happen next.  He had a habit of jumping
+from one subject to another which was bewildering.
+
+"What's that fellow doing off there?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+I looked where he was pointing.
+
+"That is Zeb Kendrick," I answered.  "He's raking for quahaugs."
+
+"Raking for what hogs?"
+
+"Quahaugs.  What you New Yorkers call clams."
+
+"Oh!  Sell 'em, does he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tell him to call at my house next time you see him.  And for
+heaven's sake tell him to come to the servants' door.  Don't you
+people down here have any servants' doors to your houses?  There
+have been no less than fifty peddlers on my porch since yesterday
+and my butler will die of apoplexy if it keeps on.  He's a good
+one, for a wonder, and I don't want to lose him."
+
+I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect
+any.  He watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to
+me.
+
+"Can you come over to my house now?" he asked.
+
+I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready.
+
+"Can you?" he went on.  "I've got a business deal to make with you
+and I'd rather make it there.  I've got a lot of carpenters and
+painters at work and they ask me ten questions a minute.  They are
+unnecessary questions but if I don't answer them the fellows are
+sure to make some fool mistake or other.  They need a governess.
+If you'll come over with me I'll be in touch with them and you and
+I can talk just as well.  Can come, can't you?"
+
+I did not know what to say.  I wanted to say no, that if he had any
+business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse.  I did
+not like his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one
+and that he had not meant to be rude.  And I could think of no good
+reason for not going with him.
+
+"You can come, can't you?" he repeated.
+
+"I suppose I can.  But--"
+
+"Of course if you're too busy to leave--"
+
+I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think I
+had turned red.  He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim
+twinkle in his eyes.
+
+"I'll come," I said.
+
+"Much obliged.  I won't keep you long.  Come on."
+
+He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much
+with him as with myself.  I wished now that I had gone over to the
+Colton place when I first received the summons to court, instead of
+making proclamations of defiance to mother and Lute Rogers.  This
+seemed such a complete backdown.  As we passed the house I saw Lute
+peering from the barn.  I devoutly hoped he might not see me, but
+he did.  His mouth opened and he stared.  Then, catching my eye, he
+winked triumphantly.  I wanted to punch his head.
+
+The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were
+just at the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane.  Then he stopped
+and turned to me.
+
+"You own all this land, don't you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Humph!  Get a good view from here."
+
+I admitted that the view was good.  At that particular point it
+embraced nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion
+of the village at the side.
+
+He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses.
+
+"There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me," he
+said.  "Permanent residents, I mean.  What do they all do?"
+
+"Do?"
+
+"Yes.  How do they get a living?  They must get it somehow.  In the
+regular summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I
+know that.  But there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here.
+What do you all do for a living?"
+
+I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept
+store.
+
+"Which do you do?" he asked.  "You said you weren't a boat-builder."
+
+"I'm not doing anything at present," I replied, shortly.
+
+"Out of a job?"
+
+"You might call it that.  Is this a part of the business you wished
+to see me about, Mr. Colton?"
+
+I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my
+tone.  I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost
+interest in the subject.  At any rate his reply was a brief "No,"
+and we continued our walk.
+
+As we reached the Shore Lane he paused again, and I thought he was
+about to speak.  He did not, however, and we crossed the boundary
+line of my property and entered the Colton grounds.  As we drew
+nearer to the house I was surprised to see how large it was.  When
+the Atwaters owned it I was an occasional caller there, for old
+Major Atwater was fond of shooting and sometimes borrowed my
+decoys.  But, since it changed hands, I had not been nearer to it
+than the Lane.  With the new wing and the other additions it was
+enormous.  It fairly reeked of money, though, so far as I was a
+judge, the taste shown in rebuilding and decorating was good.  We
+turned the corner, where Asa Peters, the head carpenter, came
+hurrying up.  Asa looked surprised enough to see me in company with
+his employer and regarded me wonderingly.  "Mr. Colton," he said,
+"I wanted to ask you about them skylights."  I stepped back out of
+hearing, but I inferred from Colton's actions that the question was
+another one of the "unnecessary" ones he had so scornfully referred
+to in the boathouse.
+
+"Jackass!" he exclaimed, as he rejoined me.  I judged he was
+classifying Asa, but, if so, he did not trouble to lower his voice.
+"Come on, Paine," he added, and we passed a long line of windows,
+hung with costly curtains, and stepped up on a handsome Colonial
+portico before two big doors.
+
+The doors were opened by an imposing personage in dark blue and
+brass buttons, who bowed profoundly before Colton and regarded me
+with condescending superiority.  This personage, whom I recognized,
+from Alvin's description, as the "minister-lookin'" butler, led us
+through a hall about as large as our sitting-room, dining-room and
+kitchen combined, but bearing no other resemblance to these
+apartments, and opened another door, through which, bowing once
+more, he ushered us.  Then he closed the door, leaving himself, to
+my relief, outside.  It had been a long time since I was waited
+upon by a butler and I found this specimen rather overpowering.
+
+The room we were in was the library, and, though it was bigger and
+far more sumptuous than the library I remembered so well as a boy,
+the sight of the books in their cases along the walls gave me a
+feeling almost of homesickness.  My resentment against my
+millionaire neighbor increased.  Why should he and his have
+everything, and the rest of us be deprived of the little we once
+had?
+
+Colton seated himself in a leather upholstered chair and waved his
+hand toward another.
+
+"Sit down," he said.  He took a cigar from his pocket.  "Smoke?" he
+asked.
+
+I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his
+cigars--not then.
+
+"No thank you," said I.  He did not comment on my refusal, but lit
+the cigar himself, from the stump of his former one.  Then he
+crossed his legs and proceeded, with characteristic abruptness, to
+his subject.
+
+"Paine," he began, "you own this land next to me, you say.  Your
+property ends at the fence this side of that road we just crossed,
+doesn't it?"
+
+"It ends where yours begins," I announced.
+
+"Yes.  Just this side of that road."
+
+"Of the Shore Lane.  It isn't a road exactly."
+
+"I don't care what you call it.  Road or lane or cow-path.  It ends
+there?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And it IS your land?  It belongs to you, personally, all of it,
+free and clear?"
+
+"Why--yes; it does."  I could not see what business of his my
+ownership of that land might be.
+
+"All right.  I asked that because, if it wasn't yours, if it was
+tied up or mortgaged in any way, it might complicate matters.  But
+it isn't."
+
+"No."
+
+"Good!  Then we can get down to brass tacks and save time.  I want
+a piece of that land."
+
+I looked at him.
+
+"You want--?" I repeated, slowly.
+
+"I want a strip of your land.  Want to buy it, of course.  I don't
+expect you to give it to me.  What's it worth, by the acre, say?"
+
+I did not answer.  All at once I was beginning to see a light.
+Captain Jed Dean's mysterious conversation at the post-office was
+beginning to lose some of its mystery.
+
+"Well?" asked Colton, impatiently.  Then, without waiting longer,
+he added:
+
+"By the way, before you name a figure, answer me one more question.
+That road--or lane, or whatever it is--that is yours, too?  Doesn't
+belong to the town?"
+
+The light was growing more brilliant.  I could see breakers ahead.
+
+"No," I replied, slowly.  "It is a private way.  It belongs to me."
+
+"Good!  Well, what's that land of yours worth by the acre?"
+
+I shook my head.  "I scarcely know," I said.  "I've never figured
+it that way."
+
+"I don't care how you figure it.  Here, let's get down to a
+business proposition.  I want to buy a strip of that land from the
+Lower Road--that's what you call the one above here, isn't it?--to
+the beach.  The strip I want is about three hundred feet wide, for
+a guess.  It extends from my fence to the other side of that grove
+by the bluff.  What will you sell it for?"
+
+The breakers were close aboard.  However, I dodged them momentarily.
+
+"Why do you want to buy?" I asked.
+
+"For reasons."
+
+"I should think you had land enough already."
+
+"I thought I had, but it seems I haven't.  Well, what's your price
+for that strip?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I--I'm afraid--"
+
+"Never mind that.  I suppose you're afraid you'll make the price
+too low.  Now, see here, I'm a busy man.  I haven't time to do any
+bargaining.  Name your price and, if it's anywhere within reason,
+we won't haggle.  I expect to pay more than anyone else would.
+That's part of my fine for being a city man and not a native.  Gad!
+the privilege is worth the money.  I'll pay the fine.  What's the
+price?"
+
+"But why do you want to buy?"
+
+"For reasons of my own, I tell you.  They haven't anything to do
+with your selling."
+
+"I'm not so sure."
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"That strip takes in the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"And, if you buy, I presume the Lane will be closed."
+
+He looked at me, surprised, and, I thought, a little annoyed.
+
+"Well?" he said; "suppose it is?"
+
+"But it will be, won't it?"
+
+"You bet your life it will!  What of it?"
+
+"Then I don't know that I care to sell."
+
+He leaned back in his chair.
+
+"You don't care to sell!" he repeated, slowly.  "What the devil do
+you mean by that?"
+
+"What I said.  And, besides, Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"Why don't you care to sell?" he demanded.  "The land is no good to
+you, is it?"
+
+"Not much.  No."
+
+"Humph!  Are you so rich that you've got all the money you want?"
+
+I was angry all through.  I rose from my chair.
+
+"Good day, Mr. Colton," I said.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "Hold on!  Where are you going?"
+
+"I can't see that there is any use of our talking further."
+
+"No use?  Why--  There! there! sit down.  It's none of my business
+how rich you are, and I beg your pardon.  Sit down.  Sit down, man,
+I tell you!"
+
+I sat down, reluctantly.  He threw his cigar, which had gone out,
+into the fireplace and lit another.
+
+"Say," he said, "you surprise me, Paine.  What do you mean by
+saying you won't sell that land?  You don't know what I'll pay for
+it yet."
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Then how do you know you won't sell it?  I never had anything yet--
+except my wife and family--that I wouldn't sell for a price.  Look
+here! I haven't got time to do any Down-East horse-jockeying.  I'll
+make you an offer.  I'll give you five hundred dollars cash for
+that strip of land.  What do you say?"
+
+I didn't say anything.  Five hundred dollars was a generous offer.
+I couldn't help thinking what Mother and I might do with that five
+hundred dollars.
+
+"What do you say?" he repeated.
+
+I answered, Yankee fashion, with another question.  "Mr. Colton," I
+asked, "why do you want to close that Shore Lane?"
+
+"Because I do.  What difference does it make to you why I want to
+close it?"
+
+"That Lane has been used by Denboro people for years.  It is almost
+a public necessity."
+
+He puffed twice on his cigar before he spoke again.  When he did it
+was in a different tone.
+
+"I see," he said.  "Humph!  I see.  Paine, does the town pay you
+rent for the use of that road?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Has it been bidding to buy it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Is any one else after it?"
+
+"No-o.  I think not.  But--"
+
+"You THINK not.  That means you're not sure.  You've had a bite
+somewhere.  Somebody has been nibbling at your hook.  Well, they've
+got to bite quick and swallow some to get ahead of me.  I want that
+road closed and I'm going to have it closed, sooner or later.  I'd
+prefer it sooner."
+
+"But why do you want to close it?"
+
+Before he could answer there came a knock at the door.  The butler
+appeared.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir--" he began.  His master cut him short.
+
+"Tell 'em to wait," he ordered.  "I can't see any one now, Johnson.
+If it is that damned carpenter he can wait."
+
+"It isn't the carpenter, sir," explained Johnson.  "It's Mrs.
+Colton, sir.  She wishes to know if you have bought that road.  She
+says three of those 'orrid fishcarts have gone by in the last hour,
+sir, and they are making her very nervous.  That's all, sir."
+
+"Tell her I've bought it," snapped the head of the house.  "Get
+out."
+
+The butler obeyed orders.  Colton turned to me.
+
+"You heard that, Paine," he said.  "That's my reason, the principal
+one.  I bought this place principally on account of Mrs. Colton's
+health.  The doctors said she needed quiet and rest.  I thought she
+could have them here--God knows the place looked forsaken enough--
+but it appears she can't.  Whenever she or I sit on the veranda or
+at a window we have to watch a procession of jays driving smelly
+fish carts through that lane of yours, or be stared at by a gang of
+countrymen hanging over the fence.  It's a nuisance.  It is bad
+enough for me or my daughter and our guests, but it will be the
+ruination of my wife's nerves, and I can't stand for that.  You see
+the position I'm in.  You heard what I told that butler.  I said I
+had bought the road.  You wouldn't make me a liar, would you?  I'll
+give you five hundred for that bunch of sand.  You couldn't get
+more for it if you sold it by the pound, like tea.  Say yes, and
+close the deal."
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"I understand your position, Mr. Colton," I said, "but I can't say
+yes.  Not now, at any rate."
+
+"Why not?  Isn't five hundred enough?"
+
+"It's a good offer."
+
+"Then why not accept it?"
+
+"Because, if I were certain that I wanted to sell, I could not
+accept any offer just now."
+
+"Why not?  See here! are you afraid the town will be sore because
+the road is closed?"
+
+"It would be a great inconvenience to them."
+
+"It's a greater one to me as it is.  Can you afford to be a
+philanthropist?  Are you one of those public-spirited citizens we
+read about?"
+
+He was sneering now, and my anger, which had lessened somewhat when
+he spoke of his wife's ill health, was rising again.
+
+"Are you?" he repeated.
+
+"I don't know as to that.  But, as I said a while ago, Mr. Colton,
+I couldn't sell that land to you now."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because, if there were no other reason, I promised not to sell it
+without telling another person first."
+
+He threw down his cigar and stood up.  I rose also.
+
+"I see," he said, with sarcasm.  "I knew there was something beside
+public spirit.  You think, by hanging off and playing me against
+this other sucker, you can get a higher price.  Well, if that's the
+game, I'll keep him busy."
+
+He took out his watch, glanced at it, and thrust it back into his
+pocket.
+
+"I've wasted time enough over this fool thing," he declared.  "Now
+that I know what the game is we'll talk to the point.  It's highway
+robbery, but I might have expected to be robbed.  I'll give you six
+hundred for that land."
+
+I did not answer.  I was holding my temper by main strength and I
+could not trust myself to speak.
+
+"Well?" he sneered.  "That shakes your public spirit some, hey?
+What do you say?"
+
+"No," I answered, and started for the door.
+
+"What!" he could hardly believe his ears.  "By the Lord Harry! the
+fellow is crazy.  Six hundred and fifty then, you infernal robber."
+
+"No."
+
+"NO!  Say, what in thunder do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that you may go to the devil," I retorted, and reached for
+the door knob.
+
+But before my fingers touched it there was the sound of laughter
+and voices in the hall.  The knob was turned from without.  I
+stepped back and to one side involuntarily, as the door opened and
+into the library came, not the butler, but a young lady, a girl in
+an automobile coat and bonnet.  And, following her, a young man.
+
+"Father," said the young lady, "Johnson says you've bought that
+horrid road.  I'm so glad!  When did you do it?"
+
+"Congratulations, Mr. Colton," said the young man.  "We just passed
+a cart full of something--seaweed, I believe it was--as we came
+along with the car.  Oscar had to slow down to squeeze by, and we
+certainly were swept by ocean breezes.  By Jove!  I can smell them
+yet.  I--"
+
+The young lady interrupted him.
+
+"Hush, Victor," she said.  "I beg your pardon, Father.  I thought
+you were alone.  Victor, we're intruding."
+
+The open door had partially screened me from the newcomers.  But
+Colton, red and wrathful, had not ceased to glare in my direction
+and she, following his gaze, saw me.  She did not recognize me, I
+think--probably I had not made sufficient impression upon her mind
+even for casual remembrance--but I recognized her.  She was the
+girl with the dark eyes, whose look of contemptuous indifference
+had so withered my self-esteem.  And her companion was the young
+chap who, from the tonneau of the automobile that morning, had
+inquired the way to Bayport.
+
+The young man turned lazily.  "Are we?" he said.  "I--  What!  Why,
+Mabel, it's the humorist!"
+
+Then she recognized me.  I could feel the blood climbing from my
+toes to the roots of my hair.  I was too astonished and chagrined
+to speak or even move, though I wanted to move very much indeed.
+She looked at me and I at her.  Then she turned coldly away.
+
+"Come, Victor," she said.
+
+But Victor was his own blase self.  It took more than a trifle to
+shake his calm.  He laughed.
+
+"It's the humorist," he repeated.  "Reuben, how are you?"
+
+Colton regarded the three of us with amazement.
+
+"What?" he began.  "Mabel, do you--"
+
+But I had recovered my powers of locomotion.  I was on my way out
+of that library.
+
+"Here!" shouted Colton.  "Stop!"
+
+I did not stop.  Feeling as I did at that moment it would have been
+distinctly unpleasant for the person who tried to stop me.  The
+girl was in my way and, as I approached, she drew her skirts aside.
+No doubt it was my imagination which made her manner of doing it
+seem like an insult, but, imagination or reality, it was the one
+thing necessary to clench my resolution.  Now when she looked at me
+I returned the look with interest.  I strode through the doorway
+and across the hall.  The butler would have opened the outer door
+for me, but I opened it myself to the imminent danger of his
+dignified nose.  As I stepped from the portico I heard behind me a
+roar from Big Jim Colton and a shout of laughter from Victor.
+
+I walked home at top speed.  Only once did I look back.  That was
+just as I was about to enter the grove on the other side of the
+Shore Lane.  Then I turned and saw, at the big window at the end of
+the "Newport villa," a group of three staring in my direction:
+Colton, his daughter and that cub Victor.  The distance was too
+great to see the expression of their faces, but I knew that two of
+them, at least, were laughing--laughing at me.
+
+I did not laugh.
+
+Lute was waiting for me by the gate and ran to meet me.  He was
+wild with excitement.
+
+"He came after you, didn't he?" he cried, grabbing at my coat
+sleeve.  "You went over to his house with him, didn't you!  I see
+you and at fust I couldn't scurcely believe it.  What did he want?
+What did he say?"
+
+I did not answer.  He ran along beside me, still clinging to my
+sleeve.
+
+"What did he want?" he repeated.  "What did he say to you?  What
+did you say to him?  Tell a feller, can't you?"
+
+"I told him to go to the devil," I answered, savagely.
+
+Lute let go of my sleeve.
+
+"You--you--  By time, you're stark loony!" he gasped; and collapsed
+against the gate post.
+
+I went into the house, up the back stairs to my room, and shut the
+door.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+So she was his daughter.  I might have guessed it; would have
+guessed it if I had possessed the commonest of common-sense.  I
+might have known that the auto was Colton's.  No other machine was
+likely to be traveling on the Lower Road at that season of the
+year.  She was the pretty daughter of whom Dorinda had spoken to
+Mother.  Well, she was pretty enough; even I had to admit that.
+But I admitted it grudgingly.  I hated her for her beauty and fine
+clothes and haughty arrogance.  She was the incarnation of
+snobbishness.
+
+But to be made twice ridiculous even by the incarnation of
+snobbishness was galling.  She was to be my next-door neighbor; we
+were likely to meet almost anywhere at any time.  When I thought of
+this and of the two meetings which had already taken place I swore
+at the blue and white water-pitcher on my bureau because it did not
+contain water enough to drown me.  Not that I would commit suicide
+on her account.  She would not care if I did and certainly I did
+not care whether she would care or not; but if I were satisfactorily
+dead I probably should not remember what a fool I had made of
+myself, or Fate had made of me.
+
+Why had I not got out of that library before she came?  Oh, if not,
+why hadn't I stayed and told her father, in her hearing, and with
+dignity, just what I thought of him and his remarks to me?  But no;
+I had run away.  She--or that Victor--would tell of the meeting at
+the bridge, and all my independence and the rest of it would be
+regarded as of a piece with that, just the big-headed "smartness"
+of a country boor.  In their eyes I was a nuisance, that was all.
+A disagreeable one, perhaps, like the Shore Lane, but a nuisance,
+one to laugh at and forget--if it could not be gotten rid of.
+
+Why had I gone with Colton at all?  Why hadn't I remained at the
+boathouse and there told the King of New York to go to the
+mischief? or words to that effect.  But I had, at all events, told
+him that.  In spite of my chagrin I could not help chuckling as I
+thought of it.  To tell Big Jim Colton to go to the devil was, in
+its way, I imagined, a privilege enjoyed by few.  It must have
+shaken his self-satisfaction a trifle.  Well, after all, what did
+I care?  He, and his whole family--including Victor--had my
+permission to migrate in that direction and I wished Old Nick joy
+of their company.
+
+Having derived this much satisfaction from my reflections, I went
+downstairs.  Dorinda was setting the table for supper.  She looked
+at me as I came in.
+
+"Been visitin', I hear," she observed, wiping an imaginary speck
+from the corner of a plate with her "afternoon" apron.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.  "Have a good time?"
+
+I smiled.  "I had an interesting one," I told her.
+
+"Um-hm, I judged so, from what Lute said."
+
+"Where is Lute?"
+
+"Out in the barn, beddin' down the horse.  That is, I told him to
+do that, but his head was so full of you and what you told him you
+said to Mr. Colton that I shouldn't be surprised if he's bedded
+down the hens and was huntin' in the manger for eggs."
+
+"Lute thinks I've gone crazy," I observed.
+
+"Um-hm.  He was all for fetchin' the doctor right off, but I told
+him I cal'lated we could bear with your ravin's for a spell.  Did
+you say what he said you said?"
+
+"I'm afraid I did."
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, it didn't do any good, did it?"
+
+"Good?  What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean he didn't obey orders--Colton, that is."
+
+"He hadn't when I left."
+
+"I thought not.  I never saw any good come from profane language
+yet; and, besides, judgin' from what I hear about the way that
+Colton man lives, and what he does on Sundays and all, he'll make
+the port you sent him to when his time comes.  All you need is
+patience."
+
+I laughed, and she began sorting the plated spoons.  We had silver
+ones, but Dorinda insisted on keeping those to use when we had
+company.  In consequence we used them about twice a year, when the
+minister came.
+
+"Of course," she said, "I ain't askin' you what happened over there
+or why he wanted to see you.  But I give you fair warnin' that, if
+I don't, Lute will.  Lute's so stuffed with curiosity that he's
+li'ble to bust the stitches any minute."
+
+"I'll tell you both, at supper," I said.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.  "Well, I can wait, and Lute'll have to.  By
+the way," she added, seeing me about to enter Mother's room, "if
+it's anything too unpleasant I wouldn't worry Comfort with it.
+She'll want to know, of course, but I'd sort of smooth the edges."
+
+Mother did want to know, and I told her, "smoothing the edges" all
+I could.  I omitted my final order to "Big Jim" and I said nothing
+whatever about his daughter.  Mother seemed to think I had done
+right in refusing to sell, though, as usual, she was ready to make
+allowances for the other side.
+
+"Poor woman," she said, "I suppose the noise of the wagons and all
+that are annoying to any one with weak nerves.  It must be dreadful
+to be in that condition.  I am so sorry for her."
+
+She meant it, too.  But I, remembering the Colton mansion, what I
+had seen of it, and contrasting its splendor with the bare
+necessity of that darkened bedroom, found it hard to spare pity for
+the sufferer from "nerves."
+
+"You needn't be," I said, bitterly.  "I imagine she wouldn't think
+of you, if the conditions were reversed.  I doubt if she thinks of
+any one but herself."
+
+"You shouldn't say that, Roscoe.  You don't know.  You have never
+met her."
+
+"I have met the rest of the family.  No, Mother, I think you
+needn't he sorry for that woman.  She has everything under the sun.
+Whereas you--"
+
+"Hush! hush!  There is one thing she hasn't got.  She hasn't a son
+like you, Boy."
+
+"Humph!  That must be a terrible deprivation.  There! there!
+Mother, I won't be disagreeable.  Let's change the subject.  Did
+Matilda Dean come to see you this afternoon?"
+
+"No.  I presume she was too busy.  But, Roscoe, it is plain enough
+why Captain Dean spoke to you about the Lane at the office this
+morning.  He must have heard, somehow, that Mr. Colton wished to
+buy it."
+
+"Yes.  Or, if he didn't hear just that, he heard enough to make him
+guess the rest.  He is pretty shrewd."
+
+"You promised him you wouldn't sell without telling him beforehand.
+Shall you tell him of Mr. Colton's offer?"
+
+"If he asks me, I shall, I suppose."
+
+"I wonder what he will do then.  Do you suppose he will try to
+persuade the Selectmen to buy the Lane for the town?"
+
+"I don't know.  I shouldn't wonder."
+
+"It will be harder to refuse the town's offer."
+
+"Yes.  Although the town can't afford to pay Colton's prices.  I
+believe that man would have raised his bid to a thousand, if I had
+let him.  As a matter of business and nothing else, I suppose I am
+foolish not to push the price as high as possible and then sell.
+The land is worthless to us."
+
+"I know.  But this isn't just a matter of business, is it?  And we
+DON'T need the money.  We're not rich, but we aren't poor, are we,
+Boy."
+
+"No.  No, of course not.  But, Mother, just see what I could do--
+for you--with a thousand dollars.  Why, there are so many little
+things, little luxuries, that you need."
+
+"I had rather not get them that way.  No, Roscoe, I wouldn't sell
+to Mr. Colton.  And I think I wouldn't sell to the town either."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Well, because we don't have to sell, and selling to either party
+would make ill-feeling.  I should--of course I'm only a woman; you
+are a man and know much more about such things than I--but why not
+let matters stay just as they are?  The townspeople can use the
+Lane, just as they have always done, and, as I told you before,
+every one has been so kind to us that I like to feel we are doing a
+little in return.  Let them use the Lane, without cost.  Why not?"
+
+"What do you think the Coltons would say to that?"
+
+"Perhaps they don't understand the real situation.  The next time
+you see Mr. Colton you could explain more fully; tell him what the
+Lane means to the town, and so on.  I'm sure he would understand,
+if you told him that.  And then, if the sight of the wagons was too
+annoying, he could put up some kind of a screen, or plant a row of
+fir trees by the fence.  Don't you think so?"
+
+I imagined the great man's reply to such a suggestion.  However, I
+did not express my thoughts.  I told Mother not to worry, I was
+sure everything would be all right, and, as Dorinda called me to
+supper, I went into the dining-room.
+
+Lute was waiting for me at the table, and Dorinda, after taking the
+tray into Mother's room, joined us.  Lute was so full of excitement
+and curiosity that he almost forgot to eat, a miracle of itself and
+made greater by the fact that he did not ask a single question
+until his wife asked one first.  Then he asked three in succession.
+Dorinda, who was quite as curious as he but would not have shown it
+for the world, stopped him at the beginning of the fourth.
+
+"There! there!" she said, sharply, "this is supposed to be a meal,
+not a parrot shop, and we're humans, not a passel of birds on a
+telegraph wire all hollerin' at once.  Drink your tea and stop your
+cawin', Lute Rogers.  Ros'll tell us when he gets ready.  What DID
+Mr. Colton want of you, Roscoe?"
+
+I told them as much of the interview at the Coltons' as I thought
+necessary they should know.  Lute kept remarkably quiet, for him,
+until I named the figure offered by the millionaire.  Then he could
+hold in no longer.
+
+"Five hundred!" he repeated "Five hundred DOLLARS for the Shore
+Lane!  Five--"
+
+"He raised it to six hundred and fifty before I left," I said.
+
+"SIX hundred!  Six hundred--and FIFTY!  For the Shore Lane!  Six
+hun--"
+
+"Sshh! shh!" cut in Dorinda.  "You sound like Sim Eldredge sellin'
+somethin' at auction.  DO be quiet!  And you told him, Roscoe--?"
+
+"I told you what I told him," I said.
+
+"Um-hm.  I ain't forgot it.  Be quiet, Lute.  Well, Roscoe, I
+cal'late you know your own affairs best, but, judgin' from some
+hints Matildy Dean hove out when she was here this afternoon, I
+don't believe you've heard the last from that Shore Lane."
+
+"Matilda Dean!" I repeated.  "Why, Mother said Matilda wasn't here
+to-day."
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, she was here, though Comfort didn't know it.  I took
+pains she shouldn't.  Matildy come about three o'clock, in the
+buggy, along with Nellie.  Nellie was doin' the drivin', of course,
+and her mother was tellin' her how, as usual.  I don't wonder that
+girl is such a meek, soft-spoken kind of thing.  Between her pa's
+bullyin' and her ma's tongue, it's a wonder she's got any spirit
+left.  It would be a mercy if George Taylor should marry her and
+take her out of that house.  Matildy had a new book on Spiritu'lism
+and she was figgerin' to read some of it out loud to Comfort, but I
+headed her off.  I know _I_ wouldn't want to be all stirred up
+about 'tests' and 'materializations' and such, and so I told her
+Comfort was asleep."
+
+"She wasn't asleep, neither," declared Lute.  "What did you tell
+such a whopper as that for?  You're always sailin' into me if I
+stretch a yarn the least mite.  Why, last April Fool Day you give
+me Hail Columby for jokin' you about a mouse under the kitchen
+table.  Called me all kinds of names, you did--after you got down
+off the table."
+
+His wife regarded him scornfully.  "It's pretty hard to remember
+which IS that partic'lar day with you around," she said.  "I'd told
+Comfort she'd ought to take a nap and if she wan't takin' it
+'twan't my fault.  I wan't goin' to have her seein' her granddad's
+ghost in every corner.  But, anyhow, Matildy made a little call on
+me, and, amongst the million other things she said, was somethin'
+about Cap'n Jed hearin' that Mr. Colton was cal'latin' to shut off
+that Lane.  Matildy hinted that her husband and the Selectmen might
+have a little to say afore 'twas closed.  If that's so I guess you
+may hear from him as well as the Colton man, Roscoe."
+
+"Perhaps," I said.  I could see no use in repeating my conversation
+with Captain Jed.
+
+Dorinda nodded.
+
+"Goin' to tell the town to go--where you sent the other one?" she
+asked, dryly.
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Humph!  Well," with some sarcasm, "it must be fine to be in a
+position where money's no object.  I never tried it, myself, but it
+sounds good."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Um-hm," she said.  "Well, anyhow it looks to me--Lute, you keep
+still--as if there was goin' to be two parties in Denboro afore
+this Lane business is over.  One for the Coltons and one against
+'em.  You'll have to take one side or the other, won't you,
+Roscoe?"
+
+"Not necessarily."
+
+"Goin' to set on the fence, hey?"
+
+"That's a good place TO sit, isn't it?"
+
+Dorinda smiled, grimly.
+
+"If it's the right kind of a fence, maybe 'tis," she observed.
+"Otherwise the pickets are liable to make you uncomf'table after a
+spell, I presume likely."
+
+I went out soon after this, for my evening smoke and walk by the
+bluff.  As I left the dining-room I heard Lute reiterating his
+belief that I had gone crazy.  Colton had said the same thing.  I
+wondered what Captain Jed's opinion would be.
+
+Whether it was another phase of my insanity or not, I don't know,
+but I woke the next morning in pretty good spirits.  Remembrance of
+the previous day's humiliations troubled me surprisingly little.
+They did not seem nearly so great in the retrospect.  What
+difference did it make to me what that crowd of snobs did or said
+or thought?
+
+However, there was just enough bitterness in my morning's review of
+yesterday's happenings to make me a little more careful in my
+dress.  I did not expect to meet my aristocratic neighbors--I
+devoutly wished it might be my good luck never to meet any of them
+again--but in making selections from my limited wardrobe I chose
+with more thought than usual.  Dorinda noticed the result when I
+came down to breakfast.
+
+"Got your other suit on, ain't you," she observed.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"Goin' anywheres special?"
+
+"No.  Down to the boathouse, that's all."
+
+"Humph!  I don't see what you put those blue pants on for.  They're
+awful things to show water spots.  Did you leave your brown ones
+upstairs?  Um-hm.  Well, I'll get at 'em some time to-day.  I
+noticed they was wearin' a little, sort of, on the bottoms of the
+legs."
+
+I had noticed it, too, and this reminder confirmed my suspicions
+that others had made the same observations.
+
+"I'll try and mend 'em this afternoon," went on Dorinda, "if I can
+find time.  But, for mercy's sake, don't spot those all up, for I
+may not get time, and then you'd have to wear your Sunday ones."
+
+I promised, curtly, to be careful, and, after saying good morning
+to Mother, I went down to the boathouse and set to work on the
+engine.  It was the only thing in the nature of work that I had to
+do, but, somehow or other, I did not feel like doing it any more
+than I had the day before.  A little of my good spirits were
+wearing off, like the legs of my "other" trousers, and after an
+hour of intermittent tinkering I threw down the wrench and decided
+to go for a row.  The sun was shining brightly, but the breeze was
+fresh, and, as my skiff was low in the gunwale and there was likely
+to be some water flying, I put on an old oilskin "slicker" and
+sou-wester before starting.
+
+I had determined to row across the bay over to the lighthouse, and
+ask Ben Small, the keeper, if there were any signs of fish
+alongshore.  The pull was a long one, but I enjoyed every stroke of
+it.  The tide was almost full, just beginning to ebb, so there was
+scarcely any current and I could make a straight cut across,
+instead of following the tortuous channel.  My skiff was a flat
+bottomed affair, drawing very little, but in Denboro bay, at low
+tide, even a flat-bottomed skiff has to beware of sand and eel-
+grass.
+
+Small was busy whitewashing, but he was glad to see me.  If you
+keep a lighthouse, the average lighthouse, you are glad to see
+anybody.  He put his brush into the pail and insisted on my coming
+to the house, because "the old woman," his wife, would want to hear
+"all the sewin' circle news."  "It's the biggest hardship of her
+life," said Ben, "that she has to miss sewin' circle when the bay
+ices in.  Soon's it clears she's at me to row her acrost to the
+meetin's.  I've took her to two this spring, but she missed the
+last one, on account of this whitewashin', and she's crazy to know
+who's been talked about now.  If anything disgraceful has happened
+for the land sakes tell her; then she'll he more reconciled."
+
+I had nothing disgraceful to tell, but Mrs. Small was glad to see
+me, nevertheless.  She brought out doughnuts and beach-plum jelly
+and insisted on my sampling both, the doughnuts because they were
+just made and she "mistrusted" there was too much flour in them,
+and the jelly because it was some she had left over and she wanted
+to see if I thought it was "keepin'" all right.  After this, Ben
+took me out to see his hens, and then we walked to the back of the
+beach and talked fish.  The forenoon was almost gone when I got
+back to the skiff.  The tide had ebbed so far that the lightkeeper
+and I had to pull the little boat twenty feet to launch her.
+
+"There!" said Ben, "now you're afloat, ain't you.  Cal'late you'll
+have to go way 'round Robin Hood's barn to keep off the flats.  I
+forgot about the tide or I wouldn't have talked so much.  Hello!
+there's another craft about your size off yonder.  Somebody else
+out rowin'.  Two somebodys.  My eyes ain't as good for pickin' em
+out as they used to be, but one of 'em IS a female, ain't it?"
+
+I looked over my shoulder, as I sat in the skiff and saw, out in
+the middle of the bay, another rowboat with two people in it.
+
+"That ain't a dory or a skiff," shouted Ben, raising his voice as I
+pulled away from him.  "Way she sets out of water I'd call her a
+lap-streak dingy.  If that feller's takin' his girl out rowin'
+he'll have to work his passage home against this tide . . .  Well,
+so long, Ros.  Come again."
+
+I nodded a goodby, and settled down for my long row, a good deal
+longer this time on account of the ebb.  There was water enough on
+this side of the bay, but on the village side the channel made a
+wide detour and I should be obliged to follow it for nearly a mile
+up the bay, before turning in behind the long sand bar which made
+out from the point beyond my boathouse.
+
+The breeze had gone down, which made rowing easier, but the pull of
+the tide more than offset this advantage.  However, I had mastered
+that tide many times before and, except that the delay might make
+me late for dinner, the prospect did not trouble me.  I swung into
+the channel and set the skiff's bow against the current.  Then from
+the beach I had just left I heard a faint hail.  Turning my head, I
+saw Ben Small waving his arms.  He was shouting something, too, but
+I was too far away to catch the words.
+
+The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave.  I lifted an oar to
+show that he had my attention.  He recognized the signal, and began
+pointing out over the water astern of me.  I looked where he was
+pointing.  I could not see anything out of the ordinary.  Except
+for my own skiff and the gulls, and the row boat with the two
+persons in it there was nothing astir on the bay.  But Ben kept on
+waving and pointing.  At last I decided that it must be the row
+boat he was pointing at.  I stopped rowing and looked.
+
+The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but
+specks.  Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms.  So far
+as I could see, the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of
+sunlight on wet blades to show that the oars were in use.  No, it
+was drifting, and, as I looked, it swung broadside on.  The
+standing figure continued to wave its arms.
+
+Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was
+evident that Small thought so, too.  There could no imminent danger
+threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was
+nothing to fear in the bay.  If, however, they should drift out of
+the bay it might be unpleasant.  And they certainly were drifting.
+I resigned myself to the indefinite postponement of my dinner,
+swung the skiff about, and pulled as hard as I could in the
+direction of the row boat.
+
+With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that,
+it took me some time to overtake the drifting craft.  She was, as
+Ben had said, a lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy--good enough as a
+yacht's tender or in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to
+row about Denboro bay at low tide.  Her high rail caught what
+breeze there was blowing and this helped to push her along.
+However, I got within easy hailing distance after a while and
+called, over my shoulder, to ask what was the matter.
+
+A man's voice answered me.
+
+"We've lost an oar," he shouted.  "We're drifting out to sea.  Lend
+us a hand, will you?"
+
+"All right," I answered.  "I'll be there in a minute."
+
+Within the minute I was almost alongside.  Then I turned, intending
+to speak again; but I did not.  The two persons in the dingy were
+Victor--I did not know his other name--and Mabel Colton.
+
+I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of
+my sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not
+recognized me before.  And I, busy at the oars and looking over my
+shoulder only occasionally, had not recognized them.  Now the
+recognition was mutual.  Miss Colton spoke first.
+
+"Why, Victor!" she said, "it is--"
+
+"What?" asked her companion.  Then, looking at me, "Oh! it's you,
+is it?"
+
+I did not answer.  Luck was certainly against me.  No matter where
+I went, on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.
+
+Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing.  "By Jove!" he
+observed; "Mabel, we seem destined to . . .  Humph!  Well?  Will
+you give us a hand?"
+
+The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in
+that rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter.  Ben Small could
+have gone to their rescue just as well as I.  However, here I was,
+and here they were.  And I could not very well go away and leave
+them, under the circumstances.
+
+Victor's patience was giving way.
+
+"What are you waiting for?" he demanded.  "Aren't you going to help
+us?  We'll pay you for it."
+
+I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned
+and picked up the slack of my anchor rope.
+
+"Here," I said, brusquely; "catch this line and I'll tow you."
+
+I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it.
+
+"What shall I do with it?" he asked.
+
+"Hold it, just as it is, for the present.  What became of your
+other oar?"
+
+"Lost it overboard."
+
+"Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?"
+
+I think he had not thought of the anchor, but he did not deign to
+explain.  Instead he began pulling on the rope and the two boats
+drew together.
+
+"Don't do that," I said.  "Wait."
+
+I untied the rope, where it was made fast to the skiff's bow, and
+with it and the anchor in my hands, scrambled aft and wedged the
+anchor under the stern thwart of the little craft.
+
+"Now," I said, "you can pull in the slack until you get to the end.
+Then make it fast to your bow somewhere."
+
+I suppose he did his best to follow instructions, but the rope was
+a short one, the end jerked loose suddenly and he went backward in
+a heap.  I thought, for an instant, that he was going overboard and
+that mine would be the mixed pleasure of fishing him out.
+
+Miss Colton gave a little scream, which changed to a ripple of
+laughter.  I might have laughed, too, under different circumstances,
+but just now I did not feel like it.  Besides, the rope, having
+flown out of his hands, was in the water again and the two boats
+were drifting apart.
+
+"What did you do that for?" demanded the fallen one, scrambling to
+his knees.  I heard a sound from the dingy's stern as if the young
+lady was trying to stifle her merriment.  Victor, doubtless, heard
+it, too.
+
+"Where are you going?" he sputtered, angrily.  "Give me that rope."
+
+I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put
+the end in his hands.
+
+"Tie it in the bow of your boat," I said.  He did so.  I drew in
+the slack until a fair towing length remained and made it fast.
+While he was busy I ventured to glance at Miss Colton.  Her eyes
+were snapping with fun and she seemed to be enjoying the situation.
+But, catching my look, her expression changed.  She turned away and
+looked indifferently out to sea.
+
+I swung the skiff's bow around.
+
+"Where do you want to go?" I asked.
+
+Victor answered.  "Back to Mr. Colton's landing," he said.  "Get as
+much of a move on as you can, will you?  I'll make it worth your
+while."
+
+I was as anxious to get there as he was.  I did not care for a
+quarrel, and I knew if he continued to use that tone in his remarks
+to me I should answer as I felt.  I pulled with all my strength,
+but against the tide towing was hard work.
+
+Victor sat on the amidships thwart of the dingy, with his back to
+me.  But Miss Colton, seated in the stern, was facing me and I
+could not help looking at her.  She did not look at me, or, if she
+did, it was as if I were merely a part of the view; nothing to be
+interested in, one way or the other.
+
+She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that.  Prettier even, in
+the blue and white boating costume and rough-and-ready white felt
+hat, than she had seemed when I saw her in the auto or her father's
+library.  She represented the world that I had lost.  I had known
+girls like her.  They had not as much money as she, perhaps, but
+they were just as well-bred and refined, and almost as pretty.  I
+had associated with them as an equal.  I wondered what she would
+say, or think, if she knew that.  Nothing, probably; she would not
+care enough to think at all.  It did not matter to me what she
+thought; but I did wish I had not put on those fool oilskins.  I
+must look more like a country longshoreman than ever.
+
+If I had any doubts about it they were dispelled when I had rowed
+the two boats up the bay until we were abreast the Colton mansion.
+Then Victor, who had been talking in a low tone with his fellow
+passenger in the dingy, looked at the distant shore and, over his
+shoulder, at me.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "Where are you going?  That's the landing over
+there."
+
+"I know," I answered.  "But we shall have to go around that flat.
+We can't cross here."
+
+"Why?  What's the reason we can't?"
+
+"Because there isn't water enough.  We should get aground."
+
+He stood up to look.
+
+"Nonsense!" he said.  "There's plenty of water.  I can't see any
+flat, or whatever you call it."
+
+"It's there, though you can't see it.  It is covered with eelgrass
+and doesn't show.  We shall have to go a half mile further before
+we turn in."
+
+"A half mile!  Why, confound it! it's past one o'clock now.  We
+haven't any time to waste."
+
+"I'm sorry, but we can't cross yet.  And, if I were you, I
+shouldn't stand up in that boat."
+
+He paid no attention to this suggestion.
+
+"There are half a dozen boats, bigger than these, by the landing,"
+he declared.  "There is water enough for them.  What are you afraid
+of?  We haven't any time to waste, I tell you."
+
+I did not answer.  Silence, on my part, was the safest thing just
+then.  I continued rowing up the bay.
+
+Miss Colton spoke to him and he sat down, a proceeding for which I
+was thankful.  They whispered together for a moment.  Then he
+turned to me.
+
+"See here," he said; "this lady and I have an appointment.  We must
+get ashore.  Go straight in.  If you're afraid I'll take the risk.
+If there is any danger I'll pay for that, too."
+
+There was no question of risk.  It was a certainty.  I knew that
+channel.
+
+"We can't cross here," I said, shortly.
+
+"Why, confound you--"
+
+"Victor!" cautioned Miss Colton.
+
+"Hush, Mabel!  This is ridiculous.  You and I saw two boats go
+straight out from the beach this morning.  We went out that way
+ourselves.  Here you--Paine, or whatever your name is--we've had
+enough of this.  I've hired you to take us ashore, and I want to go
+there and not a half mile in another direction.  Will you do as I
+tell you?"
+
+When the dingy and the other boats crossed the flat the tide had
+been hours higher, of course; but I was in no mood to explain--to
+him.
+
+"No," I said, shortly.
+
+"You won't?  Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the
+way myself."
+
+There were only two oars in the skiff, but I could get on perfectly
+well with one.  And it would serve him beautifully right to let him
+go.  But there was the girl.  I hesitated.
+
+"Give me that oar," he repeated, angrily.  "You won't?  Then, by
+Jove, I'll do without it.  Stop!  Stop where you are! do you
+understand.  We don't require your services any longer."
+
+He turned and began untying the tow line.  I stopped rowing.
+
+Miss Colton looked troubled.
+
+"Victor!" she cried.  "What are you doing?"
+
+"I know what I'm doing.  Can't you see this fellow's game?  The
+longer the row the higher his price, that's all.  He can't work me.
+I've seen his kind before.  Don't be frightened.  If we can't do
+anything else we can anchor and wait until they see us from the
+house."
+
+Idiot!  At that point the channel was deep and the bottom soft mud.
+I doubted if his anchor would touch and, if it did, I knew it would
+not hold.  I backed water and brought the skiff alongside the
+dingy, the rail of which I seized and held.
+
+"Keep off!" ordered Victor, still fumbling with the rope.  "We
+don't want your help."
+
+I wasted no breath on him.  I addressed my remarks to the girl.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "will you listen to me, please.  You can't
+anchor here because your anchor will not hold.  And you can't cross
+that flat at this stage of the tide.  I can give you an oar, of
+course, but it won't do any good.  My oars are too light and small
+for your boat.  Unless you wish to drift back where you were, or
+beyond, you must let me tow you around the head of this flat."
+
+I don't know what answer she might have made.  None, perhaps;
+although I am sure she was listening.  But Victor, who had
+succeeded in untying the tow line, cut in ahead of her.
+
+"Mabel," he warned, "don't pay any attention to him.  Didn't your
+father tell us what he was?  There!" throwing the end of the rope
+overboard and addressing me; "now, you may clear out.  We've done
+with you.  Understand?"
+
+I looked at Miss Colton.  But I might as well have looked at an
+iceberg.  I slid one of my oars over into the dingy.
+
+"There you are," I said, grimly.  "But I warn you that you're in
+for trouble."
+
+I let go of the rail and the boats fell apart.  Victor seized the
+borrowed oar with a triumphant laugh.
+
+"Your bluff wouldn't work, would it, Reuben," he sneered.  "I'll
+send you the oar and your pay later.  Now, Mabel, sit tight.  I'll
+have you ashore in fifteen minutes."
+
+He began rowing toward the weed-covered flat.  I said nothing.  I
+was furiously angry and it was some moments before I recovered
+self-possession sufficiently to get my remaining oar over the
+skiff's stern and, by sculling, hold her against the tide.  Then I
+watched and waited.
+
+It was not a long wait.  Victor was in difficulties almost from the
+beginning.  The oar belonging to the dingy was a foot longer than
+the one I had given him and he zig-zagged wildly.  Soon he was in
+the edge of the eelgrass and "catching crabs," first on one side,
+then on the other.  The dingy's bow slid up on the mud.  He stood
+up to push it off, and the stern swung around.  Getting clear, he
+took a fresh start and succeeded only in fouling again.  This time
+he got further into the tangle before he grounded.  The bow rose
+and the stern settled.  There was a mighty splashing, as Victor
+pushed and tugged, but the dingy stuck fast.  And there she would
+continue to stick for four hours unless I, or some one else, helped
+her off.
+
+I did not want to help.  In fact, I looked all up and down the bay
+before I made a move.  But it was dinner time and there was not
+another soul afloat.  More than that, I noticed, as I had not
+noticed before, that brown clouds--wind clouds--were piling up in
+the west, and, if I was anything of a prophet, we would have
+squalls and dirty weather long before those four hours were over.
+And the dingy, in that position, was not safe to face a blow.  No,
+as the small boys say, it was "up to me."  I wished it was not, but
+it was.
+
+So again I went to the rescue, but this time in an entirely
+different frame of mind.  My anger and resentment had settled to a
+cold determination, and this trip was purely business.  I was not
+at a disadvantage now, as I had been when I first met that girl and
+her friend, in "Big Jim" Colton's library.  I was master of this
+situation and master I intended to be.
+
+I sculled the skiff straight in to the edge of the flat, at a point
+where the bank sloped sharply to deep water.  I threw over my
+anchor, shortened the rope and made it fast.  Then I stepped out
+into water above my shoe tops and waded toward the dingy.  The
+water was icy cold, but I did not know it at the time.
+
+I splashed through the eelgrass.  Victor saw me coming and roared
+an angry protest.  He was still trying to push the boat off with an
+oar.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "You keep away.  We don't want you."
+
+I did not care what he wanted.  I splashed alongside the dingy and
+looked at her and the position she was in.  My mind was made up
+instantly.
+
+"You'll never get her off if you both stay aboard," I said.  "Let
+the lady move amidships and you get out and wade."
+
+He glared at me as if I were as crazy as Colton or Lute had
+declared me to be.  Then he laughed contemptuously.
+
+"You go back where you came from," he ordered.  "I'm running this."
+
+"Yes, I've noticed that.  Now I'll state the facts as plainly as I
+can.  This boat is fast aground in the mud, the tide is still going
+out, and there are squalls coming.  She must be got off or there
+may be danger.  You can't get her off until she is lightened.  Will
+you get out and wade?"
+
+He did not answer; instead he continued to push with the oar.  I
+turned to the girl.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "I must ask you to stand up.  Be careful
+when you rise."
+
+She made no move, nor did she reply.  The look she gave me was
+enough.
+
+"You must stand up," I repeated, firmly.  "Either your--this
+gentleman--must get out, as I tell him to, or I shall have to carry
+you to my skiff.  We haven't any time to spare."
+
+She gazed at me in blank astonishment.  Then the color flamed in
+her cheeks and her eyes flashed.
+
+"We don't wish your help," she said, icily.
+
+"I'm sorry, but that makes no difference.  I--"
+
+Victor whirled on me, the oar in his hands.  I thought for an
+instant he was going to strike me with it.
+
+"You blackguard!" he shouted.  "Will you go away?"
+
+I looked at him and then at her.  It had to be done, and my mind
+was made up to do it.  I waded in until the water was almost to my
+knees, and I was abreast the stern of the stranded boat.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "I am going to carry you to my skiff.  Are
+you ready?"
+
+"You--  Why!--" she breathed.
+
+I stooped, lifted her in my arms, and ploughed through the weeds
+and water.  The mud was soft and my feet sank into it.  She
+struggled.
+
+"You must keep still," I said, sharply, "or I shall drop you."
+
+She gasped, but she stopped struggling.  From behind me I heard a
+roar of rage from Victor.
+
+I carried her to the anchored skiff and, plunging in still deeper,
+seated her on the stern thwart.
+
+"Sit there, please, and don't move," I said.  "I shall be back as
+soon as I've got your boat afloat."
+
+I waded back to the dingy.  Victor was frantic, but he did not
+disturb me.  The worst of my unpleasant job was over.
+
+"Now sit down," I ordered.  "Do you hear me?  Sit down and sit
+still."
+
+"You--you--" he stammered.
+
+"Because if you don't sit down," I continued serenely, "you're
+likely to tumble overboard.  I'm going to push this boat off."
+
+The first push helped to make up his mind.  He sat, involuntarily.
+I pushed with all my might and, slowly and jerkily, the dingy slid
+off the shoal.  But there were others all about.  With one hand on
+the bow I guided her between them and to the edge of the channel.
+Then, wading along the slippery bank, I brought her to the skiff.
+My passenger had been making remarks in transit, but I paid no
+attention to them.
+
+I made the rope fast for towing, took my oar from the dingy, pulled
+up the skiff's anchor and climbed aboard.
+
+"Sit where you are," I said to Victor.  "Miss Colton, please keep
+as still as possible."
+
+I ventured to look at her as I said this, but I looked but once.
+All the way home I kept my gaze fixed on the bottom boards of the
+skiff.
+
+I made the landing just in time.  In fact, the squall struck before
+I was abreast the Colton place.  The channel beyond the flat, which
+we had so lately left, was whipped to whitecaps in a moment and
+miniature breakers were beating against the mud bank where the
+dingy had grounded.
+
+Under the high bluff it was calm enough.  The tide was too low to
+make use of the little wharf, so I beached the skiff and drew the
+towed boat in by the line.  I offered to assist Miss Colton ashore,
+but she, apparently, did not see my proffered hand.  Victor
+scrambled out by himself.  No one said anything.  I untied the rope
+and pulled it in.  Then I prepared to push off.
+
+"Here!" growled Victor.  "Wait a minute."
+
+I looked up.  He was standing at the edge of the water, with one
+hand in his pocket.  Miss Colton was behind him.
+
+"Well?" I asked.
+
+"I haven't paid you yet," he said, sullenly.  "How much?"
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.  I knew, of course, but it pleased me
+to make him say it.
+
+"Why, how much for towing us in?  What's your price?  Come, hurry
+up."
+
+"I haven't any price.  I'm not in the salvage business."
+
+"Not--  Say, don't bargain.  What's your price, I ask you?"
+
+"Nothing, of course.  Very glad to have been of assistance."
+
+I took up my oars.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "Stop! hold on!  Confound you! do you suppose
+we don't intend to pay you for this?"
+
+I shook my head.  "It has been a pleasure," I said, sweetly.  "Good
+day."
+
+I rowed off, but all the way down to my boathouse I smiled
+contentedly.  I had seen the look on Mabel Colton's face.  I rather
+thought I had evened the account between us; at least I had reduced
+the balance a trifle.  This time it was not I who appeared
+ridiculous.
+
+Dorinda saw me when I entered the kitchen.  Her hands were
+upraised.
+
+"My soul and body!" she exclaimed.  "LOOK at them pants!  LOOK at
+'em!  And I ain't had time to put a needle to your other ones yet!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+The rain, which I expected would follow the squall, did not come
+until late that night, and it was still falling heavily the next
+morning.  It was a warm rain, however, and, after breakfast, I
+walked up to the village.  I said nothing, even to Mother, about
+the happenings in the bay, and Dorinda, who had asked many
+sarcastic questions concerning the state of my blue trousers--if I
+had "mistook 'em for a bathin' suit" and the like--seemed satisfied
+with my hurried explanation that I had gotten overboard.  "Though
+how you fell in feet fust," she observed, "I don't see."  She had
+mended my brown pair, sitting up until after two to do so.
+
+Lute informed me that he had been up to the post-office.
+"Everybody's talkin' about them Coltons," he declared.  "I see
+their automobile last night, myself.  The Colton girl, she come
+into the store.  My! she's a stunner, ain't she!  Sim waited on
+her, himself, and gave her the mail.  She wanted to buy some
+cheese--for a rabbit, she said.  I never heard of feeding a rabbit
+on cheese, did you, Ros?"
+
+"No," I replied, laughing.  It was not worth while to explain.
+
+"Nor nobody else, but her!  I guess," continued Lute, "likely she
+was just jokin'.  Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had
+some nice print butter, just in.  She didn't want no butter,
+though."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Dorinda.  "Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to
+feed the rabbit butter?  Was the Colton girl alone?"
+
+"No.  There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin'
+'em.  Carver his name is--Victor Carver.  Did you ever hear such a
+name in your life?  Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!"
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was
+you.  Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about
+Roscoe's talk with Mr. Colton, did you?"
+
+"No, no! no, no!  Course I didn't."
+
+"You sure?"
+
+"Yes.  'Taint likely I would, would I?  Cap'n Jed was on hand, as
+usual, and he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out
+of me.  'What did Colton say to Ros?' he says.  'How do I know what
+he said?' says I.  'I wan't there, was I?'  'Where was you that
+forenoon?' he says.  'Forenoon!' says I, 'that shows how much you
+know about it.  'Twas three o'clock in the afternoon.'  Oh, I had
+the laugh on him!"
+
+Dorinda looked at me and shook her head.
+
+"It's too bad, Roscoe," she said.  "But I was afraid of it as soon
+as I found he'd sneaked off to the post-office.  I cal'late it's
+all over town by now."
+
+"What do you mean by that?" Lute's dignity was outraged.  "All over
+town!  I never told him nothin'."
+
+"No.  Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three
+o'clock in the afternoon.  And goodness knows how much more!  DO be
+quiet!  Seems sometimes as if I should lose patience with you
+altogether.  Is this Carver the Colton girl's young man?  Are they
+engaged?"
+
+"I don't know.  I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the
+looks.  I got as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much
+they said.  Only, just as they was goin' out, he said somethin'
+about goin' for a little spin in the car.  She said no, her father
+would want his letters.  Carver, he said, why not send Oscar home--
+that's the chauffeur, you know--with the letters, and he'd run the
+car himself.  She kind of laughed, and said she guessed not, she'd
+taken one trip with him already that day and she didn't believe she
+cared for another.  He seemed kind of put out about it, I thought."
+
+I had been feeling rather provoked at Lute for giving Captain Jed
+the information concerning my interview with Colton; but, somehow,
+this other bit of news restored my good humor.  When I started for
+the village I did not take the short cut across the fields, but
+followed my regular route, the path by the bluff and the Shore
+Lane.  I was no longer fearful of meeting my new neighbors.  The
+memory of the happenings in the bay was a delightful solace to my
+wounded self-respect.  I chuckled over it as I walked through the
+dripping pines of the little grove.  No matter how contemptuously
+indifferent that girl might pretend to be she would not forget what
+had taken place; that she had been obliged to obey my orders; that
+I had carried her to that skiff; that I had saved her from a
+danger--not a great danger, and against her will, of course--but
+saved her nevertheless.  She was under an obligation to me; she
+could not help herself.  How that must gall her.  I remembered the
+look on her face as I rowed away.  Sweet was revenge.  And Victor--
+Victor was a joke.
+
+When I reached the Lane I looked over at the Colton mansion.  The
+rain had given the carpenters and painters an enforced holiday,
+and, except for the chauffeur, whom I could see through the open
+door of the garage, there was no one in sight.  I think I was a
+little disappointed.  If "Big Jim" had appeared and hailed me with
+another offer for the land I should not have dodged.  I was ready
+for him.  But neither he, or any one else, appeared and I walked
+on.
+
+At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his
+store.
+
+"Hi, Ros!" he shouted.  "You!  Ros Paine! come here a minute, will
+you?"
+
+I did not want to see him.  I had intended avoiding the post-office
+altogether.  But I crossed to the platform.
+
+"Say, Ros," he asked eagerly, "what's this about you and Mr. Colton?"
+
+I was annoyed.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.
+
+"Why, you know, don't you?  He come to see you and you went to see
+him over to his house.  You had a reg'lar argument, I understand.
+About the Shore Lane, wan't it?"
+
+"Who told you that?" I inquired, sharply.
+
+"Why, nobody told me, exactly.  Lute Rogers and Cap'n Jed was here
+last night and they got a-goin' as usual.  The Cap'n does love to
+stir up Lute, and he commenced hintin' about somethin' of the kind.
+I don't know as they was hints, either, but Lute thought they was."
+
+He grinned.  I understood.
+
+"I see," I said.  "Well, what did Lute say?"
+
+"I suppose he'd say he never said a word, but after he'd gone there
+was a kind of general sentiment that Colton wanted to buy the Shore
+Lane land off you, and that you and he had some words about it.
+Anyhow, you didn't sell the land, did you?"
+
+"Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?"
+
+"Why, nothin', nothin'.  Only, I tell you, Ros--" he looked
+carefully about to make sure no one was listening; "I tell you;
+it's just this way.  I can understand how you feel about it.  You
+know Dean and some of the others are sore on Mr. Colton 'cause he's
+got more money than they have, and they want to make all the
+trouble for him they can.  Jed's got an idea that he's after that
+Lane, to close it off, and he's stirrin' up sentiment against its
+bein' closed.  He's talkin' about the town buyin' it.  Now of
+course I know your position.  You want to get just as high a price
+as you can afore you sell."
+
+"That's my position, is it?"
+
+"It would be the position of any sensible man, wouldn't it?  I
+don't blame you.  Now, what I wanted to say was this."  He bent
+forward and lowered his voice to a whisper.  "Why don't you let me
+handle this thing for you?  I can do it better'n you.  I see Cap'n
+Jed every night, you might say.  And I see consider'ble of Mr.
+Colton.  He knows I'm postmaster in this town and sort of
+prominent.  All the smart folks ain't in the Board of Selectmen.
+I'll keep you posted; see?  You just set back and pretend you don't
+want to sell at all.  Colton, he'll bid and Jed and his gang'll
+bid.  I'll tell each what the other bids, and we'll keep her
+jumpin'.  When we get to the last jump, we'll sell--and not afore.
+Of course Mr. Colton 'll get it, in the end."
+
+"Oh, he will!  What makes you think so?"
+
+"What makes me think so?  Don't be foolish.  Ain't he a millionaire?
+How can Denboro stand up against a millionaire?  I tell you, Ros,
+it's money counts in this world, and it pays to stand in with them
+that's got it.  I'm goin' to stand in with Mr. Colton.  But I'll
+pretend to stand in with Dean just as much.  I can help a whole lot.
+Why, I shouldn't wonder if, between us, we could get--er--er--I
+don't know how much, for that land.  What do you say?"
+
+I smiled.  "It's very kind of you, Sim, to be willing to go to so
+much trouble on my account," I observed.  "I didn't know there was
+such disinterested kindness in Denboro."
+
+Sim seemed a bit put out.  "Why," he stammered, "I--I--of course I
+presumed likely you'd be willin' to pay me a little commission--or--
+or--somethin'.  I thought I might be a sort of--er--agent for you.
+I've handled consider'ble real estate in my time--and--you see what
+I mean, don't you?"
+
+"Yes," I said, drily; "I see.  Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an
+agent I'll let you know.  Good morning."
+
+"But, hold on, Ros!  I--"
+
+I did not "hold on."  I walked across the road and entered the
+bank.  Alvin Baker met me in the vestibule.  He seized my hand and
+shook it violently.
+
+"I declare," he exclaimed, "it does me good to shake hands with a
+feller that's got the grit you have.  It does so!  We're all proud
+of you."
+
+"Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure.  But why?"
+
+He winked and nudged me with his elbow.
+
+"You know why, all right," he whispered.  "Wouldn't sell him the
+land, would you?  Tell me:  Did he make you a real bid for it?
+Lute as much as said he did."
+
+For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have "as much as
+said" a good many things.  I shook my head.
+
+"So you think I shouldn't sell the land?" I asked.
+
+"Course you shouldn't--not to him.  Ain't there such things as
+public spirit and independence?  But I'll tell you somethin' more,
+Ros," mysteriously.  "You may have a chance to sell it somewhere
+else."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes, sir-ee! indeed!  There's other public-spirited folks in
+Denboro as well as you.  I know who they be and I stand in with 'em
+pretty close, too.  I'm goin' to help you all I can."
+
+"That's very kind of you, Alvin."
+
+"No, no.  I'm glad to do it.  Shan't charge you nothin', neither."
+
+"That's kinder still."
+
+"No, 'tain't. . .  Hold on a minute, Ros.  Don't go.  As I say, I'm
+goin' to work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane
+property of yours.  I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price
+for it.  I'll use all my influence."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"You needn't thank me.  It's a matter of principle.  We'll show
+these city folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . .
+Hold on a second more.  Ros, I--er--I wonder if you'd do a little
+favor for me."
+
+"What is it, Alvin?"
+
+"Why, it's this way.  I've got a note here in the bank; put it
+there when I bought the power engine for my cat-boat.  Hundred and
+fifty dollars, 'tis.  You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor,
+cashier here, and I was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word
+with him about my gettin' it renewed when it comes due.  Just tell
+him you think I'm all right, and a good risk, or somethin' like
+that."
+
+I could not help smiling.  Alvin seemed to find encouragement in
+the smile.
+
+"George thinks consider'ble of you," he said.  "And Captain Jed--
+he's one of the directors--he will, too, now that you've stood up
+to Colton.  Just put in a word for me, will you?  And don't forget
+I'm a friend of yours, and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair
+price from the town.  Remember that, won't you?"
+
+"I won't forget, Alvin.  Good-by."
+
+I left him and went into the bank.  Henry Small, the bookkeeper,
+was at his desk.  I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up
+from his figures, spoke first.  There was, or so it seemed to me, a
+different note in his greeting.  It was more hearty, I thought.
+Certainly he regarded me with a new and curious interest.
+
+"Morning, Ros," he said.  "Well, how are you these days?"
+
+I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me.
+
+"Lively times ahead, hey," he whispered.
+
+"What sort of times?" I asked.
+
+He winked.  "I guess you know, if anybody does," he observed.  "All
+right, you'll have good friends on your side.  I ain't saying
+anything, of course, but I'm on, all right."
+
+He winked again.  I walked back to the cashier's window.  Taylor
+had, evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was
+standing by the little gate, waiting for me.
+
+"Hello, Ros," he said.  "Glad to see you.  Come in."
+
+George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in
+the country.  His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and
+businesslike, but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the
+Cape phrases and metaphors.  He was younger than I, but he looked
+older, and, of late, it had seemed to me that he was growing more
+nervous.  We shook hands.
+
+"Glad to see you," be said again.  "I was hoping you'd drift in.  I
+presumed likely you might.  Sit down."
+
+I took the proffered chair.  He looked at me with much the same
+curious interest that Small had shown.
+
+"We've been hearing about you," he said.  "You've been getting
+yourself talked about."
+
+I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity.
+
+"I'll break the fellow's neck," I declared, with emphasis.
+
+He laughed.  "Don't do that yet awhile," he said.  "The market is
+in bad enough shape as it is.  If his neck was broke the whole of
+Wall Street would go to pot."
+
+"Wall Street?  What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall
+Street?"
+
+"Lute!  Oh, I see!  Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking,
+but it ain't his neck I mean.  Say, Ros, what did you do to him,
+anyway?  You stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me."
+
+"Who said?  What?"
+
+"Why, Colton.  He was in here yesterday.  Opened what he called a
+household account; that was his main business.  But he asked about
+you, along with it."
+
+This explained some things.  It was clear now why Small had
+appeared so interested.  "Oh!" I said.
+
+"You bet he did.  Wanted to know if I knew you, and what you were,
+and so on.  I told him I knew you pretty well.  'What sort of a
+fellow is he?  A damn fool?' he asked.  I strained the truth enough
+to say you were a pretty good fellow and a long ways from that kind
+of a fool, according to my reckoning.  'Umph!' says he.  'Is he
+rich?'  I told him I guessed you wan't so rich that you got round-
+shouldered lugging your money.  'Why?' says I, getting curious.
+'Have you met him, Mr. Colton?  If you have you ought to have sized
+him up yourself.  I always heard you were a pretty fair judge.'  He
+looked at me kind of funny.  'I thought I was,' says he, 'but you
+seem to raise a new variety down here.'  Then I guess he thought
+he'd said enough.  At any rate, he walked off.  What did you and he
+say to each other, Ros?"
+
+I did not answer immediately.  When I did the answer was non-
+committal.  "Oh, we had a business interview," I said.
+
+He nodded.  "Well," he observed, "I suppose it's your affair and
+not mine.  But, I tell you this, Ros: if it's what I suppose it is,
+it'll be everybody's affair pretty soon."
+
+"You think so, do you?"
+
+"I know so.  Cap'n Jed's a fighter and he is on the war path.  The
+two sides are lining up already.  Whichever way you decide you'll
+make enemies, of course."
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  The prospect of enemies, more or less, in
+Denboro, did not trouble me.
+
+"But you'll have to decide," he went on, "who you'll sell to."
+
+"Or not sell at all," I suggested.
+
+"Can you afford to do that?  There'll be money--a whole lot of
+money--in this before it's over, if I know the leaders on both
+sides.  You've got the whip-hand.  There'll be money in it.  Can
+you afford to let it slip?"
+
+I did not answer.  Suddenly his expression changed.  He looked
+haggard and care-worn.
+
+"By the Almighty," he said, between his teeth, and without looking
+at me, "I wish I had your chance."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, nothing, nothing. . . .  How's your mother nowadays?"
+
+I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of
+various things.
+
+"By the way," he said, "I've got some news for you.  Nothing
+surprising.  I guess all hands have seen it coming.  I'm engaged to
+be married."
+
+"Good!" said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage
+did not interest me.  "Congratulations, George.  Nellie Dean, of
+course."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm glad for you.  And for her.  She'll make you a good wife, I'm
+sure."
+
+He drew a long breath.  "Yes," he said slowly, "Nellie's a good
+girl."
+
+"When is the--what do they call it? the happy event to take place?"
+
+"In the fall some time, if all goes well.  I hope it will."
+
+"Humph!  Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that.  Why
+shouldn't it go well?"
+
+"Hey?  Oh, of course it will!"  He laughed and rose from his chair
+as several men came into the bank.  "I'll have to leave you, Ros,"
+he said.  "There's a directors' meeting this morning.  They're
+coming now."
+
+As I passed out of the gate and through the group of directors I
+noticed that they also regarded me with interest.  Two, men from
+neighboring towns whom I scarcely knew, whispered to each other.
+Captain Elisha Warren shook hands with me and inquired concerning
+Mother.  The last of the group was Captain Jedediah Dean, and he
+touched me on the shoulder.
+
+"Ros," he whispered, "you're all right.  Understand?  I say you're
+all right."
+
+"Thanks," I answered, briefly.
+
+"I heard about it," he whispered.  "Ase Peters said the Grand
+Panjandrum was cranky as a shark with the toothache all day
+yesterday.  You must tell me the yarn when we get together.  I
+missed you when I called just now, but I'll be down again pretty
+soon.  You won't lose nothin' by this.  So long."
+
+As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road.
+
+"Good-by, Ros," he shouted.  "Come in again next time you're up
+street."
+
+In all my period of residence in Denboro I had never before been
+treated like this.  People had never before gone out of their way
+to shake hands with me.  No one had considered it worth while to
+ask favors of me.  Sim and Alvin were not to be taken seriously, of
+course, and both were looking after their own pocketbooks, but
+their actions were straws proving the wind to be blowing in my
+direction.  I thought, and smiled scornfully, that I, all at once,
+seemed to have become a person of some importance.
+
+But my scorn was not entirely sincere.  There was a certain
+gratification in the thought.  I might pretend--I had pretended--
+that Denboro opinion, good or bad, was a matter of complete
+indifference to me.  I had assumed myself a philosopher, to whom,
+in the consciousness of right, such trifles were of no consequence.
+But, philosophy or not, the fact remained that I was pleased.
+People might dislike me--as that lofty Colton girl and her father
+disliked me, though they could dislike me no more than I did them--
+but I could compel them to respect me.  They already must think of
+me as a man.  And so on--as I walked home through the wet grass.
+It was all as foolish and childish and ridiculous as it well could
+be.  I deserved what was coming to me--and I got it.
+
+For, as I came down the Lane, I met Oscar, the chauffeur, and a
+companion, whom I judged to be a fellow servant--the coachman, I
+learned afterwards--walking in the direction of the village.  The
+rain had ceased, but they wore natty raincoats and caps and had the
+city air of smartness which I recognized and envied, even in them.
+The footpath was narrow, but they apparently had no intention of
+stepping to one side, so I made way for them.  They whispered
+together as they approached and looked at me curiously as we
+passed.  A few steps further on I heard them both burst out
+laughing.  I caught the words, from Oscar, "fool Rube" and "the old
+man'll make him look--"  I heard no more, but as I turned into the
+grove I saw them both looking after me with broad grins on their
+faces.
+
+Somebody has said that there is nothing harder to bear than the
+contempt and ridicule of servants.  For one thing, you cannot resent
+it without a loss of dignity, and, for another, you may be perfectly
+sure that theirs is but the reflection of their employers' frame of
+mind.  This encounter shook my self-satisfaction more than a
+little.  It angered me, but it did more than that; it brought back
+the feeling I had when I left the Colton library, that my defiance
+was not, after all, taken seriously. That I was regarded by Colton
+as just what Oscar had termed me, a "fool Rube."  When George Taylor
+told me of the great man's questions concerning my foolishness, I
+accepted the question as a tribute to my independence.  Now I was
+not so sure.
+
+Dorinda met me at the door.
+
+"You've had two callers," she said.
+
+"So?  Who were they?"
+
+"One of 'em was Cap'n Jed.  He drove down just after you left.  He
+come to see you about that land, I cal'late."
+
+"Oh, yes.  I remember he told me he missed me this morning.  So he
+came here?"
+
+"Um-hm.  Him and me had a little talk.  He seemed to know
+consider'ble about your rumpus with Mr. Colton."
+
+"How did he know?"
+
+"He wouldn't say, but I wouldn't wonder if he got a lot from Ase
+Peters.  Ase and he are pretty thick; he's got a mortgage on Ase's
+house, you know.  And Ase, bein' as he's doin' the carpenterin'
+over to Colton's, hears a lot from the servants, I s'pose likely.
+Leastways, if they don't tell all their bosses' affairs they're a
+new breed of hired help, that's all I've got to say.  Cap'n Jed
+says Mr. Colton cal'lates you're a fool."
+
+"Yes.  So I've heard.  What did the Captain say to that?"
+
+"Seemed to think 'twas a pretty good joke.  He said he didn't care
+how big a fool you was so long's you was feeble-minded on the right
+side."
+
+So there it was again.  My imagined importance in the eyes of the
+townspeople simmered down to about that.  I was an imbecile, but
+they must pretend to believe me something else because I owned
+something they wanted.  Well, I still owned it.
+
+"Of course," continued Dorinda, "I didn't tell him you was
+figgerin' not to sell the land at all.  If I had, I s'pose he'd
+have thought--"
+
+She stopped short.
+
+"You suppose what?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, nothin'."
+
+She had said enough.  I could guess the rest.  I walked to the
+window and stood, looking out.  The clouds were breaking and, as I
+stood there, a ray of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck
+the bay just at the spot where the dingy had grounded.  The shallow
+water above the flat flashed into fire.  I am not superstitious, as
+a general thing, but the sight comforted me.  It seemed like an
+omen.  There was the one bright spot in the outlook.  There, at
+least, I had not behaved like a "fool Rube."  There I had compelled
+respect and been taken seriously.
+
+Dorinda spoke again.
+
+"You ain't asked who your other caller was," she observed.
+
+"Was there another?"
+
+"Um-hm.  I told you there was two.  After Cap'n Jed left that
+chauffeur feller from the big house come here.  He fetched a note
+for you.  Here 'tis."
+
+I took the note.  It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting,
+not that of "Big Jim" Colton.  I opened the envelope and read:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine.
+
+Sir:  The enclosed is in payment for your work.  No receipt is
+necessary.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+B. VICTOR CARVER.
+
+
+The "enclosed" was a five-dollar bill.
+
+I stood staring at the note.  Then I began to laugh.
+
+"What's the joke?" asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from
+my face.
+
+"This," said I, handing her the money.  She looked at it in
+astonishment.
+
+"Um-hm," she said, drily.  "Well, I--well, a five-dollar bill may
+be a joke to you, but _I_ ain't familiar enough with one to laugh
+at it.  You don't laugh as if 'twas awful funny, either.  Who's the
+joke on?"
+
+"It's on me, just now.
+
+"Um-hm.  I'd be willin' to be joked ten times a day, at that price.
+And I'd undertake to laugh heartier than you're doin', too.  What's
+it for? the money, I mean."
+
+"It's for some 'work' I did yesterday."
+
+She was more astonished than ever.
+
+"Work!  You?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes.  But don't worry; I shan't do it again."
+
+"Land! THAT wouldn't worry me.  What sort of work was it?"
+
+"Oh, I--I picked up something adrift in the bay."
+
+"Um-hm.  I see.  Somethin' belongin' to the Coltons, I s'pose
+likely.  Why won't you do it again?  Ain't they paid you enough?"
+
+Again I laughed.  "They have paid me too much," I said, bitterly.
+"What I picked up wasn't worth the money."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+And that, in the end, was the answer I sent to Carver with his five
+dollars.  I spent an hour in my room trying to compose and write a
+sarcastic reply to his note, but I finally gave it up.  Then I put
+the money in an envelope, addressed the latter, and sent it to the
+big house by Lute.  Lute was delighted with the errand.
+
+"You'll explain to Dorindy, will you?" he asked.  "She cal'lates
+I'm goin' to clean the henhouse.  But I can do that some other
+time."
+
+"You can--yes."
+
+"Do you know--"  Lute leaned against the clothes post and prepared
+to philosophize.  "Do you know," he observed, "that I don't take no
+stock in cleanin' henhouses and such?"
+
+"Don't you?  I'm surprised."
+
+"You're surprised 'cause you ain't thought it out.  That's my way;
+I always think things out.  Most folks are selfish.  They want to
+do what they want to do, and they want others to want the same
+thing.  If the others don't want it, then they like to make 'em
+have it; anyhow.  Dorindy is crazy on cleanin'.  She wouldn't live
+in a dirty house no more'n she'd live in a lobster pot.  It's the
+way she's made.  But a hen ain't made that way.  A hen LIKES dirt;
+she scratches in it and digs holes in it to waller in, and heaves
+it over herself all day long.  If you left it to the hens would
+THEY clean their house?  I guess not!  So, I say what's the use of
+cruelizin' 'em by makin' 'em live clean when they don't want to?
+I--"
+
+"Wait a minute," I interrupted.  "Lute, you're wasting your breath.
+It is Dorinda you should explain all this to, not to me.  And
+you're wasting my time.  I want you to take that envelope to Mr.
+Carver; and I want you to go now."
+
+"Well, I'm goin', ain't I?  I was only just sayin'--"
+
+"Say it when you come back.  And if Mr. Carver asks you why I sent
+that envelope to him be sure and give him the message I gave you.
+Do you remember it?"
+
+"Sartin.  That what you done wan't wuth so much."
+
+"Not exactly.  That what I saved wasn't worth it."
+
+"All right.  I'll remember.  But what did you save, Ros?  Dorindy
+says 'twas somethin' you found afloat in the bay.  If it was
+somethin' belongin' to them Coltons I'd have took the money, no
+matter what the thing was wuth.  They can afford to pay and, if I
+was you, I'd take the reward."
+
+"I have my reward.  Now go."
+
+I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five
+dollars.  I had learned my lesson.  I knew now exactly how I was
+regarded by the occupants of the big house and by the townspeople
+as well.  I should cherish no more illusions as to my importance in
+their eyes.  I meant to be really independent from that time on.  I
+did not care--really did not care--for anything or anybody outside
+my immediate household.  I was back in the position I had occupied
+for years, but with one difference: I had an ambition now.  It was
+to make both sides in the Shore Lane controversy realize that
+George Taylor was right when he said I had the whip-hand.  By the
+Almighty, they should dance when I cracked that whip!
+
+My first opportunity to crack it came a day or two later, when
+Captain Dean called upon me.  He had a definite proposition to
+make, although his Yankee shrewdness and caution prevented his
+making it until he had discussed the weather and other unimportant
+trifles.  Then he leaned against the edge of my work-bench--we were
+in the boathouse--and began to beat up to windward of his proposal.
+
+"Ros," he said, "you remember I told you you was all right, when I
+met you at the bank t'other day."
+
+"I remember," I answered.
+
+"Yes.  Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that."
+
+I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning.
+
+"I presume," I replied, "that you meant I was right in not selling
+that strip of land to Mr. Colton."
+
+"That's what I meant.  You kept your promise to me and I shan't
+forget it.  Nor the town won't forget it, neither.  Would you mind
+tellin' me just what happened between you and His Majesty?"
+
+"Not at all.  He said he wanted to buy the Shore Lane strip and I
+refused to sell it to him.  He said I was crazy and an infernal
+robber and I told him to go to the devil."
+
+"WHAT! you didn't!"
+
+"I did."
+
+Captain Jed slapped his knee and shouted in delight.  He insisted
+on shaking hands with me.
+
+"By the great and everlastin'!" he declared, between laughs,
+"you're all right, Ros Paine!  I said you was and now I'll swear to
+it.  Told old Colton to go to the devil!  If that ain't--oh, I wish
+I'd been there!"
+
+I went on sand-papering a valve plug.  He walked up and down the
+floor, chuckling.
+
+"Well," he said, at last, "you've made yourself solid in Denboro,
+anyhow.  And I told you you shouldn't lose nothin' by it.  The
+Selectmen held a meetin' last night and they feel, same as me, that
+that Shore Lane shan't be shut off.  You understand what that means
+to you, don't you?"
+
+I looked at him, coolly.
+
+"No," I answered.
+
+"You don't!  It means the town's decided to buy that strip of land
+of yours.  Definitely decided, practically speakin'.  Now what'll
+you sell it to us for?"
+
+I put down the valve plug.  "Captain," said I, "that land is not
+for sale."
+
+"Not for SALE?  What do you mean by that?"
+
+"I mean that I have decided not to sell it, for the present, at
+least.  Neither to Colton nor any one else."
+
+He could not believe it.  Of course I would not sell it to Colton.
+Colton was a stuck-up, selfish city aristocrat who thought all
+creation ought to belong to him.  But the town was different.  Did
+I realize that it was the town I lived in that was asking to buy
+now?  The town of which I was a citizen?  Think of what the town
+had done for me.
+
+"Very well," I answered.  "I'm willing to think.  What has it done
+for me?"
+
+It had--it had--well, it had done a whole lot.  As a citizen of
+that town I owed it a--a--
+
+"Look here, Captain Dean," I interrupted, "there's no use in our
+arguing the matter.  I have decided not to sell."
+
+"Don't talk so foolish.  Course you'll sell if you get money
+enough."
+
+"So Colton said, but I shan't."
+
+"Ros, I ain't got any authority to do it, but I shouldn't wonder if
+I could get you three hundred dollars for that strip."
+
+"It isn't a question of price."
+
+"Rubbish!  Anything's a question of price."
+
+"This isn't.  If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's
+offer of six hundred and fifty."
+
+"Six hun--!  Do you mean to say he offered you six hundred and
+fifty dollars for that little mite of land, and you never took him
+up?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, you must be a . . .  Humph!  Six hundred and fifty!  The
+town can't meet no such bid as that, of course."
+
+"I don't expect it to."
+
+He regarded me in silence.  He was chagrined and angry; his florid
+face was redder than ever; but, more than all, he was puzzled.
+
+"Well," he observed, after a moment, "this beats me, this does!
+Last time we talked you was willin' to consider sellin'.  What's
+changed you?  What's the reason you won't sell?  What business
+reason have you got for not doin' it?"
+
+I had no business reason at all.  Except for Mother's counsel not
+to sell, which was based upon sentiment and nothing else, and my
+own stubbornness, I had no reason at all.  Yet I was, if anything,
+more firm in my resolve.
+
+"How about the Lane?" he demanded.  "You know what that Lane means
+to Denboro?"
+
+"I know what you say it means.  The townspeople can continue to use
+the Lane, just as they always have, so long as they behave
+themselves.  There is no use of our talking further, Captain.  I've
+made up my mind."
+
+He went away, soon after, but he asked another question.
+
+"Will you do this much for me?" he asked.  "Will you promise me not
+to sell the land to Colton?"
+
+"No," I said, "I will make no promise of any kind, to anybody."
+
+"Oh," with a scornful sniff, "I see.  I'm on to you.  You're just
+hangin' out for a big price.  I might have known it.  You're on
+Colton's side, after all."
+
+I rose.  I was angry now.
+
+"I told you price had nothing to do with it," I said, sharply.  "I
+am on no one's side.  The town is welcome to use the Lane; that I
+have told you already.  There is nothing more to be said."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"I don't make many mistakes," he observed, slowly; "but I guess
+I've made one.  You're a whole lot deeper'n I thought you was."
+
+So much for the proletariat.  I heard from the plutocrats next day.
+Sim Eldredge dropped in on me.  After much wriggling about the bush
+he intimated that he knew of Captain Jedediah's call and what had
+taken place.
+
+"You done just right, Ros," he whispered.  He had a habit of
+whispering as the Captain had of shouting.  "You done just right.
+Keep 'em guessin'; keep em guessin'.  Jed's all upsot.  He don't
+know whether he's keel down or on his beam ends.  He'll be makin' a
+higher bid pretty soon.  Say," with a wink, "I see Colton last
+night."
+
+"Did you?"
+
+"Yup.  Oh, I give him a jolt.  I hinted that the town had made you
+a fine offer and you was considerin' it."
+
+"What did you do that for?  Who gave you the right to--"
+
+"Sshh!  Don't holler.  Somebody might be listenin'.  I come through
+the woods and round the beach so's I wouldn't be seen.  What do you
+s'pose Colton said?"
+
+"I don't care what he said."
+
+"You will when I tell you.  He as much as offered a thousand
+dollars for that land.  My crimps! a thousand! think of that!  I
+presume likely you wouldn't take that, would you, Ros?"
+
+"Sim, I'll tell you, as I told Captain Jed, that land is not for
+sale."
+
+I tried to make that statement firm and sharp enough to penetrate
+even his wooden head; but he merely winked again.
+
+"All right," he whispered, hastily, "all right.  I guess perhaps
+you're correct in hangin' on.  Still, a thousand is a lot of money,
+even after you take out my little commission.  But you know best.
+You put your trust in me.  I'll keep her jumpin'.  I understand.
+Good-by."
+
+He went out hurriedly, and, though I shouted after him, he only
+waved and ducked behind a beach-plum bush.  He did not believe me
+serious in my refusal to sell; neither did Dean, or Colton, or,
+apparently, any one else.  They all thought me merely shrewd, a
+sharp trader driving a hard bargain, as they would have done in my
+place.  They might think so, if they wished; I should not explain.
+As a matter of fact, I could not have explained my attitude, even
+to myself.
+
+Yet this very attitude made a difference, a perceptible difference,
+in my position in Denboro.  I noticed it each time I went up to the
+village.  I saw the groups at the post-office and at the depot turn
+to watch me as I approached and as I went away.  Captain Jedediah
+did not mention the Lane again--at least for some time--but he
+always hailed me cordially when we met and seemed anxious to be
+seen in my company.  Eldredge, of course, was effusive; so was
+Alvin Baker.  And other people, citizens of consequence in the
+town, who had heretofore merely bowed, now stopped to speak with me
+on the street.  Members of the sewing circle called on Mother more
+frequently, and Matilda Dean, Captain Jed's wife, came regularly
+once a week.  Sometimes she saw Mother and sometimes she did not,
+depending upon Dorinda's state of mind at the time.
+
+Lute, always a sort of social barometer, noticed the change in the
+weather.
+
+"Everybody's talkin' about you, Ros," he declared.  "They cal'late
+you're a pretty smart feller.  They don't just understand what
+you're up to, but they think you're pretty smart."
+
+"No?" I commented, ironically.  "Lute, you astonish me.  Why am I
+smart?"
+
+"Well, they don't know exactly, but they cal'late you must be.  Oh,
+I hear things.  Cap'n Jed said t'other night you'd make a pretty
+good Selectman."
+
+"_I_ would?  A Selectman?"
+
+"Yup.  He as much as hinted that to me; wondered if you'd take the
+nomination provided he could fix it for you.  Sim Eldredge and
+Alvin and some more all said they'd vote for you if they got a
+chance.  ARE you figgerin' to charge toll on the Lane?"
+
+"Toll?  What put that idea in your head?"
+
+"Nothin', only some of the fellers wondered if you was.  You see,
+you won't sell, and so--"
+
+"I see.  That's a brilliant suggestion, Lute.  When I adopt it I'll
+appoint you toll-keeper."
+
+"By time!  I wish you would.  I'd make Thoph Newcomb pay up.  He
+owes me ten cents; bet it one time and never settled."
+
+Yes, my position in Denboro had changed.  But I took no pride in
+the change, as I had at first; I knew the reason for this sudden
+burst of popularity.  The knowledge made me more cynical than ever--
+cynical, and lonely.  For the first time since I came to the Cape
+I longed for a real friend, not a relative or an acquaintance, but
+a friend to trust and confide in.  Some one, with no string of his
+own to pull, who cared for me because I was myself.
+
+And all the time I had such a friend and did not realize it.  The
+knowledge came to me in this way.  Mother had one of her seizures,
+one of the now infrequent "sinking spells," as the doctor called
+them, on an evening when I was alone with her.  Dorinda and Lute
+had gone, with the horse and buggy, to visit a cousin in Bayport.
+They were to stay over night and return before breakfast the next
+morning.
+
+I was alone in the dining-room when Mother called my name.  There
+was something in her tone which alarmed me and I hastened to her
+bedside.  One glance at her face was enough.
+
+"Boy," she said, weakly, "I am afraid I am going to be ill.  I have
+tried not to alarm you, but I feel faint and I am--you won't be
+alarmed, will you?  I know it is nothing serious."
+
+I told her not to worry and not to talk.  I hurried out to the
+kitchen, got the hot water and the brandy, made her swallow a
+little of the mixture, and bathed her forehead and wrists with
+vinegar, an old-fashioned restorative which Dorinda always used.
+She said she felt better, but I was anxious and, as soon as it was
+safe to leave her, hurried out to bring the doctor.  She begged me
+not to go, because it was beginning to rain and I might get wet,
+but I assured her it was not raining hard, and went.
+
+It was not raining hard when I started, but there was every sign of
+a severe storm close at hand.  It was pitch dark and I was weary
+from stumbling through the bushes and over the rough path when I
+reached the corner of the Lane and the Lower Road.  Then a carriage
+came down that road.  It was an open wagon and George Taylor was
+the driver.  He had been up to the Deans' and was on his way home.
+
+I hailed the vehicle, intending to ask for a ride, but when Taylor
+discovered who his hailer was he insisted on my going back to the
+house.  He would get the doctor, he said, and bring him down at
+once.  I was afraid he would be caught in the storm, and hesitated
+in accepting the offer, but he insisted.  I did go back to the
+house, found Mother in much the same condition as when I left her,
+and had scarcely gotten into the kitchen again when Taylor once
+more appeared.
+
+"I brought Nellie along to stay with your mother," he said.  "The
+Cap'n and the old lady"--meaning Matilda--"were up at the meeting-
+house and we just left a note saying where we'd gone.  Nellie's all
+right.  Between you and me, she don't talk you deaf, dumb and blind
+like her ma, and she's good company for sick folks.  Now I'll fetch
+the doctor and be right back."
+
+"But it's raining pitchforks," I said.  "You'll be wet through."
+
+"No, I won't.  I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time."
+
+He drove off and Nellie Dean went into Mother's room.  I had always
+considered Nellie a milk-and-watery young female, but somehow her
+quiet ways and soft voice seemed just what were needed in a sick
+room.  I left the two together and came out to wait for Taylor and
+the doctor.
+
+But they did not come.  The storm was under full headway now, and
+the wind was dashing the rain in sheets against the windows.  I
+waited nearly an hour and still no sign of the doctor.
+
+Nellie came out of Mother's room and closed the door softly behind
+her.
+
+"She's quiet now," she whispered.  "I think she's asleep.  Where do
+you suppose George is?"
+
+"Goodness knows!" I answered.  "I shouldn't have let him go, a
+night like this."
+
+"I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up.  He's
+dreadful determined when he sets out to be."
+
+"He's a good fellow," I said, to please her.  She worshipped the
+cashier, a fact of which all Denboro was aware, and which caused
+gossip to report that she did the courting for the two.
+
+She blushed and smiled.
+
+"He thinks a lot of you," she observed.  "He's always talking to me
+about you.  It's a good thing you're a man or I should be jealous."
+
+I smiled.  "I seem to be talked about generally, just now," said I.
+
+"Are you?  Oh, you mean about the Shore Lane.  Yes, Pa can't make
+you out about that.  He says you've got something up your sleeve
+and he hasn't decided what it is.  I asked George what Pa meant and
+he just laughed.  He said whatever you had in your sleeve was your
+affair and, if he was any judge of character, it would stay there
+till you got ready to shake it out.  He always stood up for you,
+even before the Shore Lane business happened.  I think he likes you
+better than any one else in Denboro."
+
+"Present company excepted, of course."
+
+"Oh, of course.  If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be
+jealous.  Then," more seriously, "Roscoe, does it seem to you that
+George is worried or troubled about something lately?"
+
+I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the
+bank, and of his remark that he wished he had my chance.  But I
+concealed my thoughts.
+
+"The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't
+it?" I asked.  "I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for
+you."
+
+There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have
+been ashamed.  But she took it literally and as a compliment.  She
+looked at me reproachfully.
+
+"Good enough for me!" she exclaimed.  "He!  Sometimes I wonder if
+it is right for me to be so happy.  I feel almost as if it was
+wrong.  As if something must happen to punish me for it."
+
+I did not answer.  To tell the truth, I was envious.  There was
+real happiness in the world.  This country girl had found it; that
+Mabel Colton would, no doubt, find it some day--unless she married
+her Victor, in which case I had my doubts.  But what happiness was
+in store for me?
+
+Nellie did most of the talking thereafter; principally about
+George, and why he did not come.  At last she went in to see if
+Mother needed her, and, twenty minutes later, when I looked into
+the bedroom, I saw that she had fallen asleep on the couch.
+Mother, too, seemed to be sleeping, and I left them thus.
+
+It was almost eleven o'clock when the sound of carriage wheels in
+the yard brought me to the window and then to the door.  Doctor
+Quimby had come at last and Taylor was with him.  The doctor, in
+his mackintosh and overshoes, was dry enough, but his companion was
+wet to the skin.
+
+"Sorry I'm so late, Ros," said the doctor.  "I was way up to
+Ebenezer Cahoon's in West Denboro.  There's a new edition of
+Ebenezer, made port this morning, and I was a little bit concerned
+about the missus.  She's all right, though.  How's your mother?"
+
+"Better, I think.  She's asleep now.  So is Nellie.  I suppose
+George told you she was with her."
+
+"Yes.  George had a rough passage over that West Denboro road.
+It's bad enough in daylight, but on a night like this--whew!  I
+carried away a wheel turning into Ebenezer's yard, and if George
+hadn't had his team along I don't know how I'd have got here.  I'll
+go right in and see Mrs. Paine."
+
+He left us and I turned to Taylor.
+
+"You're soaked through," I declared.  "Come out to the kitchen
+stove.  What in the world made you drive way up to that forsaken
+place?  It's a good seven miles.  Come out to the kitchen.  Quick!"
+
+He sat down by the stove and put his wet boots on the hearth.  I
+mixed him a glass of the brandy and hot water and handed him a
+cigar.
+
+"Why did you do it, George?" I said.  "I never would have thought
+of asking such a thing."
+
+"I know it," he said.  "Course you wouldn't ask it.  There's plenty
+in this town that would, but you wouldn't.  Maybe that's one reason
+I was so glad to do it for you."
+
+"I am almost sorry you did.  It is too great a kindness altogether.
+I'm afraid I shouldn't have done as much for you."
+
+"Go on!  Yes, you would.  I know you."
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"No, you don't," I answered.  "Captain Jed--your prospective
+father-in-law--said the other day that he had been mistaken; he
+thought he knew me, but he was beginning to find he did not."
+
+"Did he say that?  What did he mean?"
+
+"I imagine he meant he wasn't sure whether I was the fool he had
+believed me to be, or just a sharp rascal."
+
+Taylor looked at me over the edge of his glass.
+
+"You think that's what he meant, do you?"
+
+"I know it."
+
+He put the glass on the floor beside him and laid a hand on my
+knee.
+
+"Ros," he said, "I don't know for sure what the Cap'n meant, though
+if he thinks you're either one of the two he's the fool.  But _I_
+know you--better, maybe, than you know yourself.  At least I
+believe I know you better than any one else in the town."
+
+"That wouldn't be saying much."
+
+"Wouldn't it?  Well, maybe not.  But whose fault is it?  It's
+yours, the way I look at it.  Ros, I've been meaning to have a talk
+with you some day; perhaps this is as good a time as any.  You make
+a big mistake in the way you treat Denboro and the folks in it."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean just that.  Your whole attitude is wrong, has been wrong
+ever since you first came here to live.  You never gave any of us a
+chance to know you and like you--anybody but me, I mean, and even I
+never had but half a chance.  You make a mistake, I tell you.
+There's lots of good folks in this town, lots of 'em.  Cap'n Elisha
+Warren's one of 'em and there's plenty more.  They're countrymen,
+same as I am, but they're good, plain, sensible folks, and they'd
+like to like you if they had a chance.  You belong to the Town
+Improvement Society, but you never go to a meeting.  You ought to
+get out and mix more."
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "I guess my mixing wouldn't be very
+welcome," I said.  "And, besides, I don't care to mix."
+
+"I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same."
+
+"Nonsense!  George, I'm not blind, or deaf.  Don't you suppose I
+know what Warren and Dean and the rest think of me?  They consider
+me a loafer and no good.  I've heard what they say.  I've noticed
+how they treat me."
+
+"How you treat them, you mean.  You are as cold and freezing as a
+cake of ice.  They was willing to be friends but you wouldn't have
+it.  And, as for their calling you a loafer--well, that's your own
+fault, too.  You OUGHT to do something; not work, perhaps, but
+you'd be a whole lot better off if you got really interested in
+something.  Get into politics; get into town affairs; get out and
+know the people you're living with."
+
+"I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know
+me."
+
+"Yes, they do.  I understand how you feel.  In this Shore Lane
+matter now: you think Cap'n Jed and Colton, because they pretend to
+call you a fool, don't respect you for taking the stand you have.
+They do.  They don't understand you, maybe, but they can't help
+respecting you and, if they knew you even as well as I do, they'd
+like you.  Come!  I ain't throwin' any bouquets, but why do you
+suppose I'd be willing to drive to West Denboro forty times over,
+on forty times worse nights than this, for you?  Why?"
+
+"Heaven knows!  Would you?"
+
+"I would.  I like you, Ros.  I took a shine to you the first time I
+met you.  I don't know why exactly.  Why does anybody like anybody
+else?  But I think a whole lot of you.  I know this sounds foolish,
+and you don't feel that way towards me, but it's the truth."
+
+I was amazed.  I had always liked George Taylor, but I never felt
+any strong affection for him.  I was a little less indifferent to
+him than to others in Denboro, that was all.  And I had taken it
+for granted that his liking for me was of the same casual, lukewarm
+variety.  To hear him declare himself in this way was astonishing--
+he, the dry, keen, Yankee banker.
+
+"But why, George?" I repeated.
+
+"I don't know why; I told you that.  It's because I can't help it,
+I suppose.  Or because, as I said, I know you better than any one
+else."
+
+I sighed.  "Nobody knows me here," I said.
+
+"One knows you, Ros.  I know you."
+
+"You may think you do, but you don't.  You can thank God for your
+ignorance."
+
+"Maybe I ain't so ignorant."
+
+I looked at him.  He was looking me straight in the eye.
+
+"What do you know?" I asked, slowly.
+
+"I know, for one thing, that your name ain't Paine."
+
+I could not answer.  I am not certain whether I attempted to speak
+or move.  I do remember that the pressure of his hand on my knee
+tightened.
+
+"It's all right, Ros," he said, earnestly.  "Nobody knows but me,
+and nobody ever shall know if I can help it."
+
+"How--how much do you know?" I stammered.
+
+"Why, pretty much all, I guess.  I've known ever since your mother
+was taken sick.  Some things I read in the paper, and the pictures
+of--of your father, put me on, and afterwards I got more certain of
+it.  But it's all right.  Nobody but me knows or shall know."
+
+I leaned my head on my hand.  He patted my knee, gently.
+
+"Are--are you sure no one else knows?" I asked.
+
+"Certain sure.  There was one time when it might have all come out.
+A reporter fellow from one of the Boston papers got on the track
+somehow and came down here to investigate.  Luckily I was the first
+man he tackled, and I steered him away.  I presume likely I lied
+some, but my conscience is easy so far as that goes."
+
+"And you have told no one?  Not even Nellie?"
+
+"No.  I tell Nellie most things, but not all--not all."
+
+I remembered afterwards that he sighed as he said this and took his
+hand from my knee; but then my agitation was too great to do more
+than casually notice it.  I rose to my feet.
+
+"George!  George!" I cried.  "I--I can't say to you what I should
+like.  But why--WHY did you shield me?  And lie for me?  Why did
+you do it?  I was hardly more than a stranger."
+
+He sighed.  "Don't know," he answered.  "I never could quite see
+why a man's sins should be visited on the widows and fatherless.
+And, of course, I realized that you and your mother changed your
+name and came down here to get away from gossip and talk.  But I
+guess the real reason was that I liked you, Ros.  Love at first
+sight, same as we read about; hey?"
+
+He looked up and smiled.  I seized his hand.
+
+"George," I said, chokingly, "I did not believe I had a real friend
+in the world, except Mother and Dorinda and Lute, of course.  I
+can't thank you enough for shielding us all these years; there's no
+use in my trying.  But if ever I can do anything to help YOU--
+anything--I'll do it.  I'll swear to that."
+
+He shook my hand.
+
+"I know you will, Ros," he said.  "I told you I knew you."
+
+"If ever I can do anything--"
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"There's one thing you can do right now," he said.  "That's get out
+and mix.  That'll please me as much as anything.  And begin right
+off.  Why, see here, the Methodist society is going to give a
+strawberry festival on the meeting-house lawn next Thursday night.
+About everybody's going, Nellie and I included.  You come, will
+you?"
+
+I hesitated.  I had heard about the festival, but I certainly had
+not contemplated attending.
+
+"Come!" he urged.  "You won't say no to the first favor I ask you.
+Promise me you'll be on hand."
+
+Before I could answer, we heard the door of Mother's room open.
+George and I hastened into the dining-room.  Doctor Quimby and
+Nellie Dean were there.  Nellie rushed over to her lover's side.
+
+"You bad boy," she cried.  "You're wet through."
+
+Doctor Quimby turned to me.
+
+"Your ma's getting on all right," he declared.  "About all that
+ails her now is that she wants to see you."
+
+George was assisting Nellie to put on her wraps.
+
+"Got to leave you now, Ros," he said.  "Cap'n Jed and Matildy'll
+think we've eloped ahead of time.  Good-night.  Oh, say, will you
+promise me to take in the strawberry festival?"
+
+"Why" I answered, "I suppose--  Yes, Mother, I'm coming--  Why,
+yes, George, I'll promise, to please you."
+
+I have often wondered since what my life story would have been if I
+had not made that promise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+The Methodist church stood on the slope of a little hill, back from
+the Main Road, and the parsonage was next door.  Between the church
+and the parsonage was a stretch of lawn, dotted with shrubs and
+cedars and shaded by two big silver-leaf poplars.  It was on this
+lawn that, provided the night was fair, the strawberry festival was
+to be held.  If the weather should be unpropitious the festival was
+to be in the church vestry.
+
+All that day Dorinda was busy baking and icing cake.  She was not
+going to the festival--partly because I was going and she could not
+leave Mother--but principally because such affairs were altogether
+too frivolous to fit in her scheme of orthodoxy.  "I don't
+recollect," she said, "that the apostles did much strawberry
+festivalin'; they had other things to attend to."  Lute, however,
+was going and if he had been invited to a Presidential reception he
+could not have been much more excited.  He was dressed and ready at
+supper time, although the festival did not begin until seven-
+thirty.
+
+"Think I'm all right, Dorindy, do you?" he queried, anxiously
+turning himself about for his wife's inspection.  "How about these
+new pants?  Fur enough down on my boots, be they?"
+
+Dorinda looked him over with a critical eye.  "Um-hm," she
+observed, "that end of 'em seems to be all right.  But I cal'late
+the upper end ain't been introduced to your vest yet.  Anyhow, the
+two don't seem to be well enough acquainted to associate close."
+
+Lute bent forward to inspect the hiatus between trousers and
+waistcoat.  "By time!" he exclaimed, "I told Sim Eldredge they was
+too short in the waist.  He said if they was any longer they'd
+wrinkle under the arms.  I don't know what to do.  If I hist 'em up
+they'll be what the fellers call high-water, won't them?"
+
+"Humph!  I'd ruther have 'em high-water than shoal in the middle of
+the channel.  You'll have to average up somehow.  I ought to have
+known better than to trust you to buy anything all by yourself."
+
+She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I
+came downstairs, garbed in my best.
+
+"Humph!" she vouchsafed, after a long look.  "I declare!  I'd
+hardly know you, Roscoe.  You look more as you used to when you
+fust come here to live."
+
+"Thanks," I answered, drily.  "I'm glad to see that you respect old
+age.  This suit is venerable enough to command that kind of
+respect."
+
+"'Tain't the suit, though that's all right enough.  It's the way
+you wear it, I guess.  You look BETTER than you used to.  You're
+browned up and broadened out and it's real becomin'.  But," she
+added, with characteristic caution, "you must remember that good
+looks don't count for much.  My father used to say to me that
+handsome is that handsome does.  Not that I was so homely I'd scare
+the crows, but he didn't want me to be vain.  Now don't fall
+overboard in THAT suit, will you?"
+
+Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good-
+night to her.
+
+"Why, Roscoe!" she exclaimed.  "You must consider this strawberry
+festival very important."
+
+"Why, Mother?"
+
+"Because you've taken such pains to dress for it."
+
+"It did not require a great deal of pains.  I merely put on what
+Dorinda calls my Sunday clothes.  I don't know why I did, either.
+I certainly don't consider the festival important."
+
+"I am glad you did.  I have been a little troubled about you of
+late, Boy.  It has seemed to me that you were growing--well, not
+careless, exactly, but indifferent.  As if you were losing interest
+in life.  I don't blame you.  Compelled to waste your time here in
+the country, a companion to a bedridden old woman like me."
+
+"Hush, Mother.  You're not old; and as to wasting my time--why,
+Mother, you know--"
+
+"Yes, yes, Boy, I know what you would say.  But it does trouble me,
+nevertheless.  I ought to bid you go back into the world, and take
+your place among men.  A hundred times I have been upon the point
+of telling you to leave me, but--but--I am SO selfish."
+
+"Hush, Mother, please."
+
+"Yes, I AM selfish and I know it.  I am growing stronger every day;
+I am sure of it.  Just a little longer, Roscoe, just a little
+longer, and then--"
+
+"Mother, I--"
+
+"There, there!" she stroked my hand.  "We won't be sad, will we.
+It pleases me to see you taking an interest in affairs.  I think
+this Shore Lane matter may be a good thing, after all.  Dorinda
+says that Luther tells her you are becoming very popular in town
+because of your independent stand.  Everyone recognizes your public
+spirit."
+
+"Did she tell you that?"
+
+"Not in those words.  You know Dorinda.  But what amounts to that.
+I am sure the Denboro people are very proud of you."
+
+I thought of my "popularity" and the admiration of my "public
+spirit" as manifested in the attentions of Captain Jed and Eldredge
+and their followers, and I turned my head away so that she might
+not see my face.
+
+"And I am glad you are going to the strawberry festival.  I can't
+remember when you attended such a function before.  Boy--"
+
+"Yes, Mother."
+
+"There isn't any reason, any special reason, for your going, is
+there?"
+
+"Why, what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean--well, you are young and I did not know but, perhaps, some
+one else was going, some one you were interested in, and--and--"
+
+I laughed aloud.  "Mother!" I said, reproachfully.
+
+"Why not?  I am very proud of my handsome boy, and I know that--"
+
+"There! there!  I haven't noticed that my beauty is so fascinating
+as to be dangerous.  No, Mother, there is no 'special reason' for
+my going to-night.  I promised George Taylor, that was all."
+
+"Well, I am sure you will have a good time.  Kiss me, Boy.  Good-
+night."
+
+I was by no means so sure of the good time.  In fact, I loitered on
+my way to the village and it was well past eight o'clock when I
+paid my fifteen cents admission fee to Elnathan Mullet at the gate
+of the church grounds and sauntered up the slope toward the lights
+and gaiety of the strawberry festival.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist society, under whose management the
+affair was given, were fortunate in their choice of an evening.
+The early risen moon shone from a cloudless sky and there was so
+little breeze that the Japanese lanterns, hung above the tables,
+went out only occasionally.  The "beauty and elite of Denboro"--see
+next week's Cape Cod Item--were present in force and, mingling with
+them, or, if not mingling, at least inspecting them with interest,
+were some of the early arrivals among the cottagers from South
+Denboro and Bayport.  I saw Lute, proudly conscious of his new
+lavender trousers, in conversation with Matilda Dean, and I
+wondered who was the winner in that wordy race.  Captain Jedediah
+strutted arm in arm with the minister.  Thoph Newcomb and Alvin
+Baker were there with their wives.  Simeon Eldredge had not yet put
+in an appearance but I knew that he would as soon as the evening
+mail was sorted.
+
+I found Nellie Dean in charge of a table, and George Taylor seated
+at that table.  I walked over and joined them.
+
+"Good evening, Nellie," said I.  "Well, George, here I am, you
+see."
+
+He shook my hand heartily.  "I see you are," he said.  "Good boy!
+How does it seem to splash into society?"
+
+"I haven't splashed yet.  I have only just arrived."
+
+"Oh, trying the feel of the water, hey?  Guess you won't find it
+very chilly.  As a preparatory tonic I'd recommend strawberries and
+cream.  Nellie, get Ros a saucer of those genuine home-raised
+berries, why don't you?"
+
+Nellie laughed.  "Roscoe," she said, "isn't he dreadful!  He knows
+we bought these berries in Boston.  It's much too early for the
+native ones.  But they really are very nice, though he does make
+such fun of them."
+
+She went into the vestry to get the berries and I sat down at the
+table beside Taylor and looked about me.
+
+"Most everybody's here," he observed.  "And they'll be glad to see
+you, Ros.  Get out and shake hands and be sociable, after you've
+done your duty by the fruit.  How are things at home?"
+
+"Mother is herself again, I am glad to say.  George, I have
+scarcely thought of anything except what you told me the other
+night."
+
+"Then it's time you did.  That's one reason why I wanted you to
+come here.  You've been thinking too much about yourself."
+
+"It isn't of myself, but of Mother.  If you had dropped a hint when
+that Boston reporter came--"
+
+"Now, look here, Ros, would YOU have dropped hints if things had
+been the other way around?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"I know you wouldn't.  What's the use of giving the Denboro gossip
+mill a chance to run over time?  Great heavens! it works twelve
+hours a day as 'tis."
+
+"It was mighty good of you, just the same."
+
+"No, it wasn't.  The whole affair was your business and nobody
+else's."
+
+"Well, as I said before, if ever I have an opportunity to do as
+much for you--not that I ever will."
+
+"How do you know you won't?  Anybody's liable to be gossiped about
+some time or other."
+
+"Not you.  You are Denboro's shining light.  The mothers and
+fathers here point you out as an example of what industry and
+ambition and honest effort may rise to.  I--"
+
+"Shut up!"  He said it almost savagely.  "There!" he added,
+quickly, "let's change the subject.  Talk about something worth
+while.  Humph!  I guess they must be opening another crate of those
+Boston 'homegrowns,' judgin' by the time it takes Nellie to get
+your sample."
+
+"I am in no hurry.  How are affairs at the bank?"
+
+"Oh, so, so.  Don't know a good man who wants a job, do you?  Henry
+Small's going to leave the middle of next month."
+
+"Small, the bookkeeper?  Why?"
+
+"Got a better chance up to the city.  I don't blame him.  Don't
+tell anybody yet; it's a secret.  Say, Ros, DO you know of a good,
+sharp, experienced fellow?"
+
+I smiled.  "Is it likely?" I asked.  "How large is my acquaintance
+among sharp, experienced fellows down here?"
+
+"Not so large as it ought to be, I'll give in to that.  But you
+know one."
+
+"Do I, indeed?  Who is he?"
+
+"Yourself.  You wouldn't take Small's job, would you?"
+
+"I?"  I laughed aloud.
+
+"It's no joke.  You've had a lot of banking experience.  I've heard
+about it among my city friends, who don't know I know you.  Course
+I realize the place is way beneath what you ought to have, but--"
+
+"Oh, don't be sarcastic.  No, thank you, George."
+
+"All right, if you say so.  But I meant it.  You don't need the
+salary, I know.  But--Ros, do you mind if I talk plain for a
+moment?"
+
+I wondered what was coming now.  "No," I answered.  "Go ahead and
+talk."
+
+"Well then, I tell you, as a friend, that 'twould be a good thing
+for you if you did take that job, or some other one.  Don't make
+much matter what it is, but you ought to do something.  You're too
+clever a fellow to be hanging around, shooting and fishing.  You're
+wasting your life."
+
+"That was wasted long ago."
+
+"No, it wasn't.  But it will be if you don't change pretty soon.  I
+tell you you ought to get interested in something that counts.  You
+might make a big name for yourself yet."
+
+"That's enough of that.  I have a name already.  You know it, and
+you know what was made of it."
+
+"YOU didn't make it that kind of a name, did you?  And you're young
+enough to make it something altogether different.  You ought to.
+You owe it to your mother and you owe it to yourself.  As it is, if
+you keep on, you'll--"
+
+"George, you've said enough.  No one but you would have been
+permitted to say as much.  You don't understand."
+
+"Maybe not, but, Ros, I don't like to have people around here call
+you--"
+
+"I don't care a continental what they call me.  I don't want them
+to know who I am, but for public opinion generally I care nothing."
+
+He leaned back in his chair.  His face was in shadow and I could
+not see it, but his tone was grave enough.
+
+"You think you don't," he said, slowly, "but there may come a time
+when you will.  There may come a time when you get so interested in
+something, or some person, that the thought of what folks would say
+if--if anything went wrong would keep you awake night after night.
+Oh, I tell you, Ros--  Hello, Nellie! thought you'd gone South to
+pick those berries yourself.  Two saucers full!  Well, I suppose I
+must eat the other to save it--unless Ros here wants both."
+
+I said one would be quite sufficient for the present, and we three
+chatted until Mrs. Dean came over and monopolized the chat.
+
+"Don't go, Roscoe," protested the matron.  "The Cap'n's here and
+he'll want to talk to you.  He's dreadful interested in you just
+now.  Don't talk about nobody else, scurcely.  You set still and
+I'll go fetch him."
+
+But I refused to "set."  I knew the cause of Captain Jedediah's
+interest, and what he wished to talk about.  I rose and announced
+that I would stroll about a bit.  Taylor spoke to me as I was
+leaving.
+
+"Ros," he said, earnestly, "you think of what I told you, will
+you?"
+
+I saw a group of people hurrying toward the entrance of the grounds
+and I followed them, curious as to the cause of the excitement.  An
+automobile had stopped by the gate.  Sim Eldredge came hastening up
+and seized me by the arm.
+
+"Gosh! it's Ros," he exclaimed, in his mysterious whisper.  "I
+hadn't seen you afore; just got here myself.  But I'm glad you ARE
+here.  I'll see that you and him get a chance to talk private."
+
+"Who?" I asked, trying to pull my arm free.
+
+"Why, Mr. Colton.  Didn't you know?  Yes, sir, that's his car.
+He's come and so's his daughter and that young Carver feller.  I
+believe they've come to take in the sociable.  There they be!  See
+'em!  See 'em!"
+
+I saw them.  Colton and Victor had already alighted and Miss Colton
+was descending from the tonneau.  There were two other men in the
+car, beside Oscar, the chauffeur.
+
+"Who are those other people?" I asked.
+
+"I don't know," whispered Sim, excitedly.  "Stay where you be and
+I'll find out.  I'll be right back, now.  Don't you move."
+
+I did not move, not because he had ordered me to stay where I was,
+but because I was curious.  The spot where I stood was in shadow
+and I knew they could not see me.
+
+Colton and his daughter were talking with Victor, who remained by
+the step of the auto.
+
+"Well, Mabel," observed "Big Jim," "here we are, though why I don't
+know.  I hope you enjoy this thing more than I am likely to."
+
+"Of course I shall enjoy it, Father.  Look at the decorations.
+Aren't they perfectly WONDERFUL!"
+
+"Especially the color scheme," drawled Victor.  "Mabel, I call your
+attention to the red, blue and purple lanterns.  Some class?  Yes?
+Well, I must go.  I'll be back in a very short time.  If Parker
+wasn't starting for Europe to-morrow I shouldn't think of leaving,
+but I'm sure you'll forgive me, under the circumstances."
+
+"I forgive you, Victor," replied the girl, carelessly.  "But don't
+be too long."
+
+"No, don't," added her father.  "I promised Mrs. Colton that I
+should not be away more than an hour.  She's very nervous to-night
+and I may be sent for any time.  So don't keep us waiting."
+
+"No fear of that.  I'll be back long before you are ready to go.  I
+wouldn't miss this--er--affair myself for something.  Ah, our
+combination friend, the undertaking postmaster."
+
+Sim's hat was in his hand and he was greeting Mr. Colton.
+
+"Proud to see you amongst us, sir," said Sim, with unction.  "The
+Methodist folks are havin' quite a time to-night, ain't they?"
+
+"How d'ye do, Eldredge," was the great man's salutation, not at all
+effusive.  "Where does all this crowd come from?  Didn't know there
+were so many people in the neighborhood."
+
+"'Most everybody's out to-night.  Church'll make consider'ble
+money.  Good evenin', Miss Colton.  Mr. Carver, pleased to meet you
+again, sir."
+
+The young lady merely nodded.  Victor, whose foot was on the step
+of the car, did not deign to turn.
+
+"Thanks," he drawled.  "I am--er--embalmed, I'm sure.  All ready,
+Phil.  Let her go, Oscar."
+
+The auto moved off.  Mr. Colton gave his arm to his daughter and
+they moved through the crowd, Eldredge acting as master of
+ceremonies.
+
+"It's all right, Elnathan," ordered Sim, addressing the gate-
+keeper.  "Don't bother Mr. Colton about the admission now.  I'll
+settle with you, myself, later.  Now, Mr. Colton, you and the lady
+come right along with me.  Ain't met the minister yet, have you?
+He said you wan't to home when he called.  And you let me get you
+some strawberries.  They're fust-rate, if I do say it."
+
+He led the way toward the tables.  I watched the progress from
+where I stood.  It was interesting to see how the visitors were
+treated by the different groups.  Some, like Sim, were gushing and
+obsequious.  A few, Captain Jed among them, walked stubbornly by,
+either nodding coldly or paying no attention.  Others, like George
+Taylor and Doctor Quimby, were neither obsequious nor cold, merely
+bowing pleasantly and saying, "Good evening," as though greeting
+acquaintances and equals.  Yes, there WERE good people in Denboro,
+quiet, unassuming, self-respecting citizens.
+
+One of them came up to me and spoke.
+
+"Hello, Ros," said Captain Elisha Warren, "Sim's havin' the time of
+his life, isn't he?"
+
+"He seems to be," I replied.
+
+"Yes.  Well, there's some satisfaction in havin' a thick shell;
+then you don't mind bein' stepped on.  Yet, I don't know; sometimes
+I think fellers of Sim's kind enjoy bein' stepped on, provided the
+boot that does it is patent leather."
+
+"I wonder why they came here," I mused.
+
+"Who? the Coltons?  Why, for the same reason children go to the
+circus, I shouldn't wonder--to laugh at the clowns.  I laugh myself
+sometimes--though 'tain't always at their kind of clowns.  Speakin'
+of that, young Carver's in good company this evenin', ain't he?"
+
+"Who were those fellows in the auto?" I asked.
+
+"Didn't you recognize them?  One was Phil Somers--son of the rich
+widow who owns the big cottage at Harniss.  'Tother is a bird of
+the same flock down visitin' em.  Carver's takin' 'em over to
+Ostable to say good-by to another specimen, a college mate, who is
+migratin' to Europe tomorrow.  The chauffeur told Dan, my man,
+about it this afternoon.  The chauffeur figgered that, knowin' the
+crowd, 'twas likely to be a lively farewell.  Hello! there's Abbie
+hailin' me.  See you later, Ros."
+
+I knew young Somers by reputation.  He and his friends were a wild
+set, if report was true.
+
+Eldredge had hinted that he intended arranging an interview between
+Colton and myself.  The prospect did not appeal to me.  At first I
+decided to go home at once, but something akin to Captain Dean's
+resentful stubbornness came over me.  I would not be driven home by
+those people.  I found an unoccupied camp chair--one of Sim's,
+which he rented for funerals--and carried it to a dark spot in the
+shrubbery near the border of the parsonage lawn and not far from
+the gate.  There I seated myself, lit a cigar and smoked in
+solitude.
+
+Elnathan Mullet, evidently considering his labors as door-keeper
+over, was counting his takings by lantern light.  The moon was low
+in the west and a little breeze was now stirring the shrubbery.  It
+was very warm for the season and I mentally prophesied thunder
+showers before morning.
+
+I had smoked my cigar perhaps half through when a carriage came
+down the road and stopped before the gate.  The driver leaned
+forward and called to Mullet.
+
+"Hi, Uncle!" he shouted.  "You, by the gate!  Is Mr. Colton here?"
+
+Elnathan, who was, apparently, half asleep, looked up.
+
+"Hey?" he queried.  "Mr. Colton?  Yes, he's here.  Want him, do
+you?"
+
+"Yes.  Where is he?"
+
+"Up yonder somewheres.  There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table.  Mr.
+Colton!  Mr. Col--ton!  Somebody wants ye!"
+
+"What in blazes did you yell like that for?" protested the
+coachman, springing from the carriage.  "Stop it, d'ye hear?"
+
+"You said you wanted him, didn't you?  Mr. Colton!  Hi!  Come
+here!"
+
+Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more
+slowly.
+
+"What's the matter?" he asked.
+
+The coachman touched his hat.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "this man started yelling before
+I could stop him.  I was coming to tell you.  Mrs. Colton says
+she's very nervous, sir, and please come home at once."
+
+Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter.  "We might have
+expected it, Mabel," he said.  "Come."
+
+But the young lady seemed to hesitate.  "I believe I won't go yet,
+Father," she said.  "Mother doesn't need both of us.  Victor will
+be here very soon, and we promised to wait for him, you know."
+
+"We can leave word.  You'd better come, Mabel.  Heavens and earth!
+you don't want any MORE of this, do you?"
+
+It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival.  She
+laughed lightly.
+
+"I'm finding it very entertaining," she said.  "I never saw so many
+quaint people.  There is one girl, a Miss Dean, whom I am really
+getting acquainted with.  She's as country as can be, but she's
+very interesting."
+
+"Humph! she must be.  Dean, hey?  Daughter of my particular friend,
+the ancient mariner, I suppose.  I don't like to leave you here.
+What shall I tell your mother?"
+
+"Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company."
+
+"Humph!  I can imagine how respectable she'll think it is.  Well, I
+know it's useless to urge if you have made up your mind.  I don't
+see where you get your stubbornness from."
+
+"Don't you?  I can guess."
+
+"It isn't from your dad.  Now do be careful, won't you?  If Victor
+doesn't come soon I shall send the carriage."
+
+"Oh, he will come.  It's all right, Father, dear.  I am quite able
+to take care of myself."
+
+Her father shook his head.  "Yes," he observed, "I guess you are.
+All right, Jenkins."
+
+He got into the carriage and was driven off.  Miss Colton turned
+and walked back to the tables.  I relit my cigar.
+
+Another half-hour passed.
+
+Mullet finished his counting, took up his money box and lantern and
+left the gate unguarded.  Groups of home-going people began to come
+down the hill.  Horses, which had been standing under the church
+sheds or hitched in neighboring yards, appeared and the various
+buggies and two-seaters to which they were attached were filled and
+driven away.  Captain Warren and Miss Abbie Baker, his housekeeper,
+were among the first to leave.  Abijah Hammond, the sexton, began
+taking down the lanterns.  The strawberry festival was almost over.
+
+I rose from my camp chair and prepared to start for home.  As I
+stepped from behind the shrubbery the moonlight suddenly went out,
+as if it had been turned off like a gas jet.  Except for the few
+remaining lanterns and the gleams from the church windows and door
+the darkness was complete.  I looked at the western sky.  It was
+black, and low down along the horizon flashes of lightning were
+playing.  My prophecy of showers was to be fulfilled.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist Society, assisted by their husbands and
+male friends, were hurrying the tables and chairs indoors.  I
+picked up and folded the chair I had been occupying and joined the
+busy group.  It was so dark that faces were almost invisible, but I
+recognized Sim Eldredge by his voice, and George Taylor and I
+bumped into each other as we seized the same table.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" exclaimed the cashier.  "Thought you'd gone.  Going
+to have a tempest, ain't we."
+
+"Tempest" is Cape Cod for thunderstorm.  I agreed that one was
+imminent.
+
+"Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry," continued Taylor,
+"and I'll drive you home.  I'll be ready pretty soon."
+
+I declined the invitation.  "I'll walk," I answered.  "You have
+Nellie to look after.  If you have a spare umbrella I'll borrow
+that.  Where is Nellie?"
+
+"Oh, she's over yonder with Miss Colton.  They have been making
+each other's acquaintance.  Say, Ros, she's a good deal of a girl,
+that Colton one, did you know it?"
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Oh, I know you're down on the whole lot of 'em," he added,
+laughing; "but she is, just the same.  Kind of top-lofty and
+condescending, but that's the fault of her bringing-up.  She's all
+right underneath.  Too good for that Carver cub.  By the way, if he
+doesn't come pretty soon I'll phone her pa to send the carriage for
+her.  If I was Colton I wouldn't put much confidence in Carver's
+showing up in a hurry.  You saw the gang he was with, didn't you?
+They don't get home till morning, till daylight doth appear, as a
+usual thing.  Hello! that's the carriage now, ain't it?  Guess papa
+wasn't taking any chances."
+
+Sure enough, there were the lights of a carriage at the gate, and I
+heard the voice of Jenkins, the coachman, shouting.  Nellie Dean
+called Taylor's name and he hurried away.  A few moments later he
+returned.
+
+"She's off, safe and sound," he said.  "I judged she wasn't any too
+well pleased with her Victor for not showing up to look out for
+her."
+
+A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of
+thunder followed.
+
+"Right on top of us, ain't it!" exclaimed George.  "Sure you don't
+want me to drive you home?  All right; just as you say.  Hold on
+till I get you that umbrella."
+
+He borrowed an umbrella from the parsonage.  I took it, thanked
+him, and hastened out of the church grounds.  I looked up the road
+as I passed through the gate.  I could have seen an auto's lamps
+for a long distance, but there were none in sight.  With a
+malicious chuckle I thought that my particular friend Victor was
+not taking the surest way of making himself popular with his
+fiancee, if that was what she was.
+
+The storm overtook me before I was half-way down the Lower Road.  A
+few drops of rain splashed the leaves.  A lightning stroke so near
+and sharp that I fancied I could hear the hiss was accompanied by a
+savage thunder-clap.  Then came the roar of wind in the trees by
+the roadside and down came the rain.  I put up my umbrella and
+began to run.  We have few "tempests" in Denboro, those we do have
+are almost worthy of the name.
+
+I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from
+the Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging
+a horse drawing a covered carriage.  I had sprung to one side to
+let it go by when I heard a man's voice shouting, "Whoa!"  The
+voice did not come from the carriage but from the road behind it.
+
+"Whoa!  Stop him!" it shouted.
+
+I jumped back into the road.  The horse saw me appear directly in
+front of him, shied and reared.  The carriage lamps were lighted
+and by their light I saw the reins dragging.  I seized them and
+held on.  It was all involuntary.  I was used to horses and this
+one was frightened, that was all.
+
+"Whoa, boy!" I ordered.  "Whoa!  Stand still!"
+
+The horse had no intention of standing still.
+
+He continued to rear and plunge.  I, clinging to the reins, found
+myself running alongside.  I had to run to avoid the wheels.  But I
+ran as slowly as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made
+running, on the animal's part, a much less easy exercise.
+
+The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment,
+a man seized the reins beside me.  Together we managed to pull the
+horse into a walk.  Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton
+coachman, vented his feelings in a comprehensive burst of
+profanity.  I interrupted the service.
+
+"What is the matter?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, this blessed--"or words to that effect--"horse is scared of
+thunder; that's all.  He's a new one; we just bought him before we
+came down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks.  Whoa! stand
+still, or I'll break your dumb neck!  Say," turning to me, "go
+back, will you, and see if she's all right."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Miss Colton--the old man's daughter.  She got out when he began to
+dance and I was holding him by the bridle.  Then came that big
+flash and he broke loose.  Go back and see to her, will you?  I
+can't leave this horse."
+
+For just a moment I hesitated.  I am ashamed of my hesitation now,
+but this is supposed to be a truthful chronicle.  Then I went back
+down the road.  By another flash of lightning I saw the minister's
+umbrella upside down in the bushes where I had dropped it, and I
+took it with me.  I was about as wet as I well could be but I am
+glad to say I remembered that the umbrella was a borrowed one.
+
+After I had walked, or stumbled, or waded a little way I stopped
+and called.
+
+"Miss Colton," I called.  "Where are you?"
+
+"Here," came the answer from just ahead.  "Is that you, Jenkins?"
+
+I did not reply until I reached her side.
+
+"You are not hurt?" I asked.
+
+"No, not at all.  But who is it?"
+
+"I am--er--your neighbor.  Paine is my name."
+
+"Oh!" the tone was not enthusiastic.  "Where is Jenkins?"
+
+"He is attending to the horse.  Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't
+you take this umbrella?"
+
+This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd.  "Why, thank you,"
+she said, "but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this
+storm.  Is the horse all right?"
+
+"Yes, though he is very much frightened.  I--"
+
+I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from
+directly overhead.  The young lady came closer to me.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed.
+
+I had an idea.  The flash had made our surroundings as light as day
+for an instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house,
+untenanted, abandoned and falling to decay.  I took Miss Colton's
+arm.
+
+"Come!" I said.
+
+She hung back.  "Where are you going?" she asked.
+
+"Just across the road to that old house.  On the porch we shall be
+out of the rain."
+
+She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the
+wet grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds.  I presume I
+shall never again smell the spicy fragrance of "old maids' pinks"
+without thinking of that night.
+
+I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my
+shins against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards.  My
+sanguine statement that we should be out of the rain proved not
+quite true.  There was a roof above us, but it leaked.  I unfurled
+the wet umbrella and held it over her head.
+
+For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke.
+The roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash
+and gurgle all about us would have made conversation difficult,
+even if we had wished to talk.  I, for one, did not.  At last she
+said:
+
+"Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?"
+
+I listened, or tried to.  I was wondering myself what had become of
+the coachman.
+
+"No," I answered, "I don't hear him."
+
+"Where do you suppose he is?  He could not have been far away when
+you met him."
+
+"He was not.  And I know he intended to come back at once."
+
+"You don't suppose Caesar--the horse--ran away again?  When that
+second crack came?"
+
+I was wondering that very thing.  That particular thunder clap was
+louder and more terrifying than those preceding it.  However, there
+was no use in alarming her.
+
+"I guess not," I answered.  "He'll be here soon, I am sure."
+
+But he did not come.  The storm seemed to be passing over.  The
+flashes were just as frequent, but there was a longer interval
+between each flash and its thunder peal.  The rain was still a
+steady downpour.
+
+Miss Colton was plainly growing more anxious.
+
+"Where can he be?" she murmured.
+
+"Don't be frightened," I urged.  "He is all right.  I'll go and
+look him up, if you don't mind being left alone."
+
+"Can't--can't we go together?"
+
+"We could, of course, but there is no use in your getting wetter
+than you are.  If you are willing to stay here I will run up the
+road and see if I can find him."
+
+"Thank you.  But you will get wet yourself."
+
+"Oh, I am wet already.  Take the umbrella.  I'll be back in a
+minute."
+
+I pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand--it was as
+steady as mine--and darted out into the flood.  I think she called
+me to come back, but I did not obey.  I ran up the road until I was
+some distance beyond the point where I had stopped the runaway, but
+there were no signs of horse, carriage or coachman.  I called
+repeatedly, but got no reply.  Then, reluctantly, I gave it up and
+returned to the porch.
+
+She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed, "did you find him?"
+
+"No," I answered.  "He seems to have gone on.  He cannot have gone
+far.  It is only a little way to the Corners."
+
+"Is--isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near
+this place?"
+
+"No nearer than your house, Miss Colton.  We seem to have chosen
+the most forsaken spot in Denboro to be cast away in.  I am very
+sorry."
+
+"I am not frightened for myself.  But I know my father and mother
+will be alarmed if I don't come soon.  I am sure Caesar must have
+run away again, and I am afraid Jenkins must be hurt."
+
+I had thought of that, too.  Only an accident could explain the
+coachman's non-appearance or, at least, his not sending help to his
+mistress.
+
+"If you are really not afraid to remain here, Miss Colton," I said,
+"I will go to your house myself."
+
+"Oh no!  Some one will come soon.  I can't understand where Victor--
+Mr. Carver--can be.  He was to have joined me at the church."
+
+I did not answer.  Knowing Mr. Carver's associates and the errand
+upon which he had gone, I imagined I could guess the cause of his
+delay.  But I did not speak my guess.
+
+"The storm is not as severe just now," I said.  "I can get to your
+house in a little while, if you are willing I should leave you."
+
+She put her hand on my arm.  "Come," she said.  "Shall we start
+now?"
+
+"But you must not go.  You couldn't get there on foot, such a night
+as this."
+
+"Yes, I can.  I mean to.  Please come."
+
+I still hesitated.  She took her hand from my arm and stepped out
+into the rain.  "Are you coming?" she said.
+
+I joined her, still protesting.  We splashed on through the mud and
+water, she clinging lightly to my arm and I holding the perfectly
+useless umbrella over her head.  The rain was descending steadily
+and the sky overhead was just black, but along the western horizon,
+as I caught a glimpse of it between the trees, I fancied the
+blackness was a little less opaque.  The storm was passing over,
+sure enough.
+
+But before it passed it gave us one goodby salute.  We had about
+reached the point on the Shore Lane where I first met her and
+Carver in the auto.  The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook
+was just ahead.  Then, without warning, the black night split wide
+open, a jagged streak of fire shot from heaven to earth and seemed
+to explode almost in our faces.  I was almost knocked off my feet
+and my fingers tingled as if I had been holding the handles of an
+electric battery.  The umbrella flew out of my hands and, so far as
+I was concerned, vanished utterly.  I believe Elnathan picked up
+the ruin next day, but just then I neither knew nor cared what had
+become of it.  I had other things to think of.
+
+But for a moment I could not think at all.  I was conscious of a
+great crashing and rustling and splintering directly in front of me
+and then I realized that the young lady was no longer clinging to
+my arm.  I looked about and up through the darkness.  Then down.
+She was lying at my feet.
+
+I bent over her.
+
+"Miss Colton!" I cried.  "Miss Colton!  Are you hurt?"
+
+She neither answered nor moved.  My brain was still numb from the
+electric shock and I had a dazed fear that she might be dead.  I
+shook her gently and she moaned.  I spoke again and again, but she
+did not answer, nor try to rise.  The rain was pouring down upon us
+and I knew she must not lie there.  So once more, just as I had
+done in the dingy, but now under quite different circumstances and
+with entirely different feelings, I stooped and lifted her in my
+arms.
+
+My years of outdoor life in Denboro had had one good effect at
+least; they had made me strong.  I carried her with little effort
+to the bridge.  And there I stopped.  The bridge was blocked,
+covered with a mass of wet leafy branches and splintered wood.  The
+lightning bolt had missed us by just that much.  It had overthrown
+and demolished the big willow tree by the brook and to get through
+or over the tangle was impossible.
+
+So again history repeated itself.  I descended the bank at the side
+of the bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my
+arms.  I staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on.  She lay
+quiet, her head against my shoulder.  Her hat had fallen off and a
+wet, fragrant strand of her hair brushed my cheek.  Once I stopped
+and bent my head to listen, to make sure that she was breathing.
+She was, I felt her breath upon my face.  Afterwards I remembered
+all this; just then I was merely thankful that she was alive.
+
+I had gone but a little way further when she stirred in my arms and
+spoke.
+
+"What is it?" she asked.  "What is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing," I answered, with a sigh of relief.  "It is all right.
+We shall be there soon."
+
+"But what is the matter?  Why are you--let me walk, please."
+
+"You had better stay as you are.  You are almost home."
+
+"But why are you carrying me?  What is the matter?"
+
+"You--you fainted, I think.  The lightning--"
+
+"Oh yes, I remember.  Did I faint?  How ridiculous!  Please let me
+walk now.  I am all right.  Really I am."
+
+"But I think--"
+
+"Please.  I insist."
+
+I set her gently on her feet.  She staggered a little, but she was
+plucky and, after a moment, was able to stand and walk, though
+slowly.
+
+"You are sure you can manage it?" I asked.
+
+"Of course!  But why did I faint?  I never did such a thing before
+in my life."
+
+"That flash was close to us.  It struck the big willow by the
+brook."
+
+"Did it!  As near as that?"
+
+"Yes.  Don't try to talk."
+
+"But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all.  Are we almost
+home?"
+
+"Yes.  Those are the lights of your house ahead there."
+
+We moved on more rapidly.  As we turned in at the Colton walk she
+said, "Why; it has stopped raining."
+
+It had, though I had not noticed it.  The flash which smashed the
+willow had been the accompaniment of what Lute would call the
+"clearing-up shower."  The storm was really over.
+
+We stepped up on the portico of the big house and I rang the bell.
+The butler opened the door.  His face, as he saw the pair of
+dripping, bedraggled outcasts before him, was worth looking at.  He
+was shocked out of his dignity.
+
+"Why!  Why, Miss Mabel!" he stammered, with almost human agitation.
+"What--"
+
+A voice, a petulant female voice, called from the head of the
+stairs.
+
+"Johnson," it quavered, "who is it?  Mabel, is that you?"
+
+The library door flew open and Mr. Colton himself appeared.
+
+"Eh?  What?" he exclaimed.  "By George!  Mabel, where have you
+been?  I have been raising heaven and earth to locate you.  The
+'phone seems to be out of order and--  Great Scott, girl! you're
+wet through.  Jenkins, what--?  Hey?  Why, it isn't Jenkins!"
+
+The fact that his daughter's escort was not the coachman had just
+dawned upon him.  He stared at me in irate bewilderment.  Before he
+could ask a question or his daughter could speak or explain there
+came a little shriek from the stairs, a rustle of silken skirts,
+and a plump, white-faced woman in an elaborate house gown rushed
+across the hall with both white arms outstretched.
+
+"Mabel!" she cried, "where HAVE you been.  You poor child!  I have
+been almost beside myself, and--"
+
+Miss Colton laughingly avoided the rush.  "Take care, Mother," she
+warned.  "I am very wet."
+
+"Wet?  Why! you're absolutely drenched!  Jenkins--  Mabel, where is
+Jenkins?  And who is this--er--person?"
+
+I thought it quite time for me to withdraw.
+
+"Good night, Miss Colton," I said, and stepped toward the door.
+But "Big Jim" roared my name.
+
+"It's that--it's Paine!" he exclaimed.  "Here! what does this mean,
+anyway?"
+
+I think his daughter was about to explain, when there came another
+interruption.  From the driveway sounded the blare of an auto horn.
+Johnson threw open the door just as the big car whirled up to the
+porch.
+
+"Here we are!" laughed Carver, emerging from behind the drawn
+curtains of the machine.  "Home again from a foreign shore.  Come
+in, fellows, and have a drink.  We've had water enough for one
+night.  Come in."
+
+He stumbled as he crossed the sill, recovered his balance, laughed,
+and then all at once seemed to become aware of the group in the
+hall.  He looked about him, swaying a little as he did so.
+
+"Ah, Mabel!" he exclaimed, genially.  "Got here first, didn't you?
+Sorry I was late, but it was all old Parker's fault.  Wouldn't let
+us say goodby.  But we came some when we did come.  The bridge is
+down and we made Oscar run her right through the water.  Great ex-
+experience.  Hello!  Why, what's matter?  Who's this?  What? it's
+Reuben, isn't it!  Mabel, what on earth--"
+
+She paid no attention to him.  I was at the door when she overtook
+me.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, "I am very grateful for your kindness.  Both
+for what you have done tonight and for your help the other
+afternoon.  Thank you."
+
+She held out her hand.  I took it, scarcely knowing that I did so.
+
+"Thank you," she said, again.  I murmured something or other and
+went out.  As I stepped from the porch I heard Victor's voice.
+
+"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed.  "Mabel!"
+
+I looked back.  He was standing by the door.  She went past him
+without replying or even looking at him.  From the automobile I
+heard smothered chuckles and exclamations.  The butler closed the
+door.
+
+I walked home as fast as I could.  Dorinda was waiting up for me.
+What she said when she saw the ruin of my Sunday suit had better
+not be repeated.  She was still saying it when I took my lamp and
+went up to bed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The strawberry festival and the "tempest" were, of course, the
+subjects most discussed at the breakfast table next morning.  Lute
+monopolized the conversation, a fact for which I was thankful, for
+it enabled me to dodge Dorinda's questions as to my own adventures.
+I did not care to talk about the latter.  My feelings concerning
+them were curiously mixed.  Was I glad or sorry that Fate had
+chosen me to play once more the role of rescuer of a young female
+in distress?  That my playing of the role had altered my standing
+in Mabel Colton's mind I felt reasonably sure.  Her words at
+parting with me rang true.  She was grateful, and she had shaken
+hands with me.  Doubtless she would tell her father the whole story
+and he, too, in common decency, would be grateful to me for helping
+his daughter.  But, after all, did I care for gratitude from that
+family?  And what form would that gratitude take?  Would Colton,
+like Victor Carver, offer to pay me for my services?  No, hardly
+that, I thought.  He was a man of wide experience and, if he did
+offer payment, it would be in some less crude form than a five
+dollar bill.
+
+But I did not want payment in any form.  I did not want condescension
+and patronizing thanks.  I did not want anything--that was it.  Up
+to now, the occupants of the big house and I had been enemies, open
+and confessed.  I had, so far as possible, kept out of their way and
+hoped they would keep out of mine.  But now the situation was more
+complicated.  I did not know what to expect.  Of course there was no
+chance of our becoming friends.  The difference in social position,
+as they reckoned it, made that too ridiculous to consider as a
+possibility, even if I wished it, which I distinctly did not.  But
+something, an interview, awkward and disagreeable for both sides, or
+a patronizing note of thanks, was, at the very least, certain to
+follow the happenings of the previous night.  I wished I had gone
+home when the Coltons first came to the festival.  I wished I had
+not promised Taylor that I would attend that festival.  I wished--I
+wished a great many things.  The thought of young Carver's public
+snubbing before his friends was my one unmixed satisfaction.  I
+rather imagined that he was more uncomfortable than I was or could
+be.
+
+Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving
+for home early.
+
+"I don't know how 'twas," he declared.  "Somethin' seemed to tell
+me we was in for a turrible tempest.  I was settin' talkin' with
+Alvin Baker and eatin' my second sasser of berries, when--"
+
+"SECOND sasser?" interrupted Dorinda, sharply.  "Where'd you get
+money for two sassers?  I gave you thirty cents when you started
+for that festival.  It cost you fifteen to get inside the gate, and
+Matildy Dean told me the church folks was cal'latin' to charge
+fifteen for a helpin' of berries and cream.  And you had two
+sassers, you say.  Who paid for the second one?"
+
+Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying.  Then
+his reply had nothing to do with the question.
+
+"I don't know how 'twas," he went on.  "I just had the feelin',
+that's all.  Sort of a present--presentuary, I guess, come over me.
+I looked up at the sky and 'twas gettin' black, and then I looked
+to the west-ard and I see a flash of lightnin'.  'Nothin' but heat
+lightnin',' says Alvin.  'Heat lightnin' nothin'!' says I, 'I tell
+you--"
+
+"Who paid for that second sasser of berries?" repeated his wife,
+relentlessly.
+
+"Why now, Dorindy--"
+
+"Who paid for 'em?  If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of
+yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles."
+
+"Alvin!  Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he
+didn't have to?"
+
+"Never mind what I know.  Did you get trusted for 'em?  How many
+times have I told you--"
+
+"I never got trusted.  I ain't that kind.  And I didn't sponge 'em,
+neither.  I paid cash, right out of my own pocket, like a man."
+
+"You did!  Um-hm.  I want to know!  Well then--MAN, where did the
+cash in that pocket come from?"
+
+Lute squirmed.  "I--I--" he stammered.
+
+"Where did it come from?  Answer me."
+
+"Well--well, Dorindy, you see--when you sent me up to the store
+t'other day after the brown sugar and--and number 50 spool cotton
+you give me seventy-five cents.  You remember you did, yourself."
+
+"Yes, and I remember you said there was a hole in your pocket and
+you lost the change.  I ain't likely to forget it, and I shouldn't
+think you'd be."
+
+"I didn't forget.  By time! my ears ain't done singin' yet.  But
+that shows how reckless you talk to me.  I never lost that change
+at all.  I found it afterwards in my vest, so all your jawin' was
+just for nothin'.  Ros, she ought to beg my pardon, hadn't she?
+Hadn't she now?"
+
+Dorinda saved me the trouble of answering.
+
+"Um-hm!" she observed, dryly.  "Well, I'll beg my own pardon
+instead, for bein' so dumb as not to go through your vest myself.
+So THAT'S where the other fifteen cents come from!  I see.  Well,
+you march out to the woodpile and chop till I tell you to quit."
+
+"But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells.  I don't feel
+real good this mornin'.  I told you I didn't."
+
+"Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought
+to feel good.  Exercise is fine for dyspepsy.  You march."
+
+Lute marched, and I marched with him as far as the back yard.
+There I left him, groaning before the woodpile, and went down to
+the boat house.
+
+The Comfort's overhauling was complete and I had launched her the
+week before.  Now she lay anchored at the edge of the channel.  For
+the want of something more important to do I took down my shot gun
+and began to polish its already glittering barrels.
+
+Try as I might I could not get the memory of my adventure in the
+"tempest" out of my head.  I reviewed it from end to end, thinking
+of many things I might have done which, in the light of what
+followed, would have been better and more sensible.  If, instead of
+leaving the coachman, I had remained to help him with the frightened
+horse, I should have been better employed.  Between us we could have
+subdued the animal and Miss Colton might have ridden home.  I
+wondered what had become of Jenkins and the horse.  I wondered if
+the girl knew I carried her through the brook.  Victor had said the
+bridge was down; she must know.  I wondered what she thought of the
+proceeding; probably that splashing about with young ladies in my
+arms was a habit of mine.
+
+I told myself that I did not care what she thought.  I resolved to
+forget the whole affair and to focus my attention upon cleaning the
+gun.  But I could not forget.  I waded that brook a dozen times as
+I sat there.  I remembered every detail; how still she lay in my
+arms; how white her face looked as the distant lightning flashes
+revealed it to me; how her hair brushed my cheek as I bent over
+her.  I was using a wad of cotton waste to polish the gun barrel,
+and I threw it into a corner, having the insane notion that, in
+some way, the association of ideas came from that bunch of waste.
+It--the waste--was grimy and anything but fragrant, as different
+from the dark lock which the wind had blown against my face as
+anything well could be, but the hurry with which I discarded it
+proves my imbecility at that time.  Confound the girl! she was a
+nuisance.  I wanted to forget her and her family, and the
+sulphurous personage to whose care I had once consigned the head of
+the family apparently took a characteristic delight in arranging
+matters so that I could not.
+
+The shot gun was, at last, so spotless that even a pretense of
+further cleaning was ridiculous.  I held it level with my eye and
+squinted through the barrels.
+
+"Don't shoot," said a voice from the doorway; "I'll come down."
+
+I lowered the gun, turned and looked.  "Big Jim" Colton was
+standing there, cigar in mouth, cap on the back of his head and
+both hands in his pockets, exactly as he had appeared in that same
+doorway when he and I first met.  The expected had happened, part
+of it at least.  He had come to see me; the disagreeable interview
+I had foreseen was at hand.
+
+He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation.
+
+"Morning," he said.
+
+"Good morning," said I, guardedly.  I wondered how he would begin
+the conversation.  Our previous meeting had ended almost in a
+fight.  We had been fighting by proxy ever since.  I was prepared
+for more trouble, for haughty condescension, for perfunctory
+apology, for almost anything except what happened.  His next remark
+might have been addressed to an acquaintance upon whom he had
+casually dropped in for a friendly call.
+
+"That's a good looking gun you've got there," he observed.  "Let's
+see it."
+
+I was too astonished to answer.  "Let's look at it," he repeated,
+holding out his hand.
+
+Mechanically I passed him the gun.  He examined it as if he was
+used to such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks
+with his thumb and handed it back to me.
+
+"Anything worth shooting around here?" he asked, pulling the
+armchair toward him and sitting.
+
+I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude.
+I tried not to.
+
+"Why yes," I answered, "in the season.  Plenty of coots, some black
+duck, and quail and partridge in the woods."
+
+"That so!  Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the
+sort, I remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath.  I could
+shoot HIM with more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open
+session for his species.  Where's your launch?"
+
+"Out yonder."  I pointed to the Comfort at her moorings.  He
+looked, but made no comment.  I rose and put the gun in the rack.
+Then I returned to my chair.  He swung around in his seat and
+looked at me.
+
+"Well," he said, grimly, but with a twinkle in his eye, "the last
+time you and I chatted together you told me to go to the devil."
+
+This was quite true and I might have added that I was glad of it.
+But what would be the use?  I did not answer at all.
+
+"I haven't gone there yet," he continued.  "Came over here instead.
+Got dry yet?"
+
+"Dry?"
+
+"Yes.  You were anything but dry when I saw you last night.  Have
+many such cloudbursts as that in these parts?"
+
+"Not many.  No."
+
+"I hope not.  I don't want another until I sell that horse of mine.
+The chap who stuck me with him is a friend of mine.  He warranted
+the beast perfectly safe for an infant in arms to drive and not
+afraid of anything short of an earthquake.  He is a lovely liar.  I
+admire his qualifications in that respect, and hope to trade with
+him again.  He bucks the stock market occasionally."
+
+He smiled as he said it.  There was not the slightest malice in his
+tone, but, if I had been the "friend," I should have kept clear of
+stocks for awhile.
+
+"What became of the horse?" I asked.
+
+"Ran away again.  Jenkins had just got back into the carriage when
+another one of those thunder claps started more trouble.  The horse
+ran four miles, more or less, and stopped only when the wheels got
+jammed between two trees.  I paid nine hundred dollars for that
+carriage."
+
+"And the coachman?"
+
+"Oh, he lit on his head, fortunately, and wasn't hurt.  Spent half
+the night trying to find a phone not out of commission but failed.
+Got home about four o'clock, leading the horse.  Paine--"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Of course you know what I've come here for.  I'm much obliged to
+you."
+
+"That's all right.  You're welcome."
+
+"Maybe I am, but I am obliged, just the same.  Not only for the
+help you gave Mabel--my daughter--last night, but for that business
+in the bay the other afternoon."
+
+So she had told him the whole story.  Remembering her last words,
+as I left her in the hall, I had rather imagined she would.
+
+"That didn't amount to anything," I said, shortly.
+
+"Why, yes, it did.  It might have amounted to a whole lot.  I asked
+Peters some questions about the tides out here and, from what he
+said, I judge that being stuck on the shoals in a squall might not
+be altogether a joke.  Mabel says you handled the affair mighty
+well."
+
+I did not answer.  He chuckled.
+
+"How did young Carver enjoy playing second fiddle?" he asked.
+"From what I've seen of him he generally expects to lead the band.
+Happy, was he?"
+
+I remained silent.  He smiled broadly.
+
+"He isn't any too happy this morning," he went on.  "That young man
+won't do.  I never quoted him within twenty points of par, but
+Mabel seemed to like him and her mother thought he was the real
+thing.  Mrs. C. couldn't forget that his family is one of the
+oldest on the list.  Personally I don't gamble much on families;
+know a little about my own and that little is enough.  But women
+are different.  However, family or not, he won't do.  I should tell
+him so myself, but I guess Mabel will save me the trouble.  She's
+got a surprising amount of common-sense, considering that she's an
+only child--and who her parents are.  By the way, Paine, what did
+Carver say when you put him ashore?"
+
+"He--he said--oh, nothing of importance."
+
+"Yes, I know that.  I listened to his explanations last night.  But
+did he say anything?"
+
+"Why, he offered to pay me for my work."
+
+"Did he?  How much?"
+
+"I did not wait to find out."
+
+"And you haven't heard from him since?"
+
+I hesitated.
+
+"Have you?" he repeated.
+
+"Well, I--I received a note from him next day."
+
+"Humph!  Offering apologies?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Sent you money, didn't he?"
+
+I looked at him in surprise.  "Did he tell you?" I asked.
+
+"No, nobody told me.  I'm only trying to find out whether or not I
+have lost all my judgment of human nature since I struck this sand
+heap.  He did send you money then.  How much?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+"Come now!  How much?"
+
+"Well--he sent me five dollars."
+
+"No! he didn't!"
+
+"I am telling you the truth."
+
+"Yes," slowly, "I know you are.  I've got that much judgment left.
+Sent you five dollars, did he.  And you sent it back."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Any message with it?"
+
+I was tired of being catechized.  I had not meant to tell him
+anything.  Now I decided to tell him all.  If it angered him, so
+much the better.
+
+"I sent him word that what I saved wasn't worth the money."
+
+To my amazement he was not angry.  Instead he slapped his knee and
+laughed aloud.
+
+"Ho! ho!" he shouted.  "Humph!  Well, that was. . . .  I'd like to
+have seen his face when he got that message.  No, that young man
+won't do.  He won't do at all."
+
+It was not for me to dispute this conclusion, even if I had
+disagreed with him, which I did not.  I said nothing.  He rubbed
+his knee for a moment and then changed the subject.
+
+"How did you happen to be on the Lower Road at that time of the
+night?" he asked.  "I'm mighty glad you were there, of course, but
+where did you come from?"
+
+"I left the festival rather late and--"
+
+"Festival?  Oh, that thing up at the church.  I didn't see you
+there."
+
+I had taken pains that he should not see me.
+
+"Do you mean to tell me," he continued, "that you enjoy a thing
+like that?  What in blazes made Mabel want to go I don't see!  She
+and Carver were set on going; and it would be the treat of a
+lifetime, or words to that effect.  I can't see it myself.  Of all
+the wooden headed jays I ever laid eyes on this town holds the
+finest collection.  Narrow and stubborn and blind to their own
+interests!"
+
+This was more like what I expected from him and I resented it.  It
+may seem odd that I, of all persons, should have taken upon myself
+the defense of Denboro and its inhabitants, but that is what I did.
+
+"They are no more narrow and stubborn in their way than city people
+are in theirs," I declared.  "They resent being ordered about as if
+their opinions and wishes counted for nothing, and I honor them for
+it."
+
+"Do, hey?"
+
+"Yes, I do.  Mr. Colton, I tell you that you are all wrong.  Simply
+because a man lives in the country it does not follow that he is a
+blockhead.  No one in Denboro is rich, as you would count riches,
+but plenty of them are independent and ask no help from any one.
+You can't drive them."
+
+"Can't I?"
+
+"No, you can't.  And if you want favors from men here you must ask
+for them, not try to bully."
+
+"I don't want favors.  I want to be treated decently, that's all.
+When I came here I intended doing things to help the town.  I
+should have enjoyed doing it.  I told some of them so.  Look at the
+money I've spent.  Look at the taxes I'll pay.  Why, they ought to
+be glad to have me here.  They ought to welcome me."
+
+"So they would if you had not behaved as if you were what some of
+them call you--'Emperor of New York'.  I tell you, Mr. Colton,
+you're all wrong.  I know the people here."
+
+"So?  Well, from what I've been able to learn about you, you
+haven't associated with many of them.  You've been playing a little
+at the high and mighty yourself."
+
+Chickens do come home to roost.  My attitude of indifference and
+coldness toward my fellow citizens had been misinterpreted, as it
+deserved to be.  George Taylor was right when he said I had made a
+mistake.
+
+"I have been foolish," I said, hotly, "but not for the reason you
+suppose.  I don't consider myself any better than the people here--
+no, nor even the equal of some of them.  And, from what I have seen
+of you, Mr. Colton, I don't consider you that, either."
+
+Even this did not make him angry.  He looked at me as if I puzzled
+him.
+
+"Say, Paine," he said, "what in the world are you doing down in a
+place like this?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Just that.  You upset my calculations.  I thought I spotted you
+and put you in the class where you belonged when you and I first
+met.  I can usually size up a man.  You've got me guessing.  What
+are you doing down here?  You're no Rube."
+
+If he intended this as a compliment I was not in the mood to accept
+it as such.  I should have told him that what I was or was not was
+no business of his.  But he went on without giving me the
+opportunity.
+
+"You've got me guessing," he repeated.  "You talk like a man.  The
+way you looked out for my daughter last night and the way,
+according to her story, you handled her and Victor the other
+afternoon was a man's job.  Why are you wasting your life down
+here?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I don't consider--"
+
+"Never mind.  You're right; that's your affair, of course.  But I
+hate to quit till I have the answer, and nobody around here seems
+to have the answer to you.  Ready to sell me that land yet?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch?  Dean and the rest?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You mean that?  All right--all right.  Say, Paine, I admire your
+nerve a good deal more than I do your judgment.  You must
+understand that I am going to close that fool Lane of yours some
+time or other."
+
+"Your understanding and mine differ on that point."
+
+"Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through.  I am going to
+close that Lane."
+
+"I think not."
+
+"I'm going to close it for two reasons.  First, because it's a
+condemned nuisance and ought to be closed.  Second, because I make
+it a point to get what I go after.  I can't afford not to.  It is
+doing that very thing that has put me where I am."
+
+There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that.  I
+did not try to answer it.
+
+"Where you're holding down a job like mine," he continued, crossing
+his knees and looking out across the bay, "you have to get what you
+go after.  I'm down here and I mean to stay here as long as I want
+to, but I haven't let go of my job by a good deal.  I've got
+private wires--telegraph and telephone--in my house and I keep in
+touch with things in the Street as much as I ever did.  If anybody
+tries to get ahead of the old man because they think he's turned
+farmer they'll find out their mistake in a hurry."
+
+This seemed to be a soliloquy.  I could not see how it applied to
+me.  He went on talking.
+
+"Sounds like bragging, doesn't it?" he said, reading my thoughts as
+if I had spoken them.  "It isn't.  I'm just trying to show you why
+I can't afford not to have my own way.  If I miss a trick, big or
+little, somebody else wins.  When I was younger, just butting into
+the game, there was another fellow trying to get hold of a lead
+mine out West that I was after.  He beat me to it at first.  He was
+a big toad in the puddle and I was a little one.  But I didn't
+quit.  I waited round the corner.  By and by I saw my chance.  He
+was in a hole and I had the cover to the hole.  Before I let him
+out I owned that mine.  It cost me more than it was worth; I lost
+money on it.  But I had my way and he and the rest had found out
+that I intended to have it.  That was worth a lot more than I lost
+in the mine.  Now this Lane proposition is a little bit of a thing;
+it's picayune; I should live right along if I didn't get it.  But
+because I want it, because I've made up my mind to have it, I'm
+going to have it, one way or another.  See?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "This seems to me like wasting time, Mr.
+Colton," I said.
+
+"Then your seeing is away off.  Look here, Paine, I'm through
+fiddling with the deal.  I'm through with that undertaker
+postmaster or any other go-between.  I just wanted you to
+understand my position; that's why I've told you all this.  Now
+we'll talk figures.  I might go on bidding, and you'd go on saying
+no, of course.  But I shan't bid.  I'll just say this:  When you
+are ready to sell--and I'll put you where you will be some day--"
+
+I rose.  "Mr. Colton," I said, sharply, "you had better not say any
+more.  I'm not afraid of you, and--"
+
+"There! there! there! who said anything about your being afraid?
+Don't get mad.  I'm not--not now.  This is a business matter
+between friends and--"
+
+"Friends!"
+
+"Sure.  Business friends.  I'm talking to you as I would to any
+other chap I intended to beat in a deal; there's nothing personal
+about it.  When I get you so you're ready to sell I'll give you
+five thousand dollars for that strip of land."
+
+I actually staggered.  I said what Lute had said to me.
+
+"You're crazy!" I cried.  "Five thousand dollars for that land!"
+
+"Yes.  Oh, I know what it's worth.  Five hundred is for the land
+itself.  The other forty-five hundred is payment for the privilege
+of having my own way.  Want to close with me now?"
+
+It took me some time to answer.  "No," is a short and simple word,
+but I found it tremendously difficult to pronounce.  Yet I did
+pronounce it, I am glad to say.  After all that I had said before I
+would have been ashamed to do anything else.
+
+He did not appear surprised at my refusal.
+
+"All right," he said.  "I'm not going to coax you.  Just remember
+that the offer holds good and when you get ready to accept it, sing
+out.  Well!" looking at his watch, "I must be going.  My wife will
+think I've fallen into the bay, or been murdered by the hostile
+natives.  Nerves are mean things to have in the house; you can take
+my word for that.  Good-by, Paine.  Thank you again for last night
+and the rest of it.  Mabel will thank you herself when she sees
+you, I presume."
+
+He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind
+sufficient to remember ordinary politeness.
+
+"Your daughter--er--Miss Colton is well?" I stammered.  "No ill
+effects from her wetting--and the shock?"
+
+"Not a bit.  She's one of the kind of girls they turn out nowadays.
+Athletics and all that.  Her grandmother would have died probably,
+after such an upset, but she's as right as I am.  Oh . . . er--
+Paine, next time you go shooting let me know.  Maybe I'd like to go
+along.  I used to be able to hit a barn door occasionally."
+
+He stopped long enough to bite the end from a cigar and strolled
+away, smoking.  I sat down in the armchair.  "Five thousand
+dollars!" . . .  "Carver won't do." . . .  "I will have the Lane
+some time or other" . . .  "Five thousand dollars!" . . .  "Next
+time you go shooting." . . .  "Friends!" . . .  "Five thousand
+dollars!"
+
+Oh, this was a nightmare!  I must wake up before it got any worse.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Mother was the only one to whom I told the whole story of my
+experience in the "tempest" and of Colton's call.  She and I had a
+long talk.  She was as surprised to hear of the five thousand
+dollar offer as I had been, but that I had refused it did not
+surprise her.  She seemed to take my refusal as a matter of course,
+whereas I was more and more doubtful of my sanity at the time.  I
+knew well enough what the opinion of others would be concerning
+that sanity and I wondered whether or not they might be right.  In
+fact, I rather resented her calm certainty.
+
+"Mother," said I, "you speak as if the offer had been five cents
+instead of five thousand dollars."
+
+"What difference does it make, Boy?" she asked.  "If it had been
+only a matter of price you would have sold for six hundred and
+fifty.  That is a good deal more than the land is worth, isn't it."
+
+"I suppose so.  But five thousand is a small fortune to us.  I am
+not sure that we have the right to refuse it."
+
+"Roscoe, if you were alone in this matter--if I were not here to be
+considered at all--would you have sold the land, no matter what he
+offered?"
+
+"I don't know, Mother.  I think, perhaps, I should."
+
+"I know you would not.  And I know the only reason you feel the
+refusal may be wrong is because you are thinking what the money
+might do for me.  Do you suppose I will permit you to sacrifice a
+principle you know is right simply that I may have a few more
+luxuries which I don't need?"
+
+"But you do need them.  Why, there are so many things you need."
+
+"No, I don't need one.  So long as I have you I am perfectly happy.
+And it would not make me more happy to know that you accepted a
+bribe--that is what it is, a bribe--because of me.  No, Boy, you
+did exactly right and I am proud of you."
+
+"I am not particularly proud of myself."
+
+"You should be.  Can't you see how differently Mr. Colton regards
+you already?  He does not condescend or patronize now."
+
+"Humph! he is grateful because I helped his daughter out of a
+scrape, that's all."
+
+"It is more than that.  He respects you because you are what he
+called you, a man.  I fancy it is a new experience to him to find
+some one, down here at any rate, to whom his millions make
+absolutely no difference."
+
+"I am glad of it.  It may do him good."
+
+"Yes, I think it will.  And what you told him about the townspeople
+may do him good, too.  He will find, as you and I have found, that
+there are no kinder, better people anywhere.  You remember I warned
+you against misjudging the Coltons, Roscoe.  They, too, I am sure,
+are good people at heart, in spite of their wealth."
+
+"Mother, you are too charitable for this earth--too unworldly
+altogether."
+
+"Haven't you and I reason to be charitable?  There! there! let us
+forget the land and the money.  Roscoe, I should like to meet this
+Miss Colton.  She must be a brave girl."
+
+"She is brave enough."
+
+"I suppose poor Mr. Carver is in disgrace.  Perhaps it was not his
+fault altogether."
+
+This was a trifle too much.  I refused to be charitable to Victor.
+
+I heard from him, or of him, next day.  I met Captain Jed Dean at
+the bank, where I had called to see Taylor and inquire concerning
+how he and Nellie got home from the festival.  They had had a damp,
+though safe, journey, I learned, and the Methodist ladies had
+cleared seventy-four dollars and eighty-five cents from the
+entertainment.
+
+Captain Jed entered the door as I left the cashier's gate.
+
+"Ship ahoy, Ros!" hailed the captain, genially.  "Make port safe
+and sound after the flood?  I'd have swapped my horse and buggy for
+Noah's Ark that night and wouldn't have asked any boot neither.
+Did you see Mullet's bridge?  Elnathan says he cal'lates he's got
+willow kindlin' enough to last him all summer.  Ready split too--
+the lightnin' attended to that.  Lute Rogers don't talk about
+nothin' else.  I cal'late he wishes lightnin' would strike your
+woodpile; then he'd be saved consider'ble labor, hey?"
+
+He laughed and I laughed with him.
+
+"I understood Princess Colton was out in the wust of it," went on
+Captain Jed.  "Did you hear how her horse ran away?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, shortly; "I heard about it."
+
+"Never stopped till it got half way to West Bayport.  The coachman
+hangin' onto the reins and swearin' at the top of his lungs all the
+time.  'Bije Ellis, who lives up that way, says the road smells
+like a match factory even yet--so much brimstone in the air.  The
+girl got home somehow or other, they tell me.  I cal'late her fine
+duds got their never-get-over.  Nellie says the hat she was wearin'
+come from Paris, or some such foreign place.  Well, the rain falls
+on the just and unjust, so scriptur tells us, and it's true enough.
+Only the unjust in this case can afford new hats better'n the just,
+a consider'ble sight.  Denboro's lost a promisin' new citizen; did
+you know it?"
+
+"Whom do you mean?"
+
+"Hadn't you heard?  That young Carver feller shook the dust--the
+mud, I mean--of our roads off his shoes this mornin'.  He went away
+on the up train."
+
+Here was news.  "The up train?" I repeated.  "You mean he has gone
+for good?"
+
+"I should call it for good, for our good, anyhow.  Yes, he's gone.
+Went to the depot in Colton's automobile.  His majesty went with
+him fur's the platform.  The gang that saw the proceedin's said the
+good-bys wan't affectin'.  Colton didn't shed any tears and young
+Carver seemed to be pretty down at the mouth."
+
+"But what makes you think he has gone for good?" I asked.
+
+"Why, Alvin Baker was there, same as he usually is, and he managed
+to be nigh enough to hear the last words--if there had been any."
+
+"And there were not?"
+
+"Nothin' to amount to much.  Nothin' about comin' back, anyhow.
+Colton said somethin' about bein' remembered to the young feller's
+ma, and Carver said, 'Thanks,' and that was all.  Alvin said 'twas
+pretty chilly.  They've got it all figgered out at the post-office;
+you see, Carver was to come back to the meetin' house and pick up
+his princess, and he never come.  She started without him and got
+run away with.  Some of the folks paddlin' home from the festival
+saw the auto go by and heard the crowd inside singin' and laughin'
+and hollerin'.  Nobody's goin' to sing a night like that unless
+they've got cargo enough below decks to make 'em forget the wet
+outside.  And Beriah Doane was over to Ostable yesterday and he
+says it's town talk there that young Parker--the boy the auto crowd
+was sayin' good-by to at the hotel--had to be helped up to his
+room.  No, I guess likely the Colton girl objected to her feller's
+gettin' tight and forgettin' her, so he and she had a row and her
+dad, the emperor, give him his discharge papers.  Sounds reasonable;
+don't you think so, yourself?"
+
+I imagined that the surmise was close to the truth.  I nodded and
+turned away.  I did not like Carver, I detested him, but somehow I
+no longer felt triumph at his discomfiture.  I wondered if he
+really cared for the girl he had lost.  It was difficult to think
+of him as really caring for any one except himself, but if I had
+been in his place and had, through my own foolishness, thrown away
+the respect and friendship of such a girl. . . .  Yes, I was
+beginning to feel a little of Mother's charity for the young idiot,
+now that he could no longer insult and patronize me.
+
+Captain Jed followed me to the bank door.
+
+"Say, Ros," he said, "changed your mind about sellin' that Lane
+land yet?"
+
+"No," I answered, impatiently.  "There's no use talking about that,
+Captain Dean."
+
+"All right, all right.  Humph! the fellers are gettin' consider'ble
+fun out of that Lane."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+He laughed.  "Oh, nothin'," he observed, with a wink, "only. . . .
+Heard any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?"
+
+"No.  Captain, what do you mean?"
+
+"I don't mean nothin'.  But I shouldn't wonder if the Great
+Panjandrum and his folks was reminded that that Lane was still
+open, that's all.  Ho! ho!  So long, Ros."
+
+I did not catch his meaning at the time.  A few days later I
+discovered it by accident.  I had been up to the village and was on
+my way home by the short cut.  As I crossed the field behind
+Sylvanus Snow's abandoned house, the spot where Miss Colton and I
+had waited on the porch the night of the thunder shower, I heard
+the rattle of a cart going down the Lane.  There was nothing
+unusual in this, of itself, but with it I heard the sound of loud
+voices.  One of these voices was so loud that I caught the words:
+
+"Now, boys, start her up!  Three cheers for the Star Spangled
+Banner and make 'em loud.  Let her go!"
+
+The cheers followed, uproarious ones.
+
+"Try it again," commanded the voice.  "And keep her up all the way
+along.  We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess.  Hooray!"
+
+This was enough.  I understood now what Dean had meant by the
+Coltons realizing that the Lane was still open.  I ran at full
+speed through the scrub and bushes, through the grove, and emerged
+upon the Lane directly opposite the Colton estate.  The wagon--Zeb
+Kendrick's weir cart--was approaching.  Zeb was driving and behind
+him in the body of the cart were four or five young fellows whom I
+recognized as belonging to the "billiard room gang," an unorganized
+society whose members worked only occasionally but were responsible
+for most of the mischief and disorder in our village.  Tim Hallet,
+a sort of leader in that society, with the reputation of having
+been expelled from school three times and never keeping a job
+longer than a fortnight, was on the seat beside Kendrick, his back
+to the horse.  Zeb was grinning broadly.
+
+The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving.  Tim Hallet waved
+his arm.
+
+"Now, boys," he shouted, "let's have some music."
+
+     "'Everybody works but father,
+       And he sets around all day.'--
+
+Whoop her up!"
+
+They whooped her up.  I stepped out into the road.
+
+"Here!" I shouted.  "Stop that!  Stop it, do you hear!  Kendrick,
+what is all this?"
+
+The song stopped in the middle of the verse.  Zeb jerked the reins
+and shouted "Whoa!"  Hallet and his chorus turned.  They had been
+gazing at the big house, but now they turned and looked at me.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" said Kendrick, still grinning, but rather sheepishly.
+"How be you?  Got quite a band aboard, ain't I."
+
+"Hello!" cried Hallet.  "It's Ros himself!  Ros, you're all RIGHT!
+Hi, boys! let's give three cheers for the feller that don't toady
+to nobody--millionaires nor nobody else--hooray for Ros Paine!"
+
+The cheering that followed was not quite as loud as the previous
+outburst--some of the "gang" may have noticed my attitude and
+expression--but it was loud enough.  Involuntarily I glanced toward
+the Colton mansion.  I saw no one at the windows or on the veranda,
+and I was thankful for that.  The blood rushed to my face.  I was
+so angry that, for the moment, I could not speak.
+
+Tim Hallet appeared to consider my silence and my crimson cheeks as
+acknowledgments of the compliment just paid me.
+
+"Cal'late they heard that over yonder," he crowed.  "Don't you
+think so, Ros.  We've showed 'em what we think of you; now let's
+give our opinion of them.  Three groans for old Colton!  Come on!"
+
+Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he
+protested.
+
+"Hold on, Tim!" he cautioned.  "A joke's a joke, but that's a
+little too much; ain't it, Ros."
+
+"Too much be darned!" scoffed Hallet.  "We'll show 'em!  Now,
+boys!"
+
+The groans were not given.  I sprang into the road, seized the
+horse by the bridle and backed the wagon into the bank.  Tim,
+insecurely balanced, fell off the seat and joined his comrades on
+the cart floor.
+
+"Hi!" shouted the startled driver.  "What you doin', Ros?  What's
+that for?"
+
+"You go back where you come from," I ordered.  "Turn around.  Get
+out of here!"
+
+I saved him the trouble by completing the turn.  When I dropped the
+bridle the horse's head was pointing toward the Lower Road.
+
+"Now get out of here!" I repeated.  "Go back where you come from."
+
+"But--but, Ros," protested Zeb, "I don't want to go back.  I'm
+goin' to the shore."
+
+"Then you'll have to go some other way.  You can't cross my
+property."
+
+Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked, angrily.  "Didn't you say
+the town could use this Lane?"
+
+"Yes.  Any one may use it as long as he behaves himself.  When he
+doesn't behave he forfeits the privilege.  Kendrick, you hear me!
+Go back."
+
+"But I don't want to go back, Ros.  If I do I'll have to go clear
+round by Myrick's, two mile out of my way."
+
+"You should have thought of that before you brought that crowd with
+you.  I won't have this Lane made a public nuisance by any one.
+Zeb, I'm ashamed of you."
+
+Zeb turned to his passengers.  "There!" he whined, "I told you so,
+Tim.  I said you hadn't ought to act that way."
+
+"Aw, what are you givin' us!" sneered Hallet.  "You thought 'twas
+as funny as anybody, Zeb Kendrick.  Look here, Ros Paine!  I
+thought you was down on them Coltons.  We fellers are only havin' a
+little fun with 'em for bein' so stuck-up and hoggish.  Can't you
+take a joke?"
+
+"Not your kind.  Go back, Zeb."
+
+"But--but can't I use the Lane NO more?" pleaded the driver.  "I
+won't fetch 'em here agin."
+
+"We'll see about that.  You can't use it this time.  Now go."
+
+Zeb reluctantly spoke to his horse and the wagon began to move.
+Hallet swore a string of oaths.
+
+"I'm on to you, Paine!" he yelled.  "You're standin' in with 'em,
+after all.  You wait till I see Captain Jed."
+
+In three strides I was abreast the cart-tail.
+
+"See him then," said I.  "And tell him that if any one uses this
+Lane for the purpose of wilfully annoying those living near it I'll
+not only forbid his using it, but I'll prosecute him for trespass.
+I mean that.  Stop!  I advise you not to say another word."
+
+I did not intend to prosecute Jim, he was not worth it, but I
+should have thoroughly enjoyed dragging him out of that wagon and
+silencing him by primitive methods.  My anger had not cooled to any
+extent.  He did not speak to me again, though I heard him muttering
+as the cart moved off.  I remained where I was until I saw it turn
+into the Lower Road.  Then I once more started for home.
+
+I was very much annoyed and disturbed.  Evidently this sort of
+thing had been going on for some time and I had just discovered it.
+It placed me in a miserable light.  When Colton had declared, as he
+had in both our interviews, that the Lane was a nuisance I had
+loftily denied the assertion.  Now those idiots in the village were
+doing their best to prove me a liar.  I should have expected such
+behavior from Hallet and his friends, but for Captain Dean to
+tacitly approve their conduct was unexpected and provoking.  Well,
+I had made my position plain, at all events.  But I knew that Tim
+would distort my words and that the idea of my "standing in" with
+the Coltons, while professing independence, would be revived.  I
+was destined to be detested and misunderstood by both sides.  Yes,
+Dorinda was right in saying that I might find sitting on the fence
+uncomfortable.  It was all of that.
+
+I entered the grove and was striding on, head down, busy with these
+and similar reflections, when some one said:  "Good morning, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+I stopped short, came out of the day dream in which I had been
+giving Captain Jed my opinion of his followers' behavior, looked
+up, and saw Miss Colton in the path before me.
+
+She was dressed in white, a light, simple summer gown.  Her straw
+hat was simple also, expensive simplicity doubtless, but without a
+trace of the horticultural exhibits with which Olinda Cahoon, our
+Denboro milliner, was wont to deck the creations she prepared for
+customers.  Matilda Dean would have sniffed at the hat and gown;
+they were not nearly as elaborate as those Nellie, her daughter,
+wore on Sundays.  But Matilda or Nellie at their grandest could not
+have appeared as well dressed as this girl, no matter what she
+wore.  Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda might have said, "as
+if she came out of a band box."
+
+"Good morning," she said, again.  She was perfectly self-possessed.
+Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem
+to embarrass her in the least.  Nellie Dean would have giggled and
+blushed, but she did not.
+
+_I_ was embarrassed, I admit it, but I had sufficient presence of
+mind to remove my hat.
+
+"Good morning," said I.  There flashed through my mind the thought
+that if she had been in that grove for any length of time she must
+have overheard my lively interview with Kendrick and Tim Hallet.  I
+wondered if she had.
+
+Her next remark settled that question.
+
+"I suppose," she said, soberly, but with the same twinkle in her
+eye which I had observed once or twice in her father's, "that I
+should apologize for being here, on your property, Mr. Paine.  I
+judge that you don't like trespassers."
+
+I was more nettled at Zeb and his crowd than ever.  "So you saw
+that performance," I said.  "I'm sorry."
+
+"I saw a little of it, and I'm afraid I heard the rest.  I was
+walking here by the bluff and I could not help seeing and hearing."
+
+"Humph!  Well, I hope you understand, Miss Colton, that I did not
+know, until just now, this sort of thing was going on."
+
+She smiled.  "Oh, I understand that," she said.  "You made that
+quite plain.  Even those people in the wagon understood it, I
+should imagine."
+
+"I hope they did."
+
+"I did not know you could be so fierce, Mr. Paine.  I had not
+expected it.  You almost frightened me.  You were so very--well,
+mild and long-suffering on the other occasions when we met."
+
+"I am not always so mild, Miss Colton.  However, if I had known you
+were within hearing I might not have been quite so emphatic."
+
+"Then I am glad you didn't know.  I think those ruffians were
+treated as they deserved."
+
+"Not half as they deserved.  I shall watch from now on and if there
+are any more attempts at annoying you or your people I shall do
+more than talk."
+
+"Thank you.  They have been troublesome--of late.  I am sure we are
+very much obliged to you, all of us."
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"Oh yes, we are.  Not only for this, but for--all the rest.  For
+your help the other night especially; I want to thank you for
+that."
+
+"It was nothing," I answered, awkwardly.
+
+"Nothing!  You are not very complimentary, Mr. Paine."
+
+"I mean--that is, I--"
+
+"You may consider rescuing shipwrecked young ladies, afloat and
+ashore, nothing--perhaps you do it so often that it is of little
+consequence to you; but I am not so modest.  I estimate my safety
+as worth something, even if you do not."
+
+"I did not mean that, of course, Miss Colton.  You know I did not.
+I meant that--that what I did was no more than any one else would
+have done under the same circumstances.  You were in no danger; you
+would have been safe enough even if I had not happened along.
+Please don't say anything more about it."
+
+"Very well.  But I am very glad you happened along, nevertheless.
+You seem to have the faculty of happening along just at the right
+time."
+
+This sounded like a reference to the episode in the bay, and I did
+not care to discuss that.
+
+"You--I believe your father said you were not ill after your
+experience," I observed hastily.
+
+"Not in the least, thank you.  And you?"
+
+"Oh, I was all right.  Rather wet, but I did not mind that.  I sail
+and fish a good deal, and water, fresh or salt, doesn't trouble
+me."
+
+This was an unlucky remark, for it led directly to the subject I
+was trying to avoid.
+
+"So I should imagine," she answered.  "And that reminds me that I
+owe you another debt of thanks for helping me--helping us out of
+our difficulty in the boat.  I am obliged to you for that also.
+Even though what you saved was NOT worth five dollars."
+
+I looked up at her quickly.  She was biting her lips and there was
+a smile at the corners of her mouth.  I could not answer
+immediately for the life of me.  I would have given something if I
+had not told Colton of Victor's message and my reply.
+
+"Your father misrepresented my meaning, I'm afraid," I stammered.
+"I was angry when I sent that message.  It was not intended to
+include you."
+
+"Thank you.  Father seemed inclined to agree with your estimate--
+part of it, at least.  He is very much interested in you, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+"Yes," I answered, dryly.  "I can understand that."
+
+Her smile broke into a ripple of laughter.
+
+"You are quite distinctive, in your way," she said.  "You may not
+be aware of it, but I have never known father to be so disturbed
+and puzzled about any one as he is about you."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes, he is, indeed."
+
+"I am sorry that I am the cause of so much mental strain."
+
+"No, you are not.  From what I have learned about you, from him, I
+think you enjoy it.  You must.  It is great fun."
+
+"Fun!  Well, perhaps.  Does your--does Mrs. Colton find it funny?"
+
+She hesitated.  "Well," she answered, more slowly, "to be perfectly
+frank--I presume that is what you want me to be--I think Mother
+blames you somewhat.  She is not well, Mr. Paine, and this Lane of
+yours is her pet bugbear just now.  She--like the rest of us--
+cannot understand why you will not sell, and, because you will not,
+she is rather--rather--"
+
+"I see.  I'm not sure that I blame her.  I presume she has blamed
+me for these outrageous disturbances in the Lane such as you have
+just witnessed."
+
+She hesitated again.  "Why yes," she said, more slowly still; "a
+little, I think.  She is not well, as I said, and she may have
+thought you were, if not instigating them, at least aware of what
+was going on.  But I am sure father does not think so."
+
+"But you, Miss Colton; did you believe me responsible for them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because, from what I have seen of you, you did not seem to me like
+that kind of a man.  You kept your temper that day in the boat,
+though you had a good reason for losing it.  All this," with a
+gesture toward the Lane, "the shouting and noise and petty insults,
+was so little and mean and common.  I did not believe you would
+permit it, if you knew.  And, from what I have learned about you, I
+was sure you would not."
+
+"From what you learned about me?  From your father?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then from whom, pray?"
+
+"From your friends.  From that Mr. Taylor and Miss Dean and the
+others.  They spoke of you so highly, and of your mother and your
+care of her.  They described you as a gentleman, and no gentleman
+would countenance THAT."
+
+I was so astonished that I blurted out my next question without
+thinking.
+
+"You were speaking to them about ME?" I cried.
+
+Her manner changed.  Possibly she thought I was presuming on our
+chance acquaintance, or that she made a mistake in admitting even a
+casual interest; I might consider that interest to be real, instead
+of merely perfunctory.  At any rate, I noticed a difference in her
+tone.  It was as if she had suddenly withdrawn behind the fence
+which marked the border of our social line.
+
+"Oh," she said, carelessly, "I did not cross-question, of course.
+Puzzles are always interesting, more or less.  And a puzzle which
+perplexed my father was certainly unique.  So I was a trifle
+curious, that's all."
+
+I came to earth with a thud.
+
+"I see," I said, curtly.  "Well, I presume I should thank my
+friends for the testimonials to my character.  And I promise you
+that you shall not be annoyed again.  Good morning, Miss Colton."
+
+I was turning away when she spoke my name.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said.
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning."
+
+"That is all right.  You are quite welcome to be here at any time."
+
+"Thank you.  I told you I was walking by the bluff; that is true,
+but it isn't the whole truth.  I was trying to muster courage to
+call on your mother."
+
+I looked at her in amazement.
+
+"Call on Mother!" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, I have heard a great deal about your mother, and nothing
+except the very best.  I think I should like to know her.  Do you
+think she would consider me presuming and intrusive if I did call?"
+
+"Why, Miss Colton, I--"
+
+"Please be frank about it, Mr. Paine.  And please believe that my
+call would not be from idle curiosity.  I should like to know her.
+Of course, if this disagreement about the land makes a difference,
+if she feels resentful toward us, I will not think of such a thing.
+Does she?  Why do you smile?  I am in earnest."
+
+"I did not mean to smile, Miss Colton.  The idea of Mother's
+feeling resentment toward any one seemed absurd to me, that was
+all."
+
+"Then may I call on her?"
+
+"Certainly.  That is, if--if you think it wise.  If your mother--"
+
+"Oh, Mother has long ago given up trying to solve me.  I am a
+greater puzzle to her than you seem to be to everyone, Mr. Paine.
+I have spoken to my father about it and he is quite willing.  His
+difference with you is purely a business one, as you know."
+
+Some of the "business" had been oddly conducted, but I did not
+raise the point.  I could not reason just then.  That this spoiled,
+city-bred daughter of "Big Jim" Colton should wish to know my
+mother was beyond reasoning.
+
+She said good morning and we parted.  I walked home, racking my
+brains to find the answer to this new conundrum.  It was a whim on
+her part, of course, inspired by something George or Nellie had
+told her.  I did not know whether to resent the whim or not,
+whether to be angry or indifferent.  If she intended to inspect
+Mother as a possible object of future charity I should be angry and
+the first call would be the last.  But Mother herself would settle
+all questions of charity; I knew that.  And the girl had not spoken
+in a patronizing way.  She had declared that idle curiosity had no
+part in her wish.  She seemed in earnest.  What would Mother say
+when I told her?
+
+Lute was just coming through the gate as I approached it.  He was
+in high good humor.
+
+"I'm goin' up street," he declared.  "Anything you want me to fetch
+you from the store, Ros?"
+
+I looked at my watch.  It was only eleven o'clock.
+
+"Up street?" I repeated.  "I thought you were slated to wash
+windows this forenoon.  I heard Dorinda give you your orders to
+that effect.  You haven't finished washing them already?"
+
+"No," with a broad grin, "I ain't finished 'em.  Fact is, I ain't
+begun 'em yet."
+
+"So!  Does Dorinda know that you are going up street?"
+
+"Um-hm.  She knows.  Anyhow, she knows I'm goin' somewheres.  She
+told me to go herself."
+
+"She did!  Why?"
+
+"Don't ask ME.  I was all ready to wash the windows; had the bucket
+pumped full and everything.  But when I come into the dinin'-room
+she sung out to know what I was doin' with all that water on her
+clean floor.  'Why, Dorindy!' I says, 'I'm a-goin' to wash them
+windows same's you told me to.'  'No, you ain't,' says she.  'But
+what will I do?' says I.  'I don't care,' says she.  'Clear out of
+here, that's all.'  'But where'll I clear out to?' I wanted to
+know.  'I don't care!' she snaps again, savage as a settin' hen,
+'so long's you clear out of my sight.'  So here I be.  Don't ask me
+why she changed her mind: _I_ don't know.  Nothin' you want to the
+store?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Say, Ros, you know what I think?"
+
+"Far be it from me to presume to guess your thoughts, Lute."
+
+"Well, I think this is a strange world and the strangest thing in
+it is a woman.  You never can tell what they'll do ten minutes at a
+stretch.  I--"
+
+"All right, Lute.  I'll hear the rest of the philosophy later."
+
+"Philosophy or not, it's the livin' truth.  And when you're as old
+as I be you'll know it."
+
+I went in through the dining-room, steering clear of Dorinda, who
+scarcely looked up from her floor scrubbing.
+
+"Mother," said I, entering the darkened bedroom, "I just met the
+Colton girl and what do you suppose she told me?"
+
+"That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the
+other night."
+
+"That, of course.  But she told me something else.  She said she
+was coming to call on you.  On YOU, Mother!"
+
+I don't know what answer I expected.  I flung the announcement like
+a bombshell and was ready for almost any sort of explosion at all.
+
+"Did she?" observed Mother, placidly.  "I am very glad.  I have no
+doubt I shall like her."
+
+My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton.
+
+"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, with emphasis.  "Lute IS a
+philosopher, after all.  I take off my hat to him."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+I met Mabel Colton several times during the following week.  Once,
+at the place where I had met her before, in the grove by the edge
+of the bluff, and again walking up the Lane in company with her
+father.  Once also on the Lower Road, though that could scarcely be
+called a meeting, for I was afoot and she and her father and mother
+were in the automobile.
+
+Only at the meeting in the grove were words exchanged between us.
+She bowed pleasantly and commented on the wonderful view.
+
+"I am trespassing again, you see," she said.  "Taking advantage of
+your good-nature, Mr. Paine.  This spot is the most attractive I
+have found in Denboro."
+
+I observed that the view from her verandas must be almost the same.
+
+"Almost, but not quite," she said.  "These pines shut off the inlet
+below, and all the little fishing boats.  One of them is yours, I
+suppose.  Which?"
+
+"That is my launch there," I replied, pointing.
+
+"The little white one?  You built it yourself, I think Father
+said."
+
+"He was mistaken, if he said that.  I am not clever enough to build
+a boat, Miss Colton.  I bought the Comfort, second-hand."
+
+I don't know why I added the "second-hand."  Probably because I had
+not yet freed my mind from the bitterness--yes, and envy--which the
+sight of this girl and her people always brought with it.  It is
+comparatively easy to be free from envy if one is what George
+Taylor termed a "never-was"; for a "has been" it is harder.
+
+The boat's name was the only portion of my remark which attracted
+her attention.
+
+"The Comfort?" she repeated.  "That is a jolly name for a pleasure
+boat."
+
+"It is my mother's name," I answered.
+
+"Is it?  Why, I remember now.  Miss Dean told me.  I beg your
+pardon, Mr. Paine.  It is a pretty name, at all events."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"I must have misunderstood Father.  I was sure he said that boat
+building was your business."
+
+"No.  He saw me overhauling the engine, and perhaps that gave him
+the impression that I was a builder.  I told him I was not, but no
+doubt he forgot.  I have no business, Miss Colton."
+
+I think she was surprised.  She glanced at me curiously and her
+lips opened as if to ask another question.  She did not ask it
+however, and, except for a casual remark or two about the view and
+the blueness of the water in the bay, she said nothing more.  I
+rather expected she would refer to her intention of calling on
+Mother, but she did not mention the subject.  I inferred that she
+had thought better of her whim.
+
+On the other occasions when we met she merely bowed.  "Big Jim"
+nodded carelessly.  Mrs. Colton, from her seat in the auto, nodded
+also, though her majestic bow could scarcely be termed a nod.  It
+was more like the acknowledgment, by a queen in her chariot, of the
+applauding citizen on the sidewalk.  She saw me, and she deigned to
+let me know that I was seen, that was all.
+
+But when I inferred that her daughter had forgotten, or had decided
+not to make the call at our house, I misjudged the young lady.  I
+returned, one afternoon, from a cruise up and down the bay in the
+Comfort, to find our small establishment--the Rogers portion of it,
+at least--in a high state of excitement.  Lute and Dorinda were in
+the kitchen and before I reached the back door, which was open, I
+heard their voices in animated discussion.
+
+"Why wouldn't I say it, Dorinda?" pleaded Lute.  "You can't blame
+me none.  There I was, with my sleeves rolled up and just settin'
+in the chair, restin' my arms a jiffy and thinkin' which window I'd
+wash next, when there come that knock at the door.  Thinks I, 'It's
+Asa Peters' daughter's young-one peddlin' clams.'  That's what come
+to my mind fust.  That idee popped right into my head, it did."
+
+"Found plenty of room when it got there, I cal'late," snapped
+Dorinda.  "Must have felt lonesome."
+
+"That's it! keep on pitchin' into me.  I swan to man! sometimes I
+get so discouraged and wore out and reckless--hello! here's Ros.
+You ask him now!  Ros, she's layin' into me because I didn't
+understand what--"
+
+"Roscoe," broke in his wife, "I never was more mortified in all my
+born days.  He--"
+
+"Let me tell you all about it, Ros.  I went to the door--thinkin'
+'twas a peddler, you know; had this old suit on, all sloshed up
+with soapsuds and water, and a wet rag in my hand; and there she
+stood, styled up like the Queen of Sheby.  Well, sir! I'll leave it
+to you if 'tain't enough to surprise anybody.  HER! comin' HERE!"
+
+"That wan't any reason why you should behave like a natural born--"
+
+"Hold on! you let me finish tellin' Roscoe.  'Good afternoon,' says
+she.  'Is Mrs. Paine in?'  Said it just like that, she did.  I was
+so flustered up from the sight of her that I didn't sense it right
+off and I says, 'What ma'am?'  'Is Mrs. Paine in?' says she.  'In?'
+says I--"
+
+"Just like a poll parrot," interjected Dorinda.
+
+"Are you goin' to let me tell this or ain't you?  'In?' says I;
+hadn't sensed it yet, you see.  'Is Mrs. Paine to home?' she says.
+Now your ma, Ros, ain't never been nowheres else BUT home sence
+land knows when, so I supposed she must mean somebody else.  'Who?'
+says I, again.  'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she.  She raised her
+voice a little; guessed I was deef, probably."
+
+"If she'd guessed you was dumb she wouldn't have been fur off,"
+commented Dorinda.  I had not seen her so disturbed for many a day.
+
+Her husband disdained to notice this interruption.
+
+"'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she," he continued.  "'She is in?  And
+I says 'In?'"
+
+"No, you didn't.  You said, 'In where?'  And she had all she could
+do to keep from laughin'.  I see her face as I got to the door, and
+it's a mercy I got there when I did.  Land knows what you'd have
+said next!"
+
+"But, Dorindy, I tell you I thought--"
+
+"YOU thought!  I know what SHE must have thought.  That she'd made
+a mistake and run afoul of an asylum for the feeble-minded."
+
+"Umph!  I should have GOT feeble-minded if I'd had any more of that
+kind of talk.  What made her ask if a sick woman like Comfort was
+'in' and 'to home'?  Couldn't be nowheres else, could she?"
+
+"Rubbish! she meant could Mrs. Paine see folks, that's all."
+
+"See 'em!  How you talk!  She ain't blind."
+
+"Oh, my soul and body!  She was tryin' to ask if she might make a
+call on Comfort."
+
+"Well then, why didn't she ask it; 'stead of wantin' to know if she
+was in?"
+
+"That's the high-toned way TO ask, and you'd ought to have known
+it."
+
+"Humph!  Do tell!  Well, I ain't tony, myself.  Don't have no
+chance to be in this house.  Nothin' but work, work, work! tongue,
+tongue, tongue! for me around here.  I'm disgusted, that's what I
+am."
+
+"YOU'RE disgusted!  What about, me?"
+
+I had listened to as much of this little domestic disagreement as I
+cared to hear.
+
+"Wait a minute," I said.  "What is all this?  Who has been here to
+see Mother?"
+
+Both answered at once.
+
+"That Colton girl," cried Lute.
+
+"That Mabel Colton," said Dorinda.
+
+"Miss Colton?  She has been here? this afternoon."
+
+"Um-hm," Dorinda nodded emphatically.  "She stayed in your ma's
+room 'most an hour."
+
+"'Twas fifty-three minutes," declared Lute.  "I timed her by the
+clock.  "And she fetched a great, big bouquet.  Comfort says she--"
+
+I waited to hear no more, but went into Mother's room.  The little
+bed chamber was fragrant with the perfume of flowers.  A cluster of
+big Jacqueminot roses drooped their velvety petaled heads over the
+sides of the blue and white pitcher on the bureau.  Mother loved
+flowers and I frequently brought her the old fashioned posies from
+Dorinda's little garden or wild blossoms from the woods and fields.
+But roses such as these were beyond my reach now-a-days.  They grew
+in greenhouses, not in the gardens of country people.
+
+Mother did not move as I entered and I thought she was asleep.  But
+as I bent over the roses she turned on the pillow and spoke.
+
+"Aren't they beautiful, Roscoe?" she said.
+
+"Yes," I answered.  "They are beautiful."
+
+"Do you know who brought them to me?"
+
+"Yes, Mother.  Lute told me."
+
+"She did call, you see.  She kept her word.  It was kind of her,
+wasn't it?"
+
+I sat down in the rocking chair by the window.
+
+"Well," I asked, after a moment, "what did she say?  Did she
+condescend to pity her pauper neighbors?"
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"Did she express horrified sympathy and offer to call your case to
+the attention of her cousin in charge of the Poor Ward in the City
+General Hospital, like that woman from the Harniss hotel last
+summer?"
+
+"Boy!  How can you!"
+
+"Oh, well; I am a jealous beast, Mother; I admit it.  But I have
+not been able to bring you flowers like that and it galls me to
+think that others can.  They don't deserve to have all the
+beautiful things in life, while the rest of us have none."
+
+"But it isn't her fault that she has them, is it?  And it was kind
+to share them with us."
+
+"I suppose so.  Well, what did she say to you?  Dorinda says she
+was with you nearly an hour.  What did you and she talk about?  She
+did not offer charity, did she?"
+
+"Do you think I should have accepted it, if she had?  Roscoe, I
+have never seen you so prejudiced as you are against our new
+neighbors.  It doesn't seem like you, at all.  And if her father
+and mother are like Miss Mabel, you are very wrong.  I like her
+very much."
+
+"You would try to like any one, Mother."
+
+"I did not have to try to like her.  And I was a little prejudiced,
+too, at first.  She was so wealthy, and an only child; I feared she
+might be conceited and spoiled.  But she isn't."
+
+"Not conceited!  Humph!"
+
+"No, not really.  At first she seemed a trifle distant, and I
+thought her haughty; but, afterward, when her strangeness and
+constraint had worn away, she was simple and unaffected and
+delightful.  And she is very pretty, isn't she."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She told me a great deal about herself.  She has been through
+Vassar and has traveled a great deal.  This is the first summer
+since her graduation which she has not spent abroad.  She and I
+talked of Rome and Florence.  I--I told her of the month I spent in
+Italy when you were a baby, Roscoe."
+
+"You did not tell her anything more, Mother?  Anything she should
+not know?"
+
+"Boy!" reproachfully.
+
+"Pardon me, Mother.  Of course you didn't.  Did she tell you why
+she called on us--on you, I mean?"
+
+"Yes, in a way.  I imagine--though she did not say so--that you
+are responsible for that.  She and Nellie Dean seem to be well
+acquainted, almost friendly, which is odd, for I can scarcely think
+of two girls more different.  But she likes Nellie, that is
+evident, and Nellie and George have told her about you and me."
+
+"I see.  And so she was curious concerning the interesting invalid.
+Probably anything even mildly interesting is a godsend to her, down
+here.  Did she mention the Shore Lane rumpus?"
+
+"Yes.  Although I mentioned it first.  It was plain that she could
+not understand your position in the matter, Roscoe, and I explained
+it as well as I could.  I told her that you felt the Lane was a
+necessity to the townspeople, and that, under the circumstances,
+you could not sell.  I told her how deeply you sympathized with her
+mother--"
+
+"Did you tell her that?"
+
+"Why, yes.  It is true, isn't it?"
+
+"Humph!  Mildly so, maybe.  What more did she say?"
+
+"She said she thought she understood better now.  I told her about
+you, Boy, and what a good son you had been to me.  How you had
+sacrificed your future and your career for my sake.  Of course I
+could not go into particulars, at all, but we talked a great deal
+about you, Roscoe."
+
+"That must have been deliriously interesting--to her."
+
+"I think it was.  She told me of your helping her home through the
+storm, and of something else you had not told me, Boy: of your
+bringing her and Mr. Carver off the flat in the boat that day.  Why
+did you keep that a secret?"
+
+"It was not worth telling."
+
+"She thought it was.  She laughed about it; said you handled the
+affair in a most businesslike and unsentimental way; she never felt
+more like a bundle of dry-goods in her life, but that that appeared
+to be your manner of handling people.  It was a somewhat startling
+manner, but very effective, she said.  I don't know what she meant
+by that."
+
+I knew, but I did not explain.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an
+hour?" I demanded.
+
+"No, indeed.  We talked of ever so many things.  Of books, and
+pictures, and music.  I'm afraid I was rather wearisome.  It seemed
+so good to have some one--except you, of course, dear--to discuss
+such subjects with.  Most of my callers are not interested in
+them."
+
+I was silent.
+
+"She is coming again, she says," continued Mother.  "She has some
+new books she is going to lend me.  You must read them to me.  And
+aren't those roses wonderful?  She picked them, herself, in their
+conservatory.  I told her how fond you were of flowers."
+
+I judged that the young lady must have gone away with the idea that
+I was a combination of longshore lout and effeminate dilettante,
+with the financial resources of the former.  She might as well have
+that idea as any other, I supposed, but, in her eyes, I must be
+more of a freak than ever.  I should take care to keep out of the
+sight of those eyes as much as possible.  But that the millionaire's
+daughter had made a hit on the occasion of her first call was plain.
+Not only had Mother been favorably impressed, but even the practical
+and unromantic Dorinda's shell was dented.  She deigned to observe
+that the young lady seemed to have "consider'ble common-sense,
+considerin' her bringin' up."  This, from Dorinda, was high praise,
+and I wondered what the caller had said or done to win such a
+triumph.  Lute made the matter clear.
+
+"By time!" he said, when he and I were together, "that girl's a
+smart one.  I'd give somethin' to have her kind of smartness.
+Dorindy was terrible cranky all the time she was in your ma's room
+and I didn't know what would happen when she come out.  But the
+fust thing she done when she come out was to look around the dinin'
+room and say, 'Oh! what a pleasant, homey place!  And so clean!
+Why, it is perfectly spotless!'  Land sakes! the old lady thawed
+out like a cranberry bog in April.  After that they talked about
+housekeepin' and cookin' and such, sociable as could be.  Dorindy's
+goin' to give her her receipt for doughnuts next time she comes.
+And I bet that girl never cooked a doughnut in her life or ever
+will.  If I could think of the right thing to say, like that,
+'twould save me more'n one ear-ache.  But I never do think of it
+till the next day, and then it's too late."
+
+He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued:
+
+"Say, Ros," he asked, "what's your idea of what made her come here?"
+
+"To see Mother, of course," I answered.
+
+"That's your notion, is it?"
+
+"Certainly.  What else?"
+
+"Humph!  There's other sick folks in town.  Why don't she go to see
+them?"
+
+"Perhaps she does.  I don't know."
+
+"I bet you ten cents she don't.  No, I've been reasonin' of it out,
+same as I gen'rally do, and I've got some notions of my own.  You
+don't cal'late her pa sent her so's to sort of soft soap around
+toward his gettin' the Shore Lane?  You don't cal'late 'twas part
+of that game, do you?"
+
+That supposition had crossed my mind more than once.  I was ashamed
+of it and now I denied it, indignantly.
+
+"Of course not," I answered.
+
+"Well, I don't think so, myself.  But if 'tain't that it's another
+reason.  She may be interested in Comfort; I don't say she ain't;
+but that ain't all she's interested in."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Never mind.  I ain't said nothin'.  I'm just waitin' to see,
+that's all.  I have had some experience in this world, I have.
+There's different times comin' for this family, you set that down
+in your log-book, Ros Paine."
+
+"Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people
+intend offering us charity--"
+
+"Who said anything about charity?  No; if she had that idee in her
+head, her talk with your ma would drive it out.  'Tain't charity, I
+ain't sayin' what 'tis. . . .  I wonder how 'twould seem to be
+rich."
+
+"Lute, you're growing more foolish every day."
+
+"So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet.  All
+right, you wait and see.  And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to
+Dorindy.  She's more'n extry down on me just now, and if I breathe
+that Mabel Colton's name she hops right up in the air.  How'd I
+know that askin' if a woman who's been sick in bed six year or more
+was 'in' meant could she have folks come to see her?"
+
+Mother would have discussed the Coltons with me frequently, but I
+avoided the subject as much as possible.  The promised books
+arrived--brought over by Johnson, the butler, who viewed our humble
+quarters with lofty disdain--and I read one of them aloud to
+Mother, a chapter each evening.  More flowers came also and the
+darkened bedroom became a bower of beauty and perfume.  If I had
+yielded to my own wishes I should have returned both roses and
+books.  It was better, as I saw it, that we and our wealthy
+neighbors had nothing to do with each other.  Real friendship was
+out of the question; the memory of Mrs. Colton's frigid bow and her
+reference to me as a "person" proved that.  Her daughter might
+think otherwise, or might think that she thought so, but I knew
+better.  However, I did not like to pain Mother by refusing
+offerings which, to her, were expressions of sympathy and regard,
+so I had no protest and tried to enthuse over the gifts and loans.
+After all, what did they amount to?  One tea-rose bred from
+Dorinda's carefully tended bush, or one gushful story book selected
+by Almena Doane from the new additions to the town library and sent
+because she thought "Mrs. Comfort might find it sort of soothin'
+and distractin'," meant more real unselfish thought and kindly
+feeling than all the conservatory exotics and new novels which the
+rich girl's whim supplied from her overflowing store.  I was
+surprised only that the whim lasted so long.
+
+Behind all this, I think, and confirming my feeling, was the fact
+that Miss Colton did not repeat her call.  A week or more passed
+and she did not come.  I caught glimpses of her occasionally in the
+auto, or at the post-office, but I took care that she should not
+see me.  I did not wish to be seen, though precisely why I could
+not have explained even to myself.  The memory of that night in the
+rain, and of our meetings in the grove, troubled me because I could
+not keep them from my mind.  They kept recurring, no matter what I
+did or where I went.  No, I did not want to meet her again.
+Somehow, the sight and memory of her made me more dissatisfied and
+discontented than ever.  I found myself moodily wishing for things
+beyond my reach, longing to be something more than I was--more than
+the nobody which I knew I must always be.  I remembered my feelings
+on the morning of the day when I first saw her.  Now they seemed
+almost like premonitions.
+
+I kept away; not only from her, but from George Taylor and Captain
+Dean and the townspeople.  I went to the village scarcely at all.
+Sim Eldredge, who had evidently received orders from headquarters
+to drop the Lane "agency," troubled me no more, merely glowering
+reproachfully when we met; and Alvin Baker, whose note had been
+renewed, although he hailed me with effusive cordiality, did not
+press his society upon me, having no axe to grind at present.  Zeb
+Kendrick was using the Lane again, but he took care to bring no
+more "billiard roomers" as passengers.  I had as yet heard nothing
+from my quarrel with Tim Hallet.
+
+I spent a good deal of my time in the Comfort, or wandering about
+the shore and in the woods.  One warm, cloudy morning the notion
+seized me to go up to the ponds and try for black bass.  There are
+bass in some of the larger ponds--lakes they would be called
+anywhere else except on Cape Cod--and, if one is lucky, and the
+weather is right, and the bait tempting, they may be caught.  This
+particular morning promised to furnish the proper brand of weather,
+and a short excursion on the flats provided a supply of shrimps and
+minnows for bait.  Dorinda, who happened to be in good humor, put
+up a lunch for me and, at seven o'clock, with my rod and landing
+net in their cases, strapped, with my fishing boots and coffee pot,
+to my back, and my bait pail in one hand and lunch basket in the
+other, I started on my tramp.  It was a long four miles to
+Seabury's Pond, my destination, and Lute, to whom, like most
+country people, the idea of a four-mile walk was sheer lunacy,
+urged my harnessing the horse and driving there.  But I knew the
+overgrown wood roads and the difficulty of piloting a vehicle
+through them, and, moreover, I really preferred to go afoot.  So I
+marched off and left him protesting.
+
+Very few summer people--and only summer people or irresponsible
+persons like myself waste time in freshwater fishing on the Cape--
+knew where Seabury's Pond was.  It lay far from macadam roads and
+automobile thoroughfares and its sandy shores were bordered with
+verdure-clad hills shutting it in like the sides of a bowl.  To
+reach it from Denboro one left the Bayport road at "Beriah Holt's
+place," followed Beriah's cow path to the pasture, plunged into the
+oak and birch grove at the southern edge of that pasture, emerged
+on a grass-grown and bush-encumbered track which had once been the
+way to some early settler's home, and had been forsaken for years,
+and followed that track, in all its windings, until he saw the
+gleam of water between the upper fringe of brush and the lower
+limbs of the trees.  Then he left the track and clambered down the
+steep slope to the pond.
+
+I am a good walker, but I was tired long before I reached the
+slope.  The bait pail, which I refilled with fresh water at
+Beriah's pump, grew heavier as I went on, and I began to think Lute
+knew what he was talking about when he declared me to be "plumb
+crazy, hoofin' it four mile loaded down with all that dunnage."
+However, when the long "hoof" was over, and I sat down in a patch
+of "hog-cranberry" vines for a smoke, with the pond before me, I
+was measurably happy.  This was the sort of thing I liked.  Here
+there were no Shore Lane controversies, but real independence and
+peace.
+
+After my smoke was finished and I had rested, I carried my
+"dunnage" around to the point where I intended to begin my fishing,
+put the lunch basket in a shady place beneath the bushes, and the
+bait pail in the water nearby, changed my shoes for the fishing
+boots, rigged my rod and was ready.
+
+At first the fishing was rather poor.  The pond was full of perch
+and they were troublesome.  By and by, however, I hooked a four-
+pound pickerel and he stirred my lagging ambition.  I waded on,
+casting and playing beyond the lily pads and sedge.  At last I got
+my first bass, a small one, and had scarcely landed him than a big
+fellow struck, fought, rose and broke away.  That was spur
+sufficient.  All the forenoon I waded about the shores of that
+pond.  When at half-past eleven the sun came out and I knew my
+sport was over, for the time at least, I had four bass--two of them
+fine ones--and two, pickerel.  Then I remembered my appetite and
+Dorinda's luncheon.
+
+I went back to the point and inspected the contents of the basket.
+Sandwiches, cold chicken, eggs, doughnuts and apple puffs.  They
+looked good to me.  Also there were pepper and salt in one paper,
+sugar in another, coffee in a third, and milk in a bottle.  I
+collected some dry chips and branches and prepared to kindle a
+fire.  As I bent over the heap of sticks and chips I heard the
+sound of horses' hoofs in the woods near by.
+
+I was surprised and annoyed.  The principal charm of Seabury Pond
+was that so few people visited it.  Also fewer still knew how good
+the fishing was there.  I was not more than ordinarily selfish, but
+I did not care to have the place overrun with excursionists from
+the city, who had no scruples as to number and size of fish caught
+and would ruin the sport as they had ruined it at other and better
+known ponds.  The passerby, whoever he was--a native probably--
+would, if he saw me, ask questions concerning my luck, and be
+almost sure to tell every one he met.  I left my fire unkindled,
+stepped back to the shade of the bushes and waited in silence,
+hoping the driver would go on without stopping.  There was no real
+road on this side of the pond, but there was an abandoned wood
+track, like that by which I had come.  The horse was approaching
+along the track; the sounds of hoofs and crackling branches grew
+plainer.
+
+The odd part of it was that I heard no rattle of wheels.  It was
+almost as if the person was on horseback.  This seemed impossible,
+because no one in Denboro or Bayport--no one I could think of, at
+least--owned or rode a saddle horse.  Yet the hoof beats grew
+louder and there was no squeak, or jolt, or rattle to bear them
+company.  They came to a point in the woods directly opposite where
+I sat in the shade of the bushes and there they stopped.  Then they
+recommenced and the crackle of branches was louder than ever.  The
+rider, whoever he was, was coming down the bank to the pond.
+
+A moment more and the tall swamp-huckleberry bushes at the edge of
+the sandy beach parted and between them stepped gingerly a clean-
+cut, handsome brown horse, which threw up its head at the sight of
+the water and then trotted lightly toward it.  The rider, who sat
+so easily in the saddle, was a girl.  And the girl was Mabel
+Colton!
+
+She did not notice me at first, but gave her attention to the
+horse.  The animal waded into the water to its knees and, in
+obedience to a pull on the reins, stopped, bent its head, and began
+to drink.  Then the rider turned in her seat, looked about her, saw
+the heap of wood for the fire, the open lunch basket, the rods and
+landing-net, and--me.
+
+I had stepped from the bushes when she first appeared and was
+standing motionless, staring, I imagine, like what Dorinda
+sometimes called her husband--a "born gump."  There was Fate in
+this! no doubt about it.  The further I went to avoid this girl,
+and the more outlandish and forsaken the spot to which I fled, the
+greater the certainty of our meeting.  A feeling of helplessness
+came over me, as if I were in the clutch of destiny and no effort
+of mine could break that clutch.
+
+For a moment she looked as if she might be thinking the same thing.
+She started when she saw me and her lips parted.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed, softly.  Then we gazed at each other without
+speaking.
+
+She was the first to recover from the surprise.  Her expression
+changed.  The look of alarm caused by my sudden appearance left her
+face, but the wonder remained.
+
+"Why!  Why, Mr. Paine!" she cried.  "Is it you?"
+
+I stepped forward.
+
+"Why, Miss Colton!" said I.
+
+She drew a breath of relief.  "It IS you!" she declared.  "I was
+beginning to believe in hallucinations.  How you startled me!  What
+are you doing here?"
+
+"That is exactly what I was going to ask you," I replied.  "I am
+here for a fishing excursion.  But what brought you to this out-of-
+the-way place?"
+
+She smiled and patted the horse's shoulder.  "Don here brought me,"
+she answered.  "He saw the water and I knew he was thirsty, so I
+came straight down the bank.  But I didn't expect to find any one
+here.  I haven't seen a horse or a human being for an hour.  What a
+pretty little lake this is.  What is its name?"
+
+"It is called Seabury's Pond.  How did you find it?"
+
+"I didn't.  Don found it.  He and I came for a gallop in the woods
+and I let him choose his own paths.  I have been in his charge all
+the morning.  I haven't the least idea where we are.  There, Don!
+you have had enough and you are splashing us dreadfully.  Come
+back!"
+
+She backed the horse out of the water and turned his head toward
+the woods.
+
+"It is great fun to be lost," she observed.  "I didn't suppose any
+one could be lost in Denboro."
+
+"But this isn't Denboro.  Seabury's Pond is in Bayport township."
+
+"Is it, really?  In Bayport?  Then I must be a long way from home."
+
+"You are; four miles and a half, at least.  More than that over the
+road."
+
+She looked at her watch and frowned slightly.
+
+"Dear me!" she said.  "And it is after twelve already.  I am
+perfectly sure I can't find the way back in time for luncheon."
+
+"I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way."
+
+"No, indeed!  Don and I will get home safely.  This isn't the first
+time we have been lost together, though not on Cape Cod.  Of course
+I shouldn't think of taking you from your fishing.  Have you had
+good luck?"
+
+"Pretty fair.  Some bass and two good-sized pickerel."
+
+"Really!  Bass?  I didn't know there were any about here.  May I
+see them?"
+
+"Certainly.  They are over there in the bushes."
+
+She swung lightly down from the saddle and, taking her horse by the
+bridle, led him toward the spot where my catch lay, covered with
+leaves and wet grass.  I removed the covering and she bent over the
+fish.
+
+"Oh, splendid!" she exclaimed, with enthusiasm.  "That big one must
+be a three-pounder.  I envy you.  Bass fishing is great sport.  Did
+you get these on a fly--the bass, I mean?"
+
+"No.  I use a fly in the spring and fall, but seldom in June or
+July, here.  Those were taken with live bait-shrimp.  The pickerel
+with minnows.  Are you fond of fishing, Miss Colton?"
+
+"Yes, indeed.  Whoa, Don! steady!  Yes, I fish a good deal in
+September, when we are at our lodge in the Adirondacks.  Trout
+there, principally.  But I have caught bass in Maine.  I thought I
+must give it up this year.  I did not know there were fish, in
+fresh water, on the Cape."
+
+"There are, a few.  The people about here pay no attention to them.
+They scorn such small fry.  Cod and pollock are more in their
+line."
+
+"I suppose so.  But that is all the better for you, isn't it?  Were
+you fishing when I interrupted you?"
+
+"No, I was just getting ready for lunch.  My fire was ready to
+kindle."
+
+"Fire?  Why did you need a fire?"
+
+"For my coffee."
+
+"Coffee!  You are a luxurious picnicer, Mr. Paine.  Hot coffee on a
+fishing trip! and without a guide.  And you are unfeeling, besides,
+for you remind me that I am very hungry.  I must go at once.  How
+far am I from home?  Four miles, did you say?"
+
+"Four and a half, or more, by road.  And the roads are like those
+you have been traveling this morning.  I doubt if you could find
+the way, even with your horse's help.  I must insist upon going
+with you as far as the main road between Denboro and Bayport."
+
+"I shall not permit it."
+
+"But I insist."
+
+Her answer was a little laugh.  She put her foot in the stirrup and
+vaulted to the saddle.
+
+"Your insisting is useless, you see," she said.  "You are on foot
+and I have the advantage.  No, Don and I will go alone, thank you.
+Now, will you please tell me the way?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "Go back along the road you came," I
+said, "until you reach the second, no, the third, path to the
+right.  Follow that to the second on the left.  Then follow that
+for two hundred yards or so until--well, until you reach a clump of
+bushes, high bushes.  Behind these is another path, a blind one,
+and you must take care to pick the right clump, because there is
+another one with a path behind it and that path joins the road to
+Harniss.  If you should take the Harniss road you would go miles
+out of your way.  Take the blind path I speak of and--"
+
+She interrupted me.  "Stop! stop!" she exclaimed; "please don't.  I
+am absolutely bewildered already.  I had no idea I was in such a
+maze.  Let me see!  Second to the right; third to the left--"
+
+"No, third to the right and second to the left."
+
+"And then the bushes and the choice of blind paths.  Don, I see
+plainly that you and I must trust to Providence.  Well, it is
+fortunate that the family are accustomed to my ways.  They won't be
+alarmed, no matter how late I may be."
+
+"Miss Colton, I am not going to allow you to go alone.  Of course I
+am not.  I can set you on the right road and get back here in
+plenty of time for fishing.  The fish are not hungry in the middle
+of the day."
+
+"No, but you are.  I know you must be, because--no, good day, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+She spoke to the horse and he began to move.  I took my courage
+between my teeth, ran after the animal and seized the bridle.
+
+"You are not going alone," I said, decidedly.  I was smiling, but
+determined.
+
+She looked at me in surprised indignation.
+
+"What do you mean?" she said.
+
+I merely smiled.  Her chin lifted and her brows drew together.  I
+recognized that look; I had seen it before, on that afternoon when
+I announced my intention of carrying her from the dingy to the
+skiff.
+
+"Will you be good enough to let go of my rein?" she asked.  Every
+word was a sort of verbal icicle.  I felt the chill and my smile
+was rather forced; but I held the bridle.
+
+"No," I said, serenely as I could.  For a minute--I suppose it was
+not longer than that, it seemed an hour to me--we remained as we
+were.  Then her lips began to curl upward at the corners, and, to
+my surprise, she burst out laughing.
+
+"Really, Mr. Paine," she said, "you are the most impossible person
+I ever met.  Do you always order people about this way?  I feel as
+if I were about five years old and you were my nurse.  Are we to
+stand here the rest of the afternoon?"
+
+"Yes; unless you permit me to go with you and show you the way."
+
+"But I can't.  I'm not going to spoil your picnic.  I know you want
+your lunch.  You must.  Or, if you don't, I want mine."
+
+"If you go alone, there are nine chances in ten that you will not
+get home in time for dinner, to say nothing of lunch."
+
+She looked at me oddly, I thought, and started to speak.  Whatever
+it was she was going to say she evidently thought better of it, for
+she remained silent.
+
+Then I had a new idea.  Whether or not it was her look which
+inspired it I do not know.  I think it must have been; I never
+would have dared such a thing without inspiration.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, hesitatingly, "if you really are not--if you
+are sure your people will not worry about you--I--I should be glad
+to share my lunch with you.  Then we could go home together
+afterward."
+
+She did not look at me now.  Instead she turned her head.
+
+"Are--are you sure there is enough for two?" she asked, in a
+curiously choked tone.
+
+By way of answer I led the horse to the bushes, drew the lunch
+basket from the shade, and threw back the cover.  Dorinda's picnic
+lunches were triumphs and she had never put up a more tempting one.
+
+Miss Colton looked down into the basket.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed.
+
+"There appears to be enough, doesn't there?" I observed, drily.
+
+"But--but I couldn't think of . . .  Are you sure I won't be . . .
+Thank you.  Yes, I'll stay."
+
+Before I could offer my hand to help her from the saddle she sprang
+to the ground.  Her eyes were sparkling.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, in a burst of confidence, "it is shameless
+to tell you so, I know, but I was dreadfully afraid you weren't
+going to ask me.  I am absolutely STARVED."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+"And now," continued Miss Colton, after an interval during which,
+I presume, she had been waiting for some reply to her frank
+declaration concerning mind and appetite, "what must I do to help?
+Shall I unpack the basket?"
+
+I was struggling, as we say in Denboro, to get the ship under
+control.  I had been taken aback so suddenly that I had lost
+steerage way.  My slight experience with the vagaries of the
+feminine mind had not prepared me for the lightning changes of this
+kind.  Not two minutes before she had, if one might judge by her
+look and tone, been deeply offended, almost insulted, because I
+refused to permit her wandering off alone into the woods.  My
+invitation to lunch had been given on the spur of the moment and
+with no idea that it would be accepted.  And she not only accepted,
+but had expected me to invite her, had been fearful that I might
+not do so.  She told me so, herself.
+
+"Shall I unpack the basket?" she repeated.  She was looking at me
+intently and the toe of her riding boot was patting the leaves.
+"What is the matter?  Are you sorry I am going to stay?"
+
+It was high time for me to get under way.  There were squalls on
+the horizon.
+
+"Oh, no, no!" I exclaimed, hastily.  "Of course not.  I am
+delighted.  But you need not trouble to help.  Just let me attend
+to your horse and I will have lunch ready in a jiffy."
+
+I led Don over to the little green belt of meadow between the trees
+and the sand of the beach, unbuckled the reins and made him fast to
+a stout birch.  He bent his head and began to pull big mouthfuls of
+the rich grass.  He, too, was evidently glad to accept my
+invitation.
+
+When I returned to my camping ground I found the basket unpacked
+and the young lady arranging the eatables.
+
+"You shouldn't have done that," I said.  "I am the host here."
+
+She did not look up.  "Don't bother the table maid," she observed,
+briskly.  "That fire is not kindled yet."
+
+I lit the fire and, going over to the bushes, selected two of the
+fish, a bass and a pickerel.  I carried them down to the shore of
+the pond and began cleaning them, using my jacknife and a flat
+stone.  I was nearing the end of the operation when she came over
+to watch.
+
+"Why are you doing that?" she asked.  "You are not going to cook
+them--now--are you?"
+
+"I am going to try," I replied.
+
+"But how?  You haven't anything to cook them in."
+
+"I don't need it.  You don't appreciate the conveniences of this
+hotel, Miss Colton.  There! now we're ready."
+
+I rose, washed my hands in the pond, and picked up two other flat
+stones, large ones, which I had previously put aside.  These I
+carried to the fire and, raking aside the burning logs with a
+stick, laid the stones in a bed of hot coals.
+
+"Those are our frying pans," I informed her.  "When they are hot
+enough they will cook the fish.  At least, I hope they will.  Now
+for the coffee."
+
+But she waved me aside.  "The coffee is my affair," she said.  "I
+insist upon making the coffee.  Oh, you need not look at me like
+that.  I am not altogether useless.  I studied Domestic Science--a
+little--in my prep school course.  As much as I studied anything
+else," laughingly.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Mr. Paine, I am not on horseback now and you can't hold my bridle
+as you did Don's.  If you will fill the coffee pot and put it on to
+boil.  Thank you.  I am glad to see that even you obey orders,
+sometimes."
+
+I had cooked fish in out-of-door fashion often before, but I am
+quite sure I never took such pains as I did with these.  They were
+not culinary triumphs, even at that, but my guest was kind enough
+to pronounce them delicious.  The lunch basket contained two
+plates, but only one knife and fork.  These I insisted upon her
+using and I got on very well with sharpened sticks and a spoon.
+The coffee was--well, it had one qualification, strength.
+
+We conversed but little during the meal.  The young lady said she
+was too hungry to talk and I was so confounded with the strangeness
+of the whole affair that I was glad to be silent.  Sitting opposite
+me, eating Dorinda's doughnuts and apple puffs and the fish that
+I--_I_ had cooked, was "Big Jim" Colton's daughter, the automobile
+girl, the heiress, the "incarnation of snobbery," the young lady
+whose father I had bidden go to the devil and to whom, in company
+with the rest of the family, I had many times mentally extended the
+same invitation.  And now we were picnicing together as if we were
+friends of long standing.  Why, Nellie Dean could not appear more
+unpretentious and unconscious of social differences than this girl
+to-day!  What would her parents say if they saw us like this?  What
+would Captain Jed, and the rest of those in rebellion against the
+Emperor of New York, say?  That I was a traitor, hand and glove
+with the enemy.  Well, I was not; and I did not intend to be.  But
+for her to--
+
+She interrupted my meditations.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she observed, suddenly, "you will excuse my mentioning
+it, but you are distinctly not entertaining.  You have not spoken a
+word for five minutes.  And you are not attending to my needs.  The
+apple puffs are on your side of the--table."
+
+I hastened to pass the paper containing the puffs.
+
+"I beg your pardon," I said, hurriedly.  "I--I was daydreaming, I
+guess."
+
+"So I imagined.  I forgive you; this lunch would tempt me to
+forgive greater sins than yours.  Did that delightful old
+housekeeper of yours cook all these nice things?"
+
+"She did.  So you think Dorinda delightful, do you?"
+
+"Yes.  She is so sincere and good-hearted.  And so odd and bright
+and funny.  I could listen to her for hours."
+
+"Humph!  Well, if you were a member of her household you would have
+that privilege often.  I doubt if her husband considers it such a
+privilege."
+
+"Her husband?  Oh, yes! I met him.  He is a character, too, isn't
+he?"
+
+"Yes; a weak one."
+
+She put down her coffee cup and sighed, contentedly.
+
+"I think I never tasted anything so good as this lunch," she
+observed.  "And I'm quite sure I never ate so much at one sitting.
+I am going to help you clear away, but please don't ask me to do it
+just now.  Have you finished?  You may smoke, if you like."
+
+I had been longing for a smoke and now I filled my pipe and lighted
+it.
+
+"Now we can talk, can't we?" she said.  "I want you to tell me
+about your mother.  How is she?"
+
+"Just as she was when you saw her," I answered.  "Mother is always
+the same."
+
+"She is a dear.  I had heard so many nice things about her and I
+was not disappointed.  I intended to make only a short call and I
+stayed and stayed.  I hope I did not tire her."
+
+"Not at all.  Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly."
+
+"Did she?  I am so glad.  I really am.  I went to your house with a
+good deal of misgiving, Mr. Paine.  I feared that my coming might
+be considered an intrusion."
+
+"I told you that it would not."
+
+"I know.  But, under the circumstances--Father's disagreement with--
+considering all the--the--  Oh, what shall I call it?"
+
+"The late unpleasantness," I suggested.
+
+Again came the twinkle in her eye.  She nodded.
+
+"Thank you," she said.  "That is a quotation, but it was clever of
+you to think of it.  Yes, considering the late unpleasantness, I
+was afraid my visit might be misunderstood.  I was fearful that
+your mother or--someone--might think I came there with an ulterior
+motive, something connected with that troublesome Lane dispute.  Of
+course no one did think such a thing?"
+
+She asked the question quickly and with intense seriousness.  I
+remembered Lute's hint and my own secret suspicions, but I answered
+promptly.
+
+"Of course not," I said.
+
+"You did not think that, did you?"
+
+"No," unblushingly.
+
+"I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she
+must be a wonderful woman.  I wanted to meet her.  And she IS
+wonderful; and so patient and sweet and good.  I fell in love with
+her.  Everyone must love her.  You should be proud of your mother,
+Mr. Paine."
+
+"I am," I answered, simply.
+
+"You have reason.  And she is very proud of you."
+
+"Without the reason, I'm afraid."
+
+She did not speak.  Her silence hurt.  I felt that I knew what she
+was thinking and I determined to make her say it.
+
+"Without the reason," I repeated.
+
+"I did not say that."
+
+"But you thought it."
+
+My stubborn persistence was a mistake.  Again, as at our meeting in
+the grove, I had gone too far.  Her answer was as completely
+indifferent as speech and tone could be.
+
+"Indeed?" she said, coldly.  "It is barely possible that I did not
+think about it at all. . . .  Now, Mr. Paine, if you are ready
+shall we clear away?"
+
+The clearing, most of it, was done silently.  I washed the plates,
+the coffee pot and other things, in the pond and she packed them in
+the basket.  As I returned with the knife and forks I found her
+looking at the coffee pot and smiling.
+
+"What is the matter?" I asked, sulkily.  I was provoked with myself
+for forgetting who and what I was, and with her for making me
+forget.  "Isn't it clean?"
+
+"Why, yes," she answered, "surprisingly so.  Did they teach
+Domestic Science at your college, too?"
+
+I started.  "MY college!" I repeated.  "How did you know I had been
+at college?  Did Mother tell you?"
+
+She laughed gleefully.
+
+"Did Mother tell you?" I demanded.  "If she did--"
+
+"Well, what if she did?  However, she did not.  But you have told
+me now.  Harvard, was it? or Yale?"
+
+I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away.
+
+"Princeton, perhaps," suggested Miss Colton.
+
+I walked over and began to unjoint my rod.  I was a fool to be
+trapped like this.  No one in Denboro except Mother and George
+Taylor knew of my brief college career, and now I had, practically,
+told this girl of it.  She might--if she were sufficiently
+interested to remember, which was fortunately not probable--tell
+her father and he might ask other questions concerning my history.
+Where would those questions lead?
+
+I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me.
+I did not turn.
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said.
+
+I pretended not to hear.
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paine," she said again.
+
+"It's all right," I muttered.  "No apologies are necessary."
+
+I said it like a sullen schoolboy.  There was another moment of
+silence.  Then I heard her move away.  I looked over my shoulder.
+She was walking toward the meadow where Don, the horse, was
+picketed.  There was offended dignity in every line of her figure.
+
+For a moment I fought with my pride and injured self-respect.  Then
+I hurried after her.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said.
+
+"Well?" she neither turned nor stopped.
+
+"Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that.  I was rude."
+
+She stopped.  "You were," she said.
+
+"I know it.  I am sorry.  I apologize."
+
+"No apologies are necessary."
+
+Here was tit for tat.  I did not know what more to say, so I said
+nothing.
+
+"Do I understand that you ask my pardon?" she inquired, still
+without turning.
+
+"I do.  If you will permit me, I will explain.  I--"
+
+She whirled about and faced me.  To my astonishment she was smiling
+once more.
+
+"Of course you won't explain," she declared.  "I had no right to
+ask you about your college.  But I couldn't help guessing.  I told
+you that I liked puzzles.  We'll say no more about it.  I have
+enjoyed this picnic and I won't have it spoiled.  Now why are you
+taking your rod apart?"
+
+"Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show
+you the way."
+
+"But I don't have to go yet, do I?  It is not late.  And I thought
+perhaps you would let me see you catch another bass.  Won't you?
+Please."
+
+Once more she had me at a disadvantage.  I had no desire for more
+fishing, and I was fearful of further questions, but what could I
+do?  And it was not late--but a little past two o'clock.
+
+So I rigged the rod again and led the way down the shore to the
+spot where the sedge extended out into the pond, with the lily pads
+beyond it.  She walked beside me.  Then she seated herself on a
+fallen tree and I baited the hook with a lively minnow and cast.
+For some time I got not even a nibble.  As I waited she and I
+talked.  But now it was I who questioned.
+
+"Do you like Denboro?" I asked.
+
+"I am beginning to like it very much.  At first I thought it very
+dull, but now I am getting acquainted."
+
+"There are few cottagers and summer people here.  But in Harniss
+there is a large colony.  Very nice people, I believe."
+
+"Yes, I have met some of them.  But it was not the summer people I
+meant.  I am beginning to know the townspeople and to like some of
+them.  I met that delightful old Captain Warren the other day."
+
+"He is as good as they make."
+
+"Indeed he is.  And I had an interview with another captain, Miss
+Dean's father, yesterday.  We had an interesting encounter."
+
+"So I should imagine.  Captain Jed!  Whew!  It MUST have been
+interesting."
+
+"It was.  Oh, we were very fierce at first--at least he was, and I
+fought for my side as hard as I could.  He said Father was a
+selfish pig for wanting to close the Lane, and I said it was
+because of its use by the pigs that he wished to close it."
+
+"Ha! ha!  How did it end?"
+
+"Oh, we agreed to disagree.  I respect Captain Dean for his fight;
+but Father will win, of course.  He always does."
+
+"He won't win this time, Miss Colton."
+
+"Why not?  Oh, I actually forgot I was talking to the head and
+front of the opposition.  So you think he will not win, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"I am sure of it.  He cannot close that Lane until I sell it, and I
+shall not sell."
+
+She regarded me thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand.
+
+"It would be odd if he should not, after all," she said.  "He
+prides himself on having his own way.  It would be strange if he
+should be beaten down here, after winning so often in New York.
+Your mother told me something of your feeling in the matter, Mr.
+Paine.  Father has offered you a good price for the land, hasn't
+he?"
+
+"He has offered me a dozen times what it is worth."
+
+"Yes.  He does not count money when he has set his heart upon
+anything.  And you refused?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused
+its offer, too."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You don't seem to care for money, either, Mr. Paine.  Are all Cape
+Cod people so unmercenary?  Or is it that you all have money
+enough--. . .  Pardon me.  That was impolite.  I spoke without
+thinking."
+
+"Oh, never mind.  I am not sensitive--on that point, at least."
+
+"But I do mind.  And I am sorry I said it.  And I should like to
+understand.  I see why the townspeople do not want the Lane closed.
+But you have not lived here always.  Only a few years, so Miss Dean
+says.  She said, too, that that Mr. Taylor, the cashier, was almost
+the only intimate friend you have made since you came.  Others
+would like to be friendly, but you will not permit them to be.
+And, yet for these people, mere acquaintances, you are sacrificing
+what Father would call a profitable deal."
+
+"Not altogether for them.  I can't explain my feeling exactly.  I
+know only that to sell them out and make money--and heaven knows I
+need money--at their expense seems to me dead wrong."
+
+"Then why don't you sell to THEM?"
+
+"I don't know.  Unless it was because to refuse your father's offer
+and accept a lower one seemed a mean trick, too.  And I won't be
+bullied into selling to anyone.  I guess that is it, as much as
+anything."
+
+"My! how stubborn you must be."
+
+"I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton.
+your sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally."
+
+"Oh, no, they are not."
+
+I almost dropped the rod.
+
+"Not--with--" I repeated.
+
+"Not altogether.  They are with you, just at present.  If you had
+sold--if you had given in to Father, feeling as you do, I should
+not have any sympathy with you at all.  As it is--"
+
+"As it is?" I asked eagerly--too eagerly.  I should have done
+better to pretend indifference.
+
+"As it is," she answered, lightly, "I respect you as I would any
+sincere fighter for a losing cause.  And I shall probably feel some
+sympathy for you after the cause is lost.  Excuse my breaking in on
+your sermon, provided it is not finished, but--I think you have a
+bite, Mr. Paine."
+
+I had, very much of a bite.  The minnow on my hook had been
+forgotten and allowed to sink to the bottom, and a big pout had
+swallowed it, along with the hook and a section of line.  I dragged
+the creature out of the water and performed a surgical operation,
+resulting in the recovery of my tackle.
+
+"There!" I exclaimed, in disgust.  "I think I have had enough
+fishing for one day.  Suppose we call it off.  Unless you would
+like to try, Miss Colton."
+
+I made the offer by way of a joke.  She accepted it instantly.
+
+"May I?" she cried, eagerly.  "I have been dying to ever since I
+came.
+
+"But--but you will get wet."
+
+"No matter.  This is an old suit."
+
+It did not look old to my countrified eyes, but I protested no
+more.  There was a rock a little below where we then were, one of
+the typical glacial boulders of the Cape--lying just at the edge of
+the water and projecting out into it.  I helped her up on to this
+rock and baited her hook with shrimp.
+
+"Shall I cast for you?" I asked.
+
+"No indeed.  I can do it, thank you."
+
+She did, and did it well.  Moreover, the line had scarcely
+straightened out in the water when it was savagely jerked, the pole
+bent into a half-circle, and out of the foaming eddy beneath its
+tip leaped the biggest bass I had seen that day, or in that pond on
+any day.
+
+"By George!" I exclaimed.  "Can you handle him?  Shall I--"
+
+She did not look at me, but I received my orders, nevertheless.
+
+"Please don't!  Keep away!" she said sharply.
+
+For nearly fifteen minutes she fought that fish, in and out among
+the pads, keeping the line tight, handling him at least as well as
+I could have done.  I ran for the landing net and, as she brought
+her captive up beside the rock, reached forward to use it.  But she
+stopped me.
+
+"No," she said, breathlessly, "I want to do this all myself."
+
+It took her several more minutes to do it, and she was pretty well
+splashed, when at last, with the heavy net dragging from one hand
+and the rod in the other, she sprang down from the rock.  Together
+we bent over the fish.
+
+"A four-pounder, if he is an ounce," said I.  "I congratulate you,
+Miss Colton."
+
+"Poor thing," she mused.  "I am almost sorry he did not get away.
+He IS a beauty, isn't he!  Now I am ready to go home."
+
+That journey home was a strange experience to me.  She rode Don and
+bore the lunch basket and the net before her on the saddle.  I
+walked alongside, carrying the rod, boots, and the fish in the
+otherwise empty bait pail.  The sunshine, streaming through the
+leaves of the arching boughs overhead, dappled the narrow,
+overgrown paths with shifting blotches of light and shadow.  Around
+us was the deep, living green of the woods, the songs of birds, the
+chatter of red squirrels, and the scent of wild honeysuckle.  And
+as we moved onward we talked--that is, she did most of the talking
+and I listened.  Yet I must have talked more than I knew, because I
+remember expressing opinions concerning books and operas and
+pictures, subjects I had not discussed for years except occasionally
+with Mother, and then only because she was still interested in them.
+I seemed, somehow, to have become a different, a younger man, under
+the influence of these few hours with the girl I had professed to
+hate so cordially.  Our companionship--perfectly meaningless as it
+was, the mere caprice of an idle day on her part--had rejuvenated
+me.  During that homeward walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that
+I was Ros Paine, the country loafer; forgot, too, that she was the
+only child of the city millionaire, that we had, or could have,
+nothing in common.  She, also, seemed to forget, and we chatted
+together as unconsciously and easily as if we had known each other
+all our lives.
+
+Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether
+without a purpose.  She led me to speak of Denboro and its people,
+of how they lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep
+sea skippers.  George Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him
+highly, telling of his rise from poor boy to successful man, as we
+rated success locally.
+
+"He manages that bank well," I declared.  "Everyone says so.  And,
+from what I have seen of his management, I know it to be true."
+
+"How do you know?" she asked.
+
+"Because I have had some experience in banking myself.  I--"
+
+I stopped short.  My tongue was running away with me.  She did not
+ask the question which I dreaded and expected.  Instead she said,
+looking down at me:
+
+"You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine."
+
+"I have reason to be loyal to George," I answered, with feeling.
+
+"Are you as loyal to yourself?"
+
+I looked up at her in surprise.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.
+
+"I have been trying to understand you, Mr. Paine.  Trying to get
+the answer to the puzzle.  In one way I think I have it.  I
+understand your attitude in the Lane affair and I think I know why
+you came to Denboro and are staying here."
+
+I stopped short.  "You--you know THAT?" I cried.
+
+"I think I do.  You believe that your mother needs you and you will
+not leave her.  That is your reason for living here, I think.  But,
+in another way, I cannot understand you at all."
+
+She spoke to the horse and we moved on again.  I waited for her to
+continue, but she was silent.
+
+"How?  What is the other way!  The way in which you cannot
+understand me?" I asked.
+
+"Shall I tell you?  Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I cannot understand how a man such as you seem to be, young,
+educated, and with life before him, can be content to do as you do,
+spend your time in fishing, or sailing, or shooting.  To have no
+ambition at all.  My father was a poor country boy, like your
+friend, Mr. Taylor, but he worked night and day until he became
+what he is now.  And even now he works, and works hard.  Oh, I am
+proud of him!  Not because he is what he is, but because he has
+done it all himself.  If I were a man I would have some purpose in
+life; I would do SOMETHING worth while if it were only to sell fish
+from a cart, like that old fellow with the queer name--what is it?--
+Oh, yes!  Theophilus Newcomb."
+
+I did not answer.  She had said all that was necessary, and more.
+It was quite enough for me.
+
+"There!" she observed, after a moment.  "You asked me to tell you
+and I did.  If you never speak to me again it will be exactly what
+I deserve.  But I thought it and so I said it.  Expressing my
+thoughts is one of my bad habits. . . .  Oh, why, we are almost
+home, aren't we!"
+
+We had come to the edge of the grove bordering Beriah Holt's
+pasture.  The grove was on the west side of a little hill.  Before
+us the pasture sloped away to Beriah's house and barn, with the
+road beyond it.  And beyond that, in the distance, were the
+steeples and roofs of Denboro.  Among them the gables and tower of
+the Colton mansion rose, conspicuous and costly.
+
+She turned in the saddle.  "I presume I may leave you now, Mr.
+Paine," she said.  "Even you must admit that the rest of the way is
+plain sailing.  Thank you for your hospitality and for your
+services as guide.  I will send the basket and net over by one of
+the servants."
+
+"I will take them now," I said, shortly.
+
+"Very well, if you prefer.  Here they are."
+
+I took them from her.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.  "And thanks once more for a very
+pleasant picnic."
+
+"You are quite welcome, I'm sure.  Thank you for your frank opinion
+of my--worthlessness.  It was kind of you to express it."
+
+The sarcasm was not lost upon her.
+
+"I meant it as a kindness," she replied.
+
+"Yes.  And it was true enough, probably.  Doubtless I shall derive
+great benefit from your--words of wisdom."
+
+Her patience, evidently, was exhausted.  She turned away.  "Oh,
+that," she said, indifferently, "is your affair.  I told you what I
+believed to be the truth, that was all.  What you do is not likely
+to be of vast importance to me, one way or the other.  Come, Don!"
+
+Don cantered down the slope.  I watched him and his rider disappear
+beyond the trees in the distance.  Then I picked up my pail and
+other burdens and followed in their wake.  The sun was behind a
+cloud.  It had been a strange day with a miserable ending.  I was
+furiously angry with her, but I was more angry with myself.  For
+what she had told me WAS the truth, and I knew it.
+
+I strode on, head down, through the village.  People spoke to me,
+asking what luck I had had and where I had been, but I scarcely
+noticed them.  As I reached the Corners and was passing the bank
+someone called my name.  I glanced up and saw George Taylor
+descending the steps.
+
+"Hold on, Ros," he hailed.  "Wait a minute.  What's your rush?
+Hold on!"
+
+I halted reluctantly.
+
+"Fishing again, I see," he observed, as he reached my side.  "Any
+luck?"
+
+"Fair," I told him.
+
+"What pond?"
+
+"Seabury's."
+
+"Go alone?"
+
+"Yes."  That I had not been alone since was no business of his.
+
+"Humph!  You ain't exactly what a fellow'd call talkative this
+afternoon, seems to me.  Anything wrong?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Tuckered out?"
+
+"I guess so."
+
+"Well, so am I, but I ain't had your fun getting that way.  Small
+and I have been at it night and day getting things in shape so he
+could leave.  He's gone.  Went this noon.  And that ain't the worst
+of it; I haven't got anybody yet to take his place.  I'll have to
+be cashier and bookkeeper too for a spell.  There's applicants
+enough; but they don't suit.  Guess likely you'll have to help me
+out, after all, Ros.  The job is yours if you say the word."
+
+He laughed as he said it.  Even to him the idea of my working was a
+joke.
+
+But the joke did not seem funny to me, just then.  I walked on for
+some distance without a word.  Then I asked a question.
+
+"What is expected of a man in that position?" I asked.
+
+"Expected?  Why, plain bank bookkeeping--not much else at first.
+Yet there's a good chance for a likely fellow to be considerable
+more, in time.  I need help in my part of the work.  That's why I
+haven't hired any of the dozen or so who are after the place.  What
+makes you ask?  You don't know of a good man for me, do you, Ros?"
+
+"When do you want him to begin?"
+
+"To-morrow morning, if he satisfies me."
+
+"Would I satisfy you?"
+
+"You!  Humph!  Try me and see, that's all I'd ask."
+
+"All right.  I'll be on hand in the morning."
+
+He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm.
+
+"See here!" he cried, "I'm lost in the fog, I guess likely.  What
+do you mean by that?  Is it time to laugh--or what?"
+
+"It may be; I don't know.  But I take the bookkeeper's position in
+your bank.  Now, good-by.  Don't talk to me.  I don't feel like
+talking."
+
+"But--but, Ros."
+
+"Good-by."
+
+I walked on.  I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me.
+
+"Ros," he said, "I ain't going to say but just one thing.  If you
+meant what you said I'm the most tickled man on the Cape.  But you
+ain't asked a word about the salary."
+
+"I know it.  I haven't asked because I don't care.  I'll be on hand
+in the morning."
+
+I left him standing there, and hurried down the Lower Road.  As I
+had said to him, I did not feel like talking.  I did not want even
+to see any one.  I wanted to be let alone.  But it was fated that I
+should not be, not yet.  Sim Eldredge was waiting for me around the
+corner.  He stepped out from behind the fence where he had been
+hidden.
+
+"Ros!" he whispered.  "Ros Paine!  Wait.  It's me, Sim.  I want to
+ask you somethin'.  Wan't that George Taylor you was speakin' to
+just now?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, impatiently.  "What of it?"
+
+"Say, Ros, you and me ain't pulled that Colton trade off, but it
+ain't my fault.  You ain't got no hard feelin's against me, I know.
+And I want you to do a little mite of favor for me.  Will you?"
+
+"What is it?  If it has anything to do with the Lane, I tell you
+now that--"
+
+"It ain't--it ain't.  It's about that bookkeepin' job in the bank,
+Henry Small's place, the one he's just quit.  I've got a third
+cousin, name of Josiah Badger, over to South Harniss.  He's a smart
+young chap, and an A-1 accountant at figgers.  He's been keepin'
+books down at the fish wharf--see?  Now, he'd like that job and,
+bein' as you and George are so thick, I cal'lated maybe you'd sort
+of use your influence along of George, and--and get it for him.
+There ain't nothin' in it for me--that is, nothin' much.  But I
+feel friendly toward Josiah and you know I like to do little
+kindnesses for folks.  So--"
+
+"There! there!" I interrupted.  "It's no use, Sim.  I can't help
+you."
+
+"Why! yes you can."
+
+"No, I can't.  I don't know your cousin, and besides--well, you are
+too late.  The place is filled."
+
+Sim's expression changed.  He looked surprised and crestfallen.
+
+"Filled?" he exclaimed.  "Why, no, 'tain't!  If 'twas I'd have
+known it, wouldn't I?  Who'd you hear had got it?  Whoever you
+heard, 'tain't so."
+
+"Yes, it is."
+
+"How do you know?  Who is it, then?"
+
+I hesitated.  Before noon of the next day every soul in Denboro
+would have heard the news.  Eldredge might as well hear it now.
+
+"I've taken the place myself," I said.
+
+"You?"  Sim actually forgot to whisper; he shouted the word.  "YOU!
+Ha! ha! ha!  Ros, quit your foolin'."
+
+"I'm not fooling.  I go to work in the bank to-morrow morning."
+
+"But--  Oh, my soul!  You!  Aw, I know better!  Say, Ros, don't
+let's waste time like this.  Fun's all right, but . . .  My heavens
+to Betsy!  YOU work for a livin'!  If I believed that I'd believe
+anything.  Tell me, now.  Who has got that job? . . .  Why don't
+you answer me?"
+
+I answered him.  "Shut up!" I said, fiercely.  Then I vaulted the
+fence and set out for home across lots.
+
+I heard the next day that Sim went back to the post-office and
+informed the gathering there that Ros Paine had taken to drinking.
+
+"He was tight as a biled owl," declared Sim; "and ugly--don't talk!
+Wanted to fight me because I wouldn't believe he was goin' to work.
+Him!  What in the everlastin' would HE want to work for?  My
+heavens to Betsy!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+I think Taylor was almost as surprised as Eldredge had been, when,
+at half-past eight the following morning, I appeared at the bank.
+He was already at his desk and, when he looked up and saw me, he
+whistled.
+
+"Whew!" he exclaimed.  "So.  I didn't dream it, after all.  You're
+here, ain't you."
+
+"I am here," I answered, opening the gate and stepping in behind
+the rail.
+
+"Going to take it back and say you never said it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Come to go to work?  Really?"
+
+"That is my intention, unless you have changed your mind."
+
+"Not me.  It ain't likely.  But, Ros, I--sit down a minute and
+let's talk.  What are you doing this for?"
+
+It was a question I had been asking myself at intervals during a
+restless night.  Now I gave the only truthful answer.
+
+"I don't know," I said.
+
+"You don't know!"
+
+"No.  And I don't seem to care.  Suppose we don't talk about it.  I
+am here, and I am ready to begin work.  That's enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Why, no; not quite.  You're not doing it just to help me out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You don't need to work.  You've got money enough."
+
+"No, I haven't.  But money isn't my reason.  I haven't any reason.
+Now show me the books, will you?"
+
+"Don't be in a hurry.  What does your mother think about it?"
+
+"I haven't told her yet.  Time enough for that when I know that I
+really mean it and you know that I am competent to fill the
+position.  George, if you keep on cross-examining me I am likely to
+quit before I begin.  I don't know why I am doing this, but just
+now I think I am going to do it if I can.  However, I am not sure.
+So you had better be careful."
+
+"Humph!  What did you catch up at that pond yesterday?  I never saw
+a day's fishing make such a difference in a man in my life. . . .
+All right, Ros.  All right.  I won't pester you.  Too glad to have
+you here for that.  Now about the salary."
+
+"Before we speak of that there is one more point.  How about your
+directors?  Dean and the rest?  Do they know you offered me the
+position?"
+
+"Sure thing!  They put the whole affair in my hands.  They'll be
+satisfied.  And as for Cap'n Jed--why, he was the one that
+suggested hiring you in the first place."
+
+"Captain Jed!  Captain Jed Dean!  HE suggested it?"
+
+"Yup.  In a way, he did.  You may not know it, Ros, but you've made
+a good deal of a hit with the old man.  He ain't been used to
+having anybody stand up to him as you have.  As a general thing
+Denboro jumps when he snaps the whip.  You didn't, and he couldn't
+understand why.  He is the kind that respects anything they can't
+understand.  Then, too, Nellie likes you, and she's his idol, you
+know.  Ah hum!"
+
+He sighed and, for a moment, seemed to forget me altogether.  I
+reminded him by another question.
+
+"But why should the captain think of me for this place?" I asked.
+"Why should he dream that I would take it?  I gave you no
+encouragement."
+
+"I don't know as he did dream it.  But he and I were speaking of
+you and he said he'd like to do something to show you what the town
+thought of your holding out against Colton.  That tickled him down
+to the keel.  I said you'd be a first-class helper to me in this
+bank, that I heard you knew something about banking--"
+
+"George!"
+
+"It's all right.  I only mentioned that I heard rumors that you
+were in a city bank somewhere at one time.  He didn't ask any more
+and I shouldn't have told him if he had.  But the idea pleased him,
+I could see that.  'Why don't you try to get him?' says he.  'Maybe
+the days of miracles ain't past.  Perhaps even he'd condescend to
+work, if the right job came his way.'"
+
+"So that's what you call his suggesting me, do you?  Humph!"
+
+"Well, I told him about it last night, when I was up to see Nellie,
+and he was pleased as Punch.  Surprised, of course, but pleased.
+He's practically the whole board, as far as settling things is
+concerned, so it is all right.  He ain't the worst friend you've
+got, by a long shot."
+
+I imagined that I understood what Captain Jed's "friendship" meant.
+My accepting the bank position was one more bond binding me to his
+side in the Shore Lane battle.  And, so long as I was under
+Taylor's eye and his own, I could not be subject to the Colton
+influence.
+
+George and I discussed the question of salary, if his offer and my
+prompt acceptance might be called a discussion.  The pay was not
+large to begin with, but it was more than I had a right to expect.
+And I was perfectly honest when I said that money was not the
+consideration which led me to make the sudden change in my habit of
+life.  I was sick of idleness; I had longed for something to occupy
+my life and time; I might as well be doing this as anything;
+Taylor's offer had appealed to me when he first made it; these were
+the excuses I evolved for my own satisfaction and I tried to
+believe them real.  But one reason I would not admit, even in my
+thoughts, as a possibility.  It was not that girl, or anything she
+had said, which influenced me.  No! over and over again--no.
+
+Sam Wheeler, the young fellow who acted as assistant bookkeeper and
+messenger, came in, and Taylor, after showing me the books and
+giving me a few hints as to what my duties would be, turned me over
+to him for further instruction.  I found I needed but little.  The
+pages, with their rows of figures, seemed like old friends.  I
+almost enjoyed poring over them.  Was it possible that I was going
+to like this new venture of mine?
+
+Before noon I was fairly certain of it.  The work in a country bank
+is different from that in the large city institutions, in that it
+is by no means as specialized.  I found that, later on, I should be
+expected to combine the work of teller with that of bookkeeper.
+And this, too, seemed natural.  I worked as steadily as I could,
+considering interruptions, and the forenoon was over almost before
+I knew it.
+
+The interruptions, however, were numerous and annoying; some of
+them, too, were amusing.  Depositors came, saw me behind the bars
+of the window, and, after expressing their astonishment, demanded
+to know what I was doing there.  If I had answered all the
+questions put to me by the curious Denboroites I should have found
+time for little else.  But Taylor helped me by shooing the curious
+ones away.  "Don't bother the new hand," he said.  "If you want to
+know particulars ask me.  Anything I don't tell you you can read in
+next week's Item.  This is a bank, not a question box."
+
+Captain Elisha Warren came in and was as surprised as the rest.
+After an interview with the cashier he returned to my window and
+requested me to open up.  When I did so he reached in a big hand
+and seized mine.
+
+"Shake, Ros," he said, heartily.  "I'm glad for the bank and I'm
+gladder still for you.  Come hard at fust, does it?"
+
+"A little," I confessed.  "Not as hard as I expected, though."
+
+"Fust day or two out of port is always the toughest.  You'll get
+your sea legs on pretty soon.  Then you'll be glad you shipped, I
+cal'late."
+
+"I hope so," I answered, rather dubiously.
+
+"I know you will.  There's nothin' so tiresome as doin' nothin'.  I
+know, because that's been my job for quite a spell.  Seems
+sometimes as if I'd have a fit, I get so sick of loafin'."
+
+His idea of a "loaf" was rising at six and weeding his garden,
+superintending the labor on his cranberry swamps or about his barns
+and grounds, attending bank and Selectmen's meetings, and generally
+keeping busy until sunset.
+
+"I tell Abbie, my housekeeper," he continued, "that if 'twan't for
+my age I believe I'd go to sea again just to keep from fallin'
+apart with dry rot.  I asked her if she'd noticed how my timbers
+creaked, and she said I didn't keep still long enough for her to
+notice anything.  Ho! ho!  Nothin' makes her more provoked than for
+me to mention gettin' old or goin' to sea.  All the same, I envy
+you your youth, Ros.  You've got your life afore you, and I'm glad
+to see that you're goin' to make somethin' of it.  I always said
+you'd wake up if somebody give you a punch.  Who punched you, Ros?"
+
+My reply was non-committal.
+
+"Better mind my own business, hadn't I," he observed.  "All right,
+I will.  No offense meant, you understand.  But, you see, I've
+never believed that work was the cuss of mankind, like some folks,
+and no matter how much money a young feller's got I think he's
+better off doin' somethin'.  That's the gospel accordin' to Elisha.
+Well, good luck and a pleasant v'yage.  See you again soon.  Say,"
+turning back, "keep an eye on George, will you?  Folks in love are
+l'ble to be absent-minded, they tell me, and I should not want him
+to be absent with any of my money.  Hear that, do you, George?"
+
+Taylor, who was standing near, laughed and walked away.  A moment
+later I saw him looking out of the window with the same strange
+expression on his face which I had noticed several times before
+when his approaching marriage was hinted at.  Something was
+troubling him, that was plain.  He loved Nellie devotedly, I knew;
+yet he obviously did not like to hear the marriage mentioned.
+
+Sim Eldredge was one of the first visitors to the bank, but his
+visit was a short one.  He entered the door, walked straight to the
+teller's window and peered through the bars.  I heard him catch his
+breath.
+
+"Good morning, Sim," said I.  "What can I do for you?"
+
+"Do?" he repeated.  "Do for me?  Nothin'--nothin', 'special.  You--
+you meant it, then?"
+
+"I told you I did."
+
+"My soul!" was all the answer he made.  Then he turned and walked
+out.
+
+At about eleven o'clock I was half-way through the addition of a
+column of figures when I heard some one say, "Well, by time!" with
+such anguished fervor that it was almost like a prayer for help.  I
+looked up.  Lute Rogers was staring in at me, open-mouthed and
+horror-stricken.
+
+"Hello, Lute!" I said.
+
+Lute swallowed hard.
+
+"They told me 'twas so," he stammered.  "They said so and--and I
+laughed at 'em.  Ros, you ain't, be you?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Goin' to stay in there and--and take Henry's job?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You be!  And you never said nothin' to nobody?  To Dorinda?  Or
+even Comfort?"
+
+"No; not yet."
+
+"Nor to me.  To ME, by time!  You let them fellers at the store
+make a fool of me--"
+
+"No one could do that, Lute.  I have told you so often."
+
+"And you let them know it afore I did.  And me livin' right in the
+house with you!  By time!  I--I--"
+
+"There, there, Lute! don't cry.  I'll tell you all about it when I
+come home for dinner."
+
+"Yes, I should think you might do that much.  Treatin' your own
+family like--why did you tell Sim Eldredge?"
+
+"Sim asked me and so I told him, that was all.  Don't stand there
+fidgeting.  Run along home, there's a good fellow.  Mr. Taylor has
+his eye on you already."
+
+Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to
+go.
+
+"Well!" he exclaimed, "I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's
+some satisfaction.  Say! can I tell 'em to home?"
+
+I hesitated.  "You may tell Dorinda if you like," I answered.  "But
+I prefer to tell Mother, myself."
+
+George rose from his desk just then and Lute hurried to the door.
+I smiled.  I imagined his arrival in our kitchen and how he would
+explode the sensational news upon his unsuspecting wife.
+
+But I was not altogether calm, though I did my best to appear so,
+when I entered that kitchen at a quarter past twelve.  Lute was
+seated in a chair by the window, evidently watching and waiting.
+He sprang up as I entered.
+
+"Set down," ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the
+oven.  She merely nodded when I came in.  Dorinda often spoke in
+meeting against "sinful pride"; yet she had her share of pride,
+sinful or not.  She would not ask questions or deign to appear
+excited, not she.
+
+"But Dorinda," cried her husband, "it's Ros.  Don't you see?"
+
+"You set down, Lute Rogers.  Well," turning to me, "dinner's ready,
+if you are."
+
+"I shall be in a few minutes," I answered.  "I want to see Mother
+first."
+
+Breaking the news to Mother was a duty which I dreaded.  But it
+turned out to be not dreadful at all.  Mother was surprised, of
+course, but she did not offer a single objection.  Her principal
+feeling seemed to be curiosity as to my reasons for the sudden
+change.
+
+"Of course, Roscoe, if you are happier I shall be, too," she said.
+"I know it must have been very dull for you here.  My conscience
+has troubled me not a little all these years.  I realize that a
+man, a young man like you, needs an interest in life; he wants
+something more than the care and companionship of a useless
+creature like me."
+
+"Mother, how often have I told you not to speak like that."
+
+"But he does.  Many times, when you and I have been here together,
+I have been on the point of urging you to leave me and go back to
+the world and take your place in it.  More than once, you remember,
+dear, I have hinted at such a thing, but you have always chosen not
+to understand the hints, and I have been so weak and selfish that I
+have not pressed them.  I am glad you have done this, if it seems
+right to you.  But does it?  Are you sure?"
+
+"I think so, Mother.  I confess I am not sure."
+
+"This country bank is a pretty small place, isn't it?  Not big
+enough for my boy to prove his worth in."
+
+"It is quite big enough for that.  That doesn't require a
+Rothschild's establishment."
+
+"But your decision must have been a very sudden one.  You did not
+mention that you thought of such a thing.  Not even to me."
+
+"It was sudden," I answered.  "I took the position on the spur of
+the moment."
+
+"But why?  What led you to do it?"
+
+"I don't know, Mother."
+
+"What influenced you?  Has any one urged you?"
+
+"George Taylor offered me the place some time ago.  He urged me."
+
+"No one else?"
+
+I avoided the issue.  "You don't mind, then, Mother," I said.  "You
+are willing that I should try the experiment?"
+
+"I am glad, if it pleases you.  And you must let me say this now,
+Roscoe, because it is true and I mean it.  If another and better
+opportunity comes to you, one that might take you away from
+Denboro--and from me--for a time, of course, I want you to promise
+me that you will not refuse it on my account.  Will you promise?"
+
+"No.  Of course I shan't promise any such thing.  Is it likely that
+I would leave you, Mother?"
+
+"I know that you would not leave me unless I were willing for you
+to go.  I know that, Roscoe.  But I am much better and stronger
+than I was.  I shall never be well--"
+
+"Don't say that," I interrupted, hastily.
+
+"But I must say it, because it is true.  I shall never be well, but
+I am strong enough now to bear the thought of your leaving me and
+when the time comes I shall insist upon your doing so.  I am glad
+we have had this talk, dear.  I am glad, too, that you are going to
+be busy once more in the way you like and ought to be.  You must
+tell me about your work every day.  Now go, because your dinner is
+ready and, of course, you must be getting back to the bank.  Kiss
+me, Boy."
+
+And as I bent over her she put her arms about my neck.
+
+"Boy," she whispered, "I know there is some reason for your doing
+this, a reason which you have not told me.  You will tell me some
+day, won't you?"
+
+I straightened hurriedly and tried to laugh.  "Of course I'll tell
+you, Mother," I replied.  "If there is anything to tell."
+
+The clam pie was on the table in the dining-room and Dorinda was
+seated majestically before it.  Lute was fidgeting in his chair.
+
+"Here he is," he exclaimed, as I joined the pair at the table.
+"Ros, how did you ever come to do it?"
+
+His wife squelched him, as usual.  "If Roscoe's got anything to
+tell," she observed, with dignity, "he'll tell it without your help
+or anybody else's.  If he ain't, he won't.  This pie's colder than
+it ought to be, but that isn't my fault."
+
+As I ate I told them of my sudden determination to become a
+laboring man.  I gave the reasons that I had given Mother.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.
+
+"But I can't understand," pleaded Lute.  "You don't need to work,
+and I've sort of took a pride in your not doin' it.  If I was well-
+off, same as you be, I bet George Taylor'd have to whistle afore I
+wore out MY brains in his old bank."
+
+"He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once," was Dorinda's
+comment.
+
+"Now, Dorinda, what kind of talk is that?  Wouldn't have time to
+whistle?  You do say more things without any sense to 'em!  Just
+talk to hear yourself, I cal'late.  What are you grinnin' at,
+Roscoe?"
+
+"I can't imagine, Lute.  This clam pie is a triumph.  May I have
+another helping, Dorinda?"
+
+Dorinda did not answer, but the second helping was a liberal one.
+She was so quiet and the glances she gave me from time to time were
+so odd that I began to feel uneasy.  I was fairly sure that she
+approved of my new venture, but why did she look at me like that?
+
+"Well," said I, looking at my watch and rising, "what do you think
+of it?  Am I doing right?"
+
+Lute leaned back in his chair.  "There's consider'ble to be said on
+that subject," he announced.  "Work, as a general thing, I consider
+all right; I've told you that afore.  But when it comes to--"
+
+"What do you think, Dorinda?" I interrupted.
+
+Dorinda stirred her tea.
+
+"Think?" she repeated.  "I think . . .  When's that Colton girl
+comin' to call on Comfort again?"
+
+I had taken my hat from the hook.  Now, with it in my hand, I
+turned and faced her.
+
+"How should I know that?" I demanded.  "That's a trifle off the
+subject, isn't it?"
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.  "Maybe 'tis."
+
+I went out hurriedly.
+
+Within the week I was at home in my new position.  The strangeness
+of regular hours and regular employment wore away with surprising
+rapidity.  There were, of course, mornings when sea and sky and the
+freshness of outdoors tempted me and I wondered whether or not I
+had been foolish to give up my fine and easy life.  But these
+periods of temptation were shorter and less frequent as I became
+more and more familiar with my duties and with the routine of the
+bank.  I found myself taking a greater interest in the institution
+and, to my astonishment, I was actually sorry when Saturday came.
+It seemed odd enough to once more have money in my pocket which I
+had earned.  It was not a great amount, of course, but I felt it to
+be mine.  Yes, there was no doubt about it, I had done the right
+thing, and was glad.  I was grateful to Taylor for having given me
+the opportunity.  Perhaps I should have been grateful to the person
+whose brutal and impertinent frankness had piqued me into grasping
+that opportunity, but I was not.
+
+She made her second call upon Mother two days after our impromptu
+picnic at Seabury's Pond.  I heard all about it when I came home
+that afternoon.  It appeared that she had brought more flowers and
+a fresh supply of books.  She had remained even longer than on her
+first visit and she and Mother had talked about almost everything
+under the sun.  One topic, however, had not been discussed, a fact
+which my guarded questions made certain.  She, like myself, had
+said nothing concerning the day in the woods.
+
+"I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma,"
+said Mother.
+
+"Did you?" said I.  "It was kind of you to put it in that way."
+
+"That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it?  She seemed
+very much interested."
+
+"Indeed.  And surprised, I presume."
+
+"Why, yes, I think so.  She seemed surprised at first; then she
+laughed; I could not understand why.  She has a very pleasant
+laugh, hasn't she?"
+
+"I have never noticed."  This was untrue.
+
+"She has.  She is a charming girl.  I am sorry you were not here
+when she called.  I told her you would be home soon and asked her
+to wait, but she would not."
+
+"I am glad she didn't."
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"I am, Mother.  That young lady comes here to see you merely
+because she has nothing else to do just now.  I shouldn't accept
+too many favors from her."
+
+Mother said I was unreasonable and prejudiced and I did not argue
+the point.  Lute and Dorinda discussed the caller at the supper
+table until I was constrained to leave the room.  Mabel Colton
+might amuse herself with Mother and the two members of our
+household whom she had described as "characters," she might delude
+them into believing her thoughtful and sympathetic and without
+false pride, but I knew better.  She had insulted me.  She had, in
+so many words, told me that I was lazy and worthless, just as she
+might have told her chauffeur or one of the servants.  That it was
+true made no difference.  Would she have spoken in that way to--to
+Victor Carver, for instance?  Hardly.  She was just what I had
+thought her at first, a feminine edition of Victor, with more
+brains than he possessed.
+
+Captain Jed Dean came into the bank the third day after my
+installation as bookkeeper and teller.  I was alone in the
+director's room, going over some papers, and he entered and shook
+hands with me.  The old fellow professed delight at my presence
+there.
+
+"George tells me you're takin' hold fust-rate," he said.  "That's
+good.  I'm glad to hear it."
+
+"Why?" I asked.  There was a trace of his old pomposity in the
+speech--or I imagined there was--and I chose to resent it.  These
+were the days when I was in the mood to resent almost anything.
+
+"Why?" he repeated, in surprise.  "What do you mean?"
+
+"Why are you glad?" I said.  "I can't see what difference it makes
+to you whether I succeed or not."
+
+He regarded me with a puzzled expression, but, instead of taking
+offense, he laughed.
+
+"You've got a chip on your shoulder, ain't you, Ros?" he observed.
+"Workin' you too hard at the start, are we?"
+
+"No," I answered, curtly.
+
+"Then what is the matter?"
+
+"Why, nothing, unless it is that everyone I meet seems to take such
+a great interest in my being here.  I believe all of Denboro talks
+of nothing else."
+
+"Not much else, I shouldn't wonder.  But that's to be expected,
+ain't it?  Everybody's glad you're makin' good."
+
+"Humph!  They all seem to regard that as the eighth wonder of the
+world.  The position doesn't require a marvel of intelligence;
+almost any one with a teaspoonful of brains could fill it."
+
+"Why no, they couldn't.  But that's nothin' to do with it.  I see
+what's the matter with you, Ros.  You think all hands are knocked
+on their beam ends because you've gone to work.  Some of 'em are,
+that's a fact, and you can't blame 'em much, considerin' how long
+you've lived here without doin' anything.  But all of 'em that
+amount to a three-cent piece are glad, and the rest don't count
+anyway.  You've made a good many friends in this town lately, son."
+
+I smiled bitterly.  "Friends," I said.
+
+"Why, yes, friends.  And friends are worth havin', especially if
+you make 'em without beggin' for their friendship.  I give in that
+you've surprised some of us.  We didn't know that you had it in
+you.  But your standin' up to old Colton was a fine thing, and we
+appreciated it."
+
+"That is because you were against his grabbing the Lane."
+
+"What of it?  And 'twan't that altogether.  I, for one, ain't
+complainin' because you stood up to me and wouldn't sell to the
+town.  By the way, Tim Hallet's gang haven't bothered you lately,
+have they?"
+
+"No.  And I advise them not to."
+
+He chuckled.  "I heard you advised 'em to that effect," he said.
+"I ain't complainin' at that, either, even though I knew what they
+was up to and thought 'twas more or less of a joke.  But I liked
+the way you fired 'em out of there, not carin' a tinker's darn who
+was behind 'em.  So long as a man stands square in his boots and
+don't knuckle to anybody he won't lose anything with Jed Dean.
+That's me!"
+
+"You ought to like Colton, then," I said.  "He hasn't knuckled,
+much."
+
+Captain Jed grinned.  "Well," he said, slowly, "I don't object to
+that in him.  He seems to be a fighter and that's all right.  Maybe
+if I was one of his tribe in New York I should like him.  But I
+ain't.  And you ain't, Ros.  We're both of us country folks, livin'
+here, and he's a city shark buttin' into the feedin' grounds.  He
+wants to hog the whole place and you and I say he shan't.  I'm
+thankful to him for one thing: his comin' here has waked you up,
+and it's goin' to make a man of you, or I miss my guess."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"You mustn't get mad because I talk this way," he went on.  "I'm
+old enough to be your dad, Ros Paine, and I know what I'm talkin'
+about.  I never took much of a shine to you in the old days.  You
+was too much of what the story books call a 'gentleman' to suit me.
+I've had to scratch all my life for what I've got, but I've got it.
+When a young, able feller like you was contented to loaf around as
+you did and take no interest in nothin', I, naturally, figgered he
+was no-account.  I see now I was wrong.  All you needed was
+somethin' to stir you up and set you goin'.  KEEP goin', that's my
+advice to you.  And so long as you do, and don't bend when the
+pressure gets hard, you'll be somebody afore you die.  And the
+friends you've made'll stand back of you."
+
+"How about the enemies I have made?"
+
+"Enemies?  I suppose likely you have made some enemies, but what of
+it?  I've made enemies all my life.  It ain't because I'm popular
+here in Denboro that I'm what I am.  Now is it?"
+
+The truthful answer would have been no.  Captain Dean was not
+popular, but he was respected even by the many who disliked and
+disagreed with him.  I hesitated, trying to think what to say.
+
+"You know 'tain't that," he said.  "Popularity I never had, though
+it's a pleasant enough thing and sometimes I wish--  But there,
+this ain't experience meetin'.  I'm glad you're here in this bank.
+You're smart, and George says you are worth more than Henry Small
+ever was, even so early.  If you really are what it begins to look
+as if you are I'm glad for Denboro.  Maybe there'll be somebody
+besides George fit to run this town after I'm gone."
+
+I smiled.  The last remark was so characteristic that it was funny.
+He was turning away, but he noticed the smile and turned back.
+
+"That's a joke, hey?" he asked.
+
+"Captain," I said, "you are not consistent.  When you and I first
+talked about the Lane you said that you would not blame me if I
+closed it.  If it was yours you wouldn't have Tom, Dick, and Harry
+driving fish carts through it."
+
+"Did I say that?"
+
+"Yes.  And you said, on another occasion, that anyone would sell
+anything if they were offered money enough."
+
+"Humph!  Well, sometimes I say 'most anything but my prayers.
+Matildy says I forget them pretty often, but I tell her her Friday
+night speeches are long enough to make up.  Maybe I meant what I
+said to you at those times, Ros.  I shouldn't wonder if I did.  But
+'twas a lie just the same.  There are things I wouldn't sell, of
+course.  Nellie, my daughter's one of 'em.  She's goin' to get a
+good husband in George here, but her happiness means more to me
+than money.  She's one of the things I wouldn't sell.  And my
+Selectman's job is another.  I fought for that, not so much for the
+honor, or whatever you call it, but because--well, because I wanted
+to show 'em that I could get it if I set out to.  I don't presume
+likely you can understand that feelin'."
+
+"I think I can," I answered.  "Mr. Colton gave about the same
+reason for his determination to close the Lane.  You and he seem to
+be a good deal alike, after all."
+
+He looked at me from beneath his bushy brows.  His mouth twisted in
+a grim smile.
+
+"Say, son," he said, "if I hadn't been so free with my proclamations
+about bein' your friend you and me would have a settlement for
+that little bit of talk.  The Emperor and me alike!  Ugh!"
+
+The next afternoon he came in again and asked me to step outside
+the railing.  He had something to say to me, he declared.
+
+We sat down together on the settee by the wall.
+
+"Ros," he said, in a low tone, "have you had any new offer for your
+property?  Not from Colton or the town, but from anybody else?"
+
+"No," I answered.  "What do you mean?"
+
+"You ain't heard anything from a Boston firm claimin' to represent
+the Bay Shore Development Company, or some such?"
+
+"No.  What sort of a company is that?"
+
+"I don't know; that is, I don't know much about it.  But there's
+talk driftin' 'round that a Boston syndicate is cal'latin' to buy
+up all the shore front land from South Ostable to the Bayport line
+and open it up for summer house lots.  The name is the Bay Shore
+Development Company, or somethin' like that.  You ain't heard from
+'em, then?"
+
+"Not a word.  Where did your information come from?"
+
+"From nobody in particular.  It just seems to be in the air.  Alvin
+Baker heard it over to Ostable.  The feller that told him got it
+from somebody else, who got it from another somebody, and so on.
+There's talk about good prices bein' offered and, accordin' to
+Alvin, Ostable folks are pretty excited.  Elnathan Mullet, who owns
+that strip below your house, knows somethin' about it, I think.  I
+shouldn't wonder if he'd had an offer, or a hint, or somethin'.
+But Elnathan's mouth shuts tighter than a muskrat trap and I
+couldn't get nothin' out of him.  He just looked knowin' and that
+was all.  But, if it's so, it may mean a heap to Denboro."
+
+I was considering the news when he spoke again.
+
+"It might mean a lot to you, Ros," he whispered.
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Why, this way:  If this concern offered you enough money you might
+sell out to them, mightn't you?  Sell all your place, I mean; you
+could get another one easy enough.  You ain't particular about
+livin' by the shore."
+
+"But--you urge me to SELL!" I exclaimed.  "Sell the Shore Lane with
+the rest?"
+
+"Why not?  You wouldn't be sellin' to Colton.  And, if this
+development scheme is what they say it is, there'll be roads cut
+through all along shore.  The town could use any of 'em; at least
+that arrangement might be made.  Think it over, Ros.  If they do
+offer and offer enough, I'd sell, if I was you.  Say! that would be
+a reef under His Majesty's bows, hey?  Jolt him some, I cal'late."
+
+I did not answer.  This was a new possibility.  Of course his
+reason for advising my selling was plain enough, but, leaving the
+Coltons entirely aside, the idea was not without allurement.  The
+town's convenience in the matter of a road might be considered,
+just as he said.  And my scruples against selling at a profit were,
+after all, based upon that feature.
+
+"You think it over," he counseled.  "Don't say nothin' to nobody,
+but just think--and wait.  I'll keep my eye to wind'ard and see
+what I can find out.  I tell you honest, Ros, I'll feel safer when
+I know old Imperial's game's blocked for good and all."
+
+Old Imperial himself made his appearance before closing hours.  I
+looked up from my work to see him standing by the window.  He had
+not expected to see me there--evidently his daughter had not
+considered Mother's news of sufficient importance to repeat--and,
+at first, he did not recognize me.
+
+"Good afternoon, Mr. Colton," said I.
+
+He nodded.  "Cash this for me, will you," he said, pushing a check
+through the opening.  "What?  Hello!  What in blazes are you doing
+in there?"
+
+"I am employed here now," I answered.
+
+"Humph! how long since?"
+
+"Ten days, or such matter."
+
+"What are you doing in a bank?"
+
+"Banking was my business, at one time."
+
+"Thought you hadn't any business."
+
+"I haven't had any, for some years.  Now I have.  How do you wish
+this money?  In tens and fives?"
+
+"Yes.  Nothing bigger.  Down here it restricts the circulation if
+you spring a twenty dollar bill on them.  So you've taken to
+banking?  I was thinking of corraling you for a gunning trip one of
+these days.  Now it's all off, I suppose."
+
+"It looks that way.  Sorry I am to be deprived of the pleasure."
+
+"Humph!"  Then, with one of his sudden changes, "How big a business
+does this concern do?  What do your deposits amount to?"
+
+I gave him the figures, as printed in the yearly statement.  He
+made no comment.  Instead he observed, "You haven't been around to
+accept that offer of mine yet, Paine."
+
+"Not yet," I answered.
+
+"Suppose I ought to raise it, now that you're a financier yourself.
+However, I shan't."
+
+"I haven't asked you to."
+
+He smiled.  "No, you haven't," he said.  "Well, it is open--for a
+while.  If I were you I'd accept it pretty soon."
+
+"Possibly."
+
+"Meaning that I am not you, hey?  I'm not.  I haven't your high
+principles, Paine.  Can't afford 'em.  You're what they call a
+'Progressive' in politics, too, aren't you?"
+
+"Here is your money," I said, ignoring the question.
+
+"I'll bet you are!" he declared, taking the bills.  "I never saw
+one of you high-principled chaps yet that wasn't--until he got rich
+enough to be something else.  Progress is all right, maybe, but I
+notice that you fellows pay for it and the rest of us get it.  Just
+as I am going to get that land of yours."
+
+"You haven't got it yet," I said, serenely.  I had made up my mind
+that this time he should not provoke me into losing my temper.
+
+He seemed to divine my determination.  His eye twinkled.  "You're
+improving, Paine," he observed.  "I'll give you a piece of advice;
+it has cost me a good deal to learn, but I'll give it to you:
+Don't ever let the other fellow make you mad."
+
+I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the
+temptation to retort.
+
+"If my recollection is correct," I said, "you forgot that the first
+time we met."
+
+He laughed aloud.  "So I did," he admitted.  "Maybe if I hadn't it
+would not cost me so much to get my own way in your case."
+
+He walked out of the building.  I heard one exclamation from behind
+and, turning, saw Sam Wheeler, my youthful assistant, staring at
+me.
+
+"My--gosh!" exclaimed Sam, his tone a mixture of wonder and
+admiration, "I don't see how you dast to talk back to him like
+that, Ros.  He'll sic the--the 'System' onto you, won't he?"
+
+It was evident that Sam had been reading the magazines.
+
+I heard no more from Captain Jed and nothing from the mysterious
+"Development Company" for the remainder of that week.  But on
+Sunday, as I sat in the boat house, smoking my after dinner pipe
+and reading, Lute excitedly entered, followed by a well-dressed,
+smooth-shaven man of middle age, whom he introduced as Mr. Keene of
+Boston, "who's driven all the way from Ostable a-purpose to see
+you, Ros."
+
+Mr. Keene shook hands with me cordially and apologized for
+intruding upon my day of rest.  He intended returning to the city
+in the morning, he said, and, as he had a little matter to discuss
+with me, had taken the liberty of calling.  "I shan't take more
+than half an hour of your time, Mr. Paine," he explained.  "At
+least I feel certain that you and I can reach an agreement in that
+period.  If I might be alone with you--"
+
+This hint, evidently intended for Lute's benefit, was quite lost
+upon the last named individual, who had seated himself on the edge
+of the work bench and was listening with both ears.  I was obliged
+to tell him that his presence was superfluous and request his
+returning to the house, which he reluctantly did, moving slowly and
+looking back with an expression of grieved disappointment.  After
+he had gone I asked Mr. Keene what his "little matter" might be.
+
+His reply was prompt and to the point.  He gave me his card.  He
+was, it seemed, junior partner in the firm of Barclay and Keene,
+real estate brokers and promoters, Milk Street, Boston.  And, just
+now, he was acting as representative of the Bay Shore Development
+Company.  "A concern of which, in spite of all our precautions and
+attempts at secrecy, you may, perhaps, have heard, Mr. Paine," he
+added, smiling.
+
+I admitted that I had heard rumors concerning the company's
+existence.  But, except for these very vague rumors, I knew nothing
+about it.
+
+He expected that, he said, and was glad to give me further and
+complete information.  In fact, that was his reason for coming so
+many miles to see me.  If I would be good enough to listen he would
+tell me just what the Bay Shore Company was and what it contemplated
+doing.
+
+I listened and he talked.  According to him the Bay Shore
+syndicate--that is what it was, a syndicate of capitalists--
+represented one of the biggest real estate propositions ever
+conceived.  Those behind it were awake to the possibilities of the
+Cape as a summer resort.  Shore land, water front property in the
+vicinity, was destined to increase in value, provided it was
+properly exploited and developed.  The company's idea was to do
+just that--exploit and develop.
+
+"We've been quietly looking about," he continued, "and are all
+ready for the preliminaries.  And naturally, the first preliminary
+is to secure the land to develop.  You have some of that land, Mr.
+Paine.  We know just how much, as we do the holdings of every other
+party we have approached or intend to approach.  I am here to get
+your figures and, if possible, conclude the purchase of your
+property this afternoon.  It is Sunday, of course," he added, with
+a good-humored laugh, "and contracts signed to-day are not legal;
+but we can make a verbal contract and the papers may be signed
+later.  I will defer my departure until the afternoon train
+to-morrow for that purpose.  Now name your figure, Mr. Paine."
+
+Of course I had guessed what was coming.  If I intended to sell at
+all here was my opportunity to do so--to, as Captain Jed expressed
+it, "block Colton's game" without sacrificing the principle for
+which I had fought, and make a good bit of money for myself.
+Another home near by could be secured, I had no doubt, and to it
+Mother might be safely and easily moved.  Yet I hesitated to
+express even a qualified willingness.
+
+"You appear to be certain that I will sell," I observed.  "Isn't
+that taking a good deal for granted, Mr. Keene?"
+
+He smiled--in fact he smiled almost too often to please me.  There
+is such a thing as being too cordial and good-natured; and he was
+so very friendly on short acquaintance.
+
+"I understand," he said.  "I have heard about you, Mr. Paine.
+This, however, is a different matter.  We are not hogs, Mr. Paine,
+but business men.  If our plans go through, Denboro will be
+grateful to us and to you."
+
+"IF they go through?  I thought you were certain of their going
+through."
+
+"Certainly, certainly.  There is, of course, an 'if' in all human
+plans, but our particular 'if' is a small one.  I hope you will
+name your figure now, at once.  Don't be afraid.  We are disposed
+to be liberal.  And, understand, this is entirely a cash
+transaction.  You shall have the money in one hand as you sign the
+contract with the other.  Ha! ha!  What is the price to be?"
+
+But I would not name a price.  I seemed to feel as unreasonably
+reluctant to close with the Bay Shore Development Company as I had
+been with Captain Jed or Colton.
+
+"Shall I make a bid?" asked Keene.
+
+"No, not yet at any rate.  Tell me, this:  Whose land have you
+already bought?"
+
+He shook his head.  "That, of course," he said, with the same
+gracious smile, "I can hardly tell even to you.  Some of the deals
+are not yet closed, and, as a business man yourself, Mr. Paine,
+you--"
+
+"I am not a business man," I interrupted, impatiently.  "At least,
+not much of a one.  You say there are capitalists behind your
+scheme.  Who are they?"
+
+He laid his hand on my knee.  "Why, that," he said, "is a secret no
+one is supposed to know.  Men--financiers such as we are proud to
+serve--permit their names to be known only when the corporation is
+ready to begin actual operations.  That is natural enough.  If I
+were to mention names--well, some of your Yankee neighbors would
+want to become millionaires before selling."
+
+There was truth in this.  I imagine that he guessed he had made an
+impression, for he went on to shout his praises of the company and
+the greatness of its plan.  He talked and talked; in fact he talked
+too much.  I did not like to hear him.  I did not like HIM, that
+was the trouble.  He was too smooth and voluble altogether.  And he
+made a mistake in patting my knee.
+
+"Very well," said I, rising from my chair; "I'll think it over."
+
+He was plainly disappointed.  "I don't wish to hurry you, of
+course," he said, not moving from his chair, "but we are anxious to
+close.  This is to be cash, remember, and I stand ready to make an
+offer.  I am sure we can reach an agreement, satisfactory to both
+sides, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Perhaps, but I prefer to think the matter over before naming a
+price or hearing your offer."
+
+As a matter of fact I did not intend to sell, or consider selling,
+until I had discussed the whole affair with Mother.  But there was
+no need to tell him that.
+
+"I am sorry, I confess," he said.  "I hoped this particular deal
+might be closed.  We have so many of these little details, Mr.
+Paine, and time is money.  However, if you insist upon it, I
+presume the company will be willing to wait a few days."
+
+"I am afraid it will have to."
+
+"Very well, very well.  I shall be down again in a day or two.  Of
+course, waiting may have some effect upon the price.  To-day I was
+empowered to . . .  You don't care to hear?  Very well.  So glad to
+have met you, Mr. Paine.  Of course you will not mention the
+subject of our interview to anyone.  Business secrets, you know.
+Thank you, thank you.  And I will see you again--Thursday, shall we
+say?"
+
+I refused to say Thursday, principally because he had said it
+first.  I suggested Saturday instead.  He agreed, shook hands as if
+I were an old friend from whom he parted with regret, and left me.
+
+No, I did not like Mr. Keene.  He was too polite and too familiar.
+And, as I thought over his words, the whole prospectus of the Bay
+Shore Development Company seemed singularly vague.  The proposal to
+buy my land was definite enough, but the rest of it was, apparently,
+very much in the air.  There was too much secrecy about it.  No one
+was to tell anyone anything.  I was glad I had insisted upon time
+for consideration.  I intended to consider thoroughly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+When I left the boat house I did not go directly home, but wandered
+along the beach.  I had puzzled my brain with Mr. Keene and his
+errand until I determined not to puzzle it any longer that day.  If
+my suspicions were unfounded and existed merely because of my
+dislike of the Bay Shore Company's representative, then they were
+not worth worry.  If they were well founded I had almost a week in
+which to discover the fact.  I would dismiss the whole matter from
+my thoughts.  The question as to whether or not I would sell the
+land at all to anybody, which was, after all, the real question, I
+resolved to put off answering until I had had my talk with Mother.
+
+I walked on by the water's edge until I reached the Lane; turning
+into that much coveted strip of territory I continued until I came
+opposite the Colton mansion, where, turning again, I strolled
+homeward by the path through the grove.  Unconsciously my wandering
+thoughts strayed to Mabel Colton.  It was here that I had met her
+on two occasions.  I had an odd feeling that I should meet her here
+again, that she was here now.  I had no reason for thinking such a
+thing, certainly the wish was not father to the thought, but at
+every bend in the path, as the undergrowth hid the way, I expected,
+as I turned the corner, to see her coming toward me.
+
+But the path was, save for myself, untenanted.  I was almost at its
+end, where the pines and bushes were scattering and the field of
+daisies, now in full bloom, began, when I heard a slight sound at
+my left.  I looked in the direction of the sound and saw her.  She
+was standing beneath a gnarled, moss-draped old pine by the bluff
+edge, looking out over the bay.
+
+I stopped, involuntarily.  Then I moved on again, as noiselessly as
+I could.  But at my first step she turned and saw me.  I raised my
+hat.  She bowed, coldly, so it seemed to my supersensitive
+imagination, and I replaced the hat and continued my walk.  I
+thought I heard the bushes near which she stood rustle as if she
+had moved, but I did not look back.
+
+Then, close behind me, I heard her voice.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said.
+
+I turned.  She had followed me and was standing in the path, a bit
+out of breath, as if she had hurried.  I waited for her to speak,
+but she did not.
+
+"Good afternoon, Miss Colton," I said, awkwardly.  Some one had to
+speak, we could not stand staring at each other like that.
+
+She said "Good afternoon," also.  Then there was another interval
+of silence.
+
+"You--you wished to speak to me?" I stammered.
+
+"I DID speak to you," with significant emphasis on the "did."  "I
+thought you might, possibly, be interested to know that Don and I
+reached home safely the other day."
+
+Considering that she had called upon Mother since, it seemed to me
+that my knowledge of her reaching home safely might have been taken
+for granted; but I said:
+
+"I am very glad to hear it, Miss Colton."
+
+"We had no difficulty in finding the way after you left us."
+
+The way being almost straight, and over the main traveled roads,
+this, too, was fairly obvious.
+
+"I felt sure you would have no trouble--after I left you," I
+answered, with a significant emphasis of my own.
+
+She did not reply and, as I had nothing further to say, I waited
+for her to continue, or to break off the interview.  She did
+neither, but stood, as if irresolute, looking down and stirring
+with her foot the leaves at the edge of the path.  Suddenly she
+looked up.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, "you are making it hard for me to say what I
+intended.  But I think I should say it, and so I will.  I beg your
+pardon for speaking as I did when I last saw you.  I had no right
+to judge or criticize you, none whatever."
+
+"You do not need to apologize, Miss Colton.  What you told me was
+probably true enough."
+
+The conventional answer to this would have been a half-hearted
+denial of my statement.  I presume I expected something of the
+sort.  But this girl was not conventional.
+
+"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, "I think it was.  If I had not
+thought so I should not have said it.  But that makes no difference.
+You and I are strangers, almost, and I had no right to speak as I
+did.  I am impulsive, I know it, and I often do and say things on
+impulse which I am sorry for afterward.  I offended you."
+
+"Oh no, no," I put in, hurriedly.  She had offended me, but this
+frank confession touched me more than the offense had hurt.  She
+was doing a hard thing and doing it handsomely.
+
+"Yes, I offended you," she repeated, firmly.  "I have considered
+the matter a good deal since then, and it seems to me that you were
+right to feel offended.  You had been very kind to me on several
+occasions and I had been your"--with a half smile--"your guest that
+day.  I should not have hurt your feelings.  Will you accept my
+apology?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course, since you insist, Miss Colton."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+She was turning to go; and I could not let her go thus.  Although
+she had apologized for speaking her thought she had not retracted
+the thought itself.  I was seized with a desire for justification
+in her eyes.  I wanted to explain; forgetting for the moment that
+explanations were impossible.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, impulsively.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"May I--may I say a word?"
+
+"Certainly, if you wish."
+
+She turned again and faced me.
+
+"Miss Colton, I--I--" I began, and paused.
+
+"Well?" she said, patiently, "What is it?"
+
+"Miss Colton," I blundered on, "you should not have apologized.
+You were right.  Your estimate of me was pretty nearly correct.  I
+realized that when you gave it and I have been realizing it ever
+since.  I deserved what I got--perhaps.  But I should not wish you
+to think--that is, I--well, I had reasons, they seemed to me
+reasons, for being what I was--what I am.  I doubt if they were
+altogether good reasons; I am inclined now to think they were not.
+But I had come to think them good.  You see, I--I--"
+
+I stopped, face to face with the fact that I could not give those
+reasons to her or any one else.  She was looking at me expectantly,
+and with, so it seemed to me, an expression of real, almost eager
+interest.  I faltered, tried to go on, and then surrendered,
+absolutely, to the hopelessness of the situation.
+
+"It is no use," I said, "I can't tell you what those reasons were."
+
+I turned as I said it.  I did not care to see her expression
+change.  I knew what she must be thinking and I had no desire to
+read the thought in her eyes.  I stood there, waiting for her to
+leave in disgust.
+
+"I can't tell you," I repeated, stubbornly.
+
+"Very well."  Her tone was as coldly indifferent as I had
+anticipated.  "Was that all you wished to say to me, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"Miss Colton, I should like to explain if I could.  But I cannot."
+
+"Pray don't trouble yourself.  I assure you I had no intentions of
+asking for your--reasons.  Good afternoon."
+
+I heard her skirts brush the leaves at the border of the path.  She
+was going; and the contemptuous slur at my "reasons" proved that
+she did not believe them existent.  She believed me to be a liar.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, sharply; "wait."
+
+She kept on.
+
+"Wait," I said again.  "Listen to me."
+
+She seemed to hesitate and then turned her head.
+
+"I am listening," she said.  "What is it?"
+
+"You have no right to disbelieve me."
+
+"I disbelieve you?  Why should you think I disbelieve you?  I am
+not sufficiently interested to believe or disbelieve, I assure
+you."
+
+"But you do.  You judge me--"
+
+"_I_ judge you!  You flatter yourself, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But you do.  You apologized just now for judging me without a
+hearing the other day.  You acknowledged that you should not have
+done it.  You are doing the same thing now."
+
+"I apologized for presuming to offer advice to a stranger.  I did
+not apologize for the advice itself.  I think it good.  I do not
+care to argue the matter further."
+
+"You are not asked to argue.  But your sneer at my reasons proves
+that you believe that I have none and am merely trying to justify
+myself with trumped up and lying excuses.  You are wrong, and since
+you presumed to judge me then you must listen to me now.  I have--
+or had--reasons for living as I have done, for being the idler and
+good-for-nothing you believe me to be.  I can't tell you what they
+are; I can tell no one.  But I do ask you to believe that I have
+them, that they are real, and that my being what you termed
+ambitionless and a country loafer is not my condition from choice.
+It is my right to insist upon your believing that.  Do you believe
+it?"
+
+At last I had made an impression.  My earnestness seemed to have
+shaken her contemptuous indifference.  She looked at me steadily,
+frowning a little, but regarding me less as if I were a clod and
+more and more as if I were the puzzle she had once declared me to
+be.  I did not shun her look now, but met it eye to eye.
+
+"Do you believe me?" I demanded.
+
+Slowly her frown was disappearing.
+
+"Do you believe me?" I said, again.  "You must."
+
+"Must?"
+
+"Yes, you must.  I shall make you.  If not now, at some other time.
+You must believe me, Miss Colton."
+
+The frown disappeared altogether and she smiled.
+
+"If you order me to I suppose I must," she said, with a shrug of
+mock resignation.  "I should have learned by this time that it is
+useless to say no when you say yes, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But do you?"
+
+She turned altogether and faced me.
+
+"I am very glad to believe you," she said, with simple directness.
+
+I stammered a "Thank you" and was silent.  I dared not trust myself
+to speak at the moment.  Somehow the sincerity of her words moved
+me far more than their trifling import warranted.  She had declared
+her belief that I was not a liar, that was all; and yet I stood
+there fighting down all sorts of ridiculous emotions.  The
+situation was decidedly strained, but, as usual, she saved it.
+
+"It seems to me," she said, with the twinkle which I had learned to
+recognize as a forerunner of mischief on her part, "that you are
+inclined to make mountains out of mole-hills, Mr. Paine.  Was there
+any need to be quite so fiercely tragic?  And, besides, I think
+that even now you have not told the whole truth."
+
+"The whole truth?  Why, Miss Colton, I have just explained that--"
+
+"Oh, not that truth!  Your mysterious 'reasons' are not my affair.
+And I have told you that I was willing to take those on trust.  But
+you have not been quite truthful in another particular.  You
+intimated that you were an idler.  I have been given to understand
+that you are far from being an idler just now."
+
+I was relieved.  "Oh, I see!" I exclaimed.  "You mean--some one has
+told you of my employment at the bank."
+
+"A number of persons have told me.  Surely you did not expect to
+keep THAT a secret--in Denboro?"
+
+"Well, scarcely," I admitted, with a laugh.  "That was known almost
+before I was sure of it myself.  You should have seen Eldredge's
+face when I announced my intention.  And Lute--Mrs. Rogers'
+husband--hasn't completely recovered yet.  The sight of me,
+actually trying to earn a living, was too much for him.  You see
+what a miracle worker you are, Miss Colton."
+
+"Did you really accept the position simply because of what I said
+to you?"
+
+"Yes.  The chance had been offered me before, but it was your
+frankness that shocked me into taking it."
+
+"Not really?  You are joking."
+
+"No, I'm not.  You are responsible.  Are you sorry?"
+
+Her answer was a question.
+
+"Are you?" she asked.
+
+"No.  At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself;
+but now I like the work.  It is like old times."
+
+"Old times?"
+
+I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous
+train--for me.  I laughed, with pretended carelessness.
+
+"Why, yes; I was employed in a bank at one time.  I think I told
+you that.  Have you been motoring much of late, Miss Colton?"
+
+"Yes.  Tell me, please:  You really like your work?"
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"Then I will answer your question.  I am not a bit sorry.  I am
+glad I was impertinent and intrusive, especially now that I have
+apologized and you have accepted the apology.  I am very glad I
+told you you should do something worth while."
+
+"Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's
+example and sell fish."
+
+"Yes," laughingly, "even that.  I WAS impertinent, wasn't I!  I
+don't wonder you were offended."
+
+"I needed the impertinence, I guess.  But frankly, Miss Colton, I
+can't see why you should be glad because I have gone to work.  I
+can't see what difference my working or idling can possibly make to
+you."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't, of course--except on general principles.  I am a
+dreadful idler myself; but then, I am a woman, and idleness is a
+woman's right."
+
+I thought of Dorinda and of the other housewives of Denboro and how
+little of that particular "right" they enjoyed; which thought
+brought again and forcibly to my mind the difference between this
+girl's life and theirs--and Mother's--and my own.
+
+"A man," continued Miss Colton, sagely, "should not idle.  He
+should work and work hard--so that the rest of us may be as good
+for nothing as we please.  That is philosophy, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You were good enough not to say what sort of philosophy.  Thank
+you.  But seriously, Mr. Paine, I am fond of your mother--very
+fond, considering our short acquaintance--and when I saw her lying
+there, so patient, and deprived of the little luxuries and
+conveniences which she needs, and which a little more money might
+bring to her, it seemed to me . . .  Gracious! what a lot of
+nonsense I am talking!  What is the matter with me this afternoon?
+Do let's change the subject.  Have you sold your land yet, Mr.
+Paine?  Of course you haven't!  That is more nonsense, isn't it."
+
+I think she had again spoken merely on the impulse of the moment;
+doubtless there was no deliberate intention on her part to bring me
+to a realization of my position, the position I occupied in her
+thoughts; but if she had had such an intent she could not have done
+it more effectively.  She believed me to have been neglecting
+Mother, and her interest in my "doing something worth while" was
+inspired merely because she wished Mother to be supplied with those
+"luxuries and conveniences" she had mentioned.  Well, my question
+was answered; this was the difference my working or idling made to
+her.  And, for a minute or two, I had been foolish enough to fancy
+her interested, as a friend, in my success or failure in life.  I
+might have known better.  And yet, because of the novelty of the
+thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang of disappointment.
+
+But I resolved she should not know she had disappointed me.  I
+might have been a fool, but I would keep my foolishness a secret.
+
+"No, Miss Colton," I said, with a smile, "I haven't sold yet."
+
+"Father said he saw you at the bank.  Did he say anything about the
+land?"
+
+"He said his offer was still open, that was all."
+
+"You are resolved not to sell."
+
+"To him?  Yes, I am resolved.  I think he knows it.  I tried to
+make it plain."
+
+"You say to him.  Are you thinking of selling to any one else?  To
+the town?"
+
+"No.  Probably not to any one.  Certainly not to your father or the
+town."
+
+She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, slowly, "would you resent my giving you
+another bit of--advice?"
+
+"Not at all.  What is it this time?"
+
+"Why, nothing.  I must not give you any advice at all.  I won't.
+Instead I'll give you one of Father's pet proverbs.  It isn't an
+elegant one, but he is very fond of repeating it.  'There are more
+ways of killing a cat than choking it to death with butter.'
+There! you will admit it is not elegant."
+
+"But Miss Colton!  Killing a cat!  What in the world?"
+
+"You mustn't ask me.  I shouldn't have said even that.  But
+remember, it is father's pet proverb.  I must go.  Please give my
+love to your mother and tell her I shall call again soon.
+Good-by."
+
+She walked briskly away and did not look back.  I went home.  I
+thought a great deal during the evening and until late that night.
+When, at last, I did go to bed I had not made much progress in the
+problem of the cat, but I did believe that there was a rat in the
+vicinity.  I was beginning to scent one.  If I was not mistaken it
+called itself the Bay Shore Development Company.
+
+I said nothing to Mother of the new proposal to buy our land, but
+next morning at the bank I wrote a letter to the cashier of a bank
+in Boston, one of our correspondents, and with which our little
+institution was on very friendly terms.  I asked the cashier to
+make some guarded inquiries concerning the Bay Shore Company, to
+find out, if possible, who was behind it and also to inquire
+concerning Barclay and Keene, the real estate brokers of Milk
+Street.
+
+The reply to my letter reached me on Friday.  It was satisfactory,
+eminently so.  And when, on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Keene, bland
+and smiling as ever, made his appearance at the house, I was ready
+for him.  I stood on the step and made no move to invite him
+within.  "Well, Mr. Paine," he said, cordially, "are you ready to
+talk business?"
+
+"Quite ready," I answered.
+
+He beamed with satisfaction.
+
+"Good!" he exclaimed.  "Then what is your figure?"
+
+"My figure is a naught," I replied, with emphasis.  "You may tell
+your employer that I do not care to sell the land to him, no matter
+whether he calls himself James Colton or the Bay Shore Development
+Company.  Oh yes; and, if you like, you may add that this
+particular cat declines to be choked."
+
+Mr. Keene showed signs of choking, himself, and I shut the door and
+left him outside.  Lute, who had been listening at the dining-room
+window and had heard only fragments of the brief interview, was in
+a state of added incoherence.
+
+"Well, by time!" he gasped.  "What--what sort of talk was that?
+Chokin' a cat!  A cat!!  We ain't got no cat."
+
+"Haven't we?" I observed.  "Why, no, so we haven't!  Perhaps you
+had better explain that to Mr. Keene, Lute.  It may help him to
+understand the situation.  And add that I suggest his telling the
+person who sent him here that soft-soap is no improvement on
+butter."
+
+I think Lute did tell him just that, doubtless with all sorts of
+excuses for my insanity, for the next day, Sunday, as I walked
+along the beach, a big body came ploughing down the sandy slope and
+joined me.
+
+"Hello!" said Colton.
+
+"Good morning," said I.
+
+"How are independence and public spirit these days?"
+
+"Very well, thank you.  How are Development Companies developing?"
+
+He put back his head and laughed.  He did not seem a bit chagrined
+or discomfited.  The joke was on him, but he could enjoy it,
+nevertheless.  In spite of my antagonism toward this man I could
+not help admiring certain traits of his character.  He was big, in
+every way.  Little repulses or setbacks did not trouble him.
+
+"Say," he said, "how did you know about that cat?"
+
+"Saw his footprints," I replied.  "They were all over the scheme.
+And your friend Keene purred too loud."
+
+"I don't mean that.  Keene was a fool; that was plain enough for
+anyone to see.  I had to use him; if Barclay hadn't been sick it
+might have been different.  But how did you come to send me that
+message about the butter?  Man, that is one of my favorite sayings--
+the choking the cat thing!  How did you know that?  I never said
+it to you."
+
+"Oh, it is an old saying.  I have heard it often; and it did seem
+to fit in this case.  I imagined you would understand and
+appreciate."
+
+"Um--yes," dryly.  "I appreciated all right.  As to understanding--
+well, I'll understand later on.  That's another little conundrum
+for me to work out.  Somebody's been talking, of course.  Here!
+hold on!" as I was walking away:  "Don't go.  I want to talk to
+you."
+
+He characteristically did not ask whether or not I wanted to talk
+to him, but, as I happened to be in no hurry, I stopped and waited
+for him to continue.  He thrust his hands into his pockets and
+looked me over, very much as he might have looked over a horse he
+was thinking of buying.
+
+"Paine," he said, suddenly, "do you want to go to work?"
+
+"Work?" I repeated.  "I am at work already."
+
+"You've got a job, such as it is.  It might be work for the average
+jay, but it isn't for you.  I'll give you something to work at--
+yes, and work for."
+
+I stared at him in wondering suspicion.
+
+"What is this; another Development Company?" I demanded.
+
+"Ha! ha! not this time.  No, this is straight.  If you'll say that
+you'll work for me I'll make an opening for you in my New York
+office."
+
+I did not answer.  I was trying to fathom the motive behind this
+new move.
+
+"I'll put you to work in my office," he went on.  "It may not be
+much to begin with, but you can make it anything you like; that'll
+be up to you.  As to salary--well, I don't know what you're getting
+in that one-horse bank, but I'll double it, whatever it is.  That
+will be the start, of course.  After that it is up to you, as I
+said."
+
+"Mr. Colton this may be a good joke, but I don't see it--yet."
+
+"I don't joke often in business; can't afford to."
+
+"You are really serious?  You mean what you say?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But why?  You don't know anything about me."
+
+"I know all that is necessary.  And I have found out that you are
+all right, so far as bank work goes.  That fellow Taylor and some
+others told me that.  But I didn't need their telling.  Why, man,
+it is part of my trade to know men when I see them.  I have to know
+'em.  I said a while ago that you didn't belong in this forsaken
+hole of a town.  God knows it IS forsaken!  Even my wife is
+beginning to admit that, and she was the keenest to come here.
+Some day I shall get sick of it and sell out, I suppose."
+
+"Sell out?"
+
+"Oh, not yet.  Mabel--my daughter--seems to like it here, for some
+unknown reason, and wants to stay.  And I don't intend to sell
+until I've bought--what I set out to buy.  But I'm not the subject
+we're talking about just now.  You are.  Come! here's your chance
+to be somebody.  More chance than I had, I'll tell you that.  You
+can go to work in my office next week, if you want to.  Will you?"
+
+I laughed at the idea.  I believed I had found the motive I was
+seeking.  "Of course not," I said.  "You can't close the Lane by
+that kind of bribery, Mr. Colton."
+
+"Bribery be hanged!  Come, come, Paine!  Wake up, or I shall think
+your brains aren't up to standard, after all.  When I bribe I
+bribe.  When I ask a man to work for me there are no strings tied
+to the offer.  Forget your picayune land for a minute.  Time enough
+to remember that when I've got it, which will be some day or other,
+of course.  I'm making you this offer because I want you.  You're
+sharp; you saw through that Development game.  You're clever--your
+sending me that 'cat' message proves it.  And your not telling me
+where the idea for the message came from proves that you can keep
+your mouth shut.  I could use a dozen fellows like you, if I could
+get them.  You interested me right at the start.  A chap with sand
+enough to tell Jim Colton to go to the devil is always interesting.
+I'm offering you this chance because I think it is a good chance
+for both of us.  Yes, and because I like you, I suppose, in spite
+of your pig-headedness.  Will you take it?"
+
+"No, thank you," I answered.
+
+"Why?  Because you can't leave your sick mother?  She'll be all
+right.  I was talking with the doctor--Quimby, his name is, isn't
+it--and he happened to mention that he was encouraged about her.
+Said she had been distinctly better for the last month."
+
+I could not believe it.  Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort
+to me.  It was impossible.  Mother BETTER!
+
+"That doesn't mean she is going to be well and strong again, of
+course," he added, not unkindly.  "But I think Quimby believes she
+may be well enough to--perhaps--sit up one of these days.  Be
+wheeled about in a chair, or something of that sort . . .  Why!
+what is the matter?  You looked as if I had knocked you out.
+Hasn't the doctor said anything to you?"
+
+"No," I stammered.  I WAS knocked out.  I could not believe it.
+Mother, the bed-ridden invalid of six long years, to be well enough
+to sit up! to use a wheeled chair!  It could not be true.  It was
+too good to be true.
+
+"So, you see, you could leave her all right," went on Colton.  "If
+it was necessary you could get a nurse down here to look after her
+while you were away.  And you might get home every fortnight or so.
+Better take my offer, Paine.  Come!" with a grunt of impatient
+amusement, "don't keep me waiting too long.  I am not used to
+coaxing people to work for me; it is usually the other way around.
+This offer of mine happens to be pretty nearly a disinterested one,
+and," with one of his dry smiles, "all my offers are not that kind,
+as you ought to know.  Will you say yes now?  Or do you want till
+to-morrow to think it over?"
+
+The news concerning Mother had upset me greatly, but my common-
+sense was not all gone.  That there was something behind his offer
+I believed, but, even if there were not--if it was disinterested
+and made simply because my unearthing of the Bay Shore "cat" had
+caught his fancy--I did not consider for a moment accepting it.
+Not if Mother was like other women, well and strong, would I have
+accepted it.  In Denboro I was Roscoe Paine, and my life story was
+my own secret.  In New York how long would it be before that secret
+and my real name were known, and all the old disgrace and scandal
+resurrected?
+
+"What do you say?" asked Colton, again.  "Want more time to think
+about it, do you?"
+
+I shook my head.  "No," I answered.  "I have had time enough.  I am
+obliged for the offer and I appreciate your kindness, but I cannot
+accept."
+
+I expected him to express impatience or, perhaps, anger; at least
+to ask my reasons for declining.  But his only utterance was a
+"Humph!"  For a moment he regarded me keenly.  Then he said:
+
+"Haven't got the answer yet, have I?  All right.  Well," briskly,
+"when are you and I going on that shooting trip?"
+
+"There is no shooting at present," I answered, as soon as I could
+adjust my mind to this new switch in the conversation.
+
+"That so?  Any fishing?"
+
+"I believe the squiteague are running outside.  I heard they were."
+
+"What?  Squit--which?"
+
+"Squiteague.  Weakfish some people call them."
+
+"They are pretty fair sport, aren't they?"
+
+"Yes, fair.  Nothing like bluefish, however."
+
+"All right.  What is the matter with our going squint--squint--
+something or othering one of these days?  Will you go?  Or are you
+as pig-headed about that as you are about other things?"
+
+I laughed.  "Not quite," I said.  "I should be glad of your
+company, Mr. Colton."
+
+"Next Saturday suit you?"
+
+"Yes.  After bank hours."
+
+"All right.  I'll look after the boat.  You provide the bait and
+tackle.  That's fair, isn't it?  Right.  Be on hand at my dock at
+one o'clock.  Morning."
+
+He walked off.  Neither of us had thought of the tide--he,
+probably, not realizing that high water was an important factor,
+and I being too much agitated by what he had said about Mother, and
+the suddenness with which the fishing trip was planned, to think
+calmly of anything.
+
+That week was a strange one to me, and the first of many strange
+ones.  My manner of life was changing, although I did not realize
+it and although the change came through no effort of my own.  Our
+house, which had been so long almost a hermitage, if a home
+containing four persons might be called that, was gradually
+becoming a social center.  Matilda Dean had called once a week
+regularly for some time and this particular week Captain Jed came
+with her.  Captain Elisha Warren and his cousin and housekeeper,
+Miss Abbie Baker, drove down for a half-hour's stay.  George Taylor
+and Nellie spent an evening with us.  I feared the unaccustomed
+rush of company might have a bad effect upon Mother, but she seemed
+actually the better for it.  She professed to believe that Denboro
+was awakening to the fact of my merits as a man and a citizen.
+"They are finding you out at last, Boy," she said.  I laughed at
+her.  I knew better.  It was because of my position in the bank
+that these people came.  I was making good there, apparently, and
+the surprise at this caused Captain Warren and the rest to take a
+new, and no doubt transitory interest in me.
+
+And I thought I knew Captain Jed's reason for coming.  An interview
+between us gave me the inkling.  Matilda was in Mother's room and
+Dean and I were together in the dining-room.
+
+"Ros," said the captain, suddenly, "you ain't backin' water, are
+you?"
+
+"Backing water?  What do you mean by that?"
+
+"In this Lane business.  You ain't cal'latin' to sell out to
+Colton, after all?"
+
+"Well, hardly.  Why do you say that?"
+
+"Nothin', maybe.  But they tell me you're kind of thick with the
+R'yal family lately.  Beriah Holt says he see you and the Colton
+girl come out of the woods back of his place one afternoon a spell
+ago.  She was on horseback and you was walkin', but Beriah says you
+and she was mighty friendly."
+
+I might have expected this.  In Denboro one does few things
+unnoticed.
+
+"She had lost her way in the woods and I helped her to find the
+road home," I said, "that was all."
+
+"Hum!  You helped her to find the road the night of the strawberry
+festival, too, didn't you?"
+
+"How in the world did you find that out?"
+
+"Oh, it just sort of drifted around.  I've got pretty big ears--
+maybe you've noticed 'em--and they gen'rally catch some of what's
+blowin' past.  There was a coachman mixed up in that night's work
+and he talked some, I shouldn't wonder; most of his kind do."
+
+"Well, what of it?" I asked, sharply.  "I helped her as I would
+your daughter if she had been caught alone in a storm like that.  I
+should have been ashamed not to."
+
+"Sartin!  Needn't get mad about it.  What's this about your takin'
+his Majesty off fishin' next Saturday?"
+
+All of my personal affairs seemed to be common property.  I was
+losing my temper in spite of my recent good resolutions.
+
+"Look here, Captain Dean," I said, "I have a right to take any one
+fishing, if I choose.  Mr. Colton asked me to do it and I saw no
+reason for saying no."
+
+"Funny he should ask you.  He ain't asked anybody else in town."
+
+"I don't know that and I don't care.  I shall do as I please.  I
+have no grievance against the Coltons.  I shall not sell them my
+land, but I reserve the right to meet them--yes, and to associate
+with them--if I choose.  You and your friends may as well
+understand that, Captain."
+
+"There! there! don't get huffy.  I ain't got the right to say what
+your rights are, Ros.  And I don't think for a minute you'd back
+water on the Lane business a-purpose.  But I do think you're takin'
+chances.  I tell you, honest, I'm scart of old Colton, in a way,
+and I ain't scart of many folks.  He's a fighter and he's smart.
+He and I have had some talks--"
+
+"You have?" I interrupted.
+
+"Yup.  Lively squabbles they was, too.  Each of us expressin' our
+opinion of t'other and not holdin' back anything to speak of.  I
+don't know how he felt when we quit, but I know I respected him--
+for his out and open cussedness and grit, if nothin' else.  And I
+think he felt the same way about me.  But he's smart--consarn him,
+he is!  And HE never backs water.  That's why I think you're takin'
+chances in bein' too friendly with him.  He's layin' low and, if
+you get off your guard just once he'll grab."
+
+I hesitated; then I made up my mind.
+
+"Captain Dean," I said, "his smartness hasn't caught me yet.  I'm
+going to tell you something, but first you must promise not to tell
+anyone else."
+
+He promised and I told him of Mr. Keene and the Bay Shore Company.
+He listened, interrupting with chuckles and exclamations.  When I
+had finished he seized my hand and wrung it.
+
+"By the everlastin'!" he exclaimed, "that was great!  I say again,
+you're all right, Ros Paine.  Even _I_ swallered that Development
+Company, hook, line, and sinker.  But YOU saw through it!"
+
+"I tell you this," I said, "so that you will understand I have no
+intention of backing water."
+
+"I know you ain't.  Knew it afore and now I know it better.  But I
+can't understand what the Colton game is--and there is a game,
+sure.  That daughter of his, now--she may be in it or she may not.
+She's pretty and I will give in that she's folksy and sociable with
+us natives; it's surprisin', considerin' her bringin' up.  Nellie
+and Matildy like her, Nellie especial.  They're real chummy, as you
+might say.  Talk and talk, just as easy and common as you and I
+this minute.  I've heard 'em two or three times at my house when
+they thought I wasn't listenin' and twice out of the three they was
+talkin' about you."
+
+"About ME?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes.  I don't wonder you're surprised.  I was myself.  Asked
+Nellie about it and she just laughed.  Said you was the principal
+object of interest in town just now, which is more or less true.
+But it makes me suspicious, all the same.  Why should a girl like
+that Colton one talk about a feller like you?  You're as fur apart,
+fur's anything in common is concerned, as molasses is from vinegar.
+Ain't that so?"
+
+It was so, of course, but he need not have been so brutally frank
+in telling me.  However, I nodded and admitted that he was right.
+
+"Yes," he said.  "A blind horse could see there was no sensible,
+open and above-board reason for HER bein' interested in YOU.  So
+there's another reason, the way I look at it, and that's why I'd be
+mighty careful, mighty careful, Ros.  Her pa's got a new trick up
+his sleeve and she's helpin' him play it, that's my notion.  So be
+careful, won't you."
+
+"I'll be careful," said I.  I knew, as well as I knew my real name--
+which he did not--that Mabel Colton was not helping her father
+play any tricks.  I had seen enough of her to be certain she was
+not tricky.  And, besides, if she were in sympathy with her parent,
+why had she given me the hint which put me on the trail of the
+Development Company?  Why had she given me the hint at all?  That
+was the real riddle, and I had not, as yet, hit upon a plausible
+answer.  Those I had hit upon were ridiculous and impossible, and I
+put them from my mind.  But she was not tricky, that I knew.
+
+Captain Jed changed the subject and we talked of Nellie's wedding,
+which was to take place in a month.  The captain was full of
+various emotions, regret at losing his daughter and joy because of
+her getting such a good husband.  His last words were these:
+
+"Ros," he said, "be careful, for my sake full as much as yours.
+This Lane business and Nellie's gettin' married have sort of
+possessed me, same as the evil spirits did the swine, in scriptur'.
+I lay awake nights fussin' for fear the marriage won't turn out
+happy or for fear you'll sell the Lane after all.  And one's just
+as likely to happen as t'other--which means they're both impossible,
+I cal'late.  But look out for that Colton girl, whatever else you
+do.  She's a good deal better lookin' than her dad, but she's just
+as dangerous.  You mark my words, son, the feller that plays with
+fire takes chances.  So don't be TOO sociable with any of the
+tribe."
+
+And the very next afternoon the dangerous person herself called and
+she and I spent an hour in Mother's room, where the three of us
+chatted like old friends.  She had the rare power of making one
+forget self and personal worries and I could readily understand why
+Mother had been so completely won by her.  She was bright and
+cheery and sympathetic.  Here there was no trace of the pride of
+class and the arrogance which had caused me to hate her so heartily
+at first.  It seemed almost as if she had set herself the task of
+making me like her in spite of my prejudices.  My reason told me
+that this could not be; it was merely her fancy for Mother which
+caused her to notice me at all; she had as much as said so more
+than once.  But I did like her; I acknowledged it in my thoughts;
+and, after she had gone, the room, with its drawn shades, seemed
+doubly dark and gloomy.  Mother was silent for a few minutes and I,
+too, said nothing.  Then:
+
+"She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe," said Mother.
+
+She was altogether too wonderful, that was the trouble.  A girl
+like her had no place in our lives.  I went out for a walk and a
+smoke by the bluff edge; and, almost before I knew it, I found
+myself standing at the border of the grove, looking at the great
+house and trying to guess which was her room and if she was there
+and of what or whom she might be thinking just then.  "Mark my
+words, son," Captain Jed had declared, "the feller that plays with
+fire takes chances."
+
+I turned on my heel and set out for home.  I would take no chances.
+I must not play with fire, even though the flames had, for the
+moment, dazzled me.  I had called myself a fool many times in the
+past few years, but I would not be so great a fool as that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+So I resolved, more resolutely than ever, to keep out of her way,
+to see as little of her as possible! and, as had happened before to
+similar resolutions of mine with which she was concerned, this one
+was rendered non-effective, through no fault of my own, almost as
+soon as it was made.  For on Saturday afternoon, as I approached
+the Colton wharf, laden with bait and rods for the fishing
+excursion in the Colton boat, I saw her standing there beside her
+father, waiting for me.
+
+"We've got a passenger, Paine," said "Big Jim."  "You've met her
+before, I believe--on the water and in it.  No objections to my
+daughter's going along, have you?"
+
+What could I say; except to announce delight at the addition to our
+party?  Perhaps I did not say it as heartily as I might, for, Miss
+Colton, who was regarding me with a mischievous smile, observed
+demurely:
+
+"I am sure he must be delighted, Father.  Mr. Paine knows I am very
+fond of fishing; don't you, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"Yes; oh, yes, of course," I stammered.
+
+"He does, eh!"  Her father seemed surprised.  "How did he find that
+out?"
+
+I thought the question was addressed to her, so I did not answer.
+She seemed to think otherwise, for she said:
+
+"Did you hear, Mr. Paine?  Father asks how you knew I was fond of
+fishing."
+
+"Why--er--you told me so, Miss Colton," I replied.  If she had not
+related her Seabury Pond experience to her parents I did not
+propose to be trapped into doing so.  She laughed merrily.
+
+"Did I?" she asked.  "Yes, I believe I did."
+
+Mr. Colton looked at us, each in turn.
+
+"Humph!" he observed; "I don't seem to be aboard this train.
+What's the joke?"
+
+She saved me the problem of inventing a satisfactory answer.
+
+"Oh, it's a little joke of Mr. Paine's and my own," she explained.
+"I'll tell you about it by and by, Father.  It would take too long
+to tell now.  He saved my life once more, that's all."
+
+"Oh! that's all!  Humph!  And you did not think a trifle like that
+worth mentioning to me, I suppose.  Would you mind telling me what
+it was he saved you from this time?"
+
+"From starvation.  I was a famished wayfarer and he took me in.
+There, Daddy, don't puzzle your poor brain any longer.  It is all
+right and I'll tell you all about it when we get home.  Now I am
+sure we should be starting if we are to have any fishing at all.
+Shall we cast off, Mr.--that is, Captain Paine?"
+
+That fishing trip was not a huge success if judged solely by the
+size of the catch.  The weakfish were not hungry or we did not
+tempt them with bait to their taste that day.  We got a half dozen,
+of which I caught three, Miss Colton two, and her father but one.
+His, however, was a big one, much the biggest of the six, and he
+had a glorious time landing it.  He fished as he appeared to do
+everything else, with intense earnestness and determination.  He
+evidently considered the struggle a sort of personal disagreement
+between the fish and himself and, as usual, intended to have his
+way.  He succeeded after a while, and announced that he had not
+enjoyed anything as much since arriving in Denboro.
+
+His daughter also seemed to be enjoying herself.  She was quite as
+good a fisher as her father, and, when the sport was over, and we
+reeled in our lines preparatory to starting for home, rallied him
+not a little at having been the least successful of the party.  He
+took her teasing good-naturedly.
+
+"You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad,
+don't you, my lady," he observed.
+
+"Of course I do.  It is, isn't it?"
+
+He chuckled.  "Well, maybe you're right," he admitted.  "You do it
+oftener than any one else, that is certain.  Paine, you might take
+lessons from her, if you are still hoping to keep up your end in
+the little fight you and I have on hand."
+
+She turned to me and smiled.  Her graceful head was silhouetted
+against the red glow of the sunset and a loosened strand of her
+hair waved in the light breeze.
+
+"I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one," she said.
+"He seems to be holding his own very well."
+
+"But he's frightened, all the same.  Come, Paine, own up now.  You
+know you are frightened, don't you?"
+
+"Not very," I answered, truthfully.
+
+"So?  Then you aren't as sensible as you ought to be.  A wise man
+knows when to be scared.  Let's make a little bet on it.  I'll bet
+you two to one that I'll own that land of yours inside of six
+months."
+
+I shook my head.  "I never bet on certainties," I declared.  "I
+should be ashamed to collect my winnings."
+
+This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed.
+
+"Father," said Miss Colton, "I am afraid you don't learn by
+experience.  You have lost one bet already, you know."
+
+"That's so.  And I haven't paid it yet, either.  I must, or you'll
+be telling every one that I am a poor sport.  Paine, this young
+lady bet me a new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't--"
+
+"Father," broke in the young lady, herself, "stop."
+
+"Oh, all right, all right.  Just as you say.  But I tell you this,
+Paine; SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties."
+
+She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I
+could not see her face.  She spoke without turning.
+
+"You thought yours was the certainty," she said.  "You warned me
+that I was sure to lose."
+
+"Did I?  Well, you may, even yet.  On the whole, I think I'll wait
+a while before buying those gloves.  Remember, there was no time
+limit.  When you said that--"
+
+"Father," more firmly, "please be quiet.  You have said quite
+enough.  Mr. Paine is not likely to be interested in the family
+gambling."
+
+I was interested in this particular "gamble."  The wager had,
+obviously, something to do with me.  I suppose I should have felt
+flattered at being made the subject of a bet in such select
+circles, but I did not.  I had not been informed as to the details
+of that bet.
+
+There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers
+talked of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying
+breeze.  It died almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at
+Crow Point and entered the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our
+own against the tide.  The sun set, twilight came, and the stars
+appeared one by one.  Colton, lying at full length on the deck
+forward of the cockpit, smoked in lazy enjoyment.  His only remark
+in ten minutes was to the effect that his wife had probably drowned
+us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by now.
+
+His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth,
+darkly glimmering water, bade him be quiet.
+
+"You must not talk," she said.  "This is the most wonderful night I
+ever experienced.  How still it is!  You can hear every sound.
+Hark!"
+
+From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell
+striking eight.
+
+"That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?" asked Miss
+Colton.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"The church where the strawberry festival was held?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Colton struck a match to relight his cigar.
+
+"Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of
+you," he observed.  "I am mighty sure it wasn't to me."
+
+Miss Colton did not answer, nor did I.
+
+The breeze sprang up again soon after, from a different quarter
+this time, but the tide had ebbed so far that I was obliged to make
+the detour around the end of the flat upon which Victor had
+grounded the dingy.  "Big Jim" raised himself on his elbow.
+
+"Hello!" he exclaimed, "here's another joyful spot.  Mabel, it was
+along here somewhere that Paine acquired the habit of carrying you
+about like a bundle.  It must have been a picturesque performance.
+Wish I might have seen it."
+
+He laughed heartily.
+
+"Father," said the young lady, coldly, "don't be silly--please."
+
+He chuckled and lay down again, and no one spoke during the rest of
+the voyage.  It was after nine when I brought the boat up to the
+wharf, made her fast, and lowered and furled the sail.
+
+"Better come up to the house with us and have a bit to eat, Paine,"
+urged Colton.  "You must be hungry; I know I am."
+
+"Oh, no, thank you," said I.  "Supper will be waiting for me at
+home."
+
+"Glad to have you, if you'll come.  Tell him to come, Mabel."
+
+Miss Colton's invitation was not over-cordial.
+
+"I presume Mr. Paine knows what is best for him to do," she said.
+"Of course we shall be glad to have him, if he will come."
+
+I declined, and, after thanking me for the sail and the pleasure of
+the fishing trip, they left me, Colton carrying his big squiteague
+by the gills, its tail slapping his leg as he climbed the bluff.  A
+moment later I followed.
+
+The night was, as my feminine passenger had said, wonderfully
+quiet, and sounds carried a long way.  As I reached the juncture of
+the path and the Lane I heard a voice which I recognized as Mrs.
+Colton's.  She was evidently standing on the veranda of the big
+house and I heard every word distinctly.
+
+"You are so unthinking, James!  You and Mabel have no regard for my
+feelings at all.  I have been worried almost to death.  Do you
+realize the time?  I warned you against trusting yourself to the
+care of that common FELLOW--"
+
+The "fellow" heard no more.  He did not wish to.  He was tramping
+heavily through the dew-soaked undergrowth.  He needed now no
+counsel against "playing with fire."  The cutting contempt of Mrs.
+James W. Colton's remark was fire-extinguisher sufficient for that
+night.
+
+Miss Colton and I met again at the door of the bank a day or two
+later, just at closing time.  Sam Wheeler had already gone and I
+left George at his desk, poring over papers and busily figuring.
+He was working over time much of late and explained his industry by
+the fact of his approaching marriage and his desire to make things
+easy for me to handle while he was on his brief wedding trip.  I
+was not much alarmed by the prospect.  He was to be gone but a week
+and I had become sufficiently familiar with the routine to feel
+confident in assuming the responsibility.  Small, my predecessor,
+had a brother who had formerly been employed in the bank and was
+now out of work, and he was coming in to help during the cashier's
+absence.  I was not worried by the prospect of being left in
+charge, but I was worried about George.  He, so it seemed to me,
+had grown pale and thin.  Also he was nervously irritable and not
+at all like his usual good-natured self.  I tried to joke him into
+better humor, but he did not respond to my jokes.  He seemed, too,
+to realize that his odd behavior was noticeable, for he said:
+
+"Don't mind my crankiness, Ros.  I've got so much on my mind that
+I'd be mean to my old grandmother, if I had one, I guess likely.
+Don't let my meanness trouble you; it isn't worth trouble."
+
+I laughed.  "George," I said, "if I ever dreamed of such a thing as
+getting married myself, you would scare me out of it.  You ought to
+be a happy man, and act like one; instead you act as if you were
+about to be jailed."
+
+He caught his breath with a sort of gasp.  Then, after a pause and
+without looking up, he asked slowly:
+
+"Jailed?  What in the world made you say that, Ros?"
+
+"I said it because you act as if you were bound for state's prison
+instead of the matrimonial altar.  George, what IS troubling you?"
+
+"Troubling me?  Why--why, nothing special, of course.  Catching up
+with my work here makes me nervous and--and kind of absent-minded,
+I guess.  Act absent-minded, don't I?"
+
+He did, there was no doubt of that, but I did not believe it was
+his work which caused the absent-mindedness.
+
+"If there is any trouble, George," I said, earnestly; "if you're in
+any difficulty, personally, I shall be very glad to help you, if I
+can.  I mean that."
+
+For a moment I thought he hesitated.  Then he shook his head.
+
+"I know you mean it, Ros," he answered.  "I'm much obliged to you,
+too.  But there's nothing to help me with.  I'm just nervous and
+tired, that's all."
+
+I did not believe it, but I felt that I had said all I could,
+considering his attitude.  I bade him good night and left the
+building.  As I came down the steps Miss Colton was just crossing
+the road from Eldredge's store, a good sized brown paper parcel in
+her hand.
+
+Ever since the day when Captain Jed had given me his warning I had
+been strengthening my resolution.  The remark of Mrs. Colton's
+which I had overheard on the night of the fishing trip, although it
+revealed to me, as I believed, my real standing in the minds of my
+neighbors, whatever they might pretend when in my company, was,
+after all, only a minor detail.  I knew that I must break off my
+acquaintance with this girl.  By all that was sensible and sane it
+must be broken off.  I must not, for my own sake, continue to meet
+her, to see her and speak with her.  No; I would avoid her if I
+could, but, at all events, I would break off the association, even
+if I were obliged to offend her, deliberately offend her, to
+accomplish my purpose.  I swore it; and then I swore at myself for
+being so weak-minded as to need to swear.  That I should be afraid
+of a girl, a mere girl, ten years younger than I, who, as the
+casual pastime of an idle summer, had chosen to pretend an interest
+in me!  I was not afraid of her, of course; I was afraid of myself.
+Not that I was in danger of falling in love with her--that idea was
+too ridiculous to be even funny.  But she was becoming a disturbing
+influence in my life--that was it, a disturbing influence--and I
+must not permit myself to be disturbed.
+
+So now, as I saw the disturbing influence crossing the road in my
+direction, my first thought was to retreat to the bank.  But it was
+too late to retreat; she had seen me, and she bowed pleasantly as
+she approached.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.
+
+I bowed and admitted that the afternoon was a good one, conscious
+as I did so that Sim Eldredge had followed her to the door of his
+store and was regarding us with marked interest.
+
+She exhibited the package.  "I am acting as my own errand boy, you
+see," she said, smiling.  "It was such a beautiful day that I
+refused to send any one for this, or even to ride.  I did not
+realize that a few yards of muslin would make such a bundle.  Now I
+must carry it, I suppose, in spite of appearances."
+
+I believed I saw an opportunity to escape.
+
+"I am going directly home," I said.  "Let me carry it down for you.
+I will send it over to your house by Lute."
+
+"Oh, no thank you.  I could not think of troubling Mr. Rogers.  But
+do you really want to carry it?  You may, for a while.  We will
+take turns.  I am going directly home, too; and we will walk down
+together.  Unless, of course, you are in a hurry."
+
+I think it was the expression of my face which led her to add the
+last sentence.  If I had had time to think, to summon my resolution,
+it is possible--yes, it is possible that I should have declared
+myself to be in a hurry and gone on alone.  But she had caught me
+unawares and resolution was wanting.  I announced that I was in no
+hurry at all, and took the parcel.
+
+We walked on together, she chatting easily, and I pretending to
+listen, although aware that our progress was watched by eager eyes
+and commented upon and exclaimed over by many tongues.  The drawn
+shades of parlor windows moved significantly as we passed and, as
+we turned into the Lower Road, I glanced over my shoulder and saw
+Sim Eldredge and his clerk and Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker on the
+store platform, staring after us.  As if this audience was not
+sufficient, and to make the affair complete, we met Captain Dean
+strutting importantly on his way to the post-office.  He bowed and
+said "Afternoon," but the look he gave me was significant.  There
+was surprise in it, and distrust.  I knew I should have to do more
+explaining at our next meeting.  And I knew, too, or could guess,
+what was being said that very moment at the store, and of the
+surmising and theorizing and strengthening of suspicions which
+would go on at a dozen supper tables that evening.
+
+My companion, however, appeared to be quite unconscious of all
+this.  That I might be suspected and misjudged because she had
+chanced to prefer my company to a walk home alone did not,
+evidently, occur to her.  There was no reason why it should, of
+course; she was not in the position where the opinion or suspicions
+of Denboro's inhabitants need concern her in the least.  But I,
+angry at Captain Jed for his look and with Sim Eldredge and his
+companions for their impudent stares and the trouble I knew their
+gossipy tongues would make for me, was gloomy and resentful.
+
+She did most of the talking and I walked beside her, putting in a
+word occasionally and doing my best to appear as unconcerned as she
+really was.  We crossed Elnathan Mullet's bridge and continued down
+the Shore Lane.  Suddenly I was aware that she had not spoken for
+some minutes.
+
+"Eh?  Yes, Miss Colton; what is it?" I stammered.  Then I realized
+that we were standing beside the granite posts marking the entrance
+to the Colton grounds.  I had been so wrapped in my unpleasant
+thoughts and forebodings that we had reached our journey's end
+without my noticing it.
+
+"Well!" I exclaimed, and then added the brilliant observation, "We
+are here, aren't we."
+
+"We are," she said, dryly.  "Didn't you know it?"
+
+"Why, I had not realized.  The walk has seemed so short."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure it must.  I think you have spoken exactly six words
+in the last five minutes.  Will you come in?"
+
+"Oh no; no, thank you."
+
+"Why not?  Father is in and will be glad to see you."
+
+"I--I must be getting on toward home.  Supper will be ready."
+
+She bit her lip.  "Far be it from me to criticize your domestic
+arrangements, Mr. Paine," she said, "but it does seem to me that
+your housekeeper serves meals at odd hours.  It is only a few
+minutes after four, by my watch."
+
+She had me at a disadvantage.  I imagined I must have appeared
+embarrassed.  I know I felt that way.
+
+"I did not realize . . . I thought it much later," I stammered.
+
+"Then you will come in?  Father will like to discuss the fishing
+with you, I know.  He has talked of little but his wonderful
+weakfish ever since he caught it."
+
+"No, thank you, Miss Colton.  Really, I must not stop."
+
+She took the parcel from my hands.
+
+"Very well," she said, indifferently; "as you please.  I thank you
+for your kindness in walking down with me.  Good afternoon, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+She turned away.  Here was the opportunity I had been waiting for,
+the opportunity of breaking off our acquaintance.  If I knew
+anything I knew the tone of that "Good afternoon" meant that, for
+some reason or other, she was offended, just as I had been certain
+I wished her to be.  Here was the opportunity, Heaven sent, to rid
+my life of its disturbing influence.  Just what I had prayed for
+had come to pass.
+
+And so, to prove the sincerity of my prayers and the worth of my
+high resolve, I--called her back.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said.
+
+She, apparently, did not hear me, so I called again.
+
+"Miss Colton."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I seem somehow or other to have offended you."  And even as I said
+it I realized the completeness of the back-down, realized it and
+blushed.  I was ashamed of my weakness.  Yet when she asked me to
+repeat my words I did so.
+
+"You spoke to me?" she said, coldly.
+
+"I--I said I had not meant to offend you."
+
+"Why should you imagine that I am offended, pray?  You seem to
+think other people must necessarily regard you as seriously as you
+do yourself.  I am not offended."
+
+"But you are."
+
+"Very well; then I am.  We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely
+worth argument, is it?"
+
+This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I
+could not think of one.  While I was groping for a word she spoke
+again.
+
+"Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine," she said.  "I am sure your--
+supper, was it?--must be waiting."
+
+"Miss Colton, you--you seem to resent my not accepting your
+invitation to visit your father.  I assure you I--I should be very
+glad to call upon him."
+
+"Thank you.  I will tell him so.  He will be grateful, doubtless.
+Your condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon.  I
+don't know what I have done.  Twice you have spoken of my
+condescension."
+
+Her foot was beginning to pat the grass.  I recognized the battle
+signal, but I kept on.
+
+"I don't understand what you mean by condescension," I said.
+
+"Don't you, indeed?  You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Possibly.  But I don't understand."
+
+For an instant she hesitated.  Then she turned on me with a gust of
+fierce impatience which took my breath away.  Her eyes flashed.
+
+"You do," she declared.  "You do understand, I am not blind.  Do
+you suppose I could not see that you wished to avoid me when I met
+you at the bank just now?  That my company was neither welcome nor
+desired?  That you accepted my suggestion of walking down together
+merely because you could think of no excuse for declining?"
+
+This was a staggerer.  And the worst of it was its truth.
+
+"Miss Colton," I faltered, "I can't understand what you mean.  I--"
+
+"You do understand.  And please," with a scornful laugh, "oh,
+PLEASE understand that I am not troubled because of THAT.  Your
+charming and cultivated society is not indispensable to my
+happiness, Mr. Paine, strange as that may appear to you.  Really,"
+with cutting contempt, "it is not."
+
+"That I quite understand, Miss Colton," I said, "but--"
+
+"But you are like every one else in this horrid, narrow, bigoted
+place.  Don't you suppose that I see it everywhere I go!  Every one
+here hates us--every one.  We are intruders; we are not wanted
+here, and you all take pains to make us feel as uncomfortable as
+you can.  Oh, you are all snobs--all of you."
+
+I actually gasped.
+
+"Snobs!" I repeated.  "We--snobs?"
+
+"Yes.  That is exactly what you are.  When Father came here he
+meant to be a citizen, a good citizen, of the town.  He had
+intended to do all sorts of things to help the village and the
+people in it.  He and I discussed ever so many plans for doing good
+here.  And we wanted to be friendly with every one.  But how have
+you treated us!  No one comes to see us.  We are avoided as if we
+had the small-pox.  The majority of people scarcely speak to us on
+the street.  I am so lonely and--"
+
+She stopped.  I had never seen her so agitated.  As for me,
+astonishment is much too mild a term to use in describing my
+feelings.  That these people, these millionaires and aristocrats
+should feel that they had been avoided and slighted, that we
+Denboroites were the snobs, that THEY should be lonely because no
+one, or almost no one, came to call upon them--this was too much
+for my bewildered brain to grasp all at once.
+
+The young lady went on.
+
+"And you!" she exclaimed.  "You are as bad as the rest.  Father has
+called upon you several times.  I have called on your mother.
+Father and I have tried to be friendly and neighborly.  Not that we
+are lacking in friends.  We," haughtily, "are not obliged to BEG
+for friendship.  But we felt it our duty to--"
+
+I interrupted.  There is a limit to forbearance and I considered
+that limit reached.
+
+"Miss Colton," I declared, "you are talking nonsense.  Considering
+the manner in which your father treated me when we first met, I--"
+
+"How did you treat him?  How did you treat Mr. Carver and me when
+you first met us in the auto?  You insulted us.  It was plain
+enough then that you hated us."
+
+"I--why, Miss Colton, I did not know who you were."
+
+"Indeed!  Would it have made any difference if you had known?  I
+doubt it.  No, you are like the rest of the people here.  Because
+we have come from the city you have chosen to be as envious and
+petty and disagreeable as you can.  Even Nellie Dean, whom I know
+better than any one here, has never returned my call.  There is a
+concerted plan to make us feel we are neither welcome nor wanted.
+Very well," disdainfully, "we know it.  I, for one, shall not force
+my presence upon any one of you again.  And it is probable that I
+shall manage to exist even without the delights of Denboro society.
+Good-by, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But, Miss Colton--"
+
+"Good-by."
+
+"Miss Colton, listen to me.  You are wrong, all wrong, I tell you.
+There is no plan or plot to make you feel uncomfortable.  We are
+plain village people here, and you are wealthy and have been used
+to associating with those of your class.  Every one in Denboro knew
+that when you came, and they have been shy of intruding where they
+might not be welcome.  Then there was that matter of the Lane
+here."
+
+"Oh, that precious Lane!  I wish I had never seen it."
+
+"I have wished that a number of times in the past few months.  But
+it is here and the question overshadows everything else in the
+village just now.  It does not seem of much importance to you,
+perhaps; perhaps it is not so very important to me; but--"
+
+Again she interrupted me.
+
+"I think it is important enough to make you forget--ordinary
+courtesy," she declared.  "Yes, courtesy.  DON'T look at me like
+that!  You know what I mean.  As I told you before, I am not blind.
+Do credit me with some intelligence.  All the way during this
+cheerful walk of ours you scarcely spoke a word.  Did you suppose I
+did not know what was troubling you?  I saw how that Captain Dean
+looked at you.  I saw those people staring from the post-office
+door.  I knew what you were afraid of their saying: that you are
+altogether too companionable with Father and me; that you intend
+selling the land to us, after all.  That is what you thought they
+would say and you were afraid--AFRAID of their gossip.  Oh, it is
+humiliating!  And, for a time, I really thought you were different
+from the rest and above such things."
+
+I began to feel as if I were once more a small boy receiving a
+lecture from the governess.
+
+"I am not at all afraid of them, Miss Colton," I protested.
+
+"You are.  Why?  Your conscience is clear, isn't it?  You don't
+intend selling out to my father?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Then why should you care what people like that may think?  Oh, you
+weary me!  I admired you for your independence.  There are few
+persons with the courage to face my father as you have done and I
+admired you for it.  I would not have had you sell us the land for
+ANYTHING."
+
+"You would not?" I gasped.
+
+"Certainly not!  I have been on your side all the time.  If you had
+sold I should have thought you, like all the rest, holding back
+merely for a higher price.  I respected you for the fight you were
+making.  You must have known it.  If I had not why do you suppose I
+gave you that hint about the Development Company?"
+
+"Goodness knows!" I exclaimed, devoutly.
+
+"And I was sure you could not be bribed by an offer of a position
+in Father's office.  It was not really a bribe--Father has, for
+some unexplainable reason, taken a fancy to you--but I knew you
+would believe it to be bribery.  That is why I was so positive in
+telling him that you would not accept.  And now you--oh, when I
+think of how I have LOWERED myself!  How I have stooped to . . .
+But there!  I am sure that supper of yours must be waiting.  Pray
+condescend to convey my regrets to the faithful--what is her name?
+Odd that I should forget a name like THAT.  Oh, yes! Dorinda!--Pray
+convey my regrets to the faithful Dorinda for being unwittingly the
+cause of the delay, and assure her that the offense will NOT be
+repeated.  Good-by, Mr. Paine."
+
+She walked off, between the granite posts and along the curved
+drive.  This time I made no attempt to call her back.  The storm
+had burst so unexpectedly and had developed into such a hurricane
+that I had had time to do little more than bend my head before it.
+But I had had time enough to grow angry.  I would not have called
+her back then for the world.  She had insulted me, not once only,
+but again and again.  I stood and watched her go on her way, and
+then I turned and went on my own.
+
+The parting had come.  The acquaintance was broken off; not precisely
+as I had intended it to be broken, but broken, nevertheless, and
+ended for good and all.  I was glad of it.  There would be no more
+fishing excursions, no more gifts of flowers and books, no more
+charity calls.  The "common fellow" was free from the disturbing
+influence and he was glad of it--heartily glad of it.
+
+Yet his gladness was not as apparent to others as it should, by
+all that was consistent, have been.  Lute, evidently, observed no
+traces of transcendent happiness, when I encountered him in the
+back yard, beside the woodpile, sharpening the kindling hatchet
+with a whetstone, a process peculiarly satisfying to his
+temperament because it took such a long time to achieve a
+noticeable result.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he hailed.  "Why! what ails you?"
+
+"Ails me?" I repeated, crossly.  "Nothing ails me, of course."
+
+"Well, I'm glad to hear it.  You look as if you'd lost your last
+friend."
+
+"I haven't lost any friends.  Far from it."
+
+"Nobody's dead, then?"
+
+"No.  Though I could find some who are half dead without trying
+very hard."
+
+More perfectly good sarcasm wasted.  Lute inquired eagerly if I
+meant old Mrs. Lobelia Glover.  "I heard yesterday she was pretty
+feeble," he added.  "'Tain't to be expected she'll last a long
+spell, at her age.  Doctor Quimby says she had a spine in her back
+for twenty years."
+
+I made no comment upon poor Mrs. Glover's surprising affliction.  I
+merely grunted and went into the house.  Dorinda looked at me
+curiously.
+
+"What's the trouble?" she asked.
+
+"Trouble!  There isn't any trouble.  You and Lute seem to be
+looking for trouble."
+
+"Don't have to look far to find it, in this world.  Anything wrong
+at the bank?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Um-hm.  Settin' so long on the fence make you uneasy?  I told you
+the pickets would wear through if you roosted on 'em too long."
+
+"There is nothing the matter, I tell you.  How is Mother?"
+
+"She ain't any wuss.  If 'twan't an impossibility I'd say she was
+better the last month than I'd seen her since she was took.  Nellie
+Dean called on her this afternoon."
+
+"Humph!  I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to
+call on any one except possibly the dressmaker."
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, Nellie looks as if she'd been callin' on the
+dressmaker pretty often.  Anyhow she looked worried and Olindy
+Cahoon's dressmakin' gabble is enough to worry anybody.  She left a
+note for you."
+
+"Who?  Olinda?"
+
+"Land sakes! no!  What would Olindy be doin' down here?  There
+ain't any brides to dress in this house, or bridegrooms either
+unless you're cal'latin' to be one, or Lute turns Mormon.  That
+last notion ain't such a bad one," with a dry smile.  "Another wife
+or two to help me take care of him would come in handy."
+
+"Who did leave the note for me, then?"
+
+"Nellie, of course.  She wanted me to be sure you got it.
+Somethin' about that wonderful weddin', I s'pose.  I left it
+upstairs on your bureau."
+
+I found the note and put it in my pocket to read later on.  I did
+not feel like reading it then.  I did not feel like doing anything
+or seeing any one; yet least of all did I feel like being alone.
+For if I was alone I should think, and I did not want to think.  I
+prowled about my room for a time and then went down and spent a
+short time with Mother.  Her first question was concerning my day
+at the bank, and her second if I had seen any of the Coltons
+recently.  "I rather hoped Miss Mabel would come to see me to-day,"
+she added.  "I look forward to her visits so, I think she's a real
+friend of ours, Roscoe.  I know you don't, dear, or you try to
+believe you do not; but she is--I am convinced of it.  I wonder if
+she will come to-morrow."
+
+I could have put a stop to her wondering on that subject, but I was
+in no mood to do it then.  I went into the dining-room.  Dorinda
+warned me not to go far from the house because supper would be ready
+in a few minutes.  The word "supper" reminded me of my unfortunate
+choice of an excuse and the sarcastic reference to our odd domestic
+arrangements; which reminded me, in its turn, of other sarcasms
+which had followed it.  My "charming and cultivated society" was not
+necessary to her happiness . . .  When she thought of how she had
+lowered herself . . .  Other people did not necessarily regard me as
+seriously as I did myself . . .  And so on . . . until Dorinda
+called me in to sit at the table, and pretend to eat while she and
+Lute commented on my lack of appetite and my absent-mindedness.
+
+It was eight o'clock, and I had gone up to my room to escape from
+their solicitude and pointed questioning, when I happened to think
+of Nellie's note.  I had not been curious concerning its contents,
+for, as I had agreed to act as best man at the wedding, I assumed,
+as Dorinda had done, that she had written on that, to her, all-
+important topic.  I took the note from my pocket and tore open the
+envelope.
+
+Nellie had not written about the wedding.  Her letter was a long
+one, evidently written in great agitation and with words blotted
+and underscored.  Its subject was the man she loved, George Taylor.
+She was so anxious about him.  Did I remember, that night when my
+mother was ill, how she had spoken of him to me and asked if I had
+noticed how troubled and worried he seemed of late?
+
+"And, Roscoe," she wrote, "I have noticed it more and more since
+then.  He IS in trouble.  There is something on his mind, something
+that he will not tell me and that I can see is worrying him
+dreadfully.  He is not like himself at all.  I KNOW something is
+wrong, and I cannot find out what it is.  I want to help him SO
+much.  Oh, please, Roscoe, don't think this is just a foolish
+girl's imagination, and does not amount to anything.  It does.  I
+know it does.  You are his best friend.  Can't YOU find out what is
+troubling him and help him, for my sake?  I have meant to speak to
+you about this ever so many times, but I seldom see you alone and I
+could not speak while he was with me.  So I decided to write this
+letter.  If you will try, just TRY to find out what ails him and
+help him I shall never, NEVER forget your kindness.  Perhaps he
+does not want to marry me.  Perhaps he does not care for me as much
+as he thought he did and will not tell me because he does not want
+me to feel bad.  If that is it tell him not to mind my feelings at
+all.  I want him to be happy.  If it would make him happier to have
+me give him up I will do it, even though I shall pray to die right
+away.  Oh can't you help him and me, Roscoe?  Please, PLEASE try.
+A girl ought to be perfectly happy who is going to be married.  And
+I am so miserable.  I can't tell Mother and Father because they
+would not believe me.  They would think I just imagined it all.
+But YOU won't think that, will you?  You will see him and try to
+help him, for my sake."
+
+And so on, eight closely written pages, ending with another plea to
+me to see "poor George" and help him, and begging me to "burn this
+letter, because I should be so ashamed to have any one else see
+it."
+
+It was a pitiful letter and, even in the frame of mind I was then
+in, disgusted with humanity and hating the entire feminine sex, I
+could not help feeling sorry for Nellie Dean.  Of course I was
+surprised at receiving such a letter and I believed, just as she
+begged me not to believe, that the cause of her distress and
+anxiety was more imaginary than real.  But that something was
+troubling George Taylor I had felt certain for a good while.  The
+idea that he did not love Nellie I knew was preposterous.  That was
+not it.  There was something else, but what I could not imagine.  I
+wanted to help the girl if I could, but how could I ask George to
+tell me his secrets?  I, with a secret of my own.
+
+After pondering for some time I decided to walk up to George's
+boarding place and talk with him.  Nothing would come of the
+interview, probably, but I might as well do that as anything else.
+I must do something, something besides sit in that room and see
+mocking faces in every corner, faces with dark eyes and scornful
+lips which told me that my charming and cultivated society was not
+necessary to their happiness.
+
+Taylor rented the upper floor of a house a quarter of a mile from
+the bank.  His housekeeper answered my ring and informed me that
+her employer had not yet come home.
+
+"He did not even come home for supper," she said.  "Stayed over to
+Nellie's probably.  You'll most likely find him there."
+
+But I was pretty certain he was not at the Deans', for as I passed
+their house, I noticed the windows were dark, indicating that the
+family, like most of respectable Denboro, had already retired.  I
+walked on to the Corners.  Eldredge's store was closed, but the
+billiard room was radiant and noisy.  I could hear Tim Hallet's
+voice urging some one to take a new cue, "'cause that one ain't
+pocketed many balls yet."
+
+I looked across at the bank.  The front portion of it was black
+enough, but the window of the directors' room was alight.  I had
+located the object of my search; the cashier was there, working
+overtime, as he did so often nowadays.
+
+I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered
+quietly.  The door of the directors' room was open a little way and
+I tiptoed over and peeped in through the crack.  Taylor was seated
+in a chair beside the big table, his elbows upon the table and his
+head in his hands.  As I stood there, watching him, he took his
+hands away and I saw his face.  Upon it was an expression of abject
+misery and utter despair.  I opened the door and entered.
+
+He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet.  His
+chair fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no
+attention to it.
+
+"Good God!" he cried, wildly.  "Who's that?"
+
+He was deathly pale and trembling violently.  His appearance
+startled and alarmed me.
+
+"It's all right," I said, hastily.  "It is I--Paine.  I saw the
+light and knew you must be here.  What ails you?  What IS the
+matter?"
+
+For a moment he stood there staring.  Then he turned and picked up
+the fallen chair.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?" he faltered.  "I--I--Lord, how you
+scared me!  I--I--"
+
+"George! what IS the matter with you?  For heaven's sake! stand up,
+man!"  He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint.
+"George!  George Taylor!  Are you ill?  I am going for the doctor."
+
+"No, no!  Stay where you are.  I ain't sick.  I'll be all right in
+a minute.  You--you scared me, creeping in that way.  Sit down, sit
+down."
+
+He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other
+reached to shut a drawer which had been open beside him.  The
+drawer was almost full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was
+a revolver.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and
+held it.
+
+"George," I cried, "George, what is the matter?  Tell me; you must
+tell me."
+
+He tried to pull his arm free.  Finding that I would not let him do
+this he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh,
+answered, "Matter?  Why, nothing is the matter.  I am tired and
+nervous, same as I've told you I've been for the last two or three
+months, and you scared me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this
+time of night."
+
+"Time of night!  It is but a little after nine.  What is the matter
+with you?"
+
+"Nothing is the matter, I tell you.  Let go of my arm, Ros.  What
+do you mean by holding on to me like this?"
+
+"What do YOU mean, George?  What does THAT mean?"
+
+I pointed to the drawer.  He looked and, with a sudden effort,
+jerked his arm free and closed the drawer.
+
+"That?" with a forced laugh.  "Oh, that's nothing.  It was late and
+I was alone here, so--"
+
+"I know better.  George, you're frightening us all.  Don't you
+suppose we can see that something is wrong with you?  I have seen
+it ever since I came here to work.  You are worrying your friends.
+You worry me.  Give us a chance to help you.  Give ME a chance.
+You owe me that.  Tell me your trouble and I'll pull you out of it;
+see if I don't."
+
+My confidence was, of course, only pretence, but my earnestness had
+some effect.  He looked at me wistfully, and shook his head.
+
+"Nobody can pull me out," he said.  "You're a good fellow to want
+to help, but you can't.  There ain't any trouble.  I'm just
+nervous--"
+
+"I know better.  You're lying, George.  Yes, you are; you're
+lying."
+
+"Humph!  You're pretty plain spoken, Ros Paine.  There ain't many
+people I'd take that from."
+
+"You'll take it from me, because you can't help it and because you
+know it is true.  Come, George; come.  You have been a friend to
+me; the only real friend I have had in years.  I have been looking
+for a chance to get even for what you have done for me.  Maybe here
+is the chance.  Let me help you.  I will."
+
+He was wavering; I could see it.  But again he shook his head.
+
+"Nobody can help me," he said.
+
+"George, for my sake--well, then, if not for my sake or your own,
+then for Nellie's, give me a chance.  You aren't treating her
+right, George.  You should think of her.  You--"
+
+"Stop!  Damn you, Ros Paine! what right have you to--"
+
+"The right of a friend, her friend and yours.  You're frightening
+the poor girl to death.  She is beginning to be afraid you don't
+care for her."
+
+"I?  I don't care for HER?  I don't--  Oh, my God!"
+
+To my utter amazement he began to laugh.  And then, all at once,
+his laughter ceased, he swayed, choked, and, suddenly collapsing in
+the chair, dropped his head upon his arms on the table and sobbed,
+sobs that shook him from head to heel.
+
+For one strong, healthy, normal man to see another cry is a
+disconcerting and uncomfortable experience.  Masculine tears do not
+flow easily and poor George, on the verge of hysterics, was a
+pitiful and distressing spectacle.  I was almost as completely
+disorganized as he.  I felt ashamed for him and ashamed of myself
+for having seen him in such a condition.  I wanted desperately to
+help him and I did not know what to do, so beyond patting him on
+the back and begging him repeatedly to brace up and not behave like
+that, I did nothing.  At last his sobs ceased and he was silent.  I
+had risen from my chair and now I stood there with a hand on his
+shoulder; the ticking of the ancient eight-sided clock on the wall
+sounded loud in the room.
+
+Suddenly he sat up and threw off my hand.
+
+"Well," he said, bitterly, "I'm a fine specimen of a man, ain't I.
+Ain't you proud of me?"
+
+"I am mighty sorry for you," I answered.  "And I mean to help you."
+
+"You can't."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Because I do know, Ros," he turned and looked me straight in the
+eye.  "I am going to give you some good advice.  Take it, for your
+own sake.  Clear out of here and leave me.  Don't have anything
+more to do with me.  Clear out."
+
+I did not move.
+
+"Are you going to do as I tell you?" he demanded.  "Mind, I'm
+telling you this for your own good.  Will you clear out and leave
+me?"
+
+I smiled.  "Of course not," I answered.
+
+"Don't be a fool.  You can't afford to be my friend.  Clear out and
+leave me, do you hear?"
+
+"I hear.  Now, George, what is it?"
+
+His fingers tapped the table.  I could see he was making up his
+mind.
+
+"You want to know?" he said.  "You won't be satisfied until you
+do?"
+
+"I have made that fairly plain, I hope.  At least I've tried to."
+
+His fist clenched and he struck the table.
+
+"Then, by the Almighty, I'll tell you!" he cried, fiercely.  "It'll
+be all over the county in a week.  You might as well know it now.
+I'm a crook.  I'm a thief.  I've stolen money from this bank and I
+can't pay it back because I haven't got it and can't get it.  I'm a
+crook, I tell you, and in a week or so it'll be the county jail for
+mine.  Unless--unless," with a significant glance at the drawer,
+"something else happens to me in the meantime.  There; now you
+know.  Are you satisfied?  Are you happy because you've found out?"
+
+I did not answer.  To tell the truth I was not entirely overcome by
+surprise at the disclosure.  I had begun to suspect something of
+the sort.  Yet, now that my suspicions were confirmed, I was too
+greatly shocked and horrified to speak at once.
+
+"Well?" he sneered.  "Now will you clear out and let me settle this
+my own way?"
+
+I pulled my chair forward and sat down.
+
+"Tell me all about it, George," I said, as calmly as I could.  "How
+much is it?"
+
+He stared at me aghast.  "You won't go?" he cried.  "You--you are
+going to stick by me even--even--"
+
+"There! there! pull yourself together, old fellow.  We won't give
+up the ship yet.  How much is it?  It can't be a great sum."
+
+"It ain't.  But, Ros--you--you can't--you mustn't be mixed up in
+this.  I shan't let you.  Don't you see?"
+
+I argued and pleaded and reasoned with him for what seemed a long
+time before he would consent to tell me the whole story.  And when
+it was told there was nothing new or novel in it.  The old tale of
+an honest man who had not meant to go wrong, but, tempted by one of
+those wiles of the devil, an "inside tip" on the stock market, had
+bought heavily on margins, expecting to clear a handsome profit in
+a short time.  The stock was Louisville and Transcontinental and
+the struggle for its control by certain big interests had made copy
+for financial writers for nearly a year.  George had bought at a
+time when one syndicate had, so it believed, secured the control.
+
+Then something went wrong in the deal and the shares began to
+decline in value.  He put up more margins and still more, but it
+continued to decline.  Finally under the spur of another "tip," the
+last of his own savings having gone to the insatiate brokers, he
+sent, to bolster his account and to save him from utter ruin, some
+bonds belonging to the bank.
+
+"Not much," he declared, "only about thirty-five hundred dollars'
+worth, that's all.  I never would have done it, Ros, but I was
+wild, desperate, you see.  Here I was, getting ready to be married;
+Nellie and Cap'n Jed and the rest believing me to be comfortably
+fixed.  It's easy enough now to say that I ought to have gone to
+her and told her.  If I hadn't been certain that the market would
+turn and I'd be all right in a week, I'd have done it.  But I was
+sure I'd be all right and I couldn't take the chance.  I knew what
+her father would say about her marrying a pauper, and I just
+couldn't take the risk of losing her; I couldn't.  She means more
+to me than--than--oh, wait until your time comes!  Wait until the
+girl comes along that you care for more than the whole world.  And
+then see what you'd do.  See what it would mean to give her up!
+Just wait--wait and see!"
+
+"Yes, yes," I put in, hastily.  "I understand, George.  But the
+stock, Louisville and Transcontinental, how is it now?"
+
+"Just the same.  It is dead, practically speaking.  It hasn't moved
+half a point for six weeks.  I've been expecting it would, but it
+hasn't.  It's all right; the value is there; I know it.  If I could
+only hang on and wait I could get my money back, part of it,
+anyhow.  But I can't.  I can't wait.  And the broker people have
+got those bonds.  Ros, I've been fighting this thing for weeks and
+weeks.  I ain't slept a night for years, or so it seems.  And next
+week--next WEEK I was to be married.  My God! think of it!"
+
+"Here, here!  Don't do that," I urged.  "Brace up.  You and I must
+work this out.  Wasn't there any one you could go to?  Anyone you
+could borrow the money of?  Thirty-five hundred isn't such a lot."
+
+"Whom could I go to?  I tried.  Lord knows I tried!  I did borrow a
+thousand of Cap'n Elisha Warren; trumped up some excuse or other
+and got that.  But that was all he could let me have.  And I know
+he thought my asking for that was queer."
+
+"Did you consider going straight to Cap'n Dean and--"
+
+"Dean?  Cap'n Jed?  Her father?  Oh, Ros, don't be a fool altogether!
+I beg your pardon, old man!  I don't mean it.  You mustn't mind.  I
+ain't responsible for what I say just now.  But I couldn't go to
+Cap'n Jed.  You know him.  He's as straight and square and honest as
+he is obstinate and cranky.  If I went to him I couldn't tell him
+the truth.  And if I lied he'd suspect and want to know why I needed
+to borrow money.  And Nellie--don't you see?  There's the real
+awfulness of the whole thing.  I couldn't go to her and tell her I
+was a thief.  I couldn't see her face when I told her.  And yet
+she's got to know it.  She's got to know it!"
+
+"But why?  The stock may go up any day and then you could withdraw
+part of your margin."
+
+He struck the table with another blow.  "The stock ain't moved for
+six weeks, I tell you," he declared.  "And, Ros," he leaned
+forward, his haggard face working with emotion, "those bonds ain't
+in our safe here, where they should be, and the bank examiner is
+due here within the next four days.  He's at Middleboro now.  I
+'phoned Bearse, the cashier there, this very forenoon on a matter
+of business, and he happened to mention that the examiner was in
+his bank and working his way down the Cape.  It's all up with me!
+All up!  And Nellie! poor girl; I can't be here when she finds it
+out.  I know you think I'm a poor specimen of a man, Ros, but I
+can't face the music.  No," desperately, "and I won't."
+
+He was giving way again, but I seized his shoulder and shook him.
+
+"Stop it!" I commanded.  "Stop it, George!  Let me think.  Be quiet
+now and let me think.  There must be a way out somewhere.  Let me
+think."
+
+He leaned back in his chair.  "All right," he said, hopelessly;
+"think, if you want to.  Though why you should want to think about
+a thing like me I don't see.  And I used to despise a crook as much
+as any one! and a coward still more!  And now I'm both a crook and
+a coward."
+
+I knew his cowardice was merely on Nellie's account.  George Taylor
+was no coward in the ordinary sense of the word, nor was he a
+crook.  I rose and paced up and down the room.  He watched me
+listlessly; it was plain that he felt no confidence whatever in my
+being able to help him.  After a time he spoke.
+
+"It's no use, Ros," he said.  "Don't worry your head about me; I
+ain't worth it.  If there was any way out, any way at all, I'd have
+sighted it long ago.  There ain't.  Take my advice and leave me.
+You don't want to be mixed up with an embezzler."
+
+I turned on him, impatiently.  "I have been mixed up, as you call
+it, with one before," I said, sharply.  "Is my own family record so
+clean that I need to pretend--there, George! don't be an idiot.
+Let me think."
+
+The clock chimed ten.  I stopped in my walk and turned to him.
+
+"George," I said, "tell me this:  If you had the money to buy back
+these bonds belonging to the bank you would be all right, wouldn't
+you?  If you had it in your hands by to-morrow morning, I mean."
+
+"Yes; IF I had it--but I haven't."
+
+"You could send the money to the brokers and--"
+
+"Send!  I wouldn't send; I'd go myself and fetch the bonds back
+with me.  Once I had them in that safe again I--"
+
+"And you would not take any more risks, even if the market dropped
+and they had to sell out your account?  Even if you lost every cent
+of your investment?"
+
+The fierce earnestness of his answer satisfied even me.  "What do
+you think I am?" he demanded.  "Investment be hanged!  It's my name
+as an honest man that I care about.  Once let me get that back
+again and I'll face the poorhouse.  Yes, and I'll tell Nellie the
+truth, all except that I was a thief; I can't tell her that.  But I
+will tell her that I haven't got a cent except my salary.  Then if
+she wants to give me up, all right.  I'll bear it as best I can.
+Or, if she doesn't, and I lose my job here, I'll get another one
+somewhere else; I'll work at anything.  She and I can wait and . . .
+But what is the use of talking like this?  I've been over every
+inch of the ground a thousand times.  There ain't a ray of light
+anywhere.  The examiner will be here, the bonds will be missing,
+and I--I'll be in jail, or in hell, one or the other."
+
+"No, you won't," I said, firmly.
+
+"I won't!  Why not?"
+
+"Because there IS a ray of light.  More than a ray.  George, you go
+home and go to bed.  To-morrow morning I may have news for you,
+good news."
+
+The blood rushed to his face.  He seized the arm of his chair.
+
+"Good news!" he gasped.  "Good news for ME!  Ros--Ros, for the
+Lord's sake, what do you mean?  You don't mean you see a way to--"
+
+"Never mind what I mean.  But I should like to know what you mean
+by not coming to me before?  What are friends for, if not to help
+each other?  Who told you that I was dead broke?"
+
+"You?  Why, you ain't got . . .  Have you?  Ros Paine, you ain't
+got thirty-five hundred to spare.  Why, you told me yourself--"
+
+"Shut up!  Get up from that chair and come with me.  Yes, you; and
+now, this minute.  Give me that thing you've got in the drawer
+there.  No, I'll take it myself.  You ought to be ashamed of its
+being there, George.  I am ashamed of you, and, if I thought you
+really meant to use it, I should be still more ashamed.  Come!
+don't keep me waiting."
+
+"But--but Ros--"
+
+"Will you do as I tell you?"
+
+I dragged him, almost literally dragged him, from the chair.  Then,
+after extinguishing the lamp, I led him to the door of the bank and
+locked it, putting the key in my pocket.
+
+"Now," said I, "I want you to make me a promise.  I want you to
+quit behaving like a coward, because you are not one, and promise
+me that you will go straight home and to bed.  I'll see you again
+the first thing in the morning.  Then, I think--yes, I think your
+troubles, the worst part of them, will be over."
+
+"But, Ros, PLEASE--I can't believe it!  Won't you tell me--"
+
+"Not a word.  Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home?
+Or must I go with you?"
+
+"No.  I'll--I'll promise.  I'll go straight home.  But, oh Ros, I
+can't understand--"
+
+"Good night."
+
+I left him standing there, stammering incoherently like a man
+awakening from a nightmare, and hurried away.
+
+I could not describe my progress down the dark Lower Road and along
+the Shore Lane.  I do not remember any portion of it.  I think I
+ran most of the way and if I met any one--which is not likely,
+considering the time--he or she must have thought me crazy.  My
+thoughts were centered upon one fixed purpose.  I had made up my
+mind to do a certain thing and, if possible, to do it that very
+night.  If I did not, if I had time in which to reflect, to
+consider consequences, I might lose my nerve and it would not be
+done at all.
+
+It was with a feeling of great relief that, as I came in sight of
+the Colton house, I saw lights in the rooms on the lower floor.
+The family, not being native born Denboroites, had not retired even
+though it was well after ten.  I hastened up the long drive, and
+stood before the big door, my hand upraised to the knocker.  And
+then, just for a moment, I hesitated.
+
+If I lifted that knocker and let it fall; if I summoned the servant
+and announced that I wished to speak with Mr. Colton; if I did what
+I had come there to do, it would be all over with me in the
+village.  My new born popularity, the respect which Cap'n Warren
+and Cap'n Jed and the rest of the townspeople had shown toward me
+of late, the cordial recognition which had been mine during the
+past few weeks and which, in spite of pretended indifference, I had
+come to expect and enjoy, all these would be lost if I persisted in
+my purpose.  My future in Denboro depended upon whether or not I
+knocked at that door.  And it was not too late to back out, even
+yet.  I had only to turn quietly away and tell George, when I saw
+him in the morning, that I could not help him as I had hoped.  And
+then I thought of his face as I saw it when I entered the bank--and
+of Nellie's letter to me.
+
+I seized the knocker and rapped sharply.
+
+For a few moments my knock was unanswered.  Then I heard footsteps
+and the door was opened.  Johnson, the butler, opened it, and his
+clerical countenance assumed a most astonished expression when he
+saw me standing before him.
+
+"Is Mr. Colton in?" I asked.
+
+"What?  What--sir?" stammered Johnson.  The "sir" was added under
+protest.  He did not wish to show more respect than was absolutely
+necessary to a countryman, but he scarcely dared speak as
+disrespectfully as he felt.  Therefore he compromised by voicing
+the respect and looking the other way.
+
+"Is Mr. Colton in?" I repeated.
+
+"I don't know.  I--I don't think so--sir."
+
+The windows at my left were, I knew, those of the library, the room
+where "Big Jim" and I had had our first lively discussion of the
+Shore Lane matter.  I glanced at them.
+
+"I think he is," I said.  "In fact I know it; there is his shadow
+on the curtain.  Tell him Mr. Paine wishes to speak with him."
+
+Johnson looked as insolent as he dared, and still hesitated.
+
+"It is very late," he said.  "Mr. Colton is not in the 'abit of
+receiving callers at this time of night and--"
+
+He was interrupted.  The door behind him, the door leading from the
+library to the hall, opened and Colton himself appeared.
+
+"What is it, Johnson?" he asked.  "Anything wrong?"
+
+The butler hastened to explain.
+
+"No sir," he said; "nothing wrong exactly, sir.  There is a person
+'ere to see you, sir, and--"
+
+"To see me, eh?  Who is it?  Why, hello, Paine! is that you?"
+
+"Mr. Colton," said I, "I am sorry to disturb you at such a late
+hour, but--"
+
+"Come in, come in," he interrupted.  "What are you standing out
+there for?  Johnson, why didn't you ask Mr. Paine in?  What do you
+mean by keeping him out there?"
+
+Mr. Johnson looked troubled.
+
+"It was so late, sir," he stammered, "I thought--"
+
+"You thought!  If I had wanted any one to think I never should have
+hired you.  Come in, Paine.  Come into the library."
+
+He led the way to the library and I followed him.  It was my second
+visit to the big, handsomely furnished room and again, as on the
+first occasion, the sight of the books and all the other refinements
+and luxuries which money brings to its possessor gave me a pang of
+envy and resentment.  It added increased bitterness to the
+humiliation of my errand.  I had left that room defiantly expressing
+my independence.  I had come back to it--"
+
+"Sit down," ordered Colton, pulling forward the big, leather-
+covered chair.  "Have a cigar?"
+
+"No thank you."
+
+"Humph!  That's what you said when you were here before.  You're
+young, Paine.  When you get to be as old as I am you'll never
+refuse a good cigar, or anything else that is good, when it is
+offered you.  Well, you're still standing.  Aren't going to refuse
+to sit down, are you?"
+
+That was exactly what I was going to do.  I would not sit down in
+that house.  I would not accept the slightest courtesy from this
+man or any of his people.  I would get rid of the unpleasant task I
+had come to do and then go away, never to return.  They might make
+the most of the triumph which was to be theirs, but I would compel
+them to understand that I was not seeking their favor.  I would not
+accept their patronage and they should know it.  This, as I look
+back at it now, seems silly and childish enough, but I was not
+myself that night.
+
+"Mr. Colton," said I, ignoring the proffered chair, "I have come to
+see you on a matter of business."
+
+"Business, eh?  Umph!  I thought probably you were going to ask me
+to go fishing with you again.  I'm all ready for another tussle
+with those--what do you call 'em--squid--squit--good Lord! what a
+name for a decent fish!  But I don't care a continental what you
+call 'em.  I'm ready to get at 'em when you say the word."
+
+"My business will not detain either of us long.  I--"
+
+"Sit down, man, sit down.  You make me nervous standing there."
+
+"No.  I won't sit."
+
+He looked at me.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" he asked.  "You haven't got a balky
+digestion, have you?  I've been fighting one for the last week.
+That fool of a country doctor tells me if I'm not careful what I
+eat I'll keel over pretty soon.  I told him I'd eaten what I dashed
+please ever since I'd had teeth and I wasn't going to quit now.
+But I do feel like the devil.  Look it, don't I?"
+
+He did look ill, that was a fact, though I had not noticed it
+before and was far from feeling pity for him then.  In fact I was
+rather glad to know that he was uncomfortable.  I wanted him to be.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" he demanded.  "You look as if you
+had seen your grandmother's ghost."
+
+I ignored the question.  "Mr. Colton," I began again.  "You made an
+offer not long ago."
+
+I had caught his attention at last.  He leaned back in his chair.
+
+"I did," he said.  "Ye-es, I did.  Do you mean you are going to
+accept it?"
+
+"In a way--yes."
+
+"In a way?  What do you mean by that?  I tell you frankly, Paine,
+if you go to work for me there must be no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it.
+You'll enter my office and you'll do as I, or the men under me,
+tell you to do."
+
+I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me.  It gave me
+an opportunity to express my feelings toward him--as I was feeling
+then.
+
+"Don't let that trouble you," I said, sarcastically.  "There will
+be no 'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned.  I have no
+desire to work for you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so.
+That was not the offer I meant."
+
+He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment.
+He bent forward and looked at me more keenly than ever.
+
+"There was only one other offer that I remember making you," he
+said, slowly.  "That was for that land of yours.  I offered you
+five thousand dollars for it.  Do you mean you accept that offer?"
+
+"Not exactly."
+
+"Humph!  Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me.
+My time is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told
+you, pretty bad.  Come! get it over.  What do you mean?  Are you
+going to sell me that land?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He puffed deliberately at his cigar.  His gaze did not leave my
+face.
+
+"Why?" he asked, after a moment.
+
+"That is my own affair.  I will sell you the land, but not for five
+thousand dollars."
+
+His expression changed.  He knocked the ashes from his cigar and
+frowned.
+
+"I see," he sneered.  "Humph!  Well, I've tried to make it plain to
+you fellows down here that I couldn't be held up.  I thought I'd
+done it, but evidently I haven't.  Five hundred is a good price for
+that land.  Five thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons
+for being willing to be robbed that much.  That, however, is the
+limit.  I'll give you five thousand, but not another cent.  You can
+take it or get out."
+
+This was better.  When he talked like that I could answer him and
+enjoy it.
+
+"I'll get out very shortly," I said.  "You are no more anxious to
+have that happen than I am.  I don't want your other cent.  I don't
+want your five thousand dollars.  I'll sell you the land on one
+condition--no, on two.  The first is that you pay me thirty-five
+hundred dollars for it."
+
+"WHAT?"
+
+I had upset his composure this time.  He forgot to sneer; he even
+forgot to smoke.
+
+"What?" he cried again.  "Thirty-five hundred!  Why, I offered you--"
+
+"I know your offer.  This is mine:  I will sell you the land for
+thirty-five hundred, and not another cent.  That, as you say, is
+the limit.  You can take it or--or I will follow your suggestion
+and get out."
+
+We looked at each other.  His fingers moved toward the match box on
+the table.  He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end
+of his cigar.  Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the
+match and tossed the latter into the fireplace.
+
+"What is the second condition?" he asked, abruptly.
+
+"That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once."
+
+"At once?  Now, do you mean?"
+
+"Yes, now.  To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine
+o'clock to-morrow morning."
+
+"Humph!  Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my
+change pocket?"
+
+"I don't know.  But that is the second condition."
+
+"Humph! . . .  Look here, Paine; what--?  I offered you the five
+thousand.  That offer holds good."
+
+"I don't accept it.  I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more
+and no less."
+
+"But why not more?"
+
+"I don't know.  Yes, I do, too.  You said once that you were
+willing to pay forty-five hundred for the privilege of having your
+own way.  Perhaps I am willing to sacrifice fifteen hundred for the
+privilege of having mine.  At all events I mean what I say."
+
+"But why just thirty-five?  Wouldn't you take thirty-six?"
+
+"No.  It is useless to argue, Mr. Colton, and useless to ask my
+reasons.  I have them, and that is enough.  Will you accept MY
+offer?"
+
+He hesitated.  The sneer had left his face and his tone when he
+addressed me was respectful, though there was a curious note of
+chagrin or dissatisfaction in it.  I had expected him to be eager
+and, perhaps, mockingly triumphant.  He was not.  He seemed
+reluctant, almost disappointed.
+
+"I suppose I'll have to," he said.  "But, Paine, what is up?  Why
+are you doing this?  You're not afraid of me?  No, of course you're
+not.  You're not the kind to squeal and lie down because you think
+the odds are against you . . .  Confound you!" with a sudden burst
+of impatience, "you are enough to upset all the self-conceit a
+man's got in him.  Just as I think I'm beginning to size you up you
+break loose in a new place."
+
+"Pardon me," I put in, "but I don't see that you are helping to
+save that valuable time of yours.  I understand that you accept.
+Will you pay me now?"
+
+He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets,
+stood regarding me.
+
+"Your mind is made up, is it?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Humph!  Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the
+rest of the patriots may say when they find this out?"
+
+I had thought of little else all the way from the bank to his door.
+I was thinking of it then.
+
+"Of course," he added, "that is not my affair, but--"
+
+"It is not."
+
+"You're right; it isn't.  Still--hang it all, Paine!  I don't often
+feel any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and
+I did intend to have my own way in this one--"
+
+"Well, you're having it, aren't you?" I put in.  "Why talk so much
+about it?"
+
+"Because I am not so sure I am having it.  Of course I can see
+that, for some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred
+dollars.  Anyone but you, if they were going to sell, would get the
+last dime they could squeeze.  You won't, because you are as pig-
+headed as--as--"
+
+"Oh, do cut it short," I snapped.  And then, a trifle ashamed of my
+rudeness, "Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant
+for me and I want to get it over.  Will you pay me now?"
+
+"Hold on; let me finish.  I was going to say that, if you needed
+the thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it."
+
+I stared at him.  "Let me have it!" I cried.  "Do you mean you'll
+lend it to me?"
+
+"Why, yes, maybe.  You and I have had such a first-rate, square,
+stand up fight that I rather hate to have it end.  I want to lick
+you, not have you quit before I've really begun to fight.  There's
+no fool philanthropy in this, understand; it is just for my own
+satisfaction."
+
+I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man
+whom I had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I
+found it almost impossible to answer.
+
+"What do you say?" he asked.
+
+"No," I faltered.  And then more firmly, "No; certainly not.  I--I
+am much obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but--no."
+
+"All right.  You know best.  I'll take your offer and I will hand
+you the money at the bank to-morrow morning.  Will that do?"
+
+"Not at the bank, Mr. Colton.  Send it over to the house, if you
+can conveniently."
+
+"I'll have it here before ten.  My lawyer will draw up the papers
+and arrange for transfer of title in a few days.  What?  Going, are
+you?  Good night.  Oh--er--Paine, remember that my other offer,
+that of the place in my office, is open when you're ready to take
+it."
+
+I shook my head.  I had turned to go, but now I turned back,
+feeling that, perhaps, I should apologize again for my rudeness.
+After all, he had been kind, very kind, and I had scarcely thanked
+him.  So I turned back to say something, I hardly knew what.
+
+My doing so was a mistake.  The door behind me opened and a voice
+said reproachfully, "Father, are you still here?  The doctor
+said . . .  Oh, I beg pardon."
+
+I recognized the voice.  Of all voices in the world I wished least
+to hear it just then.  My back was toward the door and I kept it
+so.  If she would only go!  If she would only shut that door and go
+away!
+
+I think she would have gone but her father called her.
+
+"Mabel," he cried, "Mabel, don't go.  It's all right.  Come in.
+Paine and I have finished our talk.  Nothing more you wished to
+say, was there, Paine?"
+
+"No," said I.  I was obliged to turn now; I could not get out of
+that room without doing it.  So turn I did, and we faced each
+other.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Colton," I said, with all the calmness I could
+muster.
+
+She said, "Good evening," distantly and without any enthusiasm, but
+I saw her glance at her father and then at me and I knew she was
+wondering what our being together could possibly mean.
+
+"Paine has been making me a little call," explained Colton, his eye
+twinkling.  "Mabel, I'll risk another bet that you can't guess why
+he came."
+
+"I shall not try," she said, disdainfully.
+
+"Oh, you'd better!  No?  You won't?  Well, then, I'll tell you.  He
+has just sold me that land of his . . .  Don't look at me like
+that; he has.  We had a little disagreement as to price, but," with
+a grin, "I met his figures and we closed the deal.  Aren't you
+going to congratulate him on having come to his senses at last?
+Come! he's waiting for congratulations."
+
+This was not true.  I was waiting for nothing; I was on my way to
+the door.  But, to reach it I was obliged to pass her and our eyes
+met.  My glance wavered, I know, but hers did not.  For a moment
+she looked at me.  Then she smiled.  Whenever I am tempted to be
+vain, even now, I remember that smile.
+
+"I congratulate him," she said.  "Come, Father; you must go to bed
+now."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+I am not going to attempt a description of my thoughts that night.
+It would take too long and the description would be wearisome.
+Other people's miseries are not interesting and I shall not catalog
+mine.  Morning came at last and I rose, bathed my hot face in cold
+water, and went down stairs.  Early as it was, not yet six, I heard
+Dorinda in the kitchen and, having no desire for conversation, I
+went out and walked up and down the beach until breakfast time.  I
+had to pretend to eat, but I ate so little that both Lute and
+Dorinda once more commented upon my lack of appetite.  Lute, who
+had never become fully reconciled to my becoming a member of the
+working class, hastened to lay the blame for my condition upon my
+labors at the bank.
+
+"The trouble is," he announced, dogmatically, "the trouble is,
+Roscoe, that you ain't fitted for bein' shut up astern of a deck.
+Look at yourself now!  Just go into Comfort's room and stand in
+front of her lookin' glass and look at yourself.  There you be,
+pale and peaked and wore out.  Look for all the world just as I
+done when I had the tonsils two winters ago.  Ain't that so,
+Dorindy?"
+
+His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff.
+
+"If you mean to say that you looked peaked when you had sore
+throat," she announced, "then there's somethin' the matter with
+your mind or your eyesight, one or t'other.  You peaked?  Why, your
+face was swelled up like a young one's balloon Fourth of July Day.
+And as for bein' pale!  My soul!  I give you my word I couldn't
+scurcely tell where your neck left off and the strip of red flannel
+you made me tie 'round it begun."
+
+"Don't make no difference!  I FELT pale, anyhow.  And I didn't eat
+no more'n Ros does.  You'll have to give in to that, Dorindy.  I
+didn't eat nothin' but beef tea and gruel."
+
+"You et enough of them to float a schooner."
+
+"Maybe I did," with grieved dignity; "maybe I did.  But that's no
+reason why you should set there and heave my sufferin's in my
+face."
+
+"What is the man talkin' about now?  I didn't heave 'em in your
+face.  They come there themselves, same as sore throat sufferin's
+generally do, and if you hadn't waded around in the snow with leaky
+boots, because you was too lazy to take 'em to the shoemaker's to
+be patched, they wouldn't."
+
+Lute drew back from the table.  "It's no use!" he declared, "a man
+can't even be sick in peace in this house.  Some wives would have
+been sorry to see their husbands with one foot in the grave."
+
+"Your feet was in the cookstove oven most of the time.  There!
+there! the more you talk the further from home you get.  You
+started in with Roscoe and the bank and you're in the grave
+already.  If I was you I'd quit afore I went any further.  Land
+knows where you might fetch up if you kept on!  I . . .  Mercy on
+us! who's at the kitchen door this time in the mornin'?"
+
+Her husband, ever curious, was on his way to answer the knock
+already.  He came back, a moment later, sputtering with excitement.
+
+"It's that Mr. butler, the Johnson over to Mr. Colton's," he
+whispered.  "I mean it's that Jutler--that--  There, Dorindy! you
+see what sort of a state your hectorin' has worked me into!  It's
+that parson critter who opens Colton's door for him, that's who
+'tis.  And he wants to see Ros.  I tried to find out what for, but
+he wouldn't tell."
+
+Even Dorinda showed surprise.  She looked at the clock, "This hour
+of the mornin'!" she exclaimed; "what in the world--?"
+
+I hastened to the kitchen, closing the dining-room door behind me
+just in time to prevent Lute's following me.  Johnson, the butler,
+was standing on the mica slab at the threshold inspecting our
+humble premises with lofty disdain.
+
+"Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir," he said, handing me an
+envelope.  "He wishes you to send a receipt by me."
+
+I took the envelope and, stepping back out of sight, tore it open.
+Inside was a check on a New York bank for four thousand dollars.
+It was made payable to "Bearer."  With it was this brief note:
+
+
+Dear Paine:
+
+This is the best I can do for you, as I haven't the money on hand.
+Cash it yourself, take out your thirty-five hundred and hold the
+additional five hundred until I, or one of the family, call for it.
+I made the thing payable to Bearer because I imagined you would
+prefer it that way.  Send me some sort of receipt by Johnson;
+anything will do.  I will see my lawyer in a day or two.  Meanwhile
+have your papers, deeds, etc., ready when he calls for them.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+For a minute I considered.  If I could cash the check at the bank
+without Taylor's knowledge and get him off to Boston on the early
+train, I might be able to cover my tracks.  It was necessary that
+they should be covered.  Knowing George as I did I knew that he
+would never consent to my sacrifice.  He would not permit me to
+wreck my future in Denboro to save him.  The money must be turned
+over to the Boston bankers and the bank's bonds once more in the
+vault where they belonged before he learned where that money came
+from.  Then it would be too late to refuse and too late to undo
+what had been done.  He would have to accept and I might be able
+to prevail upon him to keep silent regarding the whole affair.  I
+disliked the check with Colton's name upon it; I should have much
+preferred the cash; but cash, it seemed, could not be had without
+considerable delay, and with that bank examiner's visit imminent
+every moment of time was valuable.  I folded the check, put it in
+my pocketbook, and, hastily scribbling a receipt in pencil at the
+bottom of Colton's note, replaced the latter in the envelope and
+handed it to Johnson, who departed.
+
+Entering the dining-room I found Dorinda and Lute at the window,
+peering after the butler.
+
+"By time!" exclaimed Lute, "if I didn't know I should say he was a
+bigger big-bug than old Colton himself.  Look how he struts!  He
+sartin is a dignified lookin' man.  I don't see how he ever come to
+be just hired help."
+
+"Um-hm," sniffed the cynical Mrs. Rogers.  "Well; you can get an
+awful lot of dignity for its board and lodgin'!  There's nothin'
+much more dignified or struts much better'n a rooster, but it's the
+hens that lay the eggs.  What did he want, Roscoe?"
+
+I made some excuse or other for Mr. Johnson's early call and,
+taking my cap from the rack, hurried from the house.  I went
+"across lots" and, running a good part of the way, reached the bank
+just as Sam Wheeler was sweeping out.  He expressed surprise at my
+early arrival and wished to know what was up.
+
+"Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?" asked Sam anxiously.  "I saw
+by the paper that the market was feverish again yesterday."
+
+Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker
+in the shortest possible time, read the financial page with
+conscientious thoroughness.  I assured him that the market's fever
+was not contagious--at least I had not contracted the disease--and
+sent him out to sweep the front steps.  As soon as he had gone I
+opened the safe, found, to my joy, that we had an abundance of
+currency on hand, cashed the Colton check and locked it securely in
+the drawer of my own desk.  So far I was safe.  Now to secure
+George's safety.
+
+He came in soon after, looking as if, as he had told me, he had not
+slept for years.  He bade Sam good morning and then walked over to
+my side.
+
+"Well, Ros?" he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me.
+
+"Not here, George," I whispered.  "Come into the directors' room."
+
+I led the way and he followed me.  I closed the door behind us,
+took the thirty-five hundred dollars in notes from my pocket and
+laid them on the table.
+
+"There's the money, George," I said.  "Now you've got just time
+enough to catch that nine o'clock train for Boston."
+
+I thought, for a moment, he was going to collapse altogether.  Then
+he pounced upon the money, counted it with fingers that trembled so
+he could scarcely control them, and turned to me.
+
+"Ros--Ros--" he stammered.  "Where did you--how did you--Great God,
+man!  I--I--"
+
+"There! there!" I interrupted.  "I told you I wasn't a pauper
+exactly.  Put that where you won't lose it and clear out.  You
+haven't any time to argue."
+
+"But--but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you.  I don't see
+where you got it and--"
+
+"That's my business.  Will you go?"
+
+"I don't know as I ever can pay you.  Lord knows I'll try all my
+life, but--"
+
+I seized his arm.  "George," I urged, impatiently, "you fool, don't
+waste time.  Get that train, do you hear!  Those bonds must be in
+that safe by night.  Go!"
+
+The mention of the bonds did what my urging had failed to do.  He
+crammed the bills into his pocket book, thrust the latter into an
+inside pocket, and rushed from the room.  I followed him as far as
+the outer door.  He was running up the road like a wild man.  Sam
+stared after him.
+
+"For mercy sakes!" he cried, "what's the matter with the boss?  Has
+he gone loony?"
+
+"No," I said, turning back to my desk; "he's sane enough, I guess.
+He's after the train."
+
+"I should think he was after somethin'.  Did you see the face he
+had on him?  If he ain't crazy then you and I are, that's all I've
+got to say."
+
+"All right, Sam," I answered, drawing a long breath, "perhaps
+that's it.  Perhaps you and I are the crazy ones--one of us, at any
+rate."
+
+All that day I worked hard.  I did not go home for lunch, but sent
+Sam over to Eldredge's store for canned ham and crackers which I
+ate at my desk.  It was a fairly busy day, fortunately, and I could
+always find some task to occupy my mind.  Lute called, at two
+o'clock, to inquire why I had not been home and I told him that
+Taylor was away and I should be late for supper.  He departed,
+shaking his head.
+
+"It's just as I said," he declared, "you're workin' yourself sick,
+that's what you're doin'.  You're growin' foolish in the head about
+work, just the same as Dorindy.  And YOU don't need to; you've got
+money enough.  If I had independent means same as you've got I tell
+you I'd have more sense.  One sick invalid in the family's enough,
+ain't it?"
+
+"No doubt, Lute," I replied.  "At all events you must take care of
+your health.  Don't YOU work yourself sick."
+
+Lute turned on me.  "I try not to," he said, seriously; "I try not
+to, but it's a hard job.  You know what that wife of mine is
+cal'latin' to have me do next?  Wash the hen house window!  Yes
+sir! wash the window so's the hens can look at the scenery, I
+presume likely.  I says to her, says I, 'That beats any foolishness
+ever I heard!  Next thing you'll want me to put down a carpet in
+the pigsty, won't ye?  You would if we kept a pig, I know.'"
+
+"What did she say to that?" I inquired.
+
+"Oh, the land knows!  Somethin' about keepin' one pig bein' trouble
+enough.  I didn't pay much attention.  But I shan't wash no hen's
+window, now you can bet on that!"
+
+I shouldn't have bet much on it.  He went away, to spend the next
+hour in a political debate at Eldredge's, and I wrote letters,
+needlessly long ones.  Closing time came and Sam went home, leaving
+me to lock up.  The train was due at six-twenty, but it was nearly
+seven before I heard it whistle at the station.  I stood at the
+front window looking up the road and waiting.
+
+I waited only a few minutes, but they were long ones.  Then I saw
+George coming, not running this time, but walking with rapid
+strides.  The crowd, waiting on the post-office steps, shouted at
+him but he paid no attention.  He sprang up the steps and entered
+the bank.  I stepped forward and seized his hand.  One look at his
+face was enough; he had the bonds, I knew it.
+
+"Ros, you here!" he exclaimed.  "Is it all right?  The examiner
+hasn't showed up?"
+
+"No," I answered.  "You have them, George?"
+
+"Right in my pocket, thank the Lord--and you, Ros Paine.  Just let
+me get them into that safe and I--  What!  You're not going?"
+
+"Yes, I'm going.  I congratulate you, George.  I am as glad as you
+are.  Good night."
+
+"But Ros, I want to tell you about it.  I want to thank you again.
+I never shall forget . . .  Ros, hold on!"
+
+But I was already at the door.  "Good night," I called again, and
+went out.  I went straight home, ate supper, spent a half hour with
+Mother, and then went to my room and to bed.  The excitement was
+over, for good or bad the thing was done beyond recall, and I
+suddenly realized that I was very tired.  I fell asleep almost
+immediately and slept soundly until morning.  I was too tired even
+to think.
+
+I had plenty of time to think during the fortnight which followed
+and there was enough to think about.  The lawyer came and the
+papers were signed transferring to James W. Colton the strip of
+land over which Denboro had excited itself for months.  Each day I
+sat at my desk expecting Captain Dean and a delegation of indignant
+citizens to rush in and denounce me as a traitor and a turncoat.
+Every time Sam Wheeler met me at my arrival at the bank I dreaded
+to look him in the face, fearing that he had learned of my action
+and was waiting to question me about it.  In spite of all my boasts
+and solemn vows not to permit "Big Jim" Colton to obtain the Shore
+Lane I had sold it to him; he could, and it was to be expected that
+he would, close it at once; Denboro would make its just demand upon
+me for explanations, explanations which, for George and Nellie's
+sake, I could not give; and after that the deluge.  I was sitting
+over a powder mine and I braced myself for the explosion.
+
+But hours and days passed and no explosion came.  The fishcarts
+rattled down the Lane without hindrance.  Except for the little
+flurry of excitement caused by the coming wedding at the Dean
+homestead the village life moved on its lazy, uneventful jog.  I
+could not understand it.  Why did Colton delay?  He, whose one
+object in life was to have his own way, had it once more.  Now that
+he had it why didn't he make use of it?  Why was he holding back?
+Out of pity for me?  I did not believe it.  Much more likely that
+his daughter, whose pride I had dared to offend, had taken the
+affair in her hands and this agony of suspense was a preliminary
+torture, a part of my punishment for presuming to act contrary to
+her imperial will.
+
+I saw her occasionally, although I tried my best not to do so.
+Once we passed each other on the street and I stubbornly kept my
+head turned in the other direction.  I would risk no more looks
+such as she had given me when, in response to her father's would-be
+humorous suggestion, she had offered me her "congratulations."
+Once, too, I saw her on the bay, I was aboard the Comfort, having
+just anchored after a short cruise, and she went by in the canoe,
+her newest plaything, which had arrived by freight a few days
+before.  A canoe in Denboro Bay was a distinct novelty; probably
+not since the days of the Indians had one of the light, graceful
+little vessels floated there, and this one carried much comment
+among the old salts alongshore.  It was the general opinion that it
+was no craft for salt water.
+
+"Them things," said Zeb Kendrick, sagely, "are all right for ponds
+or rivers or cricks where there ain't no tide nor sea runnin'.
+Float anywheres where there's a heavy dew, they say they will.  But
+no darter of mine should go out past the flats in one of 'em if I
+had the say.  It's too big a risk."
+
+"Yup; well, Zeb, you ain't got the say, I cal'late," observed Thoph
+Newcomb.  "And it takes more'n say to get a skiff like that one.
+They tell me the metal work aboard her is silver-plated--silver or
+gold, I ain't sure which.  Wonder the old man didn't make it solid
+gold while he was about it.  He'd do anything for that girl if she
+asked him to.  And she sartin does handle it like a bird!  She went
+by my dory t'other mornin' and I swan to man if she and the canoe
+together wan't a sight for sore eyes.  I set and watched her for
+twenty minutes."
+
+"Um--ye-es," grunted Zeb.  "And then you charged the twenty minutes
+in against the day's work quahaugin' you was supposed to be doin'
+for me, I suppose."
+
+"You can take out the ten cents when you pay me--if you ever do,"
+said Newcomb, gallantly.  "'Twas wuth more'n that just to look at
+her."
+
+The time had been when I should have agreed with Thoph.  Sitting in
+the canoe, bare-headed, her hair tossing in the breeze, and her
+rounded arms swinging the light paddle, she was a sight for sore
+eyes, doubtless.  But it was not my eyes which were sore, just
+then.  I watched her for a moment and then bent over my engine.  I
+did not look up again until the canoe had disappeared beyond the
+Colton wharf.
+
+I did not tell Mother that I had sold the land.  I intended to do
+so; each morning I rose with my mind made up to tell her, and
+always I put off the telling until some other time.  I knew, of
+course, that she should be told; that I ought to tell her rather
+than to have her learn the news from others as she certainly would
+at almost any moment, but I knew, too, that even to her I could not
+disclose my reason for selling.  I must keep George's secret as he
+had kept mine and take the consequences with a close mouth and as
+much of my old indifference to public opinion as I could muster.
+But I realized, only too well, that the indifference which had once
+been real was now only pretense.
+
+I have said very little about George Taylor's gratitude to me, nor
+his appreciation of what I had done for him.  The poor fellow would
+have talked of nothing else if I had let him.
+
+"You've saved my good name and my life, Ros," he said, over and
+over again, "and not only my life, but what is a mighty sight more
+worth saving, Nellie's happiness.  I don't know how you did it; I
+believe yet that there is something behind all this, that you're
+keeping something from me.  I can't see how, considering all you've
+said to me about your not being well-off, you got that money so
+quick.  But I know you don't want me to talk about it."
+
+"I don't, George," I said.  "All I ask of you is just to forget the
+whole thing."
+
+"Forget!  I shan't forget while I live.  And, as soon as ever I can
+scrape it together, I'll pay you back that loan."
+
+He had kept his word, so far as telling Nellie of his financial
+condition was concerned.  He had not, of course, told her of his
+use of the bank bonds, but he had, as he said he would, told her
+that, in all probability, he should be left with nothing but his
+salary.
+
+"I told her she was free to give me up," he said, with emotion,
+"and what do you suppose she said to me?  That she would marry me
+if she knew she must live in the poorhouse the rest of her days.
+Yes, and be happy, so long as we could be together.  Well, I ain't
+worth it, and I told her so, but I'll do my best to be worth
+something; and she shan't have to live in the poorhouse either."
+
+"I don't think there's much danger of that," I said.  "And, by the
+way, George, your Louisville and Transcontinental speculation may
+not be all loss.  You may save something out of it.  There has been
+considerable trading in the stock during the past two days.  It is
+up half a point already, according to the papers.  Did you notice
+it?"
+
+"Yes, I noticed it.  But I tell you, Ros, I don't care.  I'll be
+glad to get some of my money back, of course; enough to pay you and
+Cap'n Elisha anyhow; but I'm so happy to think that Nellie need
+never know I was a thief that I don't seem to care much for
+anything else."
+
+Nellie was happy, too.  She came to me and told me of her happiness.
+It was all on George's account, of course.
+
+"The poor fellow had lost money in investments," she said, "and he
+thought I would not care for him if I found out he was poor.  He
+isn't poor, of course, but if he was it would make no difference to
+me.  I am so glad to see him without that dreadful worried look on
+his face that I--I--  Oh, you must think me awful silly, Roscoe!  I
+guess I am.  I know I am.  But you are the only one I can talk to
+in this way about--about him.  All Ma wants to talk about now is
+the wedding and clothes and such, and Pa always treats me as if I
+was a child.  I feel almost as if you were the closest friend I
+have, and I know George feels the same.  He says you have helped
+him out of his troubles.  I was sure you would; that is why I wrote
+you that letter.  We are both SO grateful to you."
+
+Their gratitude and the knowledge of their happiness were my sole
+consolations in this trying time.  They kept me from repenting what
+I had done.  It was hard not to repent.  If Colton had only made
+known his purchase and closed the Lane at once, while my resolution
+was red hot, I could have faced the wrath of the village and its
+inevitable consequences fairly well, I believed; but he still kept
+silent and made no move.  I saw him once or twice; on one occasion
+he came into the bank, but he came only to cash a check and did not
+mention the subject of the Lane.  He did not look well to me and I
+heard him tell Taylor something about his "damned digestion."
+
+The wedding day came.  I, as best man, was busy and thankful for
+the bustle and responsibility.  They occupied my mind and kept it
+from dwelling on other things.  George worked at the bank until
+noon, getting ready to leave the institution in my charge and that
+of Dick Small, Henry's brother, who had reported for duty that
+morning.  The marriage was to take place at half past one in the
+afternoon and the bridal couple were to go away on the three
+o'clock train.  The honeymoon trip was to be a brief one, only a
+week.
+
+Every able-bodied native of Denboro, man, woman and child, attended
+that wedding, I honestly believe.  It was the best sort of
+advertising for Olinda Cahoon and Simeon Eldredge, for Olinda had
+made the gowns worn by the bride and the bride's mother and a
+number of the younger female guests, and Sim had sold innumerable
+bottles of a peculiarly penetrating perfume, a large supply of
+which he had been talked into purchasing by a Boston traveling
+salesman.
+
+"Smell it, Ros, do ye?" whispered Sim, grinning triumphantly
+between the points of a "stand-up" collar.  "I give you my word
+when that slick-talkin' drummer sold me all that perfumery, I
+thought I was stuck sure and sartin.  But then I had an idee.
+Every time women folks come into the store and commenced to talk
+about the weddin' I says to 'em, says I, 'Can't sell you a couple
+of handkerchiefs to cry on, can I, Miss So-and-so?  Weddin's are
+great places for sheddin' tears, you know.'  If I sold 'em the
+handkerchiefs all well and good; but if they laughed and said they
+had a plenty, I got out my sample bottle of 'May Lilock', that's
+the name of the cologne, and asked 'em to smell of it.  'If you cry
+with that on your handkerchief,' says I, 'all hands will be glad to
+have you do it.  And only twenty cents a bottle!'  You wouldn't
+believe how much I sold.  You can smell this weddin' afore you come
+in sight of the house, can't ye now."
+
+You could, and you continued to smell it long after you left.  My
+best suit reeked of "May Lilac" weeks later when I took it out of
+the closet.
+
+Dorinda was there, garbed in rustling black alpaca, her Sunday gown
+for ten years at least, and made over and "turned" four or five
+times.  Lute was on deck, cutaway coat, "high water" trousers and
+purple tie, grand to look upon, Alvin Baker and Elnathan Mullet and
+Alonzo Black and Thoph Newcomb and Zeb Kendrick were, as the Item
+would say, "among those present" and if Zeb's black cutaway smelled
+slightly of fish it was, at least, a change from the pervading "May
+Lilac."
+
+Captain Jed strutted pompously about, monarch of the day.  He
+greeted me genially.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he said.  "You out here?  Thought you'd be busy
+overhaulin' George's runnin' riggin' and makin' sure he was all
+ready to heave alongside the parson."
+
+"I have been," I answered.  "I am on my way back there now."
+
+"All right, all right.  Matildy give me fits for not stayin'
+upstairs until the startin' gun was fired, but I told her that,
+between her with her eyes full of tears and Olindy Cahoon with her
+mouth full of pins, 'twas no place for a male man.  So I cleared
+out till everything was shipshape.  Say, Ros," he laid his hand on
+my shoulder and bent to whisper in my ear:  "Say, Ros," he said,
+"I'm glad to see you're takin' my advice."
+
+"Taking your advice?" I repeated, puzzled.
+
+"Yes; about not playin' with fire, you know.  I ain't heard of you
+and the Princess cruisin' together for the past week.  Thought
+'twas best not to be too familiar with the R'yal family, didn't
+you?  That's right, that's right.  We can't take chances.  We've
+got Denboro and the Shore Lane to think about, ain't we?"
+
+I did not answer.  I did not risk looking him in the face.
+
+"She's liable to be here most any time, I cal'late," he went on.
+"Nellie would insist on invitin' her.  And I must say that, to be
+honest, the present she sent is the finest that's come aboard yet.
+The only thing I've got against her is her bad judgment in pickin'
+a father.  If 'twan't for that I--hello!  Who--Why, I believe--"
+
+There was a commotion among the guests and heads were turned toward
+the door.  The captain started forward.  I started back.  She had
+entered the room and was standing there, looking about her with
+smiling interest.  I had forgotten that, considering her friendship
+with Nellie, she was certain to be invited.
+
+She was dressed in a simple, but wonderful, white gown and wore a
+bunch of lilies of the valley at her bosom.  The doorway was
+decorated with sprays of honeysuckle and green boughs and against
+this background she made a picture that brought admiring whispers
+from the people near me.  She did not notice me at first and I
+think I should have escaped by the side door if it had not been for
+Sim Eldredge.  Simeon was just behind me and he darted forward with
+outstretched hand.
+
+"Why, how d'ye do, Miss Colton!" exclaimed Sim.  "You're just in
+time, ain't ye!  Let me get you a chair.  Alvin," to Mr. Baker,
+who, perspiring beneath the unaccustomed dignity of a starched
+shirt front, occupied a front seat, "get up and let Miss Colton set
+down."
+
+She looked in Sim's direction and saw me, standing beside him.  I
+had no opportunity to avoid her look now, as I had done when we met
+in the street.  She saw me and I could not turn away.  I bowed.
+She did not acknowledge the bow.  She looked calmly past me,
+through me.  I saw, or fancied that I saw, astonishment on the
+faces of those watching us.  Captain Jed stepped forward to greet
+her and I went into the adjoining room, where George was anxiously
+awaiting me.
+
+"Good land, Ros!" he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, "I was
+beginning to be afraid you'd skipped out and left me to go through
+it all alone.  Say something to brace me up, won't you; I'm scared
+to death.  Say," with a wondering glance at my face, "what's struck
+YOU?  You look more upset than I feel."
+
+I believe I ordered him not to be an idiot.  I know I did not
+"brace him up" to any extent.
+
+It was a very pretty wedding.  At least every one said it was,
+although they say the same of all weddings, I am told.  Personally
+I was very glad when it was over.  Nellie whispered in my ear as I
+offered her my congratulations, "We owe it all to you, Roscoe."
+George said nothing, but the look he gave me as he wrung my hand
+was significant.  For a moment I forgot myself, forgot to be
+envious of those to whom the door for happiness was not shut.
+After all I had opened the door for these two, and that was
+something.
+
+I walked as far as the corner with Lute and Dorinda.  Dorinda's
+eyes were red and her husband commented upon it.
+
+"I thought a weddin' was supposed to be a joyful sort of thing," he
+said, disgustedly.  "It's usually cal'lated to be.  Yet you and the
+rest of the women folks set and cried through the whole of it.
+What in time was there to cry about?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know, Luther," replied Dorinda in, for her, an
+unusually tolerant tone.  "Perhaps it's because we've all been
+young once and can't forget it."
+
+"I don't forget, no more'n you do.  I ain't so old that I can't
+remember that fur back, I hope.  But it don't make me feel like
+cryin'."
+
+"Well, all right.  We won't argue about it.  Let's be pleasant as
+we can, for once."
+
+Now that is where Lute should have taken the hint and remained
+silent.  At least he should have changed the subject.  But he was
+hot and uncomfortable and, I suspect, his Sunday shoes were tight.
+He persisted.
+
+"Huh!" he sniffed; "I don't see's you've given me no sensible
+reason for cryin'.  If I recollect right you didn't cry at your own
+weddin'."
+
+His wife turned on him.  She looked him over from head to foot.
+
+"Didn't I?" she said, tartly.  "Well, maybe not.  But if I'd
+realized what was happenin' to me, I should."
+
+"Lute," said I, as I parted from them at the corner, "I am going to
+the bank for a little while.  Then I think I shall take a short run
+down the bay in the Comfort.  Did you fill her tank with gasolene
+as I asked you to?"
+
+Lute stopped short.  "There!" he exclaimed, "I knew there was
+somethin' I forgot.  I'll do it soon's ever I get home."
+
+"When you get home," observed Dorinda, firmly, "you'll wash that
+henhouse window."
+
+"Now, Dorinda, if that ain't just like you!  Don't you hear Roscoe
+askin' me about that gas?  I've had that gas in my head ever since
+yesterday."
+
+"Um-hm," wearily.  "Well, I shouldn't think a little extry more or
+less would make much difference.  Never mind, don't waste any more
+on me.  Get the gas out of your head, if Roscoe wants you to.  You
+can wash the window afterward."
+
+Lute's parting words were that he would fill that tank the very
+first thing.  If he had--but there! he didn't.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+The fog had come almost without warning.  When, after leaving the
+bank, at four o'clock or thereabouts, I walked down to the shore
+and pulled my skiff out to where the Comfort lay at her moorings,
+there had not been a sign of it.  Now I was near the entrance of
+the bay, somewhere abreast Crow Point, and all about me was gray,
+wet blankness.  Sitting in the stern of the little launch I could
+see perhaps a scant ten feet beyond the bow, no more.
+
+It was the sudden shift of the wind which had brought the fog.
+When I left the boat house there had been a light westerly breeze.
+This had died down to a flat calm, and then a new breeze had sprung
+up from the south, blowing the fog before it.  It rolled across the
+water as swiftly as the smoke clouds roll from a freshly lighted
+bonfire.  It blotted Denboro from sight and moved across the bay;
+the long stretch of beach disappeared; the Crow Point light and Ben
+Small's freshly whitewashed dwellings and outbuildings were
+obliterated.  In ten minutes the Comfort was, to all appearances,
+alone on a shoreless sea, and I was the only living creature in the
+universe.
+
+I was not troubled or alarmed.  I had been out in too many fogs on
+that very bay to mind this one.  It was a nuisance, because it
+necessitated cutting short my voyage, although that voyage had no
+objective point and was merely an aimless cruise in search of
+solitude and forgetfulness.  The solitude I had found, the
+forgetfulness, of course, I had not.  And now, when the solitude
+was more complete than ever, surrounded by this gray dismalness,
+with nothing whatever to look at to divert my attention, I knew I
+should be more bitterly miserable than I had been since I left that
+wedding.  And I had been miserable and bitter enough, goodness
+knows.
+
+Home and the village, which I had been so anxious to get away from,
+now looked inviting in comparison.  I slowed down the engine and,
+with an impatient growl, bent over the little binnacle to look at
+the compass and get my bearings before pointing the Comfort's nose
+in the direction of Denboro.  Then my growl changed to an
+exclamation of disgust.  The compass was not there.  I knew where
+it was.  It was on my work bench in the boat house, where I had put
+it myself, having carried it there to replace the cracked glass in
+its top with a new one.  I had forgotten it and there it was.
+
+I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant
+delay and more trouble.  In a general way I knew my whereabouts,
+but the channel was winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly.  I
+should be obliged to run slowly--to feel my way, so to speak--and I
+might not reach home until late.  However, there was nothing else
+to do, so I put the helm over and swung the launch about.  I sat in
+the stern sheets, listening to the dreary "chock-chock" of the
+propeller, and peering forward into the mist.  The prospect was as
+cheerless as my future.
+
+Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call.  It was a
+good way off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a
+feminine voice it seemed to me.
+
+"Hello!"
+
+I did not answer.  I took it for granted that the call was not
+addressed to me.  It came probably, from the beach at the Point,
+and might be Mrs. Small hailing her husband, though it did not
+sound like her voice.  Several minutes went by before it was
+repeated.  Then I heard it again and nearer.
+
+"Hello!  Hello-o-o!  Where are you?"
+
+That was not Mrs. Small, certainly.  Unless I was away off in my
+reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the
+left.  It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though
+before the fog set in I had seen none.
+
+"Hello-o!  Hello, the motor boat!"
+
+"Hello!" I answered.  "Boat ahoy!  Where are you?"
+
+"Here I am."  The voice was nearer still.  "Where are you?  Don't
+run into me."
+
+I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead.  I could see
+nothing.  The fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.
+
+"Where are you?" repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the
+hail came from the right this time.
+
+"Don't move!" I shouted.  "Stay where you are.  I will keep
+shouting . . .  LOOK OUT!"
+
+Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and
+swift.  It was moving directly across the Comfort's bow.  I jammed
+the wheel over and the launch swung off, but not enough.  It struck
+the canoe, for it was a canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down
+to the water's edge.  There was a scrape, a little scream, and two
+hands clutched at the Comfort's rail.  I let go the wheel, sprang
+forward and seized the owner of the hands about the waist.  The
+canoe, half full of water, disappeared somewhere astern.  I swung
+Mabel Colton aboard the launch.
+
+I think she spoke first.  I do not remember saying anything, and I
+think it must have been at least a full minute before either of us
+broke the silence.  She lay, or sat, upon the cockpit floor, her
+shoulders supported by the bench surrounding it, just where I had
+placed her after lifting her over the rail.  I knelt beside her,
+staring as if she were a spirit instead of a real, and rather damp,
+young lady.  And she stared at me.  When she spoke her words were
+an echo of my thought.
+
+"It IS you?" she gasped.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This--this is the third time."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Another interval of silence.  Then she spoke once more and her tone
+was one expressing intense conviction.
+
+"This," she said, slowly, "is getting to be positively ridiculous."
+
+I did not deny it.  I said nothing.
+
+She sat up.  "My canoe--" she faltered.
+
+The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses.  I
+realized that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was
+pounding its way through the fog with no one at the helm.  I sprang
+to my feet and seized the wheel.  That my doing so would be of
+little use, considering that the Comfort might be headed almost
+anywhere by this time, did not occur to me.  Miss Colton remained
+where she was.
+
+"My canoe--" she repeated.
+
+I was awakening rapidly.  I looked out into the mist and shook my
+head.
+
+"I am afraid your canoe has gone," I said.  And then, as the
+thought occurred to me for the first time, "You're not hurt, I
+hope?  I dragged you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid."
+
+"No, I am not hurt.  But--where are we?"
+
+"I don't know, exactly.  Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that
+is all I can be sure of.  You, are certain you are not hurt?  You
+must be wet through."
+
+She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed
+about her.
+
+"I am all right," she answered.  "But don't you know where you
+are?"
+
+"Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point.  I was
+running at half speed up the channel when I heard your hail.  Where
+were you?"
+
+"I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay.
+I had come out for a paddle before dinner.  I did not notice the
+fog until it was all about me.  Then I think I must have been
+bewildered.  I thought I was going in the direction of home, but I
+could not have been--not if you were abreast the Point.  I must
+have been going directly out to sea."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"You are wet," I said, anxiously.  "There is a storm coat of mine
+in the locker forward.  Won't you put that about your shoulders?
+It may prevent your taking cold."
+
+"No, thank you.  I am not wet, at all; or, at least, only my feet
+and the bottom of my skirt.  I shall not take cold."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Please don't worry.  I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get
+home."
+
+"I am very sorry about your canoe."
+
+"It doesn't matter."
+
+Her answers were short now.  There was a different note in her
+voice.  I knew the reason of the change.  Now that the shock and
+the surprise of our meeting were over she and I were resuming our
+old positions.  She was realizing that her companion was the
+"common fellow" whose "charming and cultivated society" was not
+necessary to her happiness, the fellow to whom she had scornfully
+offered "congratulations" and whom she had cut dead at the Deans'
+that very afternoon.  I made no more suggestions and expressed no
+more sympathy.
+
+"I will take you home at once," I said, curtly.
+
+"If you please."
+
+That ended conversation for the time.  She seated herself on the
+bench near the forward end of the cockpit and kept her head turned
+away from me.  I, with one hand upon the wheel--a useless
+procedure, for I had no idea where the launch might be headed--
+looked over the rail and listened to the slow and regular beat of
+the engine.  Suddenly the beat grew less regular.  The engine
+barked, hiccoughed, barked again but more faintly, and then stopped
+altogether.
+
+I knew what was the matter.  Before I reached the gasolene tank and
+unscrewed the little cover I knew it.  I thrust in the gauge stick
+and heard it strike bottom, drew it out and found it, as I
+expected, dry to the very tip.  I had trusted, like an imbecile, to
+Lute.  Lute had promised to fill that tank "the very first thing,"
+and he had not kept his promise.
+
+There was not a pint of gasolene aboard the Comfort; and it would
+be my cheerful duty to inform my passenger of the fact!
+
+She did not wait for me to break the news.  She saw me standing
+there, holding the gauge stick in my hand, and she asked the
+natural question.
+
+"What is the matter?" she demanded.
+
+I swallowed the opinion of Mr. Rogers which was on the tip of my
+tongue.
+
+"I am sorry," I stammered, "but--but--well, we are in trouble, I am
+afraid."
+
+"In trouble?" she said coldly.  "What trouble do you mean?"
+
+"Yes.  The fact is, we have run out of gasolene.  I told my man,
+Rogers, to fill the tank and he hasn't done it."
+
+She leaned forward to look at me.
+
+"Hasn't done it?" she repeated.  "You mean--why, this boat cannot
+go without gasolene, can it?"
+
+"Not very well; no."
+
+"Then--then what are we going to do?"
+
+"Anchor and wait, if I can."
+
+"Wait!  But I don't wish to wait.  I wish to be taken home, at
+once."
+
+"I am sorry, but I am afraid that is impossible."
+
+I was on my way forward to where the anchor lay, in the bow.  She
+rose and stepped in front of me.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I tell you I do not wish you to anchor this boat."
+
+"I am sorry but it is the only thing to do, under the circumstances."
+
+"I do not wish it.  Stop!  I tell you I will not have you anchor."
+
+"Miss Colton, we must do one of two things, either anchor or drift.
+And if we drift I cannot tell you where we may be carried."
+
+"I don't care."
+
+"I do."
+
+"Yes," with scornful emphasis, "I presume you do."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean--never mind what I mean."
+
+"But, as I have explained to you, the gasolene--"
+
+"Nonsense!  Do you suppose I believe that ridiculous story?"
+
+"Believe it?"  I gazed at her uncomprehendingly.  "Believe it," I
+repeated.  "Don't you believe it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Miss Colton, do you mean that you think I am not telling you the
+truth?  That I am lying?"
+
+"Well," fiercely, "and if I did, would it be so astonishing,
+considering--considering the TRUTHS you have told me before?"
+
+I made no further effort to pass her.  Instead I stepped back.
+
+"Would you mind telling me," I demanded, with deliberate sarcasm,
+"what possible reason you think I might have for wishing to keep
+you here?"
+
+"I shall tell you nothing.  And--and I will not have you anchor
+this boat."
+
+"Is it your desire then that we drift--the Lord knows where?"
+
+"I desire you to start that engine and take me home."
+
+"I cannot start the engine."
+
+"I don't believe it."
+
+For a moment I hesitated.  Then I did what was perhaps the most
+senseless thing I ever did in all my life, which is saying
+considerable.  I turned my back on her and on the anchor, and
+seated myself once more in the stern sheets.  And we drifted.
+
+I do not know how long we drifted before I regained my sanity.  It
+must have been a good while.  When I first returned to my seat by
+the wheel it was with the firm determination to allow the Comfort
+to drift into the bottomless pit rather than to stir hand or foot
+to prevent it.  In fact that particular port looked rather inviting
+than otherwise.  Any torments it might have in store could not be
+worse than those I had undergone because of this girl.  I sat,
+silent, with my gaze fixed upon the motionless engine.  I heard my
+passenger move once or twice, but I did not look at her.
+
+What brought me to my senses was the boat hook, which had been
+lying on the seat beside me, suddenly falling to the floor.  I
+started and looked over the rail.  The water, as much of it as I
+could see through the fog, was no longer flat and calm.  There were
+waves all about us, not big ones, but waves nevertheless, long,
+regular swells in the trough of which the Comfort rocked lazily.
+There was no wind to kick up a sea.  This was a ground swell, such
+as never moved in Denboro Bay.  While I sat there like an idiot the
+tide had carried us out beyond the Point.
+
+With an exclamation I sprang up and hurried forward.  Miss Colton
+was sitting where I had left her.
+
+"What is it?" she asked.  "What are you going to do?"
+
+"I am going to anchor," I said.
+
+"I do not wish you to anchor."
+
+"I can't help that.  I must.  Please stand aside, Miss Colton."
+
+She tried to prevent me, but I pushed her away, not too gently I am
+afraid, and clambered forward to the bow, where the anchor lay upon
+its coil of line.  I threw it overboard.  The line ran out to its
+very end and I waited expectantly for the jerk which would tell me
+that the anchor had caught and was holding.  But no jerk came.
+Reaching over the bow I tried the line.  It was taut and heavy.
+Then I knew approximately how far we had drifted.  We were beyond
+the shoal making out from Crow Point over the deep water beyond.
+My anchor rope was not long enough to reach the bottom.
+
+Still I was not alarmed.  I was provoked at my own stubbornness
+which had gotten us into this predicament and more angry than ever
+at the person who was the cause of that stubbornness.  But I was
+not frightened.  There were other shoals further out and I left the
+anchor as it was, hoping that it might catch and hold on one of
+them.  I went back once more to my seat by the wheel.
+
+Then followed another interval of silence and inaction.  From
+astern and a good way off sounded the notes of a bell.  From the
+opposite direction came a low groan, indescribably mournful and
+lonely.
+
+My passenger heard it and spoke.
+
+"What was that?" she demanded, in a startled tone.
+
+"The fog horn at Mackerel Island, the island at the mouth of
+Wellmouth harbor," I answered.
+
+"And that bell?"
+
+"That is the fog bell at Crow Point."
+
+"At Crow Point?  Why, it can't be!  Crow Point is in Denboro Bay,
+and that bell is a long way behind us."
+
+"Yes.  We are a mile or more outside the Point now.  The tide has
+carried us out."
+
+"Carried us--  Do you mean that we are out at sea?"
+
+"Not at sea exactly.  We are in Cape Cod Bay."
+
+"But--why, we are still drifting, aren't we?  I thought you had
+anchored."
+
+"I tried to, but I was too late.  The water is too deep here for
+the anchor to reach bottom."
+
+"But--but what are you going to do?"
+
+"Nothing at present.  There is nothing I can do.  Sit down,
+please."
+
+"Nothing!  Nothing!  Do you mean that you propose to sit there and
+let us be carried out to sea?"
+
+"We shall not be carried far.  There is no wind.  When the tide
+turns we shall probably be carried in again."
+
+"But," sharply, "why don't you do something?  Can't you row?"
+
+"I have only one oar."
+
+"But you must do something.  You MUST.  I--I--  It is late! it is
+growing dark!  My people!  What will they think?"
+
+"I am sorry, Miss Colton."
+
+"Sorry!  You are not sorry!  If you were you would do something,
+instead of sitting there as--as if you enjoyed it.  I believe you
+do enjoy it.  You are doing it purposely to--to--"
+
+"To what, pray?"
+
+"Never mind."
+
+"But I do mind.  You have accused me of lying, Miss Colton, and of
+keeping you here purposely.  What do you mean by it?"
+
+"I mean that--that--  Oh, you know what I mean!  You hate me and
+you hate my father, and you are trying to--to punish us for--for--"
+
+I had heard enough.  I did not propose to hear any more.
+
+"Miss Colton," I interrupted, sternly, "stop! this is silly.  I
+assure you that I am as anxious to end this--excursion--of ours as
+you can be.  Your being afloat in Denboro Bay in a canoe was your
+own recklessness and not my fault.  Neither was it my fault that
+the launch collided with your canoe.  I called to you not to move,
+but to stay where you were.  And, moreover, if you had permitted me
+to anchor when I first attempted to do so we should not be in this
+scrape.  I shall get you out of it just as quick as I can.  In
+order that I may do so I shall expect you to stop behaving like a
+child and do as I tell you.  Sit down on that bench and keep
+still."
+
+This had the effect I meant it to.  She looked at me as if she
+could not believe she had heard aright.  But I met her gaze
+squarely, and, with a shudder of disgust, or fear, I do not know
+which, she turned her back upon me and was silent.  I went forward
+to the cuddy, found the tin horn which, until that moment, I had
+forgotten, and, returning, blew strident blasts upon it at
+intervals.  There was little danger of other craft being in our
+vicinity, but I was neglecting no precautions.
+
+The bell at Crow Point sounded further and further astern.  The
+twilight changed to dusk and the dusk to darkness.  The fog was as
+thick as ever.  It was nearly time for the tide to turn.
+
+Suddenly there was a jerk; the launch quivered, and swung about.
+
+"Oh! what was that?" demanded Miss Colton, shortly.
+
+"The anchor," I answered.  "We have reached the outer shoal."
+
+"And," hesitatingly, "shall we stay here?"
+
+"Yes; unless--"
+
+"Unless what?"
+
+"Unless . . .  Hush! listen!"
+
+There was an odd rushing sound from the darkness astern, a sort of
+hiss and low, watery roar.  I rushed to the bow and dragged the
+anchor inboard with all my strength.  Then I ran to the wheel.  I
+had scarcely reached it when I felt a hand on my arm.
+
+"What is it?" asked the young lady, her voice quivering.  "Oh, what
+is it?"
+
+"Wind," I answered.  "There is a squall coming.  Sit down!  Sit
+down!"
+
+"But--but--"
+
+"Sit down."
+
+She hesitated and I seized her arm and forced her down upon the
+bench beside me.  I threw the helm over.  The rushing sound grew
+nearer.  Then came a blast of wind which sent my cap flying
+overboard and the fog disappeared as if it had been a cloth
+snatched away by a mighty hand.  Above us was a black sky, with
+stars showing here and there between flying clouds, and about us
+were the waves, already breaking into foam upon the shoal.
+
+The Comfort rocked and wallowed in the trough.  We were being
+driven by the wind away from the shoal, but not fast enough.
+Somehow or other we must get out of that dangerous neighborhood.  I
+turned to my companion.  She had not spoken since the squall came.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "give me your hands."
+
+I presume she could not imagine what I meant.  No doubt, too, my
+tone and the request frightened her.  She hesitated.  I seized her
+hands and placed them on the spokes of the wheel.
+
+"I want you to hold that wheel just as it is," I commanded.  "I
+must go forward and get steerage way on this craft somehow, or we
+shall capsize.  Can you hold it, do you think?"
+
+"Yes; I--I think so."
+
+"You must."
+
+I left her, went to the cuddy and dragged out the small canvas
+tarpaulin which I used to cover the engine at night.  With this, a
+cod line, the boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury
+rig which I tied erect at the forward end of the cockpit.  Then I
+went aft and took the wheel again.  The tarpaulin made a poor
+apology for a sail, but I hoped it might answer the purpose well
+enough to keep the Comfort before the wind.
+
+It did.  Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the
+gale astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves
+instead of rolling between them.  I sighed in relief.  Then I
+remembered my passenger sitting silent beside me.  She did not
+deserve consideration, but I vouchsafed a word of encouragement.
+
+"Don't be frightened," I said.  "It is only a stiff breeze and this
+boat is seaworthy.  We are all right now."
+
+"But why did you take up the anchor?"
+
+By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern.  In the darkness the
+froth of the shoal gleamed white.  I felt her shudder as she
+looked.
+
+"Where are we going now--please?" she asked, a moment later.
+
+"We are headed for the Wellmouth shore.  It is the only direction
+we can take.  If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours.  It
+is all deep water now.  There are no more shoals."
+
+"But," anxiously, "can we land when we reach there?  Isn't it a bad
+coast?"
+
+"Not very.  If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get
+ashore at the light or anchor in the lee of the land.  It is all
+right, Miss Colton.  I am telling you the truth.  Strange as it may
+seem to you, I really am."
+
+I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm.  She understood.
+She drew away on the bench and asked no more questions.
+
+On drove the Comfort.  The first fierceness of the squall had
+passed and it was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze.
+Out here in the middle of the bay the waves were higher and we
+shipped some spray over the quarter.  The air was sharp and the
+chill penetrated even my thick jacket.
+
+"You must be cold," I said.  "Aren't you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But you must be.  Take the wheel a moment."
+
+"I am not cold."
+
+"Take the wheel."
+
+She took it.  I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm
+coat, an old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and
+brought it to her.
+
+"Slip this on," I said.
+
+"I do not care for it."
+
+"Put it on."
+
+"Mr. Paine," haughtily, "I tell you . . . . oh!"
+
+I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper
+button.
+
+"Now sit down on the deck here," I ordered.  "Here, by my feet.
+You will be below the rail there and out of the wind."
+
+To my surprise she obeyed orders, this time without even a protest.
+I smiled grimly.  To see her obey suited my humor.  It served her
+right.  I enjoyed ordering her about as if I were mate of an old-
+time clipper and she a foremast hand.  She had insulted me once too
+often and she should pay for it.  Out here social position and
+wealth and family pride counted for nothing.  Here I was absolute
+master of the situation and she knew it.  All her life she would
+remember it, the humiliation of being absolutely dependent upon me
+for life and safety and warmth.  I looked down at her crouching at
+my feet, and then away over the black water.  The Comfort climbed
+wave after wave.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+The tone was very low but I heard it.
+
+I came out of my waking dream--it was not a pleasant one--and
+answered.
+
+"Yes?" I said.
+
+"Where are we?"
+
+"We are making fair progress, everything considered.  Are you
+warmer now?"
+
+"Yes--thank you."
+
+She said no more, nor did I.  Except for the splash of the spray
+and the flapping of the loose ends of the tarpaulin, it was quiet
+aboard the Comfort.  Quiet, except for an odd sound in the shadow
+by my knee.  I stooped and listened.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, quickly.  "What is it?"
+
+No answer.  Yet I heard the sound again.
+
+"What is it, Miss Colton?" I repeated.  "What is the matter?  Why
+are you crying?"
+
+"I--I am NOT crying," indignantly.  And on the very heels of the
+denial came a stifled sob.
+
+That sob went to my heart.  A great lump rose in my own throat.  My
+brain seemed to be turning topsy-turvy.  A moment before it had
+been filled with bitterness and resentment and vengeful thoughts.
+Now these had vanished and in their place came crowding other and
+vastly different feelings.  She was crying, sobbing there alone in
+the dark at my feet.  And I had treated her like a brute!
+
+"Miss Colton," I pleaded, in an agony of repentance, "what is it?
+Is there anything I can do?  Are you still cold?  Take this other
+coat, the one I have on.  I don't need it, really.  I am quite
+warm."
+
+"I am not cold."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Oh, please don't speak to me!  PLEASE!"
+
+I closed my lips tightly and clutched the wheel with both hands.
+Oh, I had been a brute, a brute!  I should have known that she was
+not herself, that she was frightened and nervous and distraught.  I
+should have been considerate and forbearing.  I should have
+remembered that she was only a girl, hysterical and weak.  Instead
+I had--
+
+"Miss Colton," I begged, "please don't.  Please!"
+
+No answer; only another sob.  I tried again.
+
+"I have been a cad," I cried.  "I have treated you abominably.  I
+don't expect you to forgive me, but--"
+
+"I--I am so frightened!"  The confession was a soliloquy, I think;
+not addressed to me at all.  But I heard it and forgot everything
+else.  I let go of the wheel altogether and bent over her, both
+hands outstretched, to--the Lord knows what.  I was not responsible
+just then.
+
+But while I still hesitated, while my hands were still in the air
+above her, before they touched her, I was brought back to sanity
+with a rude shock.  A barrel or so of cold water came pouring over
+the rail and drenched us both.  The launch, being left without a
+helmsman, had swung into the trough of the sea and this was the
+result.
+
+I am not really sure what happened in the next few seconds.  I
+must, I imagine, have seized the wheel with one hand and my
+passenger with the other.  At any rate, when the smoke, so to
+speak, had cleared, the Comfort was headed on her old course once
+more, I was back on the bench by the wheel, Mabel Colton's head was
+on my shoulder, and I was telling her over and over that it was all
+right now, there was no danger, we were perfectly safe, and various
+inanities of that sort.
+
+She was breathing quickly, but she sobbed no more.  I was glad of
+that.
+
+"You are sure you are not hurt?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"Yes--yes, I think so," she answered, faintly.  "What was it?  I--I
+thought we were sinking."
+
+"So did I for a moment.  It was all my fault, as usual.  I let go
+the wheel."
+
+"Did you?  Why?"
+
+"I don't know why."  This was untrue; I did.  "But you are wet
+through," I added, remorsefully.  "And I haven't another dry wrap
+aboard."
+
+"Never mind.  You are as wet as I am."
+
+"Yes, but _I_ don't mind.  I am used to it.  But you--"
+
+"I am all right.  I was a little faint, at first, I think, but I am
+better now."  She raised her head and sat up.  "Where are we?" she
+asked.
+
+"We are within a few miles of the Wellmouth shore.  That light
+ahead is the Mackerel Island light.  We shall be there in a little
+while.  The danger is almost over."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"You are cold!" I cried.  "Of course you are!  If I only had
+another coat or something.  It is all my fault."
+
+"Don't say that," reproachfully.  "Where should I have been if it
+had not been for you?  I was paddling directly out toward those
+dreadful shoals.  Then you came, just as you have done before, and
+saved me.  And," in a wondering whisper, "I knew it was you!"
+
+I did not ask her what she meant; I seemed to understand perfectly.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+"But I tell you I knew it was you," she repeated.  "I did not know--
+I did not suspect until the moment before the collision, before
+the launch came in sight--then, all at once, I knew."
+
+"Yes.  That was when I knew."
+
+She turned and gazed at me.
+
+"YOU knew?" she gasped, hysterically.  "Why--what do you mean?"
+
+"I can't explain it.  Just before your canoe broke through the fog
+I knew, that is all."
+
+It was unexplainable, but it was true.  Call it telepathy or what
+you will--I do not know what it was--I am certain only that,
+although I had not recognized her voice, I had suddenly known who
+it was that would come to me out of the fog.  And she, too, had
+known!  I felt again, with an almost superstitious thrill, that
+feeling of helplessness which had come over me that day of the
+fishing excursion when she rode through the bushes to my side.  It
+was as if she and I were puppets in the hands of some Power which
+was amusing itself at our expense and would have its way, no matter
+how we might fight against it.
+
+She spoke as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream.
+
+"But it can't be," she protested.  "It is impossible.  Why should
+you and I--"
+
+"I don't know . . .  Unless--"
+
+"Unless what?"
+
+I closed my lips on the words that were on the tip of my tongue.
+That reason was more impossible than all else.
+
+"Nothing," I stammered.
+
+She did not repeat her question.  I saw her face, a dainty
+silhouette against the foam alongside, turned away from me.  I
+gazed at it until I dared gaze no longer.  Was I losing my senses
+altogether?  I--Ros Paine--the man whose very name was not his own?
+I must not think such thoughts.  I scarcely dared trust myself to
+speak and yet I knew that I must.  This silence was too dangerous.
+I took refuge in a commonplace.
+
+"We are getting into smoother water," I said.  "It is not as rough
+as it was, do you think?"
+
+If she heard the remark she ignored it.  She did not turn to look
+at me.  After a moment she said, in a low voice:
+
+"I can't understand."
+
+I supposed her to be still thinking of our meeting in the fog.
+
+"I cannot understand myself," I answered.  "I presume it was a
+coincidence, like our meeting at the pond."
+
+She shook her head.  "I did not mean that," she said.  "I mean that
+I cannot understand how you can be so kind to me.  After what I
+said, and the way I have treated you; it is wonderful!"
+
+I was obliged to wait another moment before I could reply.  I
+clutched the wheel tighter than ever.
+
+"The wonderful part of it all," I said, earnestly, "is that you
+should even speak to me, after my treatment of you here, to-night.
+I was a brute.  I ordered you about as if--"
+
+"Hush!  Don't! please don't.  Think of what I said to you!  Will
+you forgive me?  I have been so ungrateful.  You saved my life over
+and over again and I--I--"
+
+"Stop!  Don't do that!  If you do I shall--Miss Colton, please--"
+
+She choked back the sob.  "Tell me," she said, a moment later, this
+time looking me directly in the face, "why did you sell my father
+that land?"
+
+It was my turn to avoid her look.  I did not answer.
+
+"I know it was not because of the money--the price, I mean.  Father
+told me that you refused the five thousand he offered and would
+accept only a part of it; thirty-five hundred, I think he said.  I
+should have known that the price had nothing to do with it, even if
+he had not told me.  But why did you sell it?"
+
+I would have given all I had, or ever expected to have, in this
+world, to tell her the truth.  For the moment I almost hated George
+Taylor.
+
+"Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later," I answered,
+with a shrug.  "It was no use fighting the inevitable."
+
+"That was not it.  I know it was not.  If it had been you would
+have taken the five thousand.  And I know, too, that you meant what
+you said when you told me you never would sell.  I have known it
+all the time.  I know you were telling me the truth."
+
+I was astonished.  "You do?" I cried.  "Why, you said--"
+
+"Don't!  I know what I said, and I am so ashamed.  I did not mean
+it, really.  For a moment, there in the library, when Father first
+told me, I thought perhaps you--but I did not really think it.  And
+when he told me the price, I KNEW.  Won't you tell me why you
+sold?"
+
+"I can't.  I wish I could."
+
+"I believe I can guess."
+
+I started.  "You can GUESS?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes.  I think you wanted the money for some purpose, some need
+which you had not foreseen.  And I do not believe it was for
+yourself at all.  I think it was for some one else.  Wasn't that
+it?"
+
+I could not reply.  I tried to, tried to utter a prompt denial, but
+the words would not come.  Her "guess" was so close to the truth
+that I could only stammer and hesitate.
+
+"It was," she said.  "I thought so.  For your mother, wasn't it?"
+
+"No, no.  Miss Colton, you are wrong.  I--"
+
+"I am not wrong.  Never mind.  I suppose it is a secret.  Perhaps I
+shall find out some day.  But will you forgive me for being so
+hateful?  Can you?  What is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing--nothing.  I--you are too good to me, that is all.  I
+don't deserve it."
+
+"Hush!  And we will be friends again?"
+
+"Yes. . . . .  Oh, no! no!  I must not think of it.  It is
+impossible."
+
+"Must not think of it?  When I ask you to?  Can't you forgive me,
+after all?"
+
+"There was nothing to forgive."
+
+"Yes, there was, a great deal.  Is there something else?  Are you
+still angry with me because of what I said that afternoon at the
+gate?"
+
+"No, of course not."
+
+"It was hateful of me, I know.  But I could see that you wished to
+avoid me and I was provoked.  Besides, you have punished me for
+that.  You have snubbed me twice since, sir."
+
+"_I_ snubbed YOU?"
+
+"Yes--twice.  Once when we met in the street.  You deliberately
+turned away and would not look at me.  And once when I passed you
+in the canoe.  You saw me--I know you did--but you cut me dead.
+That is why I did not return your bow to-day, at the wedding."
+
+"But you had said--I thought--"
+
+"I know.  I had said horrid things.  I deserved to be snubbed.
+There! now I have confessed.  Mayn't we be friends?"
+
+"I . . .  Oh, no, we must not, for your sake.  I--"
+
+"For my sake!  But I wish it.  Why not?"
+
+I turned on her.  "Can't you see?" I said, despairingly.  "Look at
+the difference between us!  You are what you are and I--"
+
+She interrupted me.  "Oh," she cried, impatiently, "how dare you
+speak so?  How dare you believe that money and--all the rest of it
+influences me in my friendships?  Do you think I care for that?"
+
+"I did not mean money alone.  But even that Miss Colton, that
+evening when we returned from the trip after weakfish, you and your
+father and I, I heard--I did not mean to hear but I did--what your
+mother said when she met you.  She said she had warned you against
+trusting yourself to 'that common fellow,' meaning me.  That shows
+what she thinks.  She was right; in a way she was perfectly right.
+Now you see what I mean by saying that friendship between us is
+impossible?"
+
+I had spoken at white heat.  Now I turned away.  It was settled.
+She must understand now.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I am sorry you heard that.  Mother--she is my mother and I love
+her--but she says foolish things sometimes.  I am sorry you heard
+that, but since you did, I wish you had heard the rest."
+
+"The rest?"
+
+"Yes.  I answered her by suggesting that she had not been afraid to
+trust me in the care of Victor--Mr. Carver.  She answered that she
+hoped I did not mean to compare Mr. Carver with you.  And I said--"
+
+"Yes?  You said--?"
+
+"I said," the tone was low but I heard every syllable, "I said she
+was right, there was no comparison."
+
+"You said THAT!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You said it!  And you meant--?"
+
+"I meant--I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you
+always--anywhere."
+
+Where were my good resolutions--my stern reasons to remember who
+and what I was--to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself?  I do
+not know where they were; then I did not care.  I seized her hand.
+It trembled, but she did not draw it away.
+
+"Mabel--" I cried.  "Mabel--"
+
+"BUMP!"
+
+The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard
+quarter.  A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a
+good-sized club before my eyes.
+
+"Now," said a determined voice, "I've got ye at last!  This time
+I've caught ye dead to rights!  Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for
+them lobsters!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as
+steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more
+engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before.
+As it was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars.  It had
+sneaked up on the Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had
+laid us aboard as neatly as you please.
+
+I was, to say the least, startled and surprised.  I dodged the
+threatening club and turned a dazed face toward the person
+brandishing it.  He appeared to be a middle-sized, elderly person,
+in oilskins and souwester, and when he spoke a gray whisker wagged
+above the chin strap of the souwester.
+
+"Who in blazes are you?" I demanded, as soon as I could get the
+words together.
+
+"Never you mind that.  You know who I be all right enough.  Be you
+goin' to pay me for them lobsters?  That's what _I_ want to know."
+
+"What lobsters?"
+
+"Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last
+fortnight."
+
+"_I_ have been stealing?"
+
+"Yes, you.  I been layin' for you all night long.  I don't know who
+you be, but you'll pay for them lobsters or come along with me to
+the lock-up, one or t'other."
+
+I looked about, over the water.  The light toward which I had been
+trying to steer blazed dead ahead, surprisingly near and bright.
+Except for that, however, there was no sign of anything except
+darkness and waves.
+
+"Look here, my man," I said.  "I haven't stolen your lobsters; but--"
+
+"I know better.  I don't know who you be, but I'd know you was a
+thief if I run acrost you in prayer-meetin'.  Just to look at you
+is enough."
+
+I heard a hysterical giggle from the bench beside me.  Evidently
+the person with the club heard it, too, for he leaned forward to
+look.
+
+"So there's two of ye, eh!" he said.  "Well, by godfreys, I don't
+care if there's a million!  You'll pay for them lobsters or go to
+the lock-up."
+
+I laughed aloud.  "Very well," I said.  "I am agreeable."
+
+"You're agreeable!  What do you mean by that?  This ain't no
+laughin' matter, I'll tell you that."
+
+I laughed again.  "I don't care what you tell me," I observed.
+"And if you will take us somewhere ashore--to the lock-up or
+anywhere else--I shall be much obliged."
+
+The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled.  He leaned forward
+once more.
+
+"What sort of talk is that?" he demanded.  "Where's my lobsters? . . .
+Hey!  What?  I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman!
+Have the females turned thieves, too?"
+
+"I don't know.  See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the
+only lobster aboard this craft.  This lady and I belong in Denboro.
+My launch has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about
+the bay since five o'clock.  Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any
+more, but take us to the lock-up and be quick about it."
+
+The unknown paid no attention to my entreaty.  Instead he leaned
+still further over the Comfort's rail.  The dory careened until I
+expected to see her capsize.
+
+"I swan to man!" he muttered.  "I swan to man!  'Tain't possible
+I'm mistook!"
+
+"It scarcely seems possible, I admit.  But I'm afraid it is true."
+
+I heard the club fall with a clatter.
+
+"My--godfreys!  Do you mean to say--?  From Denboro?  Out of
+gasolene!  Why--why, you've got sail up!"
+
+"Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar."
+
+"And you've been cruisin' all night?  Through the fog--the squall--
+and all?"
+
+"Yes," wearily, "yes--yes--yes."
+
+"But--but ain't you drownded?"
+
+"Not quite.  If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon."
+
+"Driftin' all night!  Ain't you wet through?"
+
+"Yes.  Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism
+until we reach--the lock-up?"
+
+This suggestion apparently was accepted.  Our captor suddenly
+became very much alive.
+
+"Give me a line," he ordered.  "Anchor rope'll do.  Where is it?
+up for'ard?"
+
+He pawed the dory along, hand over hand, until he reached the
+Comfort's bow.  I heard the thump of the anchor as he dragged it
+into the dory.  Then came the creak and splash of oars.  His voice
+sounded from somewhere ahead.
+
+"Head for the light," he shouted.  "I'm goin' to tow you in."
+
+"In where?"
+
+"In ashore.  That's Mack'rel Island light.  My name's Atwood.  I'm
+keeper of it."
+
+I turned to my passenger.
+
+"It looks," I said, "as if our voyage was almost over."
+
+And it was.  Mr. Atwood had a tough job on his hands, towing the
+launch.  But the make-shift sail helped some and I did my best to
+steer in his wake.  Miss Colton and I had no opportunity to talk.
+The gentleman in the dory kept up a running fire of remarks,
+shouted between grunts, and embroidered with cheerful profanity.
+We caught fragments of the monologue.
+
+"I swan to man--ugh--I thought ye was thieves, for sartin.  Some
+everlastin', dam--ugh--have been sneakin' out nights and haulin' my
+lobster pots.  Ugh--if I'd caught 'em I was cal'latin' to--ugh--
+break their--ugh--ugh--  This dory pulls like a coal barge--I--
+Wet through, ain't ye?  And froze, I cal'late--  Ugh--and hungry,
+too--  Ugh--ugh--  My old woman's tendin' light.  She--ugh--  Here
+we be!  Easy now!"
+
+A low shore loomed black across our bows.  Above it the lighthouse
+rose, a white chalk mark against the sky with a red glare at its
+upper end.  Mr. Atwood sprang overboard with a splash.  The launch
+was drawn in at the end of its anchor rope until its keel grated on
+the sand.
+
+"Now then!" said our rescuer.  "Here we be!  Made harbor at last,
+though I did think I'd crack my back timbers afore we done it.
+I'll tote the lady ashore.  You can wade, can't ye?"
+
+I could and I was very glad of the opportunity.  I turned to take
+Miss Colton in my arms, but she avoided me.
+
+"Here I am, Mr. Atwood," she said.  "Oh, thank you."
+
+She was swung into the air and moved shoreward to the accompaniment
+of mighty splashings.
+
+"Don't be scart, ma'am," said Mr. Atwood.  "I shan't let ye drop.
+Lord sakes!  I've toted more women in my time than you can shake a
+stick at.  There's more da--that is, there's more summer folks try
+to land on this island at low tide than there is moskeeters and
+there's more of them than there's fiddles in--  Hi! come on, you,
+Mr. What's-your-name!  Straight as you go."
+
+I came on wading through eelgrass and water until I reached a sandy
+beach.  A moment later we stood before a white door in a very white
+little house.  Mr. Atwood opened the door, revealing a cosy little
+sitting room and a gray-haired, plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting
+in a rocking chair beside a table with a lamp upon it.
+
+"Hello, Betsy!" bellowed our rescuer, stamping his wet rubber boots
+on the braided mat.  "Got company come to supper--or breakfast, or
+whatever you want to call it.  This is Mr. Paine from Denboro.
+This is his wife, Mrs. Paine.  They've been cruisin' all the way
+from Cape Cod to Kamchatky in a motor boat with no power to it.
+Don't that beat the Old Scratch, hey?"
+
+The plump woman rose, without a trace of surprise, as if having
+company drop in at three o'clock in the morning was nothing out of
+the ordinary, and came over to us, beaming with smiles.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you, Mrs. Paine," she exclaimed.  "And your
+husband, too.  You must be froze to death!  Set right down while I
+fix up a room for you and hunt up some dry things for you to put
+on.  I won't be but a minute."
+
+Before I could offer explanations, or do more than stammer thanks,
+and rather incoherent ones at that, she had bustled out of the
+room.  I caught one glimpse of Mabel Colton's face; it was crimson
+from neck to brow.  "Mrs. Paine!"  "Your husband!"  I was grateful
+to the doughty Mr. Atwood, but just then I should have enjoyed
+choking him.
+
+The light keeper, quite unaware that his unfortunate misapprehension
+of the relationship between his guests might be embarrassing, was
+doing his best to make us feel at home.
+
+"Take off your boots, Mr. Paine," he urged.  "The old lady'll fetch
+you a pair of my slippers and some socks in a minute.  She'll make
+your wife comf'table, too.  She's a great hand at makin' folks
+comf'table.  I tell her she'd make a cake of ice feel to home on a
+hot stove.  She beats--"
+
+The "old lady" herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in
+one hand and a lamp in the other.
+
+"Joshua!" she said, warningly.
+
+"Well, what is it, Betsy?"
+
+"Be careful how you talk."
+
+"Talk!" with a wink at me.  "I wan't goin' to say nothin'."
+
+"Yes, you was.  Mrs. Paine, you mustn't mind him.  He used to go
+mate on a fishin' schooner and, from all I can learn, they use
+pretty strong language aboard these boats."
+
+"Pick it up same as a poll parrot," cut in her husband.  "Comes
+natural when you're handlin' wet trawl line in February.  Can't
+seem to get no comfort out of anything milder."
+
+"He's a real good-hearted man, Joshua is, and a profession' church
+member, but he does swear more'n he ought to.  But, as I tell the
+minister, he don't mean nothin' by it."
+
+"Not a damn thing!" said Mr. Atwood, reassuringly.  The bottle, it
+appeared, contained Jamaica ginger, a liberal dose of which Mrs.
+Atwood insisted upon our taking as a precaution against catching
+cold.
+
+"There's nothin' better," she said.
+
+"You bet there ain't!" this from the lightkeeper.  "A body can't
+get within forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships.
+It's hotter than--"
+
+"Joshua!"
+
+"The Fourth of July," concluded her husband, triumphantly.
+
+"And now, Mrs. Paine," went on the lady of the house, "your room's
+all ready.  I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and
+some of Joshua's, too.  You and your husband--"
+
+I thought it high time to explain.
+
+"The lady is not my wife," I said, quickly.
+
+"She ain't!  Why, I thought Joshua said--"
+
+"He--er--made a mistake.  She is Miss Colton, a summer resident and
+neighbor of mine in Denboro."
+
+"Sho! you don't say!  That's just like you, Joshua!"
+
+"Just like me!  Well, how'd I know?  I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm
+sure.  Shan't beg your hus--I mean Mr. Paine's pardon; he ought to
+thank me for the compliment.  Haw! haw!"
+
+Miss Colton herself made the next remark.
+
+"If my room is ready, Mrs. Atwood," she said,, without even a
+glance in my direction, "I think I will go to it.  I AM rather
+wet."
+
+"Wet!  Land sakes, yes!  I guess you be!  Come right in, Joshua,
+take them clothes of yours into our room and let Mr. Paine put 'em
+on."
+
+Her husband obeyed orders.  After I was alone in the room to which
+he conducted me and enjoying the luxury of dry socks, I heard him
+justifying his mistake in stentorian tones.
+
+"I couldn't help it, Betsy," I heard him say.  "I took it for
+granted they was married.  When I hove alongside that motor boat
+they was a-settin' close up together in the stern sheets and so, of
+course, I thought--"
+
+"You hadn't any business to.  You made that poor young lady blush
+somethin' dreadful.  Most likely they're just keepin' company--or
+engaged, or somethin'.  You ought to be more careful."
+
+I wondered if the young lady herself heard all this.  I didn't see
+how she could help it.
+
+Kinder-hearted people than these two never lived, I do believe.  It
+was after three in the morning, both had been up all night, we were
+absolute strangers to them, and yet, without a word of complaint,
+they gave the remainder of the hours before daylight to making us
+comfortable.  When I dressed as much of myself as a suit of Mr.
+Atwood's--his Sunday best, I presume--would cover, and, with a pair
+of carpet slippers about the size and shape of toy ferry boats on
+my feet, emerged from the bedroom, I found the table set in the
+kitchen, the teapot steaming and Mrs. Atwood cooking "spider bread"
+on the stove.  When Miss Colton, looking surprisingly presentable--
+considering that she, too, was wearing borrowed apparel four sizes
+too large for her--made her appearance, we sat down to a simple
+meal which, I think, was the most appetizing I ever tasted.
+
+The Atwoods were bursting with curiosity concerning our getting
+adrift in the motor boat.  I described the adventure briefly.  When
+I told of Lute's forgetfulness in the matter of gasolene the
+lightkeeper thumped the table.
+
+"There, by godfreys!" he exclaimed.  "I could see it comin'!  That
+feller's for all the world like a cook I had once aboard the Ezry
+H. Jones.  That cook was the biggest numskull that ever drawed the
+breath of life.  Always forgettin' somethin', he was, and always at
+the most inconvenient time.  Once, if you'll believe it, I had a
+skipper of another vessel come aboard and, wishin' to be sort of
+hospitable, as you might say, I offered him a glass of rum."
+
+"Joshua!"
+
+"Oh, it's all right, Betsy.  This was years ago.  I'm as good a
+teetotaler now as you be, and I never was what you'd call a soak.
+But I've SEEN fellers--  Why, I knew one once that used to go to
+bed in the dark.  He was so full of alcohol he didn't dast to light
+a match fear he'd catch a-fire.  Fact!  He was eighty-odd then, and
+he lived to be nigh a hundred.  Preserved, you understand, same as
+one of them specimens in a museum.  He'd kept forever, I cal'late,
+if he hadn't fell off the dock.  The water fixed him; he wasn't
+used to it.  He was the wust--"
+
+"Never mind him.  Stick to the cook."
+
+"Yes, yes.  Well, I sent that cook for the rum and when he fetched
+it, I thought it smelt funny.  And when I TASTED it--godfreys!
+'Twas bay rum; yes, sir, bay rum! same as they put on your hair.
+You see, he'd forgot to buy any rum when we was in our last port
+and, havin' the bay rum along he fetched that.  'Twas SOME kind of
+rum and that was enough for him.  I WAS mad, but that visitin'
+skipper, he didn't care.  Drank it down and smacked his lips.  'I'm
+a State of Maine man,' he says, 'and that's a prohibition state.
+This tastes like home,' he says.  'If you don't mind I'll help
+myself to another.'  'I don't mind,' says I, 'but I'm sorry I ain't
+got any hair-ile.  If I had you might have a barber-shop toddy.'
+Yes, sir!  Ho-ho! that's what I said.  But he didn't mind.  He was--"
+
+And so on.  The yarns were not elegant, but, as he told them, they
+were funny.  Mabel Colton laughed as heartily as the rest of us.
+She appeared to be in fine spirits.  She talked with the Atwoods,
+answered their questions, and ate the hot "spider bread" and butter
+as if she had never tasted anything as good.  But with me she would
+not talk.  Whenever I addressed a remark to her, she turned it with
+a laugh and her next speech was pretty certain to be addressed to
+the lightkeeper or his wife.  As for our adventure in the launch,
+that she treated as a joke.
+
+"Wan't you awful scared when that squall struck so sudden?"
+inquired Mrs. Atwood.
+
+"Dreadfully."
+
+"Humph!" this from Joshua; "I cal'late Mr. Paine was some scart
+too.  What did you do, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"I rigged that canvas on the oar as soon as possible," I answered.
+
+"Um-hm.  That was good judgment."
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Atwood," asked the young lady innocently, "are all
+seafaring men very dictatorial under such circumstances?"
+
+"Very--which?"
+
+"I mean do they order people about and make them do all sorts of
+things, whether they wish to or not?"
+
+"Sartin.  Godfreys!  I never asked nobody what they wished aboard
+the Ezry H. Jones."
+
+"And do they tell them to 'sit down and keep still'?"
+
+"Gen'rally they tell 'em to get up and keep movin'.  If they don't
+they start 'em pretty lively--with a rope's end."
+
+"I see.  Even when they are--ladies?"
+
+"Ladies?  Godfreys! we never had but one woman aboard the Ezry.
+Had the skipper's wife one v'yage, but nobody ever ordered her
+around any to speak of.  She was six feet tall and weighed two
+hundred.  All hands was scart to death of her."
+
+"Suppose she had been ordered to 'sit down and keep still'; what do
+you think would have happened?"
+
+"Don't know.  If 'twas one of the hands I guess likely she'd have
+hove him overboard.  If 'twas the skipper I shouldn't wonder if
+she'd have knocked him down--after she got over the surprise of his
+darin' to do such, a thing.  She had HIM trained, I tell ye!"
+
+"Miss Colton thinks me rather a bully, I am afraid," I said.  "I
+did order her about rather roughly."
+
+Mr. Atwood burst into a laugh.  "That Ezry Jones woman was the
+skipper's wife," he declared.  "Makes a lot of diff'rence, that
+does.  I was considerable of a bully myself afore Betsy got me on
+the parson's books.  Now I'm the most peaceable critter ever you
+see.  Your turn's comin', Miss Colton.  All you got to do is be
+patient."
+
+"Joshua!" said Mrs. Atwood, in mild reproof.  "You mustn't mind his
+talk, Miss Colton.  He's a terrible joker."
+
+Miss Colton changed the subject.  She did not so much as look at me
+again during the meal and, after it was over, she went to her room,
+explaining that she was very tired and would try to get a little
+sleep.
+
+I had discovered that the lighthouse, being close to the mainland,
+was equipped with a telephone.  Now I begged permission to use it.
+I called up Denboro and asked to be connected with the Colton home.
+I felt very sure that there would be no sleep in the big house that
+night and I wished to relieve their anxiety and to send word to
+Mother.  Mr. Colton himself answered my call.
+
+I announced my identity and explained where I was and that his
+daughter was in my care and perfectly safe.
+
+"Thank God!" was the fervent exclamation at the other end of the
+wire, and the voice which uttered it was shaking with emotion.
+"Stay where you are a moment, Paine.  Let me tell my wife.  She is
+almost crazy.  Hold the wire."
+
+I held the wire and waited.  The next voice which reached my ears
+was Mrs. Colton's.  She asked a dozen questions, one after the
+other.  Was Mabel safe?  Was I sure she was safe?  Wasn't the poor
+child almost dead after all she'd been through?  What had happened?
+What was she doing away over there in that dreadful place?  Why had
+I taken her there?
+
+I answered as well as I could, telling briefly of the collision in
+the fog and what followed.  The explanation appeared to be rather
+unsatisfactory.
+
+"You take the wire, James," I heard the lady say.  "I can't make it
+all out.  Mabel is at some horrid lighthouse and there is no
+kerosene, or something.  The poor child!  Alone there, with that
+man!  Tell him she must be brought home at once.  It is dreadful
+for her!  Think what she must have suffered!  And with HIM!  What
+will people say?  Tell him to bring her home!  The idea!  I don't
+believe a word--"
+
+"Hello--hello, Paine!"  Colton was at the 'phone once more.  "Can
+you get Mabel--Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?"
+
+"Yes.  I will get a boat as soon as I can.  Miss Colton is in her
+room, asleep I hope.  She is very tired and I think she should rest
+until daylight.  I will get her to Wellmouth in time for the
+morning train."
+
+"Never mind the train.  I'll come after her in the auto.  I will
+start now.  I will meet you at the landing--at the wharf, if there
+is one."
+
+"Very well.  Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that
+I am safe and sound?  She will be worried."
+
+"Yes, yes, I'll send word.  Tell Mabel to be careful and not take
+cold. . . .  Yes, Henrietta, I am attending to everything.  Good-
+by, Paine."
+
+That was all, not a word of thanks.  I did not expect thanks and I
+made allowances for the state of mind at the mansion; but that
+telephone conversation, particularly Mrs. Colton's share in it,
+cast a gloom over my spirits.  I did not care to hear more of Mr.
+Atwood's yarns and jokes.  I went to my own room, but I did not
+sleep.
+
+At half-past five I was astir again.  The lightkeeper, it appeared,
+had an auxiliary engine in a catboat which he owned and could let
+me have a sufficient supply of gasolene to fill the Comfort's tank.
+When this was done--and it took a long time, for Joshua insisted
+upon helping and he was provokingly slow--I returned to the sitting
+room and asked Mrs. Atwood to call Miss Colton.
+
+"Land sakes!" was the cheery answer, "I didn't have to call her.
+She's been up for fifteen minutes.  Said she was goin' to take a
+cruise around the lighthouse.  I cal'late you'll find her out there
+somewheres.  Go and fetch her here.  You two must have a bite--a
+cup of hot coffee and a biled egg, anyhow--afore you leave.  Yes,
+you must.  I shan't listen to a no from either of you."
+
+I went out and crossed the sandy yard to the whitewashed lighthouse.
+There was no sign of Miss Colton in the yard, but the door of the
+lighthouse was open and I entered.  No one there.  The stairs,
+winding upward, invited me to climb and I did so.  The little room
+with the big lantern, the latter now covered with a white cloth, was
+untenanted also.  I looked out of the window.  There she was, on the
+iron gallery surrounding the top of the tower, leaning on the rail
+and gazing out over the water.  She had not heard me.  For a moment
+I stood there, watching her.
+
+She was not wearing Mrs. Atwood's gown now, but her own, wrinkled
+and stained from its last night's drenching in salt water, but dry
+now.  She was bareheaded and her brown hair was tossing in the sea
+breeze.  The sun, but a little way above the horizon and shining
+through the morning haze, edged her delicate profile with a line of
+red gold.  I had never seen her look more beautiful, or more
+aristocratic and unapproachable.  The memory of our night in the
+launch seemed more like an unbelievable dream than ever, and the
+awakening more cruel.  For I was awake now.  What I had heard over
+the 'phone had awakened me thoroughly.  There should be no more
+dreaming.
+
+I stepped out upon the gallery.
+
+"Good morning," I said.
+
+She turned quickly, and I heard her catch her breath with a little
+gasp.
+
+"I beg pardon," said I; "I'm afraid I startled you."
+
+She was startled, that was evident, and, it seemed to me, a trifle
+embarrassed.  But the embarrassment was but momentary.
+
+"Good morning," she said.  "How very silent you can be when you
+choose, Mr. Paine.  How long have you been standing there, pray?"
+
+"Only a moment.  I came to call you to breakfast."
+
+"To breakfast?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Atwood insists upon our breakfasting before I take you
+ashore."
+
+"Oh!  Why didn't you call me?  I would have come down."
+
+"I did not see you until I reached the lantern room.  My silence
+was not premeditated.  I made noise enough, or so it seemed to me;
+but you were so wrapped in your thoughts--"
+
+"Nonsense!"  She interrupted me almost sharply.  "I was not
+'wrapped' in anything, except the beauty of this view.  It IS
+beautiful, isn't it?"
+
+"Very," I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view.  It may
+be that she noticed this, for she said:
+
+"You have come into your own again, I see.  So have I."
+
+She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture.  I laughed.
+
+"Yes," I said.  "I have returned unto Joshua that which was his."
+
+"You should have kept it.  You have no idea what a picturesque
+lightkeeper you make, Mr. Paine."
+
+Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt.
+
+"Yes," I answered, drily, "that is about my measure, I presume."
+
+Her eyes twinkled.  "I thought the measure rather scant," she
+observed, mischievously.  "I wish I might have a snap-shot of you
+in that--uniform."
+
+"I am afraid the opportunity for that is past."
+
+"But it--" with a little bubble of mirth, "it was so funny."
+
+"No doubt.  I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph."
+
+She looked at me, biting her lip.
+
+"Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?" she inquired.  "I am
+afraid it must be."
+
+"You may be right.  I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as--well,
+as Mr. Carver, for instance."
+
+She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door.
+
+"Shall we go to breakfast?" she asked, in a different tone.
+
+Breakfast was a silent meal, so far as we two were concerned.  The
+Atwoods, however, talked enough to make up the deficiency.
+
+As we rose from the table the young lady turned to the lightkeeper.
+
+"Mr. Atwood," she said, "I presume you are going to be kind enough
+to take me to Wellmouth?"
+
+"Why, Miss, I--I wan't cal'latin' to.  Mr. Paine here, he's got all
+the gas he needs now and he'll take you over in his launch."
+
+"Oh!  But you will go, if I ask you to?"
+
+"Sartin sure."
+
+"You have been so very kind that I dislike to ask another favor;
+but I hoped you would send a telegram for me.  My father and mother
+will be very much alarmed and I must wire them at once.  You will
+have to send it 'collect,' for," with a rueful smile, "I haven't my
+purse with me."
+
+"Land sakes! that'll be all right.  Glad to help you out."
+
+I put in a word.  "It will not be necessary," I said, impatiently.
+"I have money enough, Miss Colton."
+
+I was ignored.
+
+"Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood.  You will come with me and look out
+for the telegram?"
+
+"Yes.  Yes--yes.  But I don't see what you need to send no telegram
+for.  Mr. Paine here, he telephoned to your folks last night."
+
+She looked at me and then at Joshua.
+
+"Last night?" she repeated.
+
+"Why yes--or this mornin' after you'd gone to bed.  He was dead set
+on it.  I could see he was 'most tired and wore out, but he
+wouldn't rest till he'd 'phoned your folks and told 'em you was
+safe and sound.  Didn't seem to care nothin' about himself, but he
+was bound your pa and ma shouldn't worry."
+
+She turned to me.
+
+"Did you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," I answered.  "Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth
+wharf."
+
+"Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+"I intended to.  I meant to tell you when I saw you in the
+lighthouse, but--I forgot it."
+
+She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the
+door she spoke to him.
+
+"You need not go, Mr. Atwood," she said.  "It will not be
+necessary--now."
+
+"Godfreys!  I'd just as soon as not.  Ruther, if anything."
+
+He hurried down to the beach.  I was about to follow when a hand
+touched my arm.  I turned, to find a pair of brown eyes, misty but
+wonderful, looking into mine.
+
+"Thank you," said Miss Colton.
+
+"Don't mention it."
+
+"But I shall.  It was thoughtful and kind.  I had forgotten, or--at
+least--I took it for granted there was no 'phone here.  But you did
+not forget.  It was thoughtful, but--it was like you."
+
+I was breathing hard.  I could not look at her.
+
+"Don't," I said, roughly.  "It was nothing.  Anyone with common
+sense would have thought of it and done it, of course."
+
+"I did not.  But you--  Oh, it was like you!  Always some one else
+and never yourself.  You were worn out.  You must have been, after--"
+with a shudder--"last night.  Oh, I have so much to thank you
+for!  I--"
+
+"Come on!  Heave ahead!"  It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the
+beach.  "All aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore."
+
+Betsy appeared in the door behind us.
+
+"All ready, be you?" she asked.
+
+I could not have answered, but my companion was once more as calm
+and cool as the morning itself.
+
+"All ready," she answered.  "Good-by, Mrs. Atwood.  And thank you
+over and over again.  You have been so kind."  With a sudden flash
+of enthusiasm.  "Every one is kind.  It is a beautiful world.
+Good-by."
+
+She ran lightly down the slope and I followed.
+
+The trip to Wellmouth was of but a half hour's duration.  Atwood
+talked all the time.  Miss Colton laughed at his stories and seemed
+to be without a care.  She scarcely looked at me during the
+passage, and if she caught me looking at her and our glances met
+she turned away.  On the wharf was a big automobile, surrounded by
+a gaping crowd of small boys and 'longshore loafers.
+
+We drew up beside the landing.  Our feminine passenger sprang
+ashore and ran up the steps, to be seized in her father's arms.
+Mrs. Colton was there also, babbling hysterically.  I watched and
+listened for a moment.  Then I started the engine.
+
+"Shove off," I ordered.  The lightkeeper was astonished.
+
+"Ain't ye goin' ashore?" he demanded.
+
+"No," I answered, curtly.  "I'm going home.  Shove off."
+
+The launch was fifty feet from the pier when I heard a shout.
+Colton was standing on the wharf edge, waving his hand.  Beside him
+stood his daughter, her mother's arms about her.
+
+"Here! Paine!" shouted Colton.  "Come back!  Come back and go home
+with us in the car.  There is plenty of room."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Come back!  Come back, Paine!" he shouted again.  Mrs. Colton
+raised her head from her daughter's shoulder.
+
+"James!  James!" she cautioned, without taking the trouble to lower
+her voice, "don't make a scene.  Let him go in his dreadful boat,
+if he prefers to."
+
+"Paine!" cried her husband again.
+
+"I must look out for the launch," I shouted.  "I shall be home
+almost as soon as you are.  Good-by."
+
+I left the lightkeeper at his island.  He refused to accept a cent
+from me, except in payment for the gasolene, and declared he had
+had a "fust-rate night of it."
+
+"Come and see us again, Mr. Paine," he said.  "Come any time and
+fetch your lady along.  She's a good one, she is, and nice-lookin',
+don't talk!  You're a lucky critter, did you know it?  Haw! haw!
+Good-by."
+
+The Comfort never made better time than on that homeward trip.  I
+anchored her at her moorings, went ashore in the skiff, and
+hastened up to the house.  It was past ten o'clock and I would be
+over an hour late at the bank.  A fine beginning for my first day
+in charge of the institution!
+
+The dining-room door was open, but no one was in the dining-room.
+The kitchen door, however, was shut and from behind it I heard
+Dorinda's voice.
+
+"You can get right out of this house," she said.  "I don't care if
+you've got a mortgage on the rest of the Cape!  You ain't got one
+on this house, and you nor nobody else shall stay in it and talk
+that way.  There's the door."
+
+"Dorindy!" wailed another voice--Lute's.  "You mustn't talk so--to
+him!  Don't you realize--"
+
+"I realize that if I had a husband instead of a jellyfish I
+shouldn't have to talk.  Be still, you!"
+
+A third voice made itself heard.
+
+"All right," it growled.  "I ain't anxious to stay here any longer
+than is necessary.  Bein' an honest, decent man, I'm ashamed to be
+seen here as it is.  But you can tell that low-lived sneak, Ros
+Paine, that--"
+
+I opened the door.
+
+"You may tell him yourself, Captain Dean," said I.  "What is it?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+My unexpected entrance caused a sensation.  Lute, sitting on the
+edge of one of the kitchen chairs, an agonized expression on his
+face, started so violently that he almost lost his balance.
+Dorinda, standing with her back toward me, turned quickly.  Captain
+Jedediah Dean, his hand on the knob of the door opening to the back
+yard, showed the least evidence of surprise.  He did not start, nor
+did he speak, but looked at me with a countenance as grim and set
+and immovable as if it had been cast in a mould.
+
+Lute, characteristically enough, uttered the first word.
+
+"By time!" he gasped.  "It's Ros himself!  Ros--Ros, you know what
+he says?"  He pointed a shaking finger at the captain.  "He says
+you--"
+
+"Keep still!"  Dorinda struck her palms together with a slap, as if
+her husband had been what she often called him, a parrot.  Then,
+without another glance in his direction, she stepped backward and
+took her stand beside me.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe," she said,
+calmly.
+
+"Thank you, Dorinda.  Now, Captain Dean, I believe you were sending
+a message to me just now.  I am here and you can deliver it.  What
+is it you have to say?"
+
+Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more.
+
+"Lute," she said, "you come along with me into the dinin'-room."
+
+"But--but, Dorindy, I--"
+
+"You come with me.  This ain't any of my business any more, and it
+never was any of yours.  Come! move!"
+
+Lute moved, but so slowly that his progress to the door took almost
+a full minute.  His wife paid no heed to the pleading looks he gave
+her and stood majestically waiting until he passed her and crossed
+the sill.  Then she turned to me.
+
+"If you want me, just speak," she said.  "I shall be in the dining-
+room.  There ain't no need for Comfort to know about this.  She
+doesn't know that you've been away and hasn't been worried at all.
+I'll look out for her.  Lute'll be with me, so you needn't fret
+about him, either."
+
+She closed the door.
+
+"Now, Captain Dean," I repeated, "what is it you have to say?"
+
+The captain's grim mouth twisted in a savage sneer.
+
+"You know what I'm goin' to say as well as I do," he answered.
+
+"Possibly, but you had better say it."
+
+"It won't take me long.  You've sold that Shore Lane land to Jim
+Colton, ain't you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+My calm affirmative seemed to astonish him.  I think he expected a
+denial.  His hand left the doorknob and he stepped toward me.
+
+"You--HAVE!" he cried.  "You don't even take the trouble to--  You
+have the face to stand there and tell me--"
+
+He almost choked.
+
+"Captain Dean," I interrupted, quickly, "wait a moment.  Listen to
+me.  I have sold Colton the land.  I did not intend selling it at
+all, least of all to him, but circumstances compelled me to change
+my mind.  I did it because I was obliged to.  It is done.  I am
+sorry I had to do it, but, under the same conditions, I should do
+it again.  I am not ashamed."
+
+He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand upon the table,
+and stared at me.
+
+"You ain't ashamed?" he repeated.  "You ain't ashamed!  Why, you--
+Didn't you tell me you'd never sell that land?  Didn't you promise
+me?"
+
+"I did not promise anything.  At first I promised not to sell
+without letting you know of my intention.  Afterward I took back
+that promise."
+
+"But why did you sell?  You said it wan't a question of price at
+all.  You made your brags that it wan't!  To me, over and over, you
+made 'em.  And then you sneak off and--"
+
+"Stop!  I did think it was not a question of price.  Then I found
+out that it was."
+
+He clenched his fist.
+
+"Damn you!" he shouted, furiously.  "You liar!  You sneak!  After
+I--"
+
+"That is enough, Captain.  This has gone far enough.  I have sold
+the land--for what seemed to me a good reason--and your calling me
+names will not change the situation.  I don't care to hear them.
+You had better go."
+
+"WHAT?"
+
+"I say you had better go."
+
+"_I_ go?  You'll put me out?"
+
+"No, certainly not.  But there is nothing to be gained by a
+quarrel, and so, for both our sakes, I think you had better go
+away."
+
+For a moment I thought he would strike me.  Then his fist fell
+heavily upon the table.  His lips were quivering like those of an
+infirm person.  He looked old, and I had never before considered
+him an old man.
+
+"What made you do it?" he cried, desperately.  "What made you do
+it?  Is it all settled?  Can't you back out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But--but why didn't you sell to me--to the town?  If you had to
+sell why didn't you do that?  Why did you go to him?"
+
+"Because he would pay me what I needed; because his price was
+higher than any you or the town could offer."
+
+"How did you know that?  My heavens above!  I'd have paid--I'd have
+paid most anything--out of my own pocket, I would.  I tell you this
+meant everything to me.  I'm gettin' along in years.  I ain't been
+any too well liked here in Denboro, and I knew it.  You think that
+didn't make no difference to me, maybe I pretended it didn't, but
+it did; by the Almighty, it did!  I intended for folks to be
+thankful to me for--I--  Oh, WHY did you do it, Ros?"
+
+I shook my head.  I was sorry for him now--sorry and astonished.
+He had given me a glimpse of the real Jedediah Dean, not the
+pompous, loud-voiced town politician and boss, but the man desirous
+of fighting his way into the esteem and liking of his neighbors.
+
+"I'm sorry, Captain," I said.  "If I had known--if I had had time
+to think, perhaps I might have acted differently.  But I had no
+time.  I found that I must have the money which that land would
+bring and that I had to have it immediately.  So I went where I
+knew I could get it."
+
+"Money?  You needed money?  Why didn't you come to me?  I'd have
+lent it to you."
+
+"You?"
+
+"Yes, me.  What do you cal'late I've been backin' you all this
+summer for?  What did I get you that job in my bank for?"
+
+"YOU?  George Taylor engaged me for that place."
+
+"Maybe so.  But do you suppose he did it on his own hook?  HE
+couldn't hire you unless the directors said so and the directors
+don't say anything, the majority of 'em, unless I say it first.
+_I_ put the notion in George's head.  He didn't know it, but I did.
+And I put it in the directors' heads, too.  Ros Paine, I always
+liked you, though I did use to think you was a gentleman loafer.
+There was a somethin' about you even then, a kind of hands-off,
+mind your own business independence about you that I liked, though
+I knew mighty well you never liked me.  And after you and me got
+together on this Lane thing I liked you more and more.  You could
+tell me to go to the devil as well as you could anybody else, and
+I'll shake hands with a feller that'll do that.  I always wanted a
+boy of my own.  Nellie's a good girl, no better afloat or ashore,
+but she is a girl.  George is a good feller, too, but somehow, or
+'nother, I'd come to think of you as the kind of son I'd have had,
+if the Almighty had give me one.  Oh, what did you do this for?"
+
+I could not answer.  He had overwhelmed me.  I never felt meaner or
+more wicked.  I had been ready to face him, ready for the interview
+with him which I knew was inevitable and which I had foreseen, but
+not this kind of an interview.
+
+He took his hand from the table and stood erect.
+
+"Money!" he said.  "You wanted money.  You must have wanted it bad.
+What did you want it for?"
+
+"I can't tell you."
+
+"You had better.  It's your only chance, I tell you that!"
+
+"I can't help it, Captain Dean.  I can't tell you.  I wish I
+could."
+
+He regarded me in silence for a moment.  Then:  "All right," he
+said, solemnly.  "I'm through with you, Ros Paine.  In one way I'm
+through with you.  In another I ain't.  I cal'late you was
+figgerin' to go straight up to the bank, as bold as brass, and set
+down at George Taylor's desk and draw your wages like an honest
+man.  Don't you ever dare set foot in that bank again.  You're
+fired! bounced! kicked out!  Do you understand?"
+
+"Very well; I understand."
+
+"You will understand, whether you do now or not.  Colton's got the
+Shore Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket.  He's
+paid you, but the town ain't.  The town you sold out ain't paid
+you--but I'm goin' to see that it does.  Ros Paine, I'm goin' to
+drive you out of Denboro."
+
+He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it
+behind him.
+
+I went back to the dining-room.  Lute was nowhere in sight, but
+Dorinda was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there
+was no dust.  I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to
+the stairs.  Dorinda stepped in front of me.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, sharply, "can he do it?"
+
+"Do it?" I repeated.  "What do you mean?"
+
+"Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank?  Oh, I heard
+him!  I tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it.  That
+kitchen door ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow.  Can he
+do it?"
+
+"I guess so.  He seems to be boss of that institution."
+
+"But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you?
+Jed Dean don't boss 'Lisha Warren--not much."
+
+"I shan't ask for help.  Please don't trouble me, Dorinda."
+
+I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it.
+
+"I shan't trouble you, Ros," she said.  "I guess you've got
+troubles enough without me.  But you let me ask you this:  Are you
+goin' to let him drive you out of town?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "It may not take much driving," I
+announced, listlessly, "if it were not for Mother I should be only
+too glad to go."
+
+Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm.
+
+"Roscoe Paine," she cried, "don't you talk like that.  I don't want
+to hear another word like that.  Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody
+else drive you out of Denboro.  You ain't done nothin' to be
+ashamed of, have you?"
+
+"I sold that land to Mr. Colton.  I don't know how Captain Jed
+found it out, but it is true enough; I did exactly what he said I
+did."
+
+"Found out!  He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the
+deed was recorded, that is how he found out.  He said so.  But I
+don't care for that.  And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten
+times over.  You didn't do it for any mean or selfish reason, that
+I know.  There ain't a selfish bone in your body, Roscoe.  I've
+lived along with you all these years and I know.  Nobody that was
+mean or selfish would give up their chances in life and stay here
+in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had took a notion
+that she couldn't bear to part with him.  Don't you mind Jed Dean--
+pig-headed old thing!--or anybody else in Denboro.  Hold up your
+head and show 'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em.
+Let 'em talk and act like fools, if they want to.  It comes natural
+to most of 'em, I cal'late, and they'll be sorry some day.  Don't
+you let 'em drive you out.  They won't come inside THIS house with
+their talk, not while I'm here, I tell you that!"
+
+Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire.  This
+was the longest speech I had ever heard her make.
+
+"There, Dorinda," I said, smiling, "don't worry on my account.  I'm
+not worth it.  And, whatever I do, I shall see that you and Lute
+are provided for."
+
+Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly
+opposite effect.
+
+"Stop it!" she snapped.  "The idea!  Do you suppose it's for myself
+I'm talkin' this way to you?  I guess 'tain't!  My soul!  I'll look
+out for myself, and Lute, too, long's I'm able to walk; and when I
+can't walk 'twill be because I've stopped breathin'.  It's for you
+I'm talkin', for you and Comfort.  Think of her."
+
+I sighed.  "I have been thinking of her, Dorinda," I declared.
+"She doesn't know a word about this."
+
+"Then tell her."
+
+"I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell
+you--or Dean."
+
+"Tell her what you can, then.  Tell her as much of the truth as you
+can.  She'll say you done right, of course.  Whatever you do is
+right to her."
+
+I made no reply.  She regarded me keenly.
+
+"Roscoe," she went on, "do you WANT to go somewheres else?"
+
+"I don't know, Dorinda.  I might as well be here as anywhere,
+perhaps.  I am rather blue and discouraged just now, that's all."
+
+"I can't blame you much.  But bein' discouraged don't do any good.
+Besides, it's always darkest just afore dawn, they say; anyhow,
+I've had that preached to me ever since I was a girl and I've tried
+to believe it through a good many cloudy spells.  Roscoe, don't you
+let old Jed or anybody DRIVE you out of Denboro, but, if you WANT
+to go--if you think you'd ought to go, to earn money or anything,
+don't you worry about leavin' Comfort.  I'll look out for her as
+well as if she was my own.  Remember that."
+
+I laid my hand on hers.  "Thank you," I said, earnestly.  "Dorinda,
+you are a good woman."
+
+To my surprise the eyes behind the spectacles became misty.  Tears
+in Dorinda's eyes!  When she spoke it was in, for her, a curiously
+hesitating tone.
+
+"Roscoe," she faltered, "I wonder if you'd be cross if I asked
+about what wan't any of my business.  I'm old enough to be your
+grandma, pretty nigh, so I'm goin' to risk it.  You used to be
+independent enough.  You never used to care for the town or anybody
+in it.  Lately you've changed.  Changed in a good many ways.  Is
+somethin' besides this Lane affair frettin' you?  Is somebody
+frettin' you?  Are you worried about--that one?"
+
+She had caught me unawares.  I felt the blood tingle in my cheeks.
+I tried to laugh and made a failure of the attempt.
+
+"That one?" I repeated.  "I--  Why, I don't understand, Dorinda."
+
+"Don't you?  Well, if you don't then I'm just talkin' silly, that's
+all.  If you do, I . . . .  Humph!  I might have known it!"
+
+She turned like a shot and jerked the door open.  There was a
+rattle, a series of thumps, and a crash.  Lute was sprawling upon
+the floor at our feet.  I gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment.
+Dorinda sniffed scornfully.
+
+"I might have known it," she repeated.  "Sittin' on the stairs
+there, listenin', wan't you?"
+
+Lute raised himself to his knees.
+
+"I think," he panted, "I--I swan!  I shouldn't wonder if I'd broke
+my leg!"
+
+"Um-hm!  Well, if you'd broke your neck 'twouldn't have been no
+more'n you deserve.  Shame on you!  Sneakin' thing!"
+
+"Now, Dorindy, I--I wan't listenin'.  I was just--"
+
+"Don't talk to me.  Don't you open your mouth.  And if you open it
+to anybody else about what you heard I'll--I declare I'll shut you
+up in the dark closet and keep you there, as if you was three year
+old.  Sometimes I think your head ain't any older than that.  Go
+right out of this house."
+
+"But where'll I go?"
+
+"I don't care where you go.  Only don't let me set eyes on you till
+dinner time.  March!"
+
+Lute backed away as she advanced, waving both his hands and
+pleading and expostulating.
+
+"Dorindy, I tell you . . .  WHAT makes you so unlikely? . . .  I
+was just . . .  All right then," desperately, "I'll go!  And if you
+never set eyes on me again 'twon't be my fault.  You'll be sorry
+then.  If you never see me no more you'll be sorry."
+
+"I'll set eyes on you at dinner time.  I ain't afraid of that.
+Git!"
+
+She followed him to the kitchen and then returned.
+
+"Ah hum!" she sighed, "it's pretty hard to remember that about
+darkest just afore dawn when you have a burden like that on your
+shoulders to lug through life.  It's night most of the time then.
+Poor critter! he means well enough, too.  And once he was a likely
+enough young feller, though shiftless, even then.  But he had a
+long spell of fever three year after we was married and he's never
+been good for much since.  I try to remember that, and to be
+patient with him, but it's a pretty hard job sometimes."
+
+She sighed again.  I had often wondered how a woman of her sense
+could have married Luther Rogers.  Now she was telling me.
+
+"I never really cared for him," she went on, looking toward the
+door through which the discomfited eavesdropper had made his exit.
+"There was somebody else I did care for, but he and I quarreled,
+and I took Luther out of spite and because my folks wanted me to.
+I've paid for it since.  Roscoe," earnestly, "Roscoe, if you care
+for anybody and she cares for you, don't let anything keep you
+apart.  If she's worth a million or fifty cents that don't make any
+difference.  It shouldn't be a matter of her folks or your folks or
+money or pride or anything else.  It's a matter for just you and
+her.  And if you love each other, that's enough.  I tell you so,
+and I know."
+
+I was more astonished than ever.  I could scarcely believe that
+this was the dry, practical Dorinda Rogers who had kept house for
+Mother and me all these years.  And with my astonishment were other
+feelings, feelings which warned me that I had better make my escape
+before I was trapped into betraying that which, all the way home
+from Mackerel Island, I had been swearing no one should ever know.
+I would not even admit it to myself, much less to anyone else.
+
+I did not look at Dorinda, and my answer to her long speech was as
+indifferent and careless as I could make it.
+
+"Thank you, Dorinda," I said.  "I'll remember your advice, if I
+ever need it, which isn't likely.  Now I must go to my room and
+change my clothes.  These are too badly wrinkled to be becoming."
+
+When I came down, after an absence of half an hour, she was sitting
+by the window, sewing.
+
+"Comfort's waitin' to see you, Roscoe," she said.  "I've told her
+all about it."
+
+"YOU'VE told her--what?" I demanded, in amazement.
+
+"About your sellin' the Lane and losin' your job, and so on.  Don't
+look at me like that.  'Twas the only common-sense thing to do.
+She'd heard old Leather-Lungs whoopin' out there in the kitchen and
+she'd heard you and me talkin' here in the dinin'-room.  I hoped
+she was asleep, but she wan't.  After you went upstairs she called
+for me and wanted to know the whole story.  I told her what I knew
+of it.  Now you can tell her the rest.  She takes it just as I knew
+she would.  You done it and so it's all right."
+
+"Roscoe, is that you?"
+
+It was Mother calling me.  I went into the darkened room and sat
+down beside the bed.
+
+She and I had much to say to each other.  This time I kept back
+nothing, except my reason for selling the land.  I told her frankly
+that that reason was a secret, and that it must remain a secret,
+even from her.
+
+"I hate to say that to you, Mother," I told her.  "You don't know
+how I hate it.  I would tell you if I could."
+
+She pressed my hand.  "I know you would, Roscoe," she said.  "I am
+quite content not to know.  That your reason for selling was an
+honorable one, that is all I ask."
+
+"It was that, Mother."
+
+"I am sure of it.  But," hesitatingly, "can you tell me this:  You
+did not do it because you needed money--for me?  Our income is the
+same as ever?  We have not met with losses?"
+
+"No, Mother.  Our income is the same that it has been for years."
+
+"Then it was not because of me; because you felt that I should have
+those 'luxuries' you talk about so often?  Oh, I don't need them,
+Roscoe I really don't.  I am--I scarcely dare say it for fear it
+may not be true--but I THINK I am better than I have been.  I feel
+stronger."
+
+"I know you are better, Mother.  Doctor Quimby is very much
+encouraged."
+
+"Is he?  I am so glad!  For your sake, Boy.  Perhaps the time will
+come when I may not be your Old Man Of the Sea as I am now.  But
+you did not sell the land because of me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You did not sell it for yourself, that I know.  I wonder . . .
+But, there!  I mustn't wonder, and I won't.  Captain Dean was very
+angry and unreasonable, Dorinda says.  I suppose his pride is hurt.
+I'm afraid he will make it unpleasant for you in the village."
+
+"He will do his best, I'm sure of that."
+
+"You poor boy!  As if you did not have enough to bear without that!
+He has asked you to resign from the bank?"
+
+I smiled.  "He has pitched me out, neck and crop," I answered.  "I
+expected that, of course."
+
+"But what will you do?  Can't Mr. Taylor help you?  Perhaps he will
+use his influence with the captain."
+
+"I don't need his influence, Mother.  I took the place merely
+because of a whim.  Now that I have lost it I am no worse off than
+I was before."
+
+"But you enjoyed the work?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+I was only beginning to realize how much I had enjoyed it.  I
+sighed, involuntarily.
+
+Mother heard the sigh and the pressure of her hand on mine
+tightened.
+
+"Poor boy!" she said again.  Then, after a moment, "I wish I might
+talk with Miss Colton about this."
+
+I started violently.  What had put that idea in her head?
+
+"Miss Colton!" I exclaimed.  "Mother, whatever you do, don't speak
+to her--about me."
+
+"Why not?  She has not called on us for some time, but she is
+interested in you, I know.  And perhaps her father could--"
+
+"Mother, don't."
+
+She was silent for an instant.  Then she said, quietly.  "Boy, what
+is it?  Is there something else you haven't told me?  Something
+about--her?"
+
+"No, no," I stammered.
+
+"Isn't there?  Are you sure?"
+
+I do not know what reply I should have made.  Her question, coming
+so close upon the heels of Dorinda's hints, upset me completely.
+Was it written upon my face, for everyone to see?  Did I look the
+incredible idiot that I knew myself to be?  For I did know it.  In
+spite of my determination not to admit it even in my innermost
+thoughts, I knew.  I was in love with Mabel Colton--madly, insanely,
+hopelessly in love with her, and should be until my dying day.
+I had played with fire too long.
+
+Before I could answer there came a knock at the door.  It opened
+and Dorinda's head appeared.  She seemed, for her, excited.
+
+"There's somebody to see you, Ros," she said.  "You'd better come
+out soon's you can.  He's in a hurry."
+
+"Someone to see me," I repeated.  "Who is it?"
+
+Dorinda glanced at Mother and then at me.  She did not so much as
+whisper, but her lips formed a name.  I rose from my chair.
+
+Mother looked at me and then at Dorinda.
+
+"Who is it, Roscoe?" she asked.
+
+"Just a caller on a business matter," I answered, hurriedly.  "I'll
+be out at once, Dorinda."
+
+"But who is it, Roscoe?"
+
+"It's Mr. Colton, Mother.  He has probably come to--"
+
+"Dorinda," Mother interrupted me, "ask Mr. Colton to come in here."
+
+"But, Mother--"
+
+"Ask him to come in here, Dorinda.  I should like to meet him."
+
+Dorinda hesitated, but when Mother spoke in that tone none of us
+hesitated long.  She disappeared.  A moment later the door opened
+wide and Colton entered.  The sudden transition from sunlight to
+semidarkness bewildered him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood
+there without speaking.  Dorinda, who had ushered him in, went out
+and closed the door.  I stepped forward.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Colton," I said, as calmly as I could.  "You
+have never met my mother, I think.  Mother, this is Mr. Colton, our
+neighbor."
+
+Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words.  For once, I
+think, he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession.
+And when Mother spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, quickly, "will you draw that window-shade a
+little more?  The light is rather strong.  Thank you.  Mr. Colton,
+I am very glad to meet you.  I have heard of you often, of course,
+and I have met your daughter.  She has been very kind to me, in
+many ways.  Won't you sit down?"
+
+I drew forward a chair.  Our visitor accepted it.
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Paine," he said.  "I will sit.  To be honest, I'm
+very glad of the opportunity.  I have been under the doctor's care
+for the past few weeks and last night's performance is not the best
+sort of treatment for a tender digestion.  The doctor told me what
+I needed was rest and sleep and freedom from care.  I told him I
+probably shouldn't get the last item till I was dead.  As for the
+rest--and sleep--  Humph!" with a short laugh, "I wonder what he
+would have said if he had seen me last night."
+
+Mother's face was turned away from him on the pillow.  "I am sorry
+to hear that you have been ill, Mr. Colton," she said.
+
+"Ill!  I'm not ill.  I have never been sick in my life and I don't
+propose to begin now.  If the crowd in New York would let me alone
+I should be all right enough.  There is a deal on there that is
+likely to come to a head pretty soon and my people at the office
+are nervous.  They keep 'phoning and telegraphing and upsetting
+things generally.  I'll have to run over there myself in a day or
+two and straighten it out.  But there!  I didn't come here to worry
+you with my troubles.  I feel as if I knew you, Mrs. Paine."
+
+"Knew me?  Knew ME, Mr. Colton?"
+
+"Yes.  I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my
+daughter has spoken of you often.  She is a great admirer of yours.
+I won't tell you all the nice things she has said about you, for
+she has probably said them to you or to your son, already."
+
+"You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton.  She is a
+charming girl."
+
+"Thanks.  Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I
+think you're right.  And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty
+good sort of a son, Mrs. Paine.  He is inclined to be," with a
+glance in my direction, "a little too stubborn and high-principled
+for this practical world, but," with a chuckle, "he can be made to
+listen to reason, if you give him time enough.  That is so, isn't
+it, Paine?"
+
+I did not answer.  Mother spoke for me.
+
+"I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton," she said,
+quietly.  "I presume you are referring to the sale of the land.  I
+do not know why Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do
+know that his reason was a good one, and an honest one."
+
+"He hasn't told it to you, then?"
+
+"No.  But I know that he thought it right or he never would have
+sold."
+
+I broke in here.  I did not care to hear my own praises.
+
+"Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?" I inquired.
+"I thought that affair settled."
+
+"It is.  No, I didn't come to discuss that.  Mrs. Paine, I don't
+know why your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think,
+like you, that he wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was
+right.  I know mighty well he wasn't afraid of me.  Oh, you needn't
+laugh, young man.  There ARE people in that fix, plenty of 'em.
+No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.'  That bird is dead.  I came,
+first of all, to thank you for what you did for my daughter last
+night."
+
+Mother turned her head and looked at him.
+
+"For your daughter?  Last night?  Roscoe, what does he mean?"
+
+"Nothing, Mother, nothing," I said, hastily.  "I was unlucky enough
+to run the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday
+afternoon in the fog.  Fortunately I got her into the launch and--
+and--"
+
+"And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward.  He
+hasn't told you, Mrs. Paine?  No, I can see that he hasn't.  All
+right, I will.  Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the
+pressure you had better leave the room.  This is about what
+happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel tells it."
+
+I tried to prevent him, but it was no use.  He ignored me
+altogether and went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the
+voyage across the bay, and my telephone from the lighthouse.  The
+story, as he told it, magnified what he called my coolness and
+common-sense to a ridiculous extent.  I lost patience as I
+listened.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I interrupted, "this is silly.  Mother, the whole
+affair was more my fault than my good judgment.  If I had anchored
+when it first happened we should have been home in an hour, instead
+of drifting all night."
+
+"Why didn't you anchor, then?" asked Colton.
+
+"Because I--I--"
+
+I stopped short.  I could not tell him why I did not anchor.  He
+laughed aloud.
+
+"That's all right," he said.  "I guess Mabel's story is near enough
+to the truth for all practical purposes.  Mrs. Paine," with a
+sudden change to seriousness, "you can understand why I have come
+here this morning.  If it had not been for your son's pluck, and
+cool head, and good judgment I--Mrs. Colton and I might have been--
+God knows in what state we might have been to-day!  God knows!  I
+can't think of it."
+
+His voice trembled.  Mother put out a hand and took mine.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, "Roscoe."
+
+"So I came to thank him," went on our visitor.  "This isn't the
+first time he has done something of the sort.  It seems almost as
+if he--  But never mind that.  I'm not going to be foolish.  Your
+son and I, Mrs. Paine, have been fighting each other most of the
+summer.  That's all right.  It was a square fight and, until this
+newest freak of his--and he has got me guessing as to what it
+means--I admit I thought he was quite as likely to lick me as I was
+to lick him.  I've watched him pretty closely and I am a pretty
+fair judge of a man, I flatter myself.  Did he tell you that, a
+while ago, I offered him a place in my office?"
+
+"In your office?  You offered him that?  No, he did not tell me.
+Roscoe!" reproachfully.
+
+"I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while.  Of
+course I could not accept the offer."
+
+She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in.
+
+"Why not?  That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take
+it.  That is what _I_ said--why not?  And I say it again.  Paine,
+that offer is still open."
+
+I shook my head.  "I told you then that I could not accept," I
+said.  "It is impossible."
+
+"Why is it impossible?  So far as I am concerned I believe you
+would be a mighty good investment."
+
+"Impossible," I said again.
+
+"Nothing is impossible.  We won't waste words.  I am going to be
+plain and I think Mrs. Paine will excuse me.  You think you should
+not leave your mother, perhaps.  I understand that reason.  It
+would be a good one, except that--well, that it isn't good any
+longer.  Your mother is much better than she was.  Quimby--her
+doctor and mine--says so.  I shall see that she is well looked
+after.  If she needs a nurse she shall have one, the best we can
+get.  Oh, be still and let me finish!  You can talk afterward.
+You're not going so far away.  New York isn't the end of the earth;
+it is only the center, or it thinks it is.  You'll be in close
+touch with Denboro all the time and you can come here whenever you
+want to.  Now will you take my offer?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Young man, if I didn't know there were brains inside that head of
+yours I should think it was, as the boys say, solid ivory.
+Confound you!  Here, Mrs. Paine," turning to Mother, "you take him
+in hand.  Tell him he must come with me."
+
+"Mother--" I protested.  He cut my protest short.
+
+"Tell him," he ordered.
+
+Mother looked at me.  "I think, perhaps, you should accept,
+Roscoe," she said, slowly.
+
+"Accept!  Mother!"
+
+"Yes.  I--I think you should.  I am sure everyone else would think
+so.  I should not wish you to do so if Mr. Colton was merely trying
+to be kind, to help you from motives of gratitude, or charity--"
+
+"Don't use that word, please," snapped "Big Jim."  "When I lose my
+mind I may take to charity, but not before.  Charity!  Good Lord!"
+
+"But it is not charity.  I am better, Roscoe; I realize it every
+day; and with Dorinda I shall get on perfectly well.  I have been
+thinking of something like this for a long time.  You owe it to
+yourself, Roscoe.  The chance is one that many men would be very,
+very glad to have come their way.  I shall not urge you, Boy.  You
+must decide for yourself, and I know you will; but, Roscoe, I shall
+be quite contented--yes, glad and proud, if you say yes to Mr.
+Colton."
+
+The gentleman named nodded emphatic approval.  "That's the talk!"
+he exclaimed.  "Mrs. Paine, I congratulate you on your common-
+sense."
+
+"I think, like you, that you will have made a good investment, Mr.
+Colton," was Mother's answer.
+
+I rose to my feet.  This must be ended now, for all time.
+
+"I thank you, Mr. Colton," I said, though not as steadily as I
+could have wished.  "I am greatly obliged to you and I realize that
+you offer me an exceptional opportunity, or what would be one for
+another man.  But I cannot accept."
+
+"Look here, Paine!  I'll speak plainer still.  I understand that
+that Shore Lane trade of ours has become common property, or, at
+any rate, it will be common property soon.  If I see the situation
+clearly, Denboro is likely to be a rather unpleasant place for you.
+That fellow Dean has a lot of influence here--heaven knows why!--
+and he hates me worse than Old Nick hates holy water.  Oh, I know
+you're not afraid of him!  But what is the use of taking the rough
+road when the smooth one is right before your feet?  Say yes, and
+let's end it."
+
+"No," said I, stubbornly.  "No, Mr. Colton."
+
+"You mean it?  Very well, I leave you in your Mother's hands.  She
+will probably bring you to your senses before long.  Mrs. Paine,
+you can handle him, I have no doubt.  I am glad to have met you,
+and, with your permission, I shall call on you again.  So will
+Mabel.  As for you, young man, I thank you for last night's work.
+You will, perhaps, accept thanks if you refuse everything else.
+Good morning."
+
+He rose, bowed, and walked to the door.  As he opened it he
+staggered, perceptibly.  I thought, for an instant, that he was
+going to fall, and I sprang to his assistance.
+
+"It's all right," he said, gruffly.  "This digestion of mine sets
+my head spinning sometimes.  That doctor says I shall upset
+completely unless I rest.  I told him he was a fool and I intend to
+prove it.  Let me be.  I can walk, I should hope.  When I can't
+I'll call the ambulance--or the hearse.  I'll find the way out,
+myself.  Good-by."
+
+The door closed behind him.
+
+"Roscoe," said Mother, quickly, "come here."
+
+I turned toward her.  She was looking at me with a strange
+expression.
+
+"What is it, Mother?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"Roscoe," she whispered, "I know him.  I have met him before."
+
+"Know him!  You have met Mr. Colton--before?  Where?"
+
+"At our home in the old days.  He came there once with--with your
+father.  He was our guest at dinner."
+
+I could scarcely believe it.  Then, as the thought of what this
+might mean flashed to my mind, I asked anxiously:
+
+"Did he know you, do you think?"
+
+"No, I am sure he did not.  We met but once and I have," with a
+little sigh, "changed since then.  But I recognized him.  The name
+of Colton was familiar to me when you first mentioned it, some time
+ago, but I did not remember where I had heard it.  Of course, I did
+not connect this Mr. Colton with--that one."
+
+I frowned.  This complicated matters still more, and further
+complications were superfluous.
+
+"And, knowing this, knowing that he might recognize you at any
+time, you urged me to accept his offer," I said, reproachfully.
+"Mother!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Mother, how can you?  Would you have me go to New York and enter a
+banking house where, any hour of any day, I might be recognized by
+some of the men I once knew?  Where I might expect at any moment to
+be called by my real name?  How can you?"
+
+She gazed at me earnestly.  "Why not tell him, Roscoe?" she asked.
+
+I stared at her, aghast.  "Tell him!" I repeated.  "Tell him who I
+am?  Tell him our story, the story that--  Mother, are you crazy?"
+
+"No.  I believe I am sane, at least.  I have been thinking a great
+deal of late.  As I have been growing stronger I have been thinking
+more and more and I am not sure that you and I have been right in
+hiding here as we have done.  It was all my fault, I know, but I
+was weak and--and I dreaded all the gossip and scandal.  But, Boy,
+it was a mistake.  After all, we have done no wrong, you and I--we,
+personally, have nothing to be ashamed of.  Why not end all this?
+Go to Mr. Colton, tell him who you are, tell him our story; then,
+if he still wants you--"
+
+I interrupted.  "No, Mother," I said, "no, no!  It is impossible.
+Even if he knew, and it made no difference, I could not do it.  I
+may go away!  I may feel that I must go, if you are well enough for
+me to leave you, but I can not go with him.  I ought not to see him
+again.  I must not see HER. . . . .  Oh, don't you understand?
+Mother, I--I--"
+
+She understood.  I had seized her hand and now she stroked it
+gently with her own.
+
+"So it is true," she said, quietly.  "You love her, Roscoe."
+
+"Yes! yes! yes!" I answered, desperately.  "Oh, don't speak of it,
+Mother!  I am insane, I think."
+
+"Does she care for you, Boy?  Have you spoken to her?"
+
+"MOTHER!  Is it likely?"
+
+"But I think she does care, Roscoe.  I think she does.  She must."
+
+This was so characteristic that, although I was in anything but a
+laughing mood, I could not help smiling.
+
+"How could she help it? I presume you mean," I observed,
+sarcastically.  "There, Mother, don't worry.  I did not intend that
+you or anyone else should know what an idiot I am, but don't worry--
+I shan't do anything ridiculous or desperate.  I may go somewhere,
+to get away from Denboro, and to earn a living for you and me, but
+that is all.  We won't speak of her again."
+
+"But if she does care, Boy?"
+
+"If she does--  Of course, she doesn't--but, if she does, can't you
+see that only makes it worse?  Think who she is and who and what I
+am!  Her family--  Humph! you have not met her mother; I have."
+
+"But if she loves you--"
+
+"Do you think I should permit her to ruin her life--for me?"
+
+"Poor boy!  I am SO sorry!"
+
+"It is all right, Mother.  There! we won't be foolish any longer.
+I am going for a walk and I want you to rest.  I am glad, we have
+had this talk; it has done me good to speak what I have been
+thinking.  Good-by.  I will be back soon."
+
+She would have detained me, but I broke away and went out.  My walk
+was a long one.  I tramped the beach for eight long miles and,
+though one might think that my adventures of the night before had
+provided exercise enough, this additional effort seemed to do no
+harm.  I forgot dinner entirely and supper was on the table when I
+returned to the house.
+
+I found Dorinda in a condition divided between anxiety and
+impatience.
+
+"Have you seen anything of that man of mine?" she demanded.  "I
+ain't seen hide nor hair of him since I pitched him out of this
+room this mornin'!"
+
+I was surprised and a little disturbed.  I remembered Lute's threat
+about "never seein' me no more."
+
+"You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?"
+I asked.
+
+"He wouldn't run far; runnin's too much like work.  But why he
+wan't home for dinner I don't understand.  I never knew him to miss
+a meal's vittles afore.  I hope nothin' ain't happened to him,
+that's all.  Well, we'll have our supper, anyhow.  After that we'll
+see."
+
+But we did not have to see.  We were at the table when we heard the
+sound of hurrying footsteps on the walk.  The gate closed with a
+bang.  Dorinda rose from her chair.
+
+"I swan!  I believe that's him now!" she exclaimed.
+
+"If it is, he is certainly running this time," I observed.  "What--"
+
+The door was thrown open and the missing member of the household
+appeared.  He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious
+air of dignified importance in his bearing.  Dorinda's lips shut
+tightly.
+
+"Well, Lute," said I, "where have you been?"
+
+Lute struggled for breath.
+
+"Don't ask me where I've been!" he gasped.  "Don't waste no time
+askin' ME questions.  Get your hat on, Ros!  Get your hat on this
+minute!  Where did I put that?  Where in time did I put it?"
+
+He was fumbling in his pockets.  Dorinda and I looked at each
+other.  She shook her head.
+
+"He's gone stark foolish at last!" she said, with decision.  "Well,
+I've been expectin' it!  Lute Rogers, stop pawin' yourself over and
+act sensible, if you can.  What is the matter with you?"
+
+"Matter with me!  Nothin's the matter with ME; but there's
+somethin' the matter with other folks, I tell you that!  Doctor
+Quimby's been there twice already, and the telephone's been goin',
+and--and--  My time! you ought to seen her face!  'Twas just as
+white as--as--  WHERE did I put that letter?"
+
+His "pawing" became more frantic than ever.  His wife stepped
+forward and seized him by the arm.
+
+"Stop it, I tell you!" she commanded.  "Stop it!  Who's sick?
+Whose telephone's ringin'?  What letter are you talkin' about?
+Answer me!  Stop that Saint Vitus dancin' and answer me this
+minute!"
+
+She gave him a shake and his cap fell to the floor.  From it fell
+an envelope.  Lute pulled himself free and pounced upon it.
+
+"There 'tis!" he exclaimed.  "By time! I was scart I'd lost it!
+Read it, Ros! read it!"
+
+He handed me the envelope.  It bore my name.  I tore it open--took
+out the sheet of notepaper which it inclosed, and read as follows:
+
+
+"Dear Mr. Paine:
+
+"Father is very ill, and I am in great trouble.  I think you,
+perhaps, can help us both.  Will you come over at once?  PLEASE do.
+
+"Hastily yours,
+
+"MABEL COLTON."
+
+
+"And--and--" panted Lute, "she told me to tell you to please hurry.
+And you'd ought to seen her face!  She--"
+
+I heard no more.  I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited
+bearer of the note had urged me to do.  Bareheaded, I hurried out
+of the dining-room and along the path toward the Colton mansion.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if
+for a reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library
+and hall and drawing-room.  Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood
+by one of the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up
+by the main entrance.  From the open windows of the servants'
+quarters came the sounds of excited voices.  I hastened to the
+front door.  Before I could push the button of the electric bell
+the door was opened.  Johnson, the butler, peered out at me.  Most
+of his dignity was gone.
+
+"Is it you, Mr. Paine?" he asked, anxiously.  "Come in, sir,
+please.  Miss Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir."
+
+I entered the hall.  "What is it, Johnson?" I asked, quickly.  "How
+is Mr. Colton?"
+
+The butler looked behind him before replying.  He shook his head
+dubiously.
+
+"He's awful ill, sir," he whispered.  "The doctor's been with him
+for an hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on
+something terrible.  It's awful, sir, ain't it!"
+
+His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general
+demoralization of the household.  And from one of the rooms above
+came the sobs of a hysterical woman.
+
+"Brace up, man," I whispered in reply.  "This is no time for you to
+go to pieces.  Where is Miss Colton?"
+
+"She's with her father, sir.  Step into the library and I'll call
+her."
+
+He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her
+voice speaking from the head of the stairs.
+
+"Who is it, Johnson?" she asked, in a low tone.
+
+"It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel."
+
+I heard a little exclamation, of relief it seemed to me.  Then she
+appeared, descending the staircase.  Her face was, as Lute had
+said, pale, but her manner was calm, much calmer than the butler's.
+
+She came to me and extended her hand.  "Thank you for coming," she
+said.  "I was sure you would."
+
+"How is your father, Miss Colton?" I asked.
+
+"He is no worse.  Come into the library, please.  Johnson, if
+Mother or the doctor need me, I shall be in the library.  Come, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+We entered the library together.  The room in which I had had my
+two memorable encounters with "Big Jim" Colton was without its
+dominant figure now.  His big armchair was drawn up beside the
+table and the papers and writing materials were in the place where
+I had seen them.  A half-burned cigar lay in the ash tray.  But the
+strong fingers which had placed it there were weak enough now and
+the masterful general of finance was in his room upstairs fighting
+the hardest battle of his life, fighting for that life itself.  A
+door at the end of the library, a door which I had not noticed
+before, was partially open and from within sounded at intervals a
+series of sharp clicks, the click of a telegraph instrument.  I
+remembered that Colton had told me, in one of his conversations,
+that he had both a private telephone and telegraph in his house.
+
+Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me.
+
+"Thank you for coming," she said, again.  "I need help and I could
+think of no one but you.  You have hurried dreadfully, haven't
+you!"
+
+She was looking at my forehead.  I caught a glimpse of my face in
+the mirror above the mantel and reached for my handkerchief.
+
+"I must have run every step of the way," I answered.  "I didn't
+realize it.  But never mind that.  Tell me about your father."
+
+"He was taken ill soon after he returned from your house.  He was
+in the library here and I heard him call.  When I reached him he
+was lying upon the couch, scarcely able to speak.  He lost
+consciousness before we could get him to his room.  The doctor says
+it is what he has feared, an attack of acute indigestion, brought
+on by anxiety and lack of rest.  It was my fault, I am afraid.
+Last night's worry--  Poor Father!"
+
+For just a moment I feared she was going to break down.  She
+covered her eyes with her hand.  But she removed it almost
+immediately.
+
+"The doctor is confident there is no great danger," she went on.
+"Danger, of course, but not the greatest.  He is still unconscious
+and will be for some time, but, if he is kept perfectly quiet and
+not permitted to worry in the least, he will soon be himself
+again."
+
+"Thank God for that!" I exclaimed, fervently.  "And your mother--
+Mrs. Colton--how, is she?"
+
+Her tone changed slightly.  I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition
+was more trying than serious.
+
+"Mother is--well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing.
+She is bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect."
+
+I judged that not much was expected.
+
+"It was not on account of Father's illness that I sent for you, Mr.
+Paine," she went on.  "If he had not been ill I should not have
+needed you, of course.  But there is something else.  It could not
+have happened at a more unfortunate time and I am afraid you may
+not be able to give me the help I need.  Oh, I hope you can!  I
+don't know what to do.  I know it must be dreadfully important.
+Father has been troubled about it for days.  He has been saying
+that he must go to New York.  But the doctor had warned us against
+his going and so we persuaded him to wait.  And now . . .  Sit
+down, please.  I want to ask your advice."
+
+I took the chair she indicated.  She drew another beside me and
+seated herself.
+
+"Mr. Paine--" she began.  Then, noticing my expression, she asked,
+"What is it?"
+
+"Nothing," I answered, "nothing except--  Isn't that the telegraph
+instrument I hear?  Isn't someone calling you?"
+
+"Yes, yes, it is Mr. Davis, Father's confidential man, his broker,
+in New York.  He is trying to get us, I am sure.  He telephoned an
+hour ago.  I got a part of his message and then the connection was
+broken off.  Central says there is something the matter with the
+wire, a big storm in Connecticut somewhere.  It may take a whole
+day to repair it.  And it is SO important!  It may mean--I don't
+know WHAT it may mean!  Oh, Mr. Paine, DO you know anything about
+stocks?"
+
+I looked at her blankly.
+
+"Stocks?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, yes," a trifle impatiently.  "Stocks--the stock market--
+railroad shares--how they are bought and sold--do you know anything
+about them?"
+
+I was more puzzled than ever, but I answered as best I could.
+
+"A very little," I replied.  "I used to know a good deal about them
+once, and, of late, since I have been in the Denboro bank, my
+knowledge has been brushed up a bit.  But I am afraid it is pretty
+fragmentary."
+
+"Do you know anything about Louisville and Transcontinental?"
+
+I started.  Louisville and Transcontinental was the one stock about
+which I did know something.  Of late I had read everything the
+papers printed concerning it.  It was the stock in which George
+Taylor had risked so much and which had come so near to ruining
+him.  No wonder I was startled.  Why did she mention that
+particular stock?
+
+"What?" I stammered.
+
+"Louisville and Transcontinental," she repeated, eagerly.  "DO you
+know anything about it?  Why do you look at me like that?"
+
+I must be careful.  It was not possible that she could have learned
+George's secret.  No one knew that except George himself, and his
+brokers, and I.  Yet--yet why did she ask that question?  I must be
+on my guard.
+
+"I did not realize that I was looking at you in any extraordinary
+way, Miss Colton," I answered.
+
+"But you were.  Why?  Do you know anything about it?  If you do--
+oh, if you do you may be able to help me, to advise me!  And, for
+Father's sake, I want advice so much."
+
+For her father's sake!  That did not sound as if her question
+concerned George or me.  A trifle reassured, I tried to remember
+something of what I had read.
+
+"I know, of course," I answered, slowly, "what every one knows,
+that the California and Eastern has been, or is reported to have
+been, trying to get control of the L. and T.  Its possession would
+give the California people the balance of power and mean the end of
+the present rate war with the Consolidated Pacific.  The common
+stock has fluctuated between 30 and 50 for months and there have
+been all sorts of rumors.  So much the newspapers have made common
+property.  That is all I know."
+
+"You did not know then that Father and his associates control the
+California and Eastern?"
+
+I leaned back in my chair.
+
+"No," I said, "I did not know that.  Then your father--"
+
+"Father tells me a great deal concerning his business affairs.  I
+have been very much interested in this.  It seems almost like a
+great war and as if Father were a general.  He and his associates
+have gradually bought up the C. and E. until they practically own
+it.  And they have been working to get the Louisville road.  Last
+winter, you remember, there was a great excitement and the stock
+went up and then down again.  That was when it looked as if the
+other side--the Consolidated Pacific--had beaten Father, but they
+had not.  You remember that?"
+
+I remembered it.  That is to say, George had told me of the rise
+and fall of the stock.  It was then that he had bought.
+
+"Yes," I said, "I remember something of it."
+
+"If Father had stayed in New York he would have won before this.
+Oh," with a burst of pride, "they can NEVER beat him when he is
+leading the fight himself!  He has, through his brokers, been
+selling--what do they call it?  Oh, yes, selling the Louisville
+stock 'short' ever since.  I am not sure just what that means, but
+perhaps you know."
+
+"I think I do," I answered, thoughtfully.  "He has been selling,
+quietly, so as to force the stock down, preparatory to buying in.
+I remember the papers have said that the C. and E. were reported as
+having lost interest in the Louisville.  That was only a blind, I
+presume."
+
+"Yes.  Father never gives up, you know that.  But he was very
+anxious that the Consolidated Pacific people should think he had.
+And now--now, when he is so ill--comes this!  Mr. Davis telephoned
+that--  Yes, what is it?"
+
+There had been a knock at the door.  It opened and the butler
+appeared.
+
+"A telegram for Mr. Colton, Miss Mabel," he said.
+
+"Give it to me.  Tell the man to wait, Johnson.  It is from Mr.
+Davis," she exclaimed, turning to me.  "I am sure it is.  Yes.
+See!"
+
+She handed me the yellow telegram.  I read the following aloud:
+
+
+"James W. Colton,
+
+"Denboro, Mass.
+
+"Galileo potato soap currency tomato deeds command army alcohol
+thief weather family--"
+
+
+"What on earth--!" I exclaimed.
+
+"That is in the code, Father's private code.  Don't you see?  The
+code book is here somewhere.  I must find it."
+
+She was rummaging in the drawer of the desk.  With a sigh of relief
+she produced a little blue leather-covered book.
+
+"Here it is," she said.  "Now read me the telegram and I will write
+the translation.  Hurry!"
+
+I read again:
+
+"'Galileo'--"
+
+"That means 'Consolidated Pacific'.  Go on."
+
+It took us five minutes to translate the telegram.  When we had
+finished the result was:
+
+"Consolidated Pacific crowd wise situation.  Strong buying close
+market to-day.  Expect worse to-morrow.  We are bad shape.  Can
+deliver only part.  Sure big advance opening and more follow.  What
+shall I do?  Why do not you answer private telegraph line?
+Telephone out order.  Wire instructions immediately.  Better still
+come yourself.  Davis."
+
+"Is that all?" asked Miss Colton.  "What answer shall we make?"
+
+"Wait.  Wait, please, until I dig some sort of sense out of all
+this.  'Wise situation'--"
+
+"Wise TO situation, I presume that means.  The Consolidated Pacific
+is wise to the situation.  'Wise' is slang, isn't it?  It used to
+be at college."
+
+"It is yet, even in Denboro.  Humph! let me think.  'Sure big
+advance opening.'  I suppose that means the market will open with
+Louisville and Transcontinental at a higher figure and that the
+price is sure to advance during the day."
+
+"Yes.  Yes, it must mean that.  But why should Mr. Davis be so
+excited about it?  He said something about 'ruin' over the 'phone.
+What does 'We are bad shape' mean?  And 'Can deliver only part'?"
+
+"I don't know . . . unless . . .  Humph!  If we had some particulars.
+Why don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?"
+
+"Because I can't.  Don't you see?  I can't.  There is no telegraph
+operator in the house.  When we first came Father had a secretary,
+who could use the telegraph; but he sent him back to New York.
+Said he was sick of the sight of him.  They did not get on well
+together."
+
+"But your father must have used the telegraph since."
+
+"Yes.  Father used it himself.  He was a telegraph operator when he
+was a young man.  Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father
+is!  His story is like something in a book.  He--  But never mind
+that.  Hark! there is the instrument going again.  It must be
+dreadfully important.  Mr. Davis is so worried."
+
+"He seems to be, certainly."
+
+"But what shall we do?"
+
+"I wish I knew, but I don't.  You know nothing of the particulars?"
+
+"No.  Nothing more than I have told you.  Oh, CAN'T you help me?  I
+feel somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and
+as if I must not fail.  Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . .
+Oh, can't YOU do something, Mr. Paine?  I thought you might.  You
+are a banker."
+
+"A poor imitation only, I am afraid.  Let me think.  Did you tell
+this man Davis of your father's illness?"
+
+"No.  I thought perhaps Father would not wish it.  And I had no
+opportunity . . .  Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again!
+Who is it?"
+
+Johnson's voice replied.  "It is me, Miss Mabel," he said.  "The
+telegraph person says he can't wait any longer.  He 'asn't 'ad his
+supper.  And there is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the
+message, Miss."
+
+"Tell him he must wait a minute longer," I answered, for her.
+"Miss Colton, it seems to me that, whether we can do anything or
+not, we should know the particulars.  Tell that man--Phineas
+Cahoon, the depot master, I suppose it is--that there is an answer
+and he must wait for it.  Now let's consult that code."
+
+She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a
+pencil from the table.
+
+"We must ask him to send all the particulars," I declared.  "Look
+up 'send' in the code, Miss Colton."
+
+She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler
+knocked once more.
+
+"He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel.  The
+telegraph office closes at eight o'clock."
+
+The code book fell to the table.  Miss Colton stared helplessly at
+me.
+
+"What SHALL we do?" she breathed.
+
+I rose to my feet.  "Wait, Johnson," I called.  "Make that man wait
+a moment longer.  Miss Colton, I have an idea.  Would your father
+be willing to--but, that is silly!  Of course he would!  I'll see
+Cahoon myself."
+
+I found Phineas, long-legged and gaunt, sitting on the front step
+of the colonial portico.  He had been invited into the hall, but
+had refused the invitation.  "I had on my workin' duds," he
+explained later.  "A feller that's been handlin' freight all the
+afternoon ain't fit to set on gold-plated furniture."  He looked up
+in surprise as I came out.
+
+"Well, for thunder sakes!" he exclaimed, in astonishment.  "It's
+Ros Paine!  What in the nation are you doin' in here, Ros?  Ain't
+married into the family, have ye?  Haw, haw!"
+
+I could have kicked him for that pleasantry--if he had not been
+just then too important a personage to kick.  As it was, his chance
+remark knocked my errand out of my head, momentarily.
+
+"How's the old man, Ros?" he whispered.  "They tell me it's brought
+on by high livin', champagne wine and such.  Is it?"
+
+"Phin," said I, ignoring the question, "would you stay up all night
+for twenty dollars?"
+
+He stared at me.
+
+"What kind of conundrum's that?" he demanded.  "'Would I set up all
+night for twenty dollars?'  That may be a joke, but--"
+
+"Would you?  I mean it.  Mr. Colton is sick and his daughter needs
+some one to send and receive messages over their private telegraph
+wire.  She will pay you twenty dollars--or I will, if she doesn't--
+if you will stay here and do that for her.  Will you?"
+
+For a minute he sat there staring at me.
+
+"You mean it, Ros?" he asked, slowly.  "You do, hey!  I thought
+p'raps--but no, it's long past April Fool day.  WILL I do it?  Show
+me the telegraph place quick, afore I wake up and come out of the
+ether.  Twenty dollars!  Consarn it, I send messages all the week
+for twelve, and hustle freight and sell tickets into the bargain.
+I ain't had no supper, but never mind.  Make it twenty-five and
+I'll stay all day to-morrer."
+
+I led him into the library and explained his presence to Miss
+Colton.  She was delighted.
+
+"It is SO good of you, Mr. Cahoon," she exclaimed.  "And you shan't
+starve, either.  I will have some supper sent in to you at once.
+You can eat it while you are at work, can't you?"
+
+She hurried out to order the supper.  Phineas, in accordance with
+my request, seated himself in the little room adjoining the
+library, before the telegraph instrument.
+
+"Thunder!" he observed, looking about him.  "I never expected to
+send messages for King Solomon in all his glory, but I cal'late I
+can stand it if Sol can.  S'pose there'd be any objection to my
+takin' off my coat?  Comes more nat'ral to work in my shirt
+sleeves."
+
+I bade him take it off and he did so.
+
+"This feller's in some hurry," he said, nodding toward the clicking
+instrument.  "Shall I tell him we're on deck and ready for
+business?"
+
+"Yes, tell him."
+
+His long fingers busied themselves with the sender.  A sharp series
+of clicks answered the call.  Phineas glanced apprehensively out
+into the library.
+
+"Say, he ain't no parson, is he?" he chuckled.  "Wants to know what
+in hell has been the trouble all this time.  What'll I tell him?"
+
+"Tell him to send particulars concerning L. and T. at once.  All
+the particulars."
+
+The message was sent.  The receiver rattled a hasty reply.
+
+"He says you know all the particulars already.  You must know 'em.
+Wants to know if this is Mr. Colton."
+
+"Tell him Mr. Colton is here, in the house.  That will be true
+enough.  And say we wish all particulars, figures and all.  We want
+to know just where we stand."
+
+The demand for particulars was forwarded.  There was more clicking.
+
+"Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, quick," urged Phineas.
+"This is a long feller."
+
+While he was writing the "long feller," as the telegraph ticked it
+off, Miss Colton and the butler appeared, the latter bearing a
+loaded tray.  He drew a little table up beside the operator and
+placed the tray upon it.  Then he went away.  The telegraph clicked
+and clicked and Cahoon wrote.  Miss Colton and I watched him
+anxiously.
+
+"Say," observed Phineas, between intervals of clicks, "this
+feller's in some loony asylum, ain't he.  This is pretty nigh as
+crazy as that message I fetched down. . . .  Here 'tis.  Maybe you
+folks know what it means, I don't.  It's forty fathoms long, ain't
+it."
+
+It was long enough, surely.  It was not all in the code jargon--
+Davis trusted the privacy of the wire sufficiently to send a
+portion of it in plain English--but he did not trust even that
+altogether.  Miss Colton and I worked it out as we had the first
+telegram.  As the translation progressed I could feel my hair
+tingling at the roots.
+
+Was it to help in such a complication as this that I had been
+summoned?  I, of all people!  These waters were too deep for me.
+
+Boiled down, the "particulars" for which Davis had been asked, and
+which he had sent, amounted to this:  Colton, it seemed, had sold
+L. and T. "short" for a considerable period of time in order, as I
+had surmised, to force down the price and buy in at a reasonable
+figure.  He had sold, in this way, about three-eighths of the
+common stock.  Of this amount he had in his possession--in his
+broker's possession, that is--but two of the eighths.  The "other
+crowd"--the Consolidated Pacific, presumably--had, as Davis now
+discovered, three-eighths actual certificates, in its pocket, had
+been acquiring them, on the quiet, while pretending to have lost
+interest.  The public, unsuspecting powers in this, as in most of
+Wall Street little games, had still three-eighths.  The "other
+crowd," knowing "Big Jim's" position, had but to force immediate
+delivery of the missing one-eighth--the amount of Colton's over-
+selling--and he might be obliged to pay Heaven knew what for the
+shares.  He MUST acquire them; he must buy them.  And the price
+which he would be forced to pay might mean--perhaps not bankruptcy
+for him, the millionaire--but certainly the loss of a tremendous
+sum and all chance of acquiring control of the road.  "This has
+been sprung on us all at once," wired Davis.  "They have got us
+cold.  What shall I do?  You must be here yourself before the
+market opens."
+
+And the man who "must be there himself" was critically ill and
+unconscious!
+
+The long telegram, several hundred words of it, was before us.  I
+read it through again, and Miss Colton sat and looked at me.
+
+"Do you understand it--now?" she whispered, anxiously.
+
+"Yes, I think I do. . . .  What is it, Phin?"
+
+"I was just wonderin'," drawled Cahoon's voice from the adjoining
+room, "if I couldn't eat a little mite of this supper.  I've got to
+do it or have my nose and eyes tied up.  Havin' all them good
+things settin' right where I can see and smell 'em is givin' me the
+fidgets."
+
+"Yes, yes, eat away," I said, laughing.  And even Miss Colton
+smiled.  But my laugh and her smile were but transient.
+
+"Is it--  Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?" she asked,
+indicating the telegram.
+
+"They are very serious; there is no doubt of that."
+
+The instrument clicked.
+
+"Say, Ros," said Phin, his mouth full, "this feller's gettin' as
+fidgety as I was afore I got afoul of this grub.  He wants to know
+what his instructions are.  What'll he do?"
+
+"What shall you tell him?" asked Miss Colton.
+
+"I don't know," I answered.  "I do not know.  I am afraid I am of
+no use whatever.  This is no countryman's job.  No country banker,
+even a real one, should attempt to handle this.  This is high
+finance with a vengeance.  I don't know.  I think he . . .  Suppose
+we tell him to consult the people at your father's office."
+
+She shook her head.  "No," she said.  "The people at the office
+know nothing of it.  This was Father's own personal affair.  No one
+knows of it but Mr. Davis."
+
+"How about them instructions?" this from Cahoon.
+
+"Tell him--yes, tell him Mr. Colton cannot leave here at present
+and that he must use his own judgment, go ahead on his own
+responsibility.  That is the only thing I see to do, Miss Colton.
+Don't worry; he must be a man of experience and judgment or your
+father never would use him.  He will pull it through, I am sure."
+
+I was by no means as confident as I pretended to be, however, and
+the next message from Davis proved my forebodings to be well
+founded.  His answer was prompt and emphatic:
+
+
+Matter too important.  Decline to take responsibility.  Must have
+definite instructions or shall not act.  Is this Mr. Colton
+himself?
+
+
+"He would not act without Father's orders in a matter like this.  I
+was afraid of it.  And he is growing suspicious.  Oh, CAN'T you
+help me, Mr. Paine?  CAN'T you?  I relied on you.  I felt sure YOU
+would know what to do.  I am--I am SO alone; and with Father so
+ill--I--I--"
+
+She turned away and leaned her head upon her hand on the table.  I
+felt again the desperate impulse I had felt when we were alone on
+board the launch, the impulse to take her in my arms and try to
+comfort her, to tell her that I would do anything--anything for
+her.  And yet what could I do?
+
+"Can't you help me?" she pleaded.  "You have never failed me
+before."
+
+There came a knock at the door and Johnson's voice called her name.
+
+"Miss Mabel," he whispered, "Miss Mabel, will you come, please?
+The doctor wants you right away."
+
+She rose quickly, drawing her hand across her eyes as she did so.
+
+"I am coming, Johnson," she said.  Then, turning to me, "I will be
+back as soon as I can.  Do try--try to think.  You MUST, for
+Father's sake, for all our sakes."
+
+She left the room.  I rose and, with my hands in my pockets, began
+to pace the floor.  This was the tightest place I had ever been in.
+There had been a time, years before, when I prided myself on my
+knowledge of the stock market and its idiosyncrasies.  Then, in the
+confidence of youth, I might have risen to a situation like this,
+might have tackled it and had the nerve to pull it through or blame
+the other fellow if I failed.  Now I was neither youthful nor
+confident.  Whatever I did would be, in all human probability, the
+wrong thing, and to do the wrong thing now meant, perhaps, ruin for
+the sick man upstairs.  And she had trusted me!  She had sent for
+me in her trouble!  I had "never failed her before"!
+
+I walked the floor, trying hard to think.  It was hard to think
+calmly, to be sensible, and yet I realized that common-sense and
+coolness were what I needed now.  I tried to remember the outcome
+of similar situations in financial circles, but that did not help
+me.  I remembered a play I had seen, "The Henrietta" was its name.
+In that play, a young man with more money than brains had saved the
+day for his father, a Wall Street magnate, by buying a certain
+stock in large quantities at a critical time.  He arrived at his
+decision to buy, rather than sell, by tossing a coin.  The father
+had declared that his son had hit upon the real secret of success
+in stock speculation.  Possibly the old gentleman was right, but I
+could not make my decision in that way.  No, whatever I did must
+have some reason to back it.  Was there no situation, outside of
+Wall Street, which offered a parallel?  After all, what was the
+situation?  Some one wished to buy a certain thing, and some one
+else wished to buy it also.  Neither party wanted the other to get
+it.  There had been a general game of bluff and then . . .  Humph!
+Why, in a way, it was like the original bidding for the Shore Lane
+land.
+
+It was like it, and yet it was not.  I owned the land and Colton
+wanted to buy it; so also did Jed Dean.  Each side had made bids
+and had been refused.  Then the bidders had, professedly, stood
+pat, but, in reality, they had not.  Jed had told me, in his latest
+interview, that he would have paid almost anything for that land,
+if he had had to.  And Colton--Colton had invented the Bay Shore
+Development Company.  That company had fooled Elnathan Mullet and
+other property holders.  It had fooled Captain Jed.  It had come
+very near to fooling me.  If Mabel Colton had not given me the hint
+I might have been tricked into selling.  Then Colton would have
+won, have won on a "bluff."  A good bluff did sometimes win.  I
+wondered . . .
+
+I was still pacing the floor when Miss Colton returned to the
+library.  She was trying hard to appear calm, but I could see that
+she was greatly agitated.
+
+"What is it?" I asked.  "Is he--"
+
+"He is not as well just now.  I--I must not leave him--or Mother.
+But I came back for a moment, as I told you I would.  Is there
+anything new?"
+
+"No.  Davis has repeated his declaration to do nothing without
+orders from your father."
+
+She nodded.  "Very well," she said, "then it is over.  We are
+beaten--Father is beaten for the first time.  It makes little
+difference, I suppose.  If he--if he is taken from us, nothing else
+matters.  But I hoped you . . . never mind.  I thank you, Mr.
+Paine.  You would have helped him if you could, I know."
+
+Somehow this surrender, and the tone in which it was made, stirred
+me more than all else.  She had trusted me and I had failed.  I
+would not have it so.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, earnestly, "suppose--suppose I should go
+ahead and make this fight, on my own hook.  Suppose I should give
+Davis the 'instructions' he is begging for.  Have I permission to
+do it?"
+
+She looked at me in surprise.  "Of course," she said, simply.
+
+"Do you mean it?  It may mean complete smash.  I am no railroad
+man, no stock manipulator.  I have an idea and if this trouble were
+mine I should act upon it.  But it is not mine.  It is your
+father's--and yours.  I may be crazy to risk such a thing--"
+
+She stepped forward.  "Do it," she commanded.  "I tell you to do
+it.  If it fails I will take the responsibility."
+
+"That you shall not do.  But I will take the chance.  Phin!"
+
+"Yup; here I be."
+
+"Send this message at once:  'Try your hardest to get hold of any
+shares you can, at almost any figure in reason, before the market
+opens.  When it opens begin buying everything offered.'  Got that?"
+
+"Yup.  I've got it."
+
+"Sign it 'Colton' and send it along.  I am using your father's
+name," I added, turning to her.  "It seems to me the only way to
+avoid suspicion and get action.  No one must know that 'Big Jim' is
+critically ill; you understand that."
+
+"Yes, I understand.  But," hesitatingly, "to buy may mean paying
+tremendous prices, may it not?  Can we--"
+
+"We must.  Here is Davis's reply coming.  What is it, Phin?"
+
+Cahoon read off the message as the receiver clicked.
+
+
+"You are insane.  Buying at such prices will be suicide."
+
+
+"Tell him no.  Tell him to let it leak out that Colton is seizing
+the opportunity to clinch his control of the road.  The other crowd
+will think, if he is willing to buy at any price, that he cannot be
+so short as they supposed.  Send all that, Phin.  It is a bluff,
+Miss Colton, nothing but a bluff, but it may win.  God knows I hope
+it will."
+
+She did not answer.  Together we waited for the reply.  It came as
+follows:
+
+
+All right if you say so, of course, but still think it suicide.  I
+am off on the still hunt for those shares but don't believe one to
+be had, Consolidated bunch too sharp for that.  Stay by the wire.
+Will report when I can.  Good luck and good-by.
+
+
+"He's gone, I cal'late," observed Phineas.  "Need me any more, do
+you think?"
+
+"Yes.  You must stay here all night, just as I told you."
+
+"Right you be.  Send word to the old woman, that's all, if you can.
+Cal'late she's waitin' at the kitchen door with a rollin' pin, by
+this time."
+
+"I will send the word, Mr. Cahoon," replied Miss Colton.  "And--
+don't you think you could go home now, Mr. Paine?  I know how
+exhausted you must be, after last night."
+
+"No home for me," I answered, with assumed cheerfulness.  "Admirals
+of Finance are expected to stick by the ship.  I will lie down here
+on the couch and Phineas can call me if I am needed.  Don't worry,
+Miss Colton.  Go to your father and forget us altogether, if you
+can.  If--if I should be needed for--for any other cause, please
+speak."
+
+She looked at me in silence for a moment.  Then she came toward me
+and held out her hand.  "I shall not forget, whatever else I may
+do," she said, brokenly.  "And I will speak if I need you, my
+friend."
+
+She turned hastily and went to the door.
+
+"I will send word to your people as well as Mr. Cahoon's," she
+added.  "Try and sleep, if you can.  Good night."
+
+The door closed behind her.  Sleep!  I was not likely to sleep.  A
+man who has lighted the fuse of the powder magazine beneath him
+does not sleep much.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+And yet sleep I did, for a little while, just before morning broke.
+I had spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who
+was wide awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid
+little attention.  Miss Colton did not come to the library again.
+From the rooms above I heard occasional sobs and exclamations in
+Mrs. Colton's voice.  Once Doctor Quimby peeped in.  He looked
+anxious and weary.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he hailed, "I heard you were here.  This is a high
+old night, isn't it!"
+
+"How is he?" I asked.
+
+"About the same.  No worse; in fact, he's better than he was a
+while ago.  But he's not out of the woods yet, though I'm pretty
+hopeful, for the old boy has a husky constitution--considering the
+chances he's taken with it all his life.  It's his wife that
+bothers me.  She's worse than one of the plagues of Egypt.  I've
+given her some sleeping powders now; they'll keep her quiet for a
+spell, I hope."
+
+"And Miss Colton--how is she?"
+
+"She!  She's as calm and sensible and helpful as a trained nurse.
+By the Almighty, she is a wonder, that girl!  Well, I must get back
+on my job.  Don't have a millionaire patient every day in the
+week."
+
+At three o'clock came a message from Davis.  He had not been able
+to secure a single share.  Did his instructions to buy still hold?
+I answered that they did and he replied that he was going to get a
+nap for an hour or so.  "I shall need the rest, if I am any
+prophet," he concluded.
+
+It was shortly after this that I lay down on the couch.  I had
+determined not to close my eyes, but I was utterly worn out, I
+suppose, and exhaustion got the better of me.  The next thing I
+knew the gray light of dawn was streaming in at the library windows
+and Johnson was spreading a tempting-looking breakfast on the
+table.
+
+I sprang up.
+
+"What time is it?" I demanded.
+
+"About half-past five, sir, or thereabouts," was the answer, in a
+tone of mingled weariness and resentment.  Plainly Mr. Johnson had
+been up all night and considered himself imposed upon.
+
+I was thankful that my lapse from duty had been of no longer
+duration.  It had been much too long as it was.
+
+"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Better, sir, I believe.  He is resting more quiet at present."
+
+"Where is Cahoon?"
+
+"Here I be," this from Phineas in the next room.  "Have a good
+snooze, did you, Ros?"
+
+"Too good."  I walked in and found him still sitting by the
+telegraph instrument.  "Has anything happened?" I asked.
+
+"Nary thing.  All quiet as the tomb since that last message, the
+one you heard.  Pretty nigh fell asleep myself, I did.  Guess I
+should have, only Miss Colton she came in and kept me comp'ny for a
+spell."
+
+"Miss Colton--has she been here?  Why didn't you call me, Ros?"
+
+"I was goin' to, but she wouldn't let me.  Said you was all wore
+out, poor feller, and that you wan't to be disturbed unless 'twas
+necessary.  She's an awful nice young woman, ain't she.  Nothin'
+stuck up about her, at all.  Set here and talked with me just as
+sociable and folksy as if she wan't wuth a cent.  Asked more
+questions than a few, she did."
+
+"Did she?"  I was not paying much attention to his remarks.  My
+mind was busy with more important things.  I was wondering what
+Davis was doing just then.  Phin went on.
+
+"Yup.  I happened to remember that you wan't at the bank to-day and
+I asked her if she knew the reason why.  'How did you know he
+wasn't there?' says she.  'Alvin Baker told me fust,' I says, 'and
+Sam Wheeler told him.  Everybody knew it and was wonderin' about
+it.  They cal'lated Ros was sick,' I told her, 'but that couldn't
+be or he wouldn't be round here settin' up all night.'  What WAS
+the reason you wan't there, Ros?"
+
+I thought it strange that he, and everyone else in town, did not
+know the reason before this.  Was it possible that Captain Dean
+alone knew of my "treason" to Denboro, and that he was keeping the
+discovery to himself?  Why should he keep it to himself?  He had
+threatened to drive me out of town.
+
+"I had other business to-day, Phin," I answered, shortly.
+
+"Yup.  So I gathered from what Cap'n Jed said.  He was in the depot
+this noon sendin' a telegram and I asked him about you.  'Is Ros
+sick?' I says.  'Huh!' says he--you know how he grunts, Ros; for
+all the world like a hog--'Huh!' says he, 'sick!  No, but I
+cal'late he'll be pretty sick afore long.'  What did he mean by
+that, do you s'pose?"
+
+I knew, but I did not explain.  I made no reply.
+
+"Twas a queer sort of talk, seemed to me," continued Phin.  "I
+asked him again why you wan't at the bank, and he said you had
+other business, just same as you said now.  He was ugly as a cow
+with a sore horn over somethin' and I judged 'twas best to keep
+still.  That telegram he sent was a surprisin' thing, too.  'Twas
+to--but there! he made me promise I wouldn't tell and so I mustn't.
+I ain't told a soul--except one--and then it slipped out afore I
+thought.  However, that one won't make no difference.  She ain't
+interested in--in the one the telegram was sent to, 'tain't
+likely."
+
+"Where is Miss Colton now?" I asked.
+
+"With her ma and pa, I presume likely.  Her and me set and
+whispered together for a long spell.  Land sakes! she wouldn't let
+me speak louder'n a whisper for fear of wakin' you up.  A body'd
+think you was a young-one in arms, the care she took of you."
+
+Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master
+continued without waiting for a reply.
+
+"I says to her, says I, 'It's a pity George Taylor ain't to home,'
+I says.  'I shouldn't wonder if he could help you with this
+Louisville stock you're so worried about.  George was consider'ble
+interested in that stock himself a spell ago.  I sent much as a
+dozen telegrams from him about that very stock to some broker folks
+up to Boston, and they was mighty anxious telegrams, too.  I tell
+you!' I says."
+
+He had caught my attention at last.
+
+"Did you tell her that?" I demanded.
+
+"Sure I did!  I never meant to, nuther.  Ain't told another soul.
+You see, George, he asked me not to.  But she's got a way with her
+that would make Old Nick confess his sins, if she set out to larn
+'em.  I was sort of ashamed after I told her and I explained to her
+that I hadn't ought to done it.  'But I guess it's all right now,
+anyway,' I says.  'If there was any trouble along of George and
+that stock I cal'late it's all over.  He acted dreadful worried for
+a spell, but for the week afore he was married he seemed chipper as
+ever.  Biggest change in him you ever see,' says I.  'So my tellin'
+you is all right, I guess,' I says.  'I'm sure it's all right,'
+says she, and her face kind of lighted up, as you might say.  When
+she looked at me that way I'd have given her my house and lot, if
+she'd wanted 'em, though you needn't tell my old woman that I said
+so.  He! he!  'Of course it's all right,' she says.  'But you had
+better not tell anyone else.  We'll have it for our secret, won't
+we, Mr. Cahoon?' she says, smilin'.  'Sartin we will,' says I.
+And--well, by thunder!" as if the thought occurred to him for the
+first time.  "I said that, and now I've been and blatted out the
+whole business to you!  I am the DARNDEST fool!"
+
+I did not contradict him.  I was too angry and disturbed even to
+speak to him for the moment.  And, before I could speak, we were
+interrupted.  The young lady herself appeared in the doorway.  SHE
+had not slept, that was plain.  Her face was pale and there were
+dark shadows beneath her eyes.  As I looked at her I was more
+ashamed of my own unpremeditated nap than ever.  Yet she was, as
+the doctor had said, calm and uncomplaining.  She even smiled as
+she greeted us.
+
+"Good morning," she said.  "Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Cahoon.  I
+know you feel that you must be getting back to your work at the
+station."
+
+Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it.
+
+"Land sakes! most six, ain't it," he exclaimed.  "I guess you're
+right.  I'll have to be trottin' along.  But you needn't fuss for
+no breakfast for me.  I'm used to missin' a meal's vittles now and
+again and I et enough last night to last me one spell."
+
+He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go.
+
+"There has been no 'fuss' whatever, Mr. Cahoon," she said.
+"Breakfast is ready, here in the library.  And yours is ready, too,
+Mr. Paine.  I hope your few minutes' sleep has rested you.  I am
+sorry you woke so soon.  I told Johnson to be careful and not
+disturb you."
+
+"I deserve to be shot for sleeping at all," I declared, in self
+reproach.  "I did not mean to.  I lay down for a moment and--well,
+I suppose I was rather tired."
+
+"I know.  Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone."
+
+"Nonsense!  It was no worse for me than for you," I said.
+
+"Yes, it was.  You had the care and the responsibility.  I, you
+see, knew that I was well guarded.  Besides, I slept for hours this
+morning.  Come, both of you.  Breakfast is ready."
+
+Phineas was already seated at the table, glancing over his shoulder
+at the butler, whose look of dignified disgust at being obliged to
+wait upon a countryman in his shirt sleeves would have been funny,
+if I had been in a mood for fun.  I don't know which was the more
+uncomfortable, Cahoon or the butler.
+
+"Won't you join us, Miss Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Why--why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind.  I am not hungry
+but I will take a cup of coffee, Johnson."
+
+Phineas did almost all the talking while he remained with us, which
+was not long.  He swallowed his breakfast in a tremendous hurry, a
+proceeding which still further discomposed the stately Johnson, and
+then rose and put on his coat.
+
+"I hate to leave you short handed and on a lee shore, Miss," he
+explained, apologetically; "but I know you understand how 'tis with
+me.  My job's all I've got and I'll have to hang onto it.  The up
+train's due in forty minutes and I've got to be on hand at the
+deepo.  However, I've got that Davis feller's address and I'll
+raise him the first thing to send his messages to me and I'll get
+'em right down here by the reg'lar telephone.  He can use that--
+what-do-you-call-it?--that code thing, if he's scart of anybody's
+findin' out what he says.  The boss school-marm of all creation
+couldn't read that gibberish without the book."
+
+I hated to have him go, but there was no alternative.  After he had
+gone and she and I were left together at the table a sense of
+restraint seemed to fall upon us both.  To see her sitting opposite
+me at the table, pouring my coffee and breakfasting with me in this
+intimate, family fashion, was so wonderful and strange that I could
+think of nothing else.  It reminded me, in a way, of our luncheon
+at Seabury's Pond, but that had been out of doors, an impromptu
+picnic, with all a picnic's surroundings.  This was different,
+quite different.  It was so familiar, so homelike, so conventional,
+and yet, for her and me, so impossible.  I looked at her and she,
+looking up at the moment, caught my eyes.  The color mounted to her
+cheeks.  I felt my own face flushing.  Dorinda--practical,
+unromantic Dorinda--had guessed my feeling for this girl; Mother
+had divined it.  It was plain enough for anyone to read.  I glanced
+apprehensively at the butler, half expecting to see upon his
+clerical countenance the look of scornful contempt which would
+prove that he, too, was possessed of the knowledge.  But he merely
+bent forward with a deferential, "Yes, sir.  What is it?" and I
+meekly requested another roll.  Then I began, desperately, to talk.
+
+I inquired about Mr. Colton's condition and was told that he was,
+or appeared to be, a trifle better.  Mrs. Colton was, at last,
+thanks to the doctor's powders, asleep.  Johnson left the room for
+the moment and I switched to the subject which neither of us had
+mentioned since the night before, the Louisville and Transcontinental
+muddle.  I explained what had been done and pretended a confidence
+which I did not feel that everything would end well.  She listened,
+but, it seemed to me, she was not as interested as I expected.  At
+length she interrupted me.
+
+"Suppose we do not talk about it now," she said.  "As I understand
+it, you--we, that is--have made up our minds.  We have decided to
+do certain things which seem to us right.  Right or wrong, they
+must be done now.  I am trying very hard to believe them right and
+not to worry any more about them.  Oh, I CAN'T worry!  I can't!
+With all the rest, I--I--  Please let us change the subject.  Mr.
+Paine, I am afraid you must think me selfish.  I have said nothing
+about your own trouble.  Father--" she choked on the name, but
+recovered her composure almost immediately--"Father told me, after
+his return from your house this morning, that his purchase of the
+land had become public and that you were in danger of losing your
+position at the bank."
+
+I smiled.  "That danger is past," I answered.  "I have lost it.
+Captain Dean gave me my walking papers this morning."
+
+"Oh, I am so sorry!"
+
+"I am not.  I expected it.  The wonder is only that it has not
+happened before.  I realized that it was inevitable when I made up
+my mind to sell.  It is of no consequence, Miss Colton."
+
+"Yes, it is.  But Father offered you the position in his employ.
+He said you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final."
+
+"He was wrong.  It is final."
+
+"But--"
+
+"I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton."
+
+She looked at me oddly, and with a faint smile.  "Very well," she
+said, after a moment, "we will not discuss it now.  But you cannot
+suppose that either Father or I will permit you to suffer on our
+account."
+
+"There is no suffering.  I sold the land to your father deliberately
+and with complete knowledge of the consequences.  As to the bank--
+well, I am no worse off than I was before I entered its employ.
+I am satisfied."
+
+She toyed with her coffee spoon.
+
+"Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of
+the sale," she said.  "Why has he kept it a secret?"
+
+"I don't know.  Has he?"
+
+"You know he has, Mr. Paine.  Mr. Cahoon did not know of it, and he
+would be one of the first to hear.  It seems odd that the captain
+should tell no one."
+
+"Probably he is waiting for the full particulars.  He will tell,
+you may be sure of that.  His last remark to me was that he should
+drive me out of Denboro."
+
+I rather expected a burst of indignation.  In fact I was somewhat
+hurt and disappointed that it did not come.  She merely smiled once
+more.
+
+"He has not done it yet," she said.  "If he knew why you sold that
+land--your real reason for selling it--he would not drive you away,
+or try to."
+
+I was startled and alarmed.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked quickly.
+
+"If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?"
+
+"He will never know."
+
+"Perhaps he may.  Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may
+tell him."
+
+"Indeed he will not!  I shall see to that."
+
+"Oh, then there is such a person!  I was sure of it before.  Now
+you have told me."
+
+Before I could recover from the mental disturbance and chagrin
+which my slip and her quick seizure of it caused me, the butler
+re-entered the room.
+
+"Mrs. Colton is awake and asking for you, Miss Mabel," he said.
+"The doctor thinks you had better go to her at once, if you
+please."
+
+With a word of apology to me, she hurried away.  I rose from the
+table.  I had had breakfast enough.  The interruption had come at a
+fortunate time for me.  Her next question might have forced me to
+decline to answer--which would have been equivalent to admitting
+the truth--or to lie.  One thing I determined to do without delay.
+I would write Taylor at once warning him to be more close-mouthed
+than ever.  Under no conditions would I permit him to speak.  If it
+were necessary I would go to Washington, where he and Nellie were
+spending their honeymoon, and make him promise to keep silence.
+His telling the truth might ruin him, and it certainly would not
+help me.  In the one essential thing--the one which was clenching
+my determination to leave Denboro as soon as I could and seek
+forgetfulness and occupation elsewhere--no one could help me.  I
+must help myself, or be miserable always.  Just now the eternal
+misery seemed inevitable, no matter what I did.
+
+Johnson cleared the table and left me alone in the library.  The
+hours passed.  Nine o'clock came, then nine-thirty.  It was almost
+time for the stock market to open.  My thoughts, which had been
+diverted from my rash plunge into the intricacies of high finance,
+began to return to it.  As ten o'clock drew near, I began to
+realize what I had bade Davis do, and to think what might happen
+because of it.  I, Roscoe Paine, no longer even a country banker,
+was at the helm of "Big Jim" Colton's bark in the maelstrom of the
+stock market.  It would have been funny if it had not been so
+desperate.  And desperate it was, sheer reckless desperation and
+nothing else.  I must have been crazier than ever, more wildly
+insane than I had been for the past month, to even think of such a
+thing.  It was not too late yet, I could telegraph Davis--
+
+The telephone on the desk--not the public, the local, 'phone, but
+the other, Colton's private wire to New York--rang.  I picked up
+the receiver.
+
+"Hello-o!  Hello-o!" a faint voice was calling.  "Is this Colton's
+house at Denboro? . . .  Yes, this is Davis. . . .  The wire is all
+right now. . . .  Is this Mr. Colton speaking?"
+
+"No," I answered, "Mr. Colton is here in the house.  You may give
+the message to me."
+
+"I want to know if his orders hold.  Am I to buy?  Ask him.  I will
+wait.  Hurry!  The market opens in five minutes."
+
+I put down the receiver.  Now was my opportunity.  I could back out
+now.  Five minutes more and it would be too late.  But if I did
+back out--what?
+
+One of the minutes passed.  Then another.  I seized the telephone.
+
+"Go ahead!" I shouted.  "Carry out your orders."
+
+A faint "All right" answered me.
+
+The die was cast.  I was in for it.  There was nothing to do but
+wait.
+
+And I waited alone.  I walked up and down the floor of the little
+room, looking at the clock and wondering what was happening on that
+crowded floor of the big Broad Street building.  The market was
+open.  Davis was buying as I had directed.  But at what figure was
+he buying?
+
+No one came near me, not even the butler.  It was ten-twenty before
+the bell rang again.
+
+"Hello!  This is Mr. Davis's office.  Is this Mr. Colton?  Tell him
+Mr. Davis says L. and T. is one hundred and fifty now and jumping
+twenty points at a lick.  There is the devil to pay.  Scarcely any
+stock in sight and next door to a panic.  Shall we go on buying?"
+
+I was trying to decide upon an answer when some one touched my
+elbow.  Miss Colton was standing beside me.  She did not speak, but
+she looked the question.
+
+I told her what I had just heard.
+
+"One hundred and fifty!" she exclaimed.  "That is--  Why, that is
+dreadful!  What will you do?"
+
+I shook my head.  "That is for you to say," I answered.
+
+"No, it is for you.  You are doing this.  I trust you.  Do what you
+think is right--you and Mr. Davis.  That is what Father would wish
+if he knew."
+
+"Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility."
+
+"Then you must do it alone.  Do it! do it!"
+
+I turned to the 'phone once more.  "Buy all you can get," I
+ordered.  "Keep on bidding.  But be sure and spread the news that
+it is Colton buying to secure control of the road, not to cover his
+shorts.  Be sure that leaks out.  Everything depends on that."
+
+I hung up the receiver.  She and I looked at each other.
+
+"What will happen, do you think?" she asked.
+
+"God knows! . . .  Are you going?  Don't go!"
+
+"I must," gently.  "Father is worse, I fear, and I must not leave
+him.  Doctor Quimby says the next few hours may tell us whether he
+is--is--whether he is to be with us or not.  I must go.  Be brave.
+I trust you.  Be brave, for--for I am trying so hard to be."
+
+I seized her hand.  She drew it from my grasp and hastened away.
+Brave!  Well, for her sake, I must be.  Yet it was because of her
+that I was such a coward.
+
+As I recall all this now I wonder at myself.  The whole thing seems
+too improbable to be true, yet true it was.  I lost my identity
+that day, I think, and, as the telephone messages kept coming, and
+the situation became more and more desperate, became some one else,
+some one a great deal braver and cooler and more clear-sighted than
+ever I had been or shall be again.  I seemed to see my course
+plainer every moment and to feel surer of myself and that my
+method--my bluff, if you like--was the only salvation.
+
+At eleven Louisville and Transcontinental was selling--the little
+that was sold--at four hundred and fifty dollars a share, on a par
+value of fifty.  At eleven-thirty it had climbed another hundred.
+The whole Street was a Bedlam, so they 'phoned me, and the
+newspapers were issuing "panic" extras.
+
+"Tell Davis to stop buying now," I ordered.  "Let it be known that
+Colton has secured control and is satisfied."
+
+At noon the figure was 700 bid and 800 asked.  There was no trading
+at all, for the sufficient reason that no shares were to be had.
+Johnson came in to ask if he should bring my luncheon.  I bade him
+clear out and let me alone.  As he was tip-toeing away I called
+after him.
+
+"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Very bad indeed, sir.  Miss Mabel wished me to say that she could
+not leave him an instant.  It is the crisis, the doctor thinks."
+
+There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house.  At
+one Davis himself 'phoned.
+
+"Still hanging around 700," he announced.  "Begins to look as if
+the top had been reached.  What shall I do now?"
+
+My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such
+things for years.
+
+"Sell, in small lots, at intervals," I told him.  "Then, if the
+price breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as
+you can."
+
+The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of
+hope, in it.
+
+"By the Lord, I believe you have got it!" he cried.  "It may work.
+I'll report to you, Mr. Colton, right away."
+
+Plainly he had no doubt that "Big Jim" was directing the fight in
+person.  Far was it from me to undeceive him!
+
+Another interval.  Then he reported a drop of a hundred points.
+
+"The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe.  They
+think you've done 'em again.  I am spreading the report that you
+have the control cinched.  As soon as the scramble is really on
+I'll have a half dozen brokers buying for us."
+
+It was half-past two when the next message came.  It was exultant,
+triumphant.
+
+"Down like an avalanche.  Am grabbing every share offered.  We've
+got 'em, sure!"
+
+And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow.
+
+"Hooray for our side!  They're dead and buried!  You have two
+hundred shares more than fifty per cent, of the common stock.  The
+Louisville road is in your pocket, Mr. Colton.  I congratulate you.
+Might have known they couldn't lick the old man.  You are a wonder.
+I'll write full particulars and then I am going home and to bed.
+I'm dead.  I didn't believe you could do it!  How did you?"
+
+I sat there, staring at the 'phone.  Then, all at once, I began to
+laugh, weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless.
+
+"I--I organized a Development Company," I gasped.  "Good night."
+
+I rose from the chair and walked out into the library.  I was so
+completely fagged out by the strain I had been under that I
+staggered as I walked.  The library door opened and Johnson came
+in.  He was beaming, actually beaming with joy.
+
+"He's very much better, sir," he cried.  "He's conscious and the
+doctor says he considers 'im out of danger now.  Miss Mabel sent
+word she would be down in a short while.  She can't leave the
+mistress immediate, but she'll be down soon, sir."
+
+I looked at him in a dazed way.  "Tell Miss Colton that I am very
+glad, Johnson," I said.  "And tell her, too, that everything here
+is satisfactory also.  Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has
+his control."
+
+"'His control!'  And what may that be, if you please, sir?"
+
+"She will understand.  Say that everything is all right, we have
+won and that Mr. Colton has his control.  Don't forget."
+
+"And--and where will you be, sir?"
+
+"I am going home, I think.  I am going home and--to bed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+The next thing I remember with any distinctness is Dorinda's
+knocking at my bedroom door.  I remember reaching that bedroom, of
+course, and of meeting Lute in the kitchen and telling him that I
+was not to be disturbed, that I should not come down to supper and
+that I wanted to be let alone--to be let ALONE--until I saw fit to
+show myself.  But these memories are all foggy and mixed with
+dreams and nightmares.  As I say, the next thing that I remember
+distinctly after staggering from the Colton library is Dorinda's
+knocking at the door of my bedroom.
+
+"Ros!  Roscoe!" she was calling.  "Can you get up now?  There is
+somebody downstairs waitin' to see you."
+
+I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses.
+
+"What time is it, Dorinda?" I asked, drowsily.
+
+"About ten, or a little after."
+
+Ten!  Then I had not slept so long, after all.  It was nearly four
+when I went to bed and . . .  But what made the room so light?
+There was no lamp.  And the windows . . .  I sat up.
+
+"You don't mean to tell me it is ten o'clock IN THE FORENOON!" I
+cried.
+
+"Um-hm.  I hated to disturb you.  You've been sleepin' like the
+everlastin' hills and I knew you must be completely wore out.  But
+I felt pretty sartin you'd want to see the--who 'tis that here's to
+see you, so I decided to wake you up."
+
+"It is high time you did, I should think!  I'll be down in a
+minute.  Who is it that wishes to see me, Dorinda?"
+
+But Dorinda had gone.  I dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs
+to the dining-room.  There, seated in a chair by the door, his eyes
+closed, his chin resting upon his chest, and his aristocratic nose
+proclaiming the fact that he slumbered, was Johnson, the Colton
+butler.  I was not greatly surprised.  I had rather suspected that
+my caller might be he, or some other messenger from the big house.
+
+He started at the sound of my entrance and awoke.
+
+"I--I beg your pardon, sir," he stammered.  "I--I beg your pardon,
+sir, I'm sure.  I've been--I 'aven't closed my eyes for the past
+two nights, sir, and I am tired out.  Mr. Colton wishes to see you
+at once, sir.  He wishes you to come over immediately."
+
+I was surprised now.  "MR. Colton wishes it," I repeated.  "You
+mean Miss Colton, don't you, Johnson."
+
+"No, sir.  It is Mr. Colton this time, sir.  Miss Colton is out in
+the motor, sir."
+
+"But Mr. Colton is too ill to see me, or anyone else."
+
+"No, sir, he isn't.  He's very much better.  He's quite himself,
+sir, really.  And he is very anxious to see you.  On a matter of
+business, he says."
+
+I hesitated.  I had expected this, though not so soon.  He wanted
+to ask questions concerning my crazy dip into his financial
+affairs, doubtless.  Well, I should have to see him some time or
+other, and it might as well be now.
+
+I called to Dorinda, who was in the kitchen, and bade her tell
+Mother, if she inquired for me, that I had gone out, but would be
+back soon.  Then Johnson and I walked briskly along the bluff path.
+We entered the big house.
+
+"Mr. Colton is in his room, sir," explained the butler.  "You are
+to see him there.  This way, sir."
+
+But before we reached the foot of the stairs Doctor Quimby came out
+of the library.  He and I shook hands.  The doctor was a happy man.
+
+"Well!" he exclaimed, "what's the matter with the one-horse,
+country-jay doctor now, hey!  If there is any one of the Boston
+specialists at a hundred a visit who can yank a man out of a
+serious sickness and put him on his feet quicker than I can, why
+trot him along, that's all!  I want to see him!  I've been throwing
+bouquets at myself for the last ten hours.  Ho! ho!  Say, Ros,
+you'll think my head is swelled pretty bad, won't you!  Ho! ho!"
+
+I asked how the patient was getting on.
+
+"Fine!  Tip-top!  The only trouble is that he ought to keep
+perfectly quiet and not do a thing or think of a thing, except
+getting his strength back, for the next week.  But he hadn't been
+conscious more than a couple of hours before he was asking
+questions about business and so on.  He and his daughter had a long
+confab this morning and after that he was neither to bind or tie.
+He must see you, that's all there was to it.  Say, Ros, what did
+you and Phin Cahoon and the Colton girl do yesterday?"
+
+"Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him,
+that's all."
+
+"That's all, hey!  Well, whatever 'twas, he and I owe you a vote of
+thanks.  He began to get better the minute he heard it.  He's
+feeling so chipper that, if it wasn't that I swore he shouldn't,
+he'd have got out of bed by this time.  You must go up and see him,
+I suppose, but don't stay too long.  He's a wonder for strength and
+recuperative powers, but don't tire him too much.  If that wife of
+his was in Europe or somewhere, I'd feel easier.  She's the most
+tiring thing in the house."
+
+Johnson led the way upstairs.  At the chamber door he knocked and
+announced my presence.
+
+"Bring him in!  What is he waiting for?" demanded a voice which,
+considering how recently its owner had been at death's door, was
+surprisingly strong.  I entered the room.
+
+He was in bed, propped up with pillows.  Beside him sat Mrs.
+Colton.  Of the two she looked the more disturbed.  Her eyes were
+wet and she was dabbing at them with a lace handkerchief.  Her
+morning gown was a wondrous creation.  "Big Jim," with his iron-
+gray hair awry and his eyes snapping, looked remarkably wide awake
+and alive.
+
+"How are you, Paine?" he said.  "Glad to see you.  Sorry to bring
+you over here, but I had to see you and that doctor says I must
+stay in this room for a while yet.  He may be right.  My
+understanding is pretty shaky, I'll admit.  You've met Mrs. Colton,
+haven't you?"
+
+I bowed and expressed my pleasure at meeting the lady.  Her bow was
+rather curt, but she regarded me with an astonishing amount of
+agitated interest.  Also she showed symptoms of more tears.
+
+"I don't remember whether or not Mr. Paine and I have ever been
+formally introduced," she observed.  "If we haven't it makes no
+difference, I suppose.  The other members of the family seem to
+know him well enough.  And--and mothers nowadays are not
+considered.  I--I must say that--"
+
+She had recourse to the lace handkerchief.  I could understand what
+the doctor meant by calling her the "most tiring thing in the
+house."  Her husband laid a hand on hers.
+
+"There, there, my dear," he said, soothingly, "don't be foolish.
+Sit down, Paine.  Henrietta, perhaps you had better leave Mr. Paine
+and I together.  We have some--er--business matters to discuss and
+you are tired and nervous.  I should go to my room and lie down, if
+I were you."
+
+Mrs. Colton accepted the suggestion, but her acceptance was not the
+most gracious.
+
+"I am in the way, as usual," she observed, chokingly.  "Very well,
+I should be resigned to that by this time, no doubt.  I will go.
+But James, for my sake, don't be weak.  Remember what--  Oh,
+remember all we had hoped and planned!  When I think of it, I--I--
+A nobody!  A person without . . .  What SHALL I do?"
+
+The handkerchief was in active operation.  She swept past me to the
+door.  There she turned.
+
+"I may forgive you some time, Mr. Paine," she sobbed.  "I suppose I
+shall have to.  I can't do anything else.  But don't ask me to do
+it now.  That would be TOO much!"
+
+The door closed and I heard her sobs as she marched down the hall.
+To say that I was amazed and decidedly uncomfortable would be a
+very mild estimate of my feelings.  Why should I expect her to
+forgive me?  What had I done?  I--or luck and I together--had saved
+one of her husband's stock speculations from ending in smash; but
+that was no injury for which I should beg forgiveness.  At least I
+could not see that it was.
+
+Colton looked after her with a troubled expression.
+
+"Nerves are the devil, aren't they," he observed.  "And nerves and
+a woman together are worse than that.  My wife, Paine, is--well,
+she hasn't been in good health for a long time and Mabel and I have
+done our best to give her her own way.  When you've had your own
+way for years it rather hurts to be checkmated.  I know that from
+experience.  She'll feel better about it by and by."
+
+"Better about what?" I demanded, involuntarily.  "I don't
+understand Mrs. Colton's meaning in the least."
+
+He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking.
+
+"Don't you?" he asked.  "You are sure you don't?"
+
+"Certainly I am sure.  What I have done that requires forgiveness I
+don't see."
+
+Another pause and more scrutiny.
+
+"So you don't understand what she means, hey?" he said again.  "All
+right, all right!  We won't discuss that yet a while.  If you don't
+understand--never mind.  Time enough for us to talk of that when
+you do.  But, say, Paine," with one of his dry smiles, "who taught
+you to buck a stock pool?"
+
+This question I could understand.  I had expected this.
+
+"No one taught me," I answered.  "If I had any knowledge at all in
+that direction I was born with it, I guess.  A form of original
+sin."
+
+"It's a mighty profitable sort of wickedness--for me.  Young man,
+do you realize what you did?  How do you expect me to thank you for
+that, hey?"
+
+"I don't expect you to thank me at all.  It was bull luck that won
+for you, Mr. Colton.  Bull luck and desperation on my part.  Miss
+Colton sent for me to help her.  Your confidential man, Davis,
+refused to make a move without orders from you.  You couldn't give
+any orders.  Someone had to do something, or, so it seemed to your
+daughter and me, your Louisville and Transcontinental deal was a
+gone goose."
+
+"It was more than that.  I might have come pretty near being a gone
+goose along with it.  Not quite gone, perhaps--I should have had a
+few cents left in the stocking--but I should have lost a lot more
+than I care to lose.  So it was bull luck, hey?  I don't believe
+it.  Tell me the whole story, from beginning to end, will you?
+Mabel has told me some, but I want to hear it all.  Go ahead!"
+
+I thought of Quimby's warning.  "I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr.
+Colton.  It is a long story, if I give particulars."
+
+"Never mind, you give them.  That 'tiring' business is some more of
+that doctor's foolishness.  HE makes me tired, all right.  You tell
+me what I want to know or I'll get out of this bed and shake it out
+of you."
+
+He looked as if he meant to carry out his threat.  I began my tale
+at the beginning and went on to the astonishing end.
+
+"Don't ask me why I did this or that, Mr. Colton," I concluded.  "I
+don't know.  I think I was off my head part of the time.  But
+something HAD to be done.  I tried to look at the affair in a
+common-sense way, and--"
+
+"And, HAVING common-sense, you used it.  Paine, you're a brick!
+Your kind of common-sense is so rare that it's worth paying any
+price for.  Ha! ha!  So it was Keene and his 'Development Company'
+that gave you the idea.  That's good!  That little failure of mine
+wasn't altogether a failure, after all.  You saw it was a case
+where a bluff might win, and you had the sand to bluff it through.
+That comes of living so long where there is more sand than anything
+else, I imagine, hey!  Ha! ha!  Well, bull luck or insanity or
+whatever you call it, it did the trick.  Of course I'm more obliged
+to you than I can tell.  You know that."
+
+"That's all right, Mr. Colton.  Now I think I must be going.
+You've talked enough."
+
+"You sit still.  I haven't begun to talk yet.  Paine, before you
+did this thing for me I had taken a fancy to you.  I believed there
+was good stuff in you and that I could use you in my business.  Now
+I know I can't afford to do without you. . . .  Stop! let me
+finish.  Young man, I told you once that when I made up my mind to
+do a thing, I always did it.  ALWAYS; do you understand?  I am
+going to get you.  You are coming with me."
+
+I had foreseen this, of course.  But I had hoped to get away from
+that room before he reached the point.  He had reached it, however,
+and perhaps it was as well he had.  We would end this for all time.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I answered, "you have a monopoly of some things, but
+of others you have not.  I am just as determined to have my own way
+in this matter as you are.  I shall NOT accept your offer of
+employment.  That is final."
+
+"Final be damned!  Young man--"
+
+"Mr. Colton, if you persist I shall go away."
+
+"Go away!  Before I tell you to?  Why, you--"
+
+I rose.  "The doctor told me that you must not excite yourself," I
+said.  "I am going.  Good-by."
+
+He was excited, there was no doubt of that.  He sat up in bed.
+
+"You come back!" he ordered.  "Come back!  If you don't--  Well, by
+the Lord, if you don't I'll get up and come after you!"
+
+I believe he would have tried to do it.  I was frightened, on his
+account.  I turned reluctantly.  He sank back on the pillow,
+grinning triumphantly.
+
+"Sit down there," he panted.  "Sit down.  Now I want you to tell me
+the real reason why you won't work for me.  By gad! you're the
+first one in many a day I have had to ask twice.  Why?  Tell me the
+truth!  Why?"
+
+I hesitated.  "Well, for one reason," I said, "I don't care for
+your business."
+
+"Don't CARE for it!  After what you just did!"
+
+"I did that because I was driven to it.  But I don't care for the
+stock game.  Once I used to think I liked that sort of thing; now I
+know I don't.  If I am anything I am a bank man, a poor sort of
+one, perhaps, but--"
+
+"Bank man!  Why, you idiot!  I don't care what you are.  I can use
+you in a dozen places.  You don't have to buck the market.  I'll do
+that myself.  But there are plenty of places where your brains and
+that common-sense you talk about will be invaluable to me.  I do a
+banking business, on the side, myself.  I own a mining property, a
+good one, out West.  It needs a financial manager, and needs one
+badly.  You come with me, do you hear!  I'll place you where you
+fit, before I get through with you, and I'll make you a rich man in
+ten years.  There! now will you say yes?"
+
+I shook my head.  "No," I said.
+
+"NO!  You are enough to drive a well man crazy, to say nothing of a
+half-sick relic like me.  _I_ say yes--yes--YES!  Sooner or later
+I'll MAKE you.  You've lost your place here.  You told me yourself
+that that old crank Dean is going to make this town too hot to hold
+you.  You'll HAVE to go away.  Now won't you?"
+
+I nodded.  "I shall go away," I answered.  "I have made up my mind
+to go, now that Mother seems well enough for me to leave her."
+
+"Where will you go?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+He stared at me in silence for what seemed a long time.  I thought
+he must be exhausted, and once more I rose to go.
+
+"Stop!  Stay where you are," he ordered.  "I haven't got the answer
+to you yet, and I know it.  There's something back of all this,
+something I don't know about.  I'm going to find out what it is, if
+it takes me a year.  You can tell me now, if you want to.  It will
+save time.  What is the real reason why you won't take my offer?"
+
+I don't know why I did it.  I had kept the secret all the years and
+certainly, when I entered that room, I had no intention of
+revealing it.  Yet, now, when he asked this question I turned on
+him and blurted out what I had sworn no one--least of all he or
+his--should ever know.
+
+"I'll tell you why," I cried, desperately.  "I can't take the place
+you offer because you know nothing about me.  You don't know who I
+am.  If you did you . . . .  Mr. Colton, you don't even know my
+name."
+
+He looked at me and shook his head, impatiently.  "Either you ARE
+crazy, or I am," he muttered.  "Don't know your name!"
+
+"No, you don't!  You think I am Roscoe Paine.  I am not.  I am
+Roscoe Bennett, and my father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler."
+
+I had said it.  And the moment afterward I was sorry.  I would have
+given anything to take back the words, but repentance came too
+late.  I had said it.
+
+I heard him draw a deep breath.  I did not look at him.  I did not
+care to see his face and read on it the disgust and contempt I was
+sure it expressed.
+
+"Humph!" he exclaimed.  "Humph!  Do you mean to tell me that your
+father was Carleton Bennett--Bennett of Bennett and Company?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well! well! well!  Carleton Bennett!  No wonder there was
+something familiar about your mother, something that I seemed to
+remember.  I met her years ago.  Well! well!  So you're Carleton
+Bennett's son?"
+
+"Yes, I am his son."
+
+"Well, what of it?"
+
+I looked at him now.  He was smiling, actually smiling.  His
+illness had affected his mind.
+
+"What OF it!" I gasped.
+
+"Ye-es, what of it?  What has that got to do with your working for
+me?"
+
+I could have struck him.  If he had not been weak and ill and
+irresponsible for what he was saying I think I should.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I said, striving to speak calmly, "you don't
+understand.  My father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler, the
+thief, the man whose name was and is a disgrace all over the
+country.  Mother and I came here to hide from that disgrace, to
+begin a new, clean life under a clean name.  Do you think--?  Oh,
+you don't understand!"
+
+"I understand all right.  This is the first time I HAVE understood.
+I see now why a clever man like you was willing to spend his days
+in a place like Denboro.  Well, you aren't going to spend any more
+of them there.  You're going to let me make something worth while
+out of you."
+
+This sounded, in one way, like sanity.  But in another--
+
+"Mr. Colton," I cried, "even if you meant it, which you don't--do
+you suppose I would go back to New York, where so many know me, and
+enter your employ under an assumed name?  Run the risk of--"
+
+"Hush!  Enter it under your own name.  It's a good name.  The
+Bennetts are one of our oldest families.  Ask my wife; she'll tell
+you that."
+
+"A good name!"
+
+"Yes.  I declare, Paine--Bennett, I mean--I shall begin to believe
+you haven't got the sense I credited you with.  I can see what has
+been the matter with you.  You came here, you and your sick mother,
+with the scandal of your father's crookedness hanging over you and
+her sickness making her super-sensitive, and you two kept the
+secret and brooded over it so long that you have come to think you
+are criminals, too.  You're not.  You haven't done anything
+crooked.  What's the matter with you, man?  Be sensible!"
+
+"Sensible!"
+
+"Yes, sensible, if you can.  I don't care who your father was.  He
+was a smart banker, before he went wrong, and I can see now where
+you inherited your ability.  But never mind that.  He's dead; let
+him stay so.  I'm not trying to get him.  It's you I want."
+
+"You want ME!  Do you mean you would take me into your employ,
+knowing who I am?"
+
+"Sure!  It is because I know WHAT you are that I want you."
+
+"Mr. Colton, you--I don't know what to say to you."
+
+"Try saying 'yes' and see how it seems.  It will be a change,
+anyhow."
+
+"No, no!  I cannot; it is impossible."
+
+"Oh, you make me weary! . . .  Humph!  What is it now?  Any more
+'reasons'?"
+
+'Yes."  I faced him squarely.  "Yes," I said, "there is another
+reason, one that makes it impossible, utterly impossible, if
+nothing else did.  When I tell you what it is you will understand
+what I mean and agree with me.  Your daughter and I have been
+thrown together a great deal since she came to Denboro.  Our
+meetings have not been of my seeking, nor of hers.  Of late I have
+realized that, for my own sake, for the sake of my peace of mind, I
+must not meet her.  I must not be where she is. I--"
+
+"Here!  Stop!" he broke in sharply.  "What is this?  Do you mean to
+tell me that you and Mabel--"
+
+"It is not her fault.  It is my own, entirely.  Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+"Stop, I tell you!  Do you mean to tell me that you are--that you
+have been making love to my daughter?"
+
+"No.  Certainly not."
+
+"Then what do you mean?  That she has been making love to you?"
+
+"Mr. Colton--"
+
+"There!  Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo.  Do you mean that
+you are in love with her?"
+
+"Don't you see now why I cannot accept?  I must go away.  I am
+going."
+
+"Humph!  That will do. . . .  Humph!  Well, Paine--Bennett, I
+should say; it is hard to keep track of your names--you are rather--
+er--reckless, it seems to me.  Mabel is our only child and her
+mother and I, naturally, had planned for her future . . .  Have you
+told her of your--recklessness?"
+
+"Of course not!  I shall not see her again.  I shall leave Denboro
+as soon as I can.  She will never know."
+
+"Humph!  I see . . .  I see . . .  Well, I don't know that there is
+anything for me to say."
+
+"There is not."
+
+"I am sorry for you, of course."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+There was a sharp rap at the door.  Doctor Quimby opened it and
+entered the room.  He glanced from me to his patient and his face
+expressed sharp disapproval.
+
+"You'd better go, Ros," he snapped.  "What is the matter with you?
+Didn't I tell you not to excite him."
+
+"I'M not excited," observed Colton, drily.
+
+"Clear out this minute!" continued the angry doctor.  "Ros Paine, I
+thought you had more sense."
+
+"So did I," this from "Big Jim".  "However, I am learning a lot
+these days.  Good-by, Paine."
+
+I was at the door.
+
+"Oh, by the way," he called after me, "let me make a suggestion.
+If I were you, Roscoe, I wouldn't leave Denboro to-day.  Not before
+to-morrow morning, at any rate."
+
+I did not understand him and I asked for no explanation.  It was
+the first time he had addressed me by my Christian name, but it was
+not until afterward that I remembered that fact.
+
+
+
+That afternoon I was alone in my haven of refuge, the boathouse.
+Mother and I had had a long talk.  I told her everything that had
+transpired.  I kept back nothing, either of my acts or my feelings.
+She said she was not sorry for what I had done.  She was rather
+glad, than otherwise, that I had disclosed our secret to Mr.
+Colton.
+
+"He knows now, Roscoe," she said.  "And he was right, too.  You and
+I have brooded over our sorrow and what we considered our disgrace
+much more than we should.  He is right, Boy.  We are innocent of
+any wrong-doing."
+
+"Yes, Mother," I answered, "I suppose we are.  But we must keep the
+secret still.  No one else in Denboro must know.  You know what
+gossip there would be.  There is enough now.  I presume I am called
+a traitor and a blackguard by every person in the town."
+
+"Why no, you are not.  That is the strange thing about it.  Luther
+was up at the post-office this morning and no one seems to know of
+your sale of the land.  Captain Dean has, apparently, kept the news
+to himself.  Why do you suppose he does that?"
+
+"I don't know.  I don't know, unless it is because he--no, I can't
+understand it at all.  However, they will know soon enough.  By the
+way, I have never asked Dorinda where Lute was that noon--it seems
+ages ago--when he was missing at dinner time.  And how did he know
+of Mr. Colton's illness?"
+
+She smiled.  "Poor Luther!" she said.  "He announced his intention
+of running away, you remember.  As a matter of fact he met the
+Coltons' chauffeur in the motor car and the chauffeur invited him
+to go to Bayport with him.  The chauffeur had an errand there.
+Lute accepted--as he says, automobile rides don't come his way
+every day in the week--and they had trouble with the engine and did
+not get back until almost night.  Then Miss Colton told him of her
+father's seizure and gave him the note for you.  It was to you she
+turned in her trouble, Boy.  She trusts you.  Roscoe, I--I think
+she--"
+
+"Don't say it, Mother.  All that is ended.  I am going to forget--
+if I can."
+
+The rest of our conversation need not be written here.  She said
+many things, such as fond mothers say to their sons and which the
+sons know too well they do not deserve.  We discussed my leaving
+Denboro and she was so brave and self-sacrificing that my
+conscience smote me.
+
+"I'll stay, Mother," I said.  "I can't leave you.  I'll stay and
+fight it out with you.  After all, it will not be much worse than
+it was before I went to the bank."
+
+But she would not hear of my staying.  I had a friend in Chicago, a
+distant relative who knew our story.  Perhaps he could help me to a
+start somewhere.  She kissed me and bade me keep up my courage, and
+I left her.  I ate a hurried meal, a combination of breakfast and
+dinner, and, dodging Lute, who was in the back yard waiting to
+question me concerning the Coltons, walked down to the boathouse.
+There, in my armchair, I tried to think, to map out some sort of
+plan for my future.
+
+It was a hopeless task.  I was not interested in it.  I did not
+much care what became of me.  If it were not for Mother I should
+not have cared at all.  Nevertheless, for her sake, I must try to
+plan, and I did.
+
+I was still trying when I heard footsteps approaching the door, the
+small door at the side, not the big one in front.  I did not rise
+to open the door, nor did I turn my head.  The visitor was Lute,
+probably, and if I kept still he might think I was not within and
+go away again.
+
+The door opened.  "Here he is," said a voice, a voice that I
+recognized.  I turned quickly and sprang to my feet.  Standing
+behind me was Captain Jedediah Dean and with him George Taylor--
+George Taylor, who should have been--whom I had supposed to be in
+Washington with his bride!
+
+"Here he is," said Captain Jed, again.  "Well, Ros, we've come to
+see you."
+
+But I paid no attention to him.  It was his companion I was staring
+at.  What was he doing here?
+
+"George!" I cried.  "GEORGE!"
+
+He stepped forward and held out his hand.  He was smiling, but
+there was a look in his eye which expressed the exact opposite of
+smiles.
+
+"Ros," he said, quietly, "Ros Paine, you bull-headed, big-hearted
+old chump, how are you?"
+
+But I could only stare at him.  Why had he come to Denboro?  What
+did his coming to me mean?  Why had he come with Captain Jed, the
+man who had vowed that he was done with me forever?  And why was
+the captain looking at me so oddly?
+
+"George!" I cried in alarm, "George, you haven't--you haven't made
+a fool of yourself?  You haven't--"
+
+Captain Jed interrupted me.  "He ain't the fool, Ros," he said.
+"That is, he ain't now.  I'm the fool.  I ought to have known
+better.  Ros, I--I don't know's you'll give it to me, but anyhow
+I'm goin' to ask it; I beg your pardon."
+
+"Ros," said Taylor, before I could reply, "don't stand staring as
+if you were petrified.  Sit down and let me look at you.  You pig-
+headed old idiot, you!  What do you mean by it?  What did you do it
+for?"
+
+He pushed me into the chair I had just vacated.  Captain Dean took
+another.  George remained standing.
+
+"He IS petrified, I do believe!" he exclaimed.
+
+But my petrification was only temporary.  I was beginning to
+understand, and to be more alarmed than ever.
+
+"What are you doing here in Denboro?" I demanded.
+
+Captain Jed answered for him.  "He's here because I telegraphed for
+him yesterday," he said.  "I wired him to come straight home and
+take charge of the bank.  I had fired you, like the dumb fool I was,
+and I wanted him to take command.  He got here on the mornin'
+train."
+
+I remembered what Phin Cahoon had said about the telegram and the
+captain's making him promise not to mention the name of the person
+to whom it was sent.  It was George, of course.  If I had been in a
+normal state of mind when Phin told me I should have guessed as
+much.
+
+Taylor took up the conversation.  "Yes, I got here," he said.  "And
+when I got here--or a little before--" with a glance at the
+captain--"I found out what had been going on since I left.  You old
+chump, Ros Paine!  What did you do it for?"
+
+I looked at him and then at his companion.  What I saw there
+confirmed my worst suspicions.
+
+"George," I said, "if you have told him you must be crazy."
+
+"I was crazy not to tell him before.  I was crazy not to guess what
+you had been up to.  But I didn't suppose anybody would be crazy
+enough to do what you did, Ros.  I didn't imagine for a minute that
+you would be crazy enough to throw away your job and get yourself
+into the trouble you knew was sure to come, just to help me.  To
+help ME, by the Lord!  Ros! Ros! what can I say to you!"
+
+"You've said enough, and more than enough," I answered, bitterly.
+"I did what I did so that you might keep your secret.  I did it to
+help you and Nellie.  And if you had kept still no one need ever
+have known, no one but you and I, George.  And now you--"
+
+"Shut up, Ros!" he interrupted.  "Shut up, I tell you!  Why,
+confound you, what do you think I am?  Do you suppose I would let
+you sacrifice yourself like that, while I set still and saw you
+kicked out of town?  What do you think I am?"
+
+"But what was the use of it?" I demanded.  "It was done.  Nothing
+you could say would change it.  For Nellie's sake--"
+
+"There! there!" broke in Captain Jed, "Nellie knows.  George told
+her the day they was married.  He told her before they was married.
+He was man enough to do that and I honor him for it.  If he'd only
+come to me then it would have been a mighty sight better.  I'd have
+understood when I heard about your sellin' Colton the land, and I
+wouldn't have made a jackass of myself by treatin' you as I done.
+You! the man that sacrificed yourself to keep my girl from breakin'
+her heart!  When I think what you saved us all from I--I--  By the
+Almighty, Ros Paine! I'll make it up to you somehow.  I will!  I
+swear I will!"
+
+He turned away and looked out of the window.  George laid a hand on
+his shoulder.
+
+"I am the one to make it up, Cap'n," he said, solemnly.  "If I live
+I'll make it up to Ros here, and to you, and to Nellie, God bless
+her!  I expected you would never speak to me again when I'd told
+you.  Telling you--next to telling Nellie--was the toughest job I
+ever tackled.  But I'll make it up to you both, and to Ros.  Thank
+the Lord, it ain't too late to make it up to him!"
+
+"We'll both make it up to him, George," replied Captain Jed.  "As
+far as we can, we will.  If he wants to come back to the bank this
+minute he can.  We'll be proud to have him.  But I cal'late," with
+a smile, "he'll have bigger fish to fry than we can give him.  If
+what we've just heard is true, he will."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," I answered.  "And as for the bank--
+well, you forget one thing: I sold the Shore Lane and the town
+knows it.  How long would the other directors tolerate me in that
+bank, after that, do you think?"
+
+To my surprise they looked at each other and laughed.  Captain Dean
+shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, "you're mistook, Ros.  The town don't know you sold
+it.  I didn't tell 'em because I wanted George in command of that
+bank afore the row broke loose.  I larned of the sale myself, by
+chance, over to Ostable and I never told anybody except Dorindy
+Rogers and her fool of a husband.  I'll see that they keep still
+tongues in their heads.  And as for the Lane--well, that won't be
+closed.  Colton don't own it no more."
+
+"Don't OWN it," I repeated.  "Don't own it!  He does.  I sold it to
+him myself."
+
+"Yes.  And George, here, bought it back not an hour ago.  We saw
+His Majesty--sick in bed he was, but just as high and mighty and
+independent as ever--and George bought back the land and the Lane
+for thirty-five hundred dollars.  The old man didn't seem to give a
+durn about it any more.  He'd had his own way, he said, and that
+was all he cared about.  Besides, he ain't goin' to stay in Denboro
+much longer.  The old lady--his wife--is sick of the place and he
+only come here on her account.  He cal'lates that New York is good
+enough for him.  I cal'late 'tis.  Anyhow, Denboro won't hang onto
+his coattails to hold him back.  Tell Ros the whole story, George."
+
+George told it, beginning with his receipt of his father-in-law's
+telegram and his hurried return to the Cape.  He had gone directly
+to Captain Dean and confessed the whole thing.  The captain had
+behaved like a trump, I learned.  Instead of denouncing his
+daughter's husband he had forgiven him freely.  Then they had gone
+to see Colton and George had bought the land.
+
+"And I shall give it to the town," he said.  "It's the least I can
+do.  You wonder where the money came from, Ros?  I guess you ain't
+seen the newspapers.  There was a high old time in the stock market
+yesterday and Louisville and Transcontinental climbed half-way to
+the moon.  From being a pauper I'm pretty well fixed."
+
+"I'm heartily glad of it, George," I said.  "But there is one thing
+I don't understand.  You say you learned of my selling the land
+before you reached Denboro.  Captain Jed says no one but he and my
+people knew it.  How did you find it out?"
+
+Again my two callers looked at each other.
+
+"Why, somebody--a friend of yours--come to me at the Ostable
+station and dragged Nellie and me off the train.  We rode with that
+person the rest of the way and--the said person told us what had
+happened and begged us to help you.  Seemed to have made a middling
+good guess that I COULD help, if I would."
+
+"A person--a friend of mine!  Why, I haven't any friend, any friend
+who knew the truth, or could guess."
+
+"Yes, you have."
+
+"Who was it?"
+
+George laughed aloud and Captain Jed laughed with him.
+
+"I guess I shan't tell you," said the former.  "I promised I
+wouldn't."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+They left me soon after this.  I tried to make them tell who the
+mysterious friend might be, but they refused.  The kind things they
+said and the gratitude they both expressed I shall never forget.
+They did not strenuously urge me to return to the bank, and that
+seemed strange to me.
+
+"The job's yours if you want it, Ros," said Captain Jed.  "We'd be
+only too happy to have you if you'd come--any time, sooner or
+later.  But I don't think you will."
+
+"No," I answered, "I shall not.  I have made other plans.  I am
+going to leave Denboro."
+
+That did not seem to surprise them and I was still more puzzled.
+They shook hands and went away, promising to call at the house that
+evening and bring Nellie.
+
+"She wants to thank you, too, Ros," said George.
+
+After they had gone I sat by the big door, looking out at the bay,
+smooth and beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, and thinking of
+what they had told me.  For Mother's sake I was very glad.  It
+would be easier for her, after I had gone; the townspeople would be
+friendly, instead of disagreeable.  For her sake, I was glad.  For
+myself nothing seemed to make any difference.  George Taylor's
+words--those he had spoken to me that fateful evening when I found
+him with the revolver beside him--came back to me over and over.
+"Wait until your time comes.  Wait until the girl comes along that
+you care for more than the whole world.  And then see what you'd
+do.  See what it would mean to give her up!"
+
+I was seeing.  I knew now what it meant.
+
+I rose and went out of the boathouse.  I did not care to meet
+anyone or speak with anyone.  I strolled along the path by the
+bluff, my old walk, that which I had taken so many times and with
+such varied feelings, never with such miserable ones as now.
+
+The golden-rod, always late blooming on the Cape, bordered the path
+with gorgeous yellow.  The leaves of the scrub oaks were beginning
+to turn, though not to fall.  I walked on and entered the grove
+where she and I had met after our adventure with Carver and the
+stranded skiff.  I turned the bend and saw her coming toward me.
+
+I stood still and she came on, came straight to me and held out her
+hand.
+
+"I was waiting for you," she said.  "I was on my way to your house
+and I saw you coming--so I waited."
+
+"You waited," I stammered.  "Why?"
+
+"Because I wished to speak to you and I did not want that--that Mr.
+Rogers of yours to interrupt me.  Why did you go away yesterday
+without even letting me thank you for what you had done?  Why did
+you do it?"
+
+"Because--because you were very busy and--and I was tired.  I went
+home and to bed."
+
+"You were tired.  You must have been.  But that is no excuse, no
+good one.  I came down and found you were gone without a word to
+me.  And you had done so much for me--for my father!"
+
+"Your father thanked me this morning, Miss Colton.  I saw him in
+his room and he thanked me.  I did not deserve thanks.  I was
+lucky, that was all."
+
+"Father does not call it luck.  He told me what you said to him."
+
+"He told you!  Did he tell you all I told him?"
+
+"I--I think so.  He told me who you were; what your real name was."
+
+"He did!  And you were still willing to meet me!"
+
+"Yes.  Why not?  Does it make any difference that you are Mr.
+Bennett--instead of Mr. Paine?"
+
+"But my father was Carleton Bennett--the--the--  You must have
+heard of him."
+
+"I never knew your father.  I do know his son.  And I am very proud
+to know him."
+
+"But--but, Miss Colton."
+
+"Tell me," she interrupted, quickly, "have you seen Mr. Taylor?  He
+is here in Denboro."
+
+"Yes.  I have seen him."
+
+"And he told you about the Lane?  That he has bought it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you will not be," with a smile, "driven from Denboro by that
+cross old Captain Dean?"
+
+"I shall not be driven--no."
+
+"Then Mr. Taylor did help you.  He promised me he would."
+
+"He promised you?  When?  When did you see George Taylor?"
+
+She appeared confused.  "I--I--  Of course I saw him at the house
+this noon, when he came to see Father."
+
+"But he could not have promised you then.  He had helped me
+already.  Did you see him before that?"
+
+"Why, how could I?  I--"
+
+"Miss Colton, answer me.  Was it you that met him at the Ostable
+station this morning?  Was it?"
+
+She was as red as the reddest of the autumn leaves.  She laughed,
+confusedly.
+
+"I did meet him there," she confessed.  "That queer Mr. Cahoon, the
+station agent, told me that Captain Dean had telegraphed him to
+come.  I knew he would probably be on that train.  And Mr. Cahoon
+told me about his being interested in stocks and very much
+troubled.  You had told me, or as much as told me, that you sold
+the land to get money to help some one.  I put two and two together
+and I guessed the rest.  I met him and Nellie and we rode to
+Denboro together in our auto.  He promised me that he would make
+everything right for you.  I am so glad he did!"
+
+I caught my breath with a gasp.
+
+"You did that!" I exclaimed.  "You did that, for me!"
+
+"Why not?  Surely you had done enough for--us.  I could not let you
+be 'driven from town', you know."
+
+I did not speak.  I knew that I must not attempt a reply.  I should
+say too much.  She looked up at me, and then down again at the
+pine-needles beneath our feet.
+
+"Father says he intends to do great things for you," she went on.
+"He says you are to come with him.  He is enthusiastic about it.
+He believes you are a great man.  No one but a great man, he says,
+could beat the Consolidated Pacific gang single-handed.  He says
+you will be the best investment he ever made."
+
+"I am afraid not," I answered.  "Your father made me a generous
+offer.  I wish I might have been able to accept it, but I could
+not."
+
+"Oh, but you are going to accept."
+
+"No, I am not."
+
+"He says you are.  And he always has his way, you know."
+
+"Not in this case, Miss Colton."
+
+"But _I_ want you to accept.  Surely you will do it to oblige me."
+
+"I--I can't."
+
+"What are you going to do; go back to the bank?"
+
+"No, I am going to leave Denboro.  I don't know where I shall go.
+This is good-by, Miss Colton.  It is not likely that we shall meet
+again."
+
+"But why are you going?"
+
+"I cannot tell you."
+
+She was silent, still looking down at the pine-needles.  I could
+not see her face.  I was silent also.  I knew that I ought to go,
+that I should not remain there, with her, another moment.  Yet I
+remained.
+
+"So you think this is our parting," she said.  "I do not."
+
+"Don't you?  I fear you are wrong."
+
+"I am not wrong.  You will not go away, Mr.--Bennett.  At least,
+you will not until you go where my father sends you.  You will
+accept his offer, I think."
+
+"You are mistaken."
+
+"No.  I think I am not mistaken.  I think you will accept it,
+because--because I ask you to."
+
+"I cannot, Miss Colton."
+
+"And your reason?"
+
+"That I cannot tell anyone."
+
+"But you told my father."
+
+I was stricken dumb again.
+
+She went on, speaking hurriedly, and not raising her eyes.
+
+"You told my father," she repeated, "and he told me."
+
+"He told you!" I cried.
+
+"Yes, he told me.  I--I am not sure that he was greatly surprised.
+He thought it honorable of you and he was very glad you did tell
+him, but I think he was not surprised."
+
+The oaks and the pines and the huckleberry bushes were dancing
+great giddy-go-rounds, a reflection of the whirlpool in my brain.
+Out of the maelstrom I managed to speak somehow.
+
+"He was not surprised!" I repeated.  "He was not--not--  What do
+you mean?"
+
+She did not answer.  She drew away from me a step, but I followed
+her.
+
+"Why wasn't he surprised?" I asked again.
+
+"Because--because--  Oh, I don't know!  What have I been saying!
+I--  Please don't ask me!"
+
+"But why wasn't he surprised?"
+
+"Because--because--" she hesitated.  Then suddenly she looked up
+into my face, her wonderful eyes alight.  "Because," she said, "I
+had told him myself, sir."
+
+I seized her hands.
+
+"YOU had told him?  You had told him that I--I--"
+
+"No," with a swift shake of the head, "not you.  I--I did not know
+that--then.  I told him that I--"
+
+But I did not wait to hear any more.
+
+
+
+Some time after that--I do not know how long after and it makes no
+difference anyway--I began to remember some resolutions I had made,
+resolves to be self-sacrificing and all that sort of thing.
+
+"But, my dear," I faltered, "I am insane!  I am stark crazy!  How
+can I think of such a thing!  Your mother--what will she say?"
+
+She looked up at me; looking up was not as difficult now, and,
+besides, she did not have to look far.  She looked up and smiled.
+
+"I think Mother is more reconciled," she said.  "Since she learned
+who you were she seems to feel better about it."
+
+I shook my head, ruefully.  "Yet she referred to me as a 'nobody'
+only this morning," I observed.
+
+"Yes, but that was before she knew you were a Bennett.  The
+Bennetts are a very good family, so she says.  And she informed me
+that she always expected me to throw myself away, so she was not
+altogether unprepared."
+
+I sighed.  "Throwing yourself away is exactly what you have done,
+I'm afraid," I answered.
+
+She put her hand to my lips.  "Hush!" she whispered.  "At all
+events, I made a lucky throw.  I'm very glad you caught me, dear."
+
+There was a rustle of leaves just behind us and a startled
+exclamation.  I turned and saw Lute Rogers standing there in the
+path, an expression on his face which I shall not attempt to
+describe, for no description could do justice to it.  We looked at
+Lute and he looked at us.
+
+He was the first to recover.
+
+"My time!" exclaimed Lute.  "My TIME!"
+
+He turned and fled.
+
+"Come here!" I shouted after him.  "Come back here this minute!
+Lute, come back!"
+
+Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward.
+
+"Where were you going?" I demanded.
+
+"I--I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy," he faltered.
+
+"You'll tell nobody.  Nobody, do you hear!  I'll tell Dorinda
+myself, when it is necessary.  What were you doing here? spying on
+me in that fashion."
+
+"I--I wan't spyin', Ros.  Honest truth, I wan't.  I--I didn't know
+you and she was--was--"
+
+"Never mind that.  What were you doing here?"
+
+"I was chasin' after you, Ros.  I just heard the most astonishing
+thing.  Jed Dean was to the house to make Dorindy and me promise to
+say nothin' about that Shore Lane 'cause you never sold it, and he
+said Mr. Colton had offered you a turrible fine job along of him
+and that you was goin' to take it.  I wanted to find you and ask it
+'twas true.  'Taint true, is it, Ros?" wistfully.  "By time!  I
+wish 'twas."
+
+Before I could answer Mabel spoke.
+
+"Yes, it is true, Mr. Rogers," she said.  "It is quite true and you
+may tell anyone you like.  It is true, isn't it, Roscoe?"
+
+What answer could I make?  What answer would you have made under
+the circumstances?
+
+"Yes," I answered, with a sigh of resignation.  "I guess it is
+true, Lute."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by J. C. Lincoln
+