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diff --git a/old/53049.txt b/old/53049.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4298c0b..0000000 --- a/old/53049.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9726 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Instead of the Thorn, by Clara Louise Burnham - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Instead of the Thorn - - -Author: Clara Louise Burnham - - - -Release Date: September 14, 2016 [eBook #53049] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSTEAD OF THE THORN*** - - -E-text prepared by Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org/) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/insteadofthornno00burn - - - - - -INSTEAD OF THE THORN - -A Novel - -by - -CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - -Boston and New York -Houghton Mifflin Company -The Riverside Press Cambridge - -Copyright, 1916, by Clara Louise Burnham -All Rights Reserved - -Published April 1916 - - - - - TO - - C.T.R. - - WITH LOVING AND GRATEFUL MEMORIES - OF JOCKEY HILL - - - - -_Contents_ - - - I. AT THE SOUTH SHORE 1 - - II. HOT TEA 10 - - III. COLD WATER 25 - - IV. THE JUNE NIGHT 44 - - V. THE CAPE 57 - - VI. THE SHINGLED COTTAGE 73 - - VII. THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED 94 - - VIII. A BUSINESS INTERVIEW 109 - - IX. CORRESPONDENCE 122 - - X. THE SPELL BREAKS 134 - - XI. EASTWARD HO! 145 - - XII. EN ROUTE 160 - - XIII. HOME-COMING 174 - - XIV. BLANCHE AURORA 189 - - XV. THE HARBOR 201 - - XVI. THE VOICE OF TRUTH 218 - - XVII. THE RAINBOW 231 - - XVIII. THE PINK DRESS 247 - - XIX. THE WILD ROSE 261 - - XX. BEHIND THE BIRCHES 278 - - XXI. REVELATION 293 - - XXII. THE PENITENT 306 - - XXIII. A GOOD NEIGHBOR 321 - - XXIV. WHITCOMB'S CONFESSION 335 - - XXV. THE MAN AND THE MAID 350 - - XXVI. A DIPLOMATIST 366 - - XXVII. THE FULL MOON 379 - - - - - INSTEAD OF THE THORN - - - - - _Instead of the Thorn_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -AT THE SOUTH SHORE - - -On a June evening, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe were entertaining their -New York friends the Lindsays at dinner at the South Shore Club. The -dining-room, with its spacious semicircle of glass, is a place where -Chicago may entertain New York with complacence, for the windows give -upon Lake Michigan, whose billows break so close to the border of -velvety grass that the effect is of dining on a yacht. - -The Lindsays were enamored of the great marine view, lovely in the long -June evening, and with many an admiring comment watched the white gulls -hover and wheel above the sunset water. - -Mrs. Radcliffe was a stout, white-haired woman, costumed with disregard -of expense, and she habitually wore an expression of countenance which -betokened general optimism. - -Mrs. Lindsay, of about her friend's age, was spare and lined of face, -offering a contrast to the hostess's plump smoothness. She again raised -a jeweled lorgnette to watch the wheeling gulls. - -"Oh, Chicago wouldn't be anything without the lake," remarked Mrs. -Radcliffe complacently. - -"And this clubhouse is such a perfect place to watch it," returned her -friend. - -"We have a very charming ballroom here," said Mrs. Radcliffe. "I'm -sorry it isn't a formal dance night." - -The orchestra was playing a Hesitation Waltz, which reminded her. -For the Hesitation had not yet been driven from the field by troops -who cantered, and those strains were always sufficient to people the -spacious ballroom until it was alive with dancers, old and young. -Indeed, as one comic paper had it that season, "He who does not -hesitate is lost." Just when or why silver threads among the gold -ceased to relegate advancing years to a shelf above the dancers, it -would be hard to say; but certain it is that the rosy walls behind the -pure white columns in the popular ballroom threw their diffused and -becoming light that season upon sometimes agile but always determined -middle age, as well as upon slender youth. - -There is a point, however, where Terpsichore stands inexorably and -says, "Thus far and no farther": a point where the wistful dancer -realizes that all is Hesitation, and the Waltz balks. This is reached -in the matron at the weight of two hundred pounds, and Mrs. Radcliffe -had arrived there; so, like the spinster of the story, who settled down -to contentment with her lot when she had "stopped strugglin'," Mrs. -Radcliffe enjoyed peacefully her visits to the club, and invaded the -ballroom only as a spectator. - -She looked up now at her friend. "Have you and Mr. Lindsay joined the -one-stepping legion?" she asked. - -"No, we have not. We have children and rheumatism. You know that does -make a difference." Mrs. Lindsay's bright, nervous eyes snapped, and -she showed a set of artistic teeth. - -Mrs. Radcliffe shrugged a comfortable shoulder. "Well, I have one -child, but that wouldn't stop me. He has a child of his own. Let him -attend to his own affairs. I haven't the rheumatism, but neither have -I any breath to spare. You look at me and you see that." - -The two ladies laughed and sipped their coffee. Their husbands, with -chairs moved sidewise, were talking in low tones over their cigarettes. - -"We have such a charming ballroom!" repeated the hostess. "It makes me -hate my flesh to go in there; but Mr. Radcliffe says it's the terror -of his life that I may lose an ounce and want to dance, and he is -always urging delicious salads on me." The plump speaker shook again, -till the diamonds on her ample breast scintillated. "He's the laziest -man in Chicago. I suppose I ought to be thankful that he doesn't -improve his slimness and the shining hour by coming and dancing with -these buds. Lots of other gray heads do, and the buds can't help -themselves, poor little things. Isn't that an attractive nosegay over -there?" The speaker indicated the spot where twenty-four young girls -and men were gayly dining at a round table, whose roses, violets, and -lilies-of-the-valley strove with the material feast. - -"My daughter-in-law, Harriet, is giving that dinner for her sister, -who has just graduated from our University. If you want to see a -spoiled child of fortune, look at Linda Barry now. That is she, holding -up the glass of grape-juice. Aren't her dimples wonderful? Look at -those brown eyes sparkle. Doesn't her very hair look as if electricity -were running through the locks? I tell you she's a handful! I've always -been so thankful that Henry chose her sister Harriet. Such a quiet, -sensible young woman, Harriet is. She wouldn't let them have any wine, -you see. She says it sounds like Fourth of July all the year around at -this club, and she's terribly particular about Henry. That's Harriet, -sitting with her back to us: the one with the velvet around her throat. -I admire my daughter-in-law, but I always feel she thinks I'm too -frivolous, and spend too much time playing cards." - -The speaker's husband caught a part of what she was saying. - -"Yes, Lindsay," he said. "You knew one of Barry's daughters married my -boy, didn't you? That's the other one facing us." - -Mr. Lindsay turned his iron-gray head until he could observe the -smiling girl, offering a grape-juice toast. The family of the head of -the firm of Barry & Co. was of interest to him. - -Some one had stuck a spray of leaves in the thick, bright waves of her -hair. - -"Make a corking study of a Bacchante, if some one should paint her just -as she is," remarked the New York man. - -"Shades of my daughter-in-law--if she should hear you! She'd say that -Linda had outwitted her after all." Mr. Radcliffe smiled across at his -wife. "Harriet is the modern progressive woman,--goes in for Suffrage -and Eugenics and all that; but with the reserve and quiet of a Puritan. -She can't understand Linda, who is athletic, a comrade of boys, the -idol of her father, and a law unto herself." - -Mr. Lindsay was regarding the girl, who was smiling confidently and -making a speech inaudible from the distant corner. "She looks as if she -had the world by the tail," he remarked. - -"That about describes her state of mind," responded the other. "Life -has been a triumphal progress for her, so far. She hasn't had a mother -for ten years, and her father couldn't spare her to go away to school, -so here she has been educated, right in our burg, though she's a -millionaire's daughter. You've been in that old-fashioned stone pile of -a house of Barry's up there on Michigan Avenue? I should think Barry'd -be sick of keeping a boarding-house for servants, and I've told him so." - -"He's sick of something," returned Mr. Lindsay quietly, "or so it -seemed to my wife and me. We dined there last night." - -"Oh, you did?" - -"Yes. The daughter wasn't there. Her father said she was away at one of -her graduation festivities. What's the matter with Barry?" - -The speaker's eyes left the dimpling girl with the dancing eyes and -came back to his friend as he asked the quiet question. - -"Why, nothing that I know of," replied the other, surprised. "Cares of -state, I suppose." - -"No rumors on the street?" The slow question was put in a still lower -tone. - -"Haven't heard any," was the quick reply. - -The other nodded. "Good," he said. - -"Why, have you?" - -"There's some talk in the East about the Antlers project. Probably -nothing but gossip." - -"Nothing else, I'm sure. All these big irrigation deals have something -of a black eye just now, but Barry & Co. know what they're about. They -never buy a pig in a poke." - -"What are you saying about pigs, Cyrus?" asked Mrs. Radcliffe smartly. -"You know it's a tabooed subject in our best families." - -Mr. Radcliffe paid no attention to her in his disturbance. "You know my -nephew, Bertram King? He came straight out of college into that bank, -and has been there nearly ten years. Barry likes him, and he's had -good luck, and I think another year'll see him in the firm. Everybody -believes that Barry doesn't go into any big deal unless King approves. -I see Bertram quite often. He's over there in that dinner party now: -sitting on Harriet's right. You've met my daughter-in-law?" - -"Oh, yes, and King, too. He dined with us last night. Seemed to be a -brainy chap." - -"Oh, he's sedate as they make 'em. I often think he's the one that -ought to have married Harriet. See Henry sitting between those pink and -blue girls, and keeping 'em in a roar? He gets his frivolity from his -mother." - -Mrs. Radcliffe drew down the corners of her lips. "Frivolity that -captured Harriet Barry, you'll notice. There they go," she added, as -the gay young people at the round table pushed back their chairs; -"there they go to their dance. Happy young things!" Mrs. Radcliffe -sighed. "With all their troubles before them," she added, and the -perfunctoriness of the addition made Mr. Lindsay smile. - -"I hope they all weather it as well as you have, Mrs. Radcliffe," he -said. - -The host smiled too as they rose from the table. - -"So say we all of us," he remarked. "Let's go and have a game. Do you -play nullos, Mrs. Lindsay?" - -"I play everything I can get my hands on," she returned promptly. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -HOT TEA - - -Linda Barry was looking in the glass. She liked her own reflection, and -no wonder. She was coolly critical of her own appearance, however, and -granted it her approval only when her costume and coiffure reached the -standard of her own prescription. Whether any one else criticized her -was a matter of profound indifference. She had been known in her class -in the University as a good fellow, a good sport, carelessly generous, -and confident of her own powers, physical and mental. - -Emerson says, if you would have friends you must know how to do without -them. Linda Barry was a born leader and took her friends for granted. -She never went out of her way to make one. That sort of girl always has -some enemies, impotently resenting all that she arrogates to herself -and that her admirers grant to her. But such clashes as had taken place -left no mark on Linda. Triumphant and careless of triumph, she emerged -from college life and asked of an obliging world, "What next?" - -She was looking in the glass now, this Sunday afternoon, because she -had been romping with her nephew, aged five, and he had pulled her hat -awry. - -She had dropped in for tea at her sister's apartment by the lake. It -was two days after the dinner dance, and she was still feeling high -approval of Harriet for the way in which she had managed the whole -affair. - -Bertram King was sitting opposite her now, holding the panting small -boy, whose cheeks were red with exertion, and who chuckled with joy -at having won a sudden and tempestuous battle by the simple move of -jerking his aunt's hat over her eyes. - -"I beated Aunt Linda. I beated her," he shrieked gayly. - -"Hush, hush, Harry dear," said his mother from the tea-table. "Aunt -Linda lets you get too excited." - -Aunt Linda, whose very presence was suggestive of intoxicating rough -and tumble to her nephew, winked and nodded at him from the glass. - -"I'll catch you alone some day," she said, with a significance which -filled him with ecstatic terror. - -He jumped up and down in the encircling arms. - -"No, you won't, no, you won't!" he shouted. "Uncle Bertram won't -let you." The child's active arms caught the ribbon that held his -protector's eyeglasses, and jerked them from his nose. - -"Now, Linda, Linda," protested the mother, looking proudly at the lusty -youngster, whose rumpled hair and floating tie-ends told of the bout -just finished. "Listen, Harry, there's father coming. If I let you take -him his tea, will you be very careful?" - -Linda, rehabilitated, turned from the mirror and seated herself near -the window. - -"Let him bring me _my_ tea," she said, gazing at the child with eyes -that set him again to effervescing with delicious apprehension. - -"No, _no_, she'll grab me!" yelled the boy, on a yet higher pitch of -joy. - -"Linda dear, it's Sunday. Let's have a little quiet," pleaded her -sister. - -At this moment, the head of the house entered, and his hopeful broke -his bonds and, rushing to meet him, was lifted to a safe perch from -which he looked down in rosy triumph on his dearest foe. - -"Hello, everybody," said Henry Radcliffe. "If there isn't the girl that -knows everything--including how to dance! You're a bird, Linda. How -are you, Bertram?" The men shook hands, then the host approached the -tea-table and kissed his wife. - -"Put Harry right down here, dear. He's going to be a little gentleman -and pass the tea." - -"But not to Aunt Linda," shouted the child. - -"No, no," agreed his mother pacifically. "You can take her tea to Uncle -Bertram, and he'll pass it." - -"Look out, Uncle Bertram, she'll tickle you," advised the boy out of -long experience. - -Linda, leaning lazily back in her armchair, met King's gray eyes and -gave a low laugh. - -"Just imagine such _lese majeste_," she said, and the provoking arch -of her lips made Bertram feel, as he always did, that she was laughing -at him, not with him. He was too used to it to be disconcerted. He had -a serious, even-featured, smooth-shaven face, light hair which would -have liked to wave had its owner been willing, and short-sighted eyes, -which, nevertheless, saw far enough to understand Linda Barry and -deplore her. - -"She'll catch your heels, too, if you go upstairs in front of her," -continued the small boy, chuckling breathlessly as he watched his -lazily reclining adored one, the sparks in whose eyes gave every hope -that she was as ready as ever to spring. - -"That sort of thing isn't good for a child. It overexcites him," -remarked Bertram, unsmiling, dangling his eyeglasses by the ribbon. - -"Dear, dear," said Linda. "Excuse me! I meant, Hear, hear!" - -"Now, Harry darling," said Mrs. Radcliffe, "can you be careful? Father -will sit between you and Aunt Linda, and don't go the other side of him -_at all_. Do you understand?" Then to her sister, "You know how I value -these cups, Linda. Please be good." - -Linda stifled a yawn behind her white-gloved hand and looked very good -indeed. - -"Henry and I," went on the hostess complacently, "think we can't begin -any too soon to make Harry at home in the drawing-room. Why, already he -can stand and drink his cambric tea, and manage his cup as well as any -of you, can't you, dear?" - -Harry, finding himself under discussion, ceased smiling and scuffed -violently across the rug. - -"That isn't pretty, darling. Now, this is for Uncle Bertram to take to -Aunt Linda. Come here. Now, be careful." - -Henry Radcliffe took a seat near his wife's table, and the little boy -seized a lettuce sandwich and took a bite of it before he attempted the -cup. - -"Oh, oh, put that down, Harry. You can have it in a minute." The mother -laughed as she placed the cup in the child's hands. "He wouldn't eat a -bit of lettuce at his own supper, but because grown-ups are having it -he wants it!" she remarked. "That's a good boy," as the transit of the -cup was made safely. "Now, come here and get one for Uncle Bertram." - -As the child obeyed, his mother continued: "I must tell you a very good -joke Harry made the other day. He was playing with the cat, and she -stretched herself out on the rug, and he lay down with his head on her -and said, 'This is my caterpillar.' Wasn't that clever?" - -Harry glanced around the assembly rather sheepishly. - -"Bully for the boy!" laughed his father. "Come here, Turk." - -"Now, don't romp, Henry," pleaded his wife. "Here's Father's tea, Harry -dear. Take it nicely. He's learning such a number of German words these -days. Fraeulein says he has a real talent for languages." The mother -regarded her darling fondly. The child's gayety had entirely subsided, -and he took his father's cup stolidly. Mrs. Radcliffe gave a low laugh -as she continued, "_Now_, whenever he uses a big word in English and -isn't quite sure that it is right, he says very carelessly, 'Oh, I -said that in Germany.'" The soft laugh increased in merriment, and the -speaker looked at her sister and King for appreciation. Linda laughed. - -The subject of her remarks, having landed his father's cup safely in -the paternal hands, eased his embarrassment by stamping again up and -down the rug, making guttural noises in his throat. - -"Now, dear, if you're going to do that you'll have to go away," said -his mother, and, the German nurse appearing at that moment in the -doorway, she accosted her: "Is Harry's supper ready? Yes? All right. Go -on, then, darling, we'll excuse you. Fraeulein has your nice supper all -ready. I'll come and see you in a little while." - -When the child, too self-conscious even to exchange parting hostilities -with Aunt Linda, had left the room, Bertram King looked up from -stirring his tea. - -"Henry," he said shortly, "have I your leave to lecture Harriet?" - -"Dear me, Bertram," ejaculated Linda, "are you going to take on -another? You'll soon not have time to go the rounds, and the world will -go to smash!" - -King didn't look at her. - -Henry Radcliffe closed his hand over his wife's as it rested on the -handle of the teapot. - -"Certainly, if you can think of anything to lecture her about." - -"Can't _you_?" As King asked it he rose and, coming to the tea-table, -took a plate of sandwiches and carried them to Linda, and then back to -Henry, finally setting them on the table and helping himself. - -His cousin shook his head. "Rather not!" he ejaculated. "I hope I know -my place. I trip after Harriet at a respectful distance." This time he -picked up his wife's hand and kissed it. - -"This is fulsome," murmured Linda from her armchair. - -"Then you share the lecture, that's all," returned King firmly, -resuming his seat. "Here's my text: 'No one should ever talk about a -child before him--or her.'" - -"Harriet has only one, please remember, Bertram," protested Linda -kindly. - -Mrs. Radcliffe set down her teacup, and color began to come up in her -cheeks as she regarded King. "Bertram, I never--" she began, for he -paused. "It's the rarest thing! But here where we're all Harry's own -people"--a little rigidity crept into the speaker's voice--"I didn't -mean to bore anybody. Don't you"--with defiance--"don't you think that -was very witty for a child of his age, that about the caterpillar? -I keep his sayings in a book, and he's really a remarkable baby. -It isn't at all because he's ours, is it, Henry? Oh"--with sudden -impatience--"it's foolish of me to talk to you about it, Bertram. What -do you know about children!" - -"I've been one; and I see one occasionally; and I marvel to Heaven to -see how parents cut themselves out of half the fun they might have with -them. You don't seem to have grasped my text. People shouldn't talk -_about_ children _before_ them." - -"Of course, I wouldn't _scold_ a child before others," said Harriet, -with some excitement. "Now, Bertram, you know a lot about bonds that I -don't, but I know a lot about children that you don't. I'm not just an -animal mother. I've looked into pedagogy and kindergarten principles. -Harry can work beautifully in cardboard already; but, of course, if it -bores you to hear about him--" - -"Yes," interrupted King, "parents should also take into consideration -that the general public doesn't care a copper to hear anything -about their children; but I'm not the general public where Harry is -concerned. I'll guarantee to sit between you and Henry and listen to an -antiphonal recital of everything Harry has said and done since he was -born, and not yawn once--with one provision." - -Harriet flashed him a look. "I don't care to hear your provision. -You'll not be called to the martyrdom." - -"And the provision is," went on Bertram equably, "that Harry shall -not be present. Now, Henry, if you will kindly place your hand over -Harriet's mouth, I will proceed." - -Linda stirred. There was something about Bertram King's arrogation of -superiority that always exasperated her. - -"How about my placing my hand kindly over _your_ mouth?" she suggested. - -He turned and looked directly at her. "I should enjoy that very much," -he returned. - -Linda was disconcerted for only a moment, then her provoking smile -shone. - -"Wonderful facilities for biting me, I suppose," she remarked. - -"Now, if the children will all be quiet a moment," said Bertram, -turning back, "I will take up the cudgels for the rising generation. -One of the most charming things on earth, probably the most charming, -is a child, unconscious of itself; the most graceful, the most -winning; untrammeled in their little speeches as in their movements. -Then some grown-up discusses them in their presence, no matter -whether flatteringly or not. Their grace changes to awkwardness, -their unconsciousness to embarrassment, their freedom to reserve -or to resentful, meaningless noises such as those with which Harry -lately favored the company. Under moments of flattery they show some -chestiness and conceit at times, but for the most part they're stolid -under the infliction, and their parents and friends have lost all the -joy of their charm until they can forgive by forgetting. One of the -bitterest leaves of their tree of knowledge is discovering that the -well-meaning giants around them are laughing at them, not with them." - -"Say, there's something in that, Harriet," remarked her husband -good-naturedly. "Harry grew as red as a turkey-cock when you told about -his excusing himself for using wrong words. I noticed it." - -Linda nodded in King's direction. "It's surely a duty Bertram owes to a -benighted world to marry." - -He turned to her again with the same direct, quick movement as before. - -"Very well. Will you have me, Linda?" - -She met his gaze, finding some difficulty in giving her own just the -right proportion of light scorn. - -"I should like to see myself married to you!" she exclaimed slowly. - -"Would you?" he responded with lively interest, and rising, strode -across to her, while she retreated to the furthest corner of her chair. -"Then we're of the same mind for once." He seized her hand, while -the teacup in the other rocked and tinkled in a manner to cause the -liveliest apprehension in its owner. "Witness, both of you. Linda and I -are engaged." - -The girl's strong heart pounded violently as she found that vigorous -efforts could not free her hand. Color burned her cheeks. Her father's -factotum had never seemed to consider her affairs or herself as of any -importance, and her habit of thought toward him was an effort to assure -him of absolute reciprocation. - -"Let me go," she said sharply. "Don't be silly." - -"Come on," he urged. "Let's give your father a pleasant surprise. -Henry, Harriet, speak up. Tell her what's for her good." - -Harriet, the conventional, was anxious under the growing anger in her -sister's dark eyes. - -"Behave, Bertram," she said severely. "I don't like joking on those -subjects. Go back to your chair and I'll give you a lecture much more -sensible than yours to me." - -"I'm not joking. I believe I could make something fine out of Linda." -He gazed down into the girl's face as he spoke. - -Henry Radcliffe laughed derisively. "You poor nut," he remarked. -"Better not try the Cave-Dweller stunt on Linda. The club would be -likely to change hands." - -The captured fingers struggled a moment more, while the two pairs of -eyes exchanged their combative gaze. - -There had never been any jocose passages between the girl and her -father's favorite co-worker. There had been moments when she had -even felt desire for his approval. The present audacity amazed and -disconcerted her, and coercion was simply hateful. - -Finding effort to free herself futile, she set her tea down on the arm -of her chair, and quickly taking up the cup, deliberately poured the -hot, creamy liquid over as much of her captor's cuff as was visible. -The cuff collapsed, the tea was hot. King abruptly dropped the girl's -hand, and set himself to wiping his own with his handkerchief. - -"Now, will you be good?" laughed Henry; but Harriet fixed anxious -eyes on the arm of the chair, hoping that Bertram's hand and cuff had -received the whole of the baptism, and groaned within herself over the -talents of her young sister as a trouble-maker. - -"And who calls it 'the cup that cheers'?" remarked King drily. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -COLD WATER - - -June heat dropped down on Chicago promptly that year and caused the -Barrys to plan to leave town earlier than it suited the banker to go. -Indeed, no weather condition ever made Linda's father willing to leave -business. - -One evening, a few days before their intended departure, Bertram King -came to the house to see his employer. The heavy door stood open after -the hot day, and with the familiarity of an intimate he stepped inside, -intending to take his way to his old friend's den, but in the hall he -met Linda: Linda, blooming, dressed in white, and altogether lovely to -look upon. Over her arm she carried a silk motor coat and a chiffon -veil. - -The young man's face looked haggard by comparison with her fresh -beauty, and he smiled unconscious admiration as he greeted the -exhilaration of her breezy appearance. - -"Father is out," she said, "and I'm so glad!" - -"Why? Did you want to see me alone?" - -"I can't see you at all. I'm going out." - -"But he hasn't come yet." - -"Who?" - -"Your motoring friend. Why are you glad your father is out?" - -"Because I think he sees enough of you in the daytime. Too much. -Father's very tired. Can't you see it? I'm going to run away with him -on Saturday." - -"So I hear.--I'm somewhat seedy myself. I think I'll accept your urgent -invitation to sit down until he comes." - -"He isn't coming. He'll be out all the evening." - -"I'm talking about your beau." There was an empty, nerveless quality to -the visitor's voice which began to impress his companion. - -"Let's set a spell, as they say in Maine," he added. "I've been -thinking about Maine to-day." - -Linda followed his lead into a reception room, where they sat down. - -"A pretty good place to think about, when Lake Michigan sizzles," she -replied; "but I've chosen Colorado. We're going to Estes Park." - -"Yes, so Mr. Barry told me. I should like to go there too." King's tone -was wistful. - -"Perish the thought!" returned Linda devoutly. "I wouldn't have you -within a thousand miles of father." - -"That's what the doctor says," remarked King, his pensive gaze bent on -the ribbon bordering of Linda's thin frock. - -She started and leaned toward him. "The doctor!" she repeated. "Has -Doctor Flagg been talking to you about father? Is he--is he worried -about him?" - -King shook his head. "I didn't go to Doctor Flagg. I went to Doctor -Young. We've been getting some golf together lately, and he's a good -sort." - -"What's the matter with _you_, Bertram?" Linda sat up again, and her -voice and manner cooled. "What do you want of a doctor?" - -King shook his head. "Never in my life before: first offense. -Everything seemed to go back on me all of a sudden. Sleeping, eating, -and all the rest of it." The speaker scowled. "The mischief of it is, -Young says I've got to get away for a month at least. He says--Oh, you -don't care what he says." - -Linda regarded the downcast one. He was speaking to her as to an -equal, not, as usual, with tacit rebuke for some misdemeanor. This -blunt reproach, if it were reproach, merely referred casually to her -indifference. - -"I care a great deal," she returned, with spirit. "I'm sure it will -make my father very anxious to have you away at the same time he is." - -King lifted his weary eyes to hers, eager and bright. - -"I'm sure Doctor Flagg could give you a tonic or something to tide you -over till we return in September," she went on. "You could go then." - -Her companion leaned back in his chair with a long, inaudible breath. -"We have arranged all that. Mr. Barry wants me to go." - -The speaker did look rather cadaverous. Linda realized it now. It was a -strange thing to have in any degree a sense of compassion for him: this -masterful man on whom her father leaned, the man who alone in all the -world had a hundred times without a word put her in the wrong, and whom -as often she had fervently wished she might never see again. She had -chafed against that chain of her father's reliance which bound herself -as well. There was no escaping King, and when in her busy college -life she thought of him at all, it was as a presumptuous creature who -was continually making good his presumption; and what could be more -exasperating than that? - -King was a self-made man, one with few connections in Chicago, one of -whom was Linda's voice teacher, Mrs. Porter. The girl never had exactly -understood this relationship, but the fact that some of Mrs. Porter's -blood ran in his veins constituted Bertram's only redeeming trait in -the eyes of that lady's adorer. Now as she regarded him, staring with -discontented eyes at the rug, a sense came over her for the first time -that King was a lonely figure. It was all very well for a man in health -to live at the University Club and have his mind and life entirely -wrapped up in business; but when eating and sleeping became difficult -and the brain was over-weary, the evenings might seem rather long to -him. - -"It serves a young man right," thought Linda, "when he will bind -himself on the wheel of business and act as if there was not one thing -in the world worth having but money!" Hadn't she seen to what such a -course had brought her father? She spoke:-- - -"There's a lot of nonsense in all this kow-towing to business," she -said. "Why do men make such slaves of themselves?" - -"So their women can have a house like this, several gowns like yours, -and a motor like the one you're going out in," responded King dully. - -Linda's rosy lips curled. "Fred Whitcomb's motor is last year's model." - -Her companion smiled. - -"There, you see!" he remarked. "There's nothing for me to do but to -keep on hustling so you can always have the latest." - -Color flashed over Linda's face, but she shrugged carelessly. - -"Oh, of course," she retorted, "everything is Eve's fault." - -"Pretty sure to be," returned King, nodding slowly. "_Cherchez la -femme. Toujours cherchez la femme._" He regarded her for a moment of -silence, during which she was so uncomfortable that she raised both -hands to arrange an imaginary hairpin at the back of her head. - -"Where have you decided to go?" she asked at last, continually warmer -under his eyes, and wondering if Fred Whitcomb had had a puncture. - -"Why, I thought it would be great to spend long Colorado days in the -saddle with you." - -"Did you really?" Linda's little laugh had a most discouraging note. - -"Yes, but Dr. Young jumped on that. He said I mustn't go within gunshot -of your father." - -Linda shook her head. "I should advise you not to myself. I'm a pretty -good shot." - -King looked up. "It would be great, though. Think of having you through -with all this college foolery, and having plenty of time to talk to -you." - -The girl's eyes brightened. "Pray, did you consider Yale foolery?" - -"A lot of it, yes," replied King, wearily; "but never mind, Linda, -we're through with all that. I thought of the long days out there in -Estes Park, the divine air, 'the dark pilasters of the pines,' and you, -sparkling and radiant, on a good horse, and I with time enough to tell -you how I love you!" - -"Bertram!" Linda shot rather than rose to her feet, and her eyes -launched arrows. - -"Sit down. Sit down. I shall have to stand if you don't, and I'm -dog-tired. Didn't you know I loved you, Linda, honest now?" - -The girl sank into her chair. She was trying to think of the cruelest -way to crush him. She opened her lips once or twice to speak and closed -them again. King regarded her immovably, his worn look meeting her -vital gaze. - -"Your taste in jokes is very poor," she said at last, and her tone was -icy, "and you may rest assured that no regard for you will prevent my -telling my father exactly what you have said." - -"You needn't. He knows it," returned King. His voice, which had -brightened, relapsed into nervelessness. - -"My father knows it!" The girl could not restrain the exclamation. - -"Yes, of course. I believed you did, upon my honor. I've had so little -time, you see, and you've been so busy." - -He seemed so innocent of offense that her anger gave way to the -habitual exasperation. - -"Bertram King," she said,--and if there is such a thing as stormy -dignity her manner expressed it,--"I believe the grind of business -has dried up your brains. I could count on the fingers of one hand -the occasions on which you have expressed even approval of me." Her -nostrils dilated as she spoke. - -Her companion's solemn visage suddenly beamed in a smile. "You remember -them, then," he returned, with a pleased naivete which nearly wrecked -her severity; but she held her pose. - -"You dared to speak to my dear father--I think you have him mesmerized, -I really do--you dared to speak to him seriously of--of--caring for me, -when you have criticized nearly every move I have made at home for four -years." - -"Have I? I don't remember saying anything discourteous to you." - -"You didn't need to," retorted Linda. She didn't wish to snap, she -wished to freeze, but old wounds ached. "Your actions, your looks, were -quite enough." - -"My looks?" repeated King mildly. "I'm sure you exaggerate. It must -have been these glasses: the wrong shape or something." He took them -off and regarded them critically. - -"I hate your jokes!" retorted the girl, hotly. - -"Hate what you like so long as it isn't me!" - -"It is you!" The words came with emphasis. - -"Then you do like me." King nodded. "It's an admission." - -"You disgust me with your silliness," she returned, turning away. "I -wonder what has become of Fred Whitcomb." She rose and swept to the bay -window. - -King followed her. - -"Fred's a good fellow. I always liked Whitcomb," he said. - -Linda made no response to this. She scanned the road anxiously up and -down. - -There was another interim of silence; then:-- - -"Your father would be pleased, Linda," ventured King. "He said so." - -"You hypnotize him. _I_ said so. My father," she added with scorn,--"my -father like me to marry a man who always disapproved of me?" - -"Is that why you try to hate me?" asked King thoughtfully. "I have -disapproved of you a good many times, but I do think that--considering -everything--you've done very well." - -Linda, the all-conquering, the leader, the criterion, turned upon the -speaker a gaze of amazement; then she laughed. - -"How kind! You overwhelm me." - -"Yes, I do really think so. Considering your beauty, your strength, -your easy finances, your college crushes, your empress-like reign, -you've done pretty well to consider others as much as you have." - -"Others?" the echo came crisply. "What others?" - -"Your father mainly." - -"My father!" Linda faced him now, and sparks were flying from the brown -eyes. "Bertram King, I adore my father!" - -"Yes, I know,--when you have time." - -"What--what is it? Would you have had me not go to college?" - -"No,"--King spoke in a reasonable tone,--"you did right to go to -college." - -"Thank you--a thousand times." The crisp waves of the speaker's hair -seemed to snap as on a cold night while she bowed her thanks. - -King played with his glasses; and she turned quickly back to the window -in order that he should not see that sudden tears quenched the fire in -her eyes. Her father's preoccupied face rose before her. Was it true -that she had ever neglected him? A habit of sighing unconsciously had -recently grown upon him. She had noticed that, and also that in late -months new lines of harassment had come in his face. Never mind, she -was going to run away with him, devote herself to him, far from this -man who dared to comment, and to pick flaws in her behavior. He should -never see her change. - -"I did want to do some riding with you, Linda. The idea comes to me -like a picture or a poem when I think of those forests:-- - - '--here and there in solemn lines - The dark pilasters of the pines - Bore up the high woods' somber dome; - Between their shafts, like tapestry flung, - A soft blue vapor fell and hung.' - -Nice, isn't it?" - -"On what bond issue did you find that?" inquired Linda, tapping the -window pane with restless fingers, and watching impatiently for her -laggard cavalier. - -"I told Dr. Young I wanted to play with you and your father, but he -said Mr. Barry and I didn't know how to play." - -"He was quite right." - -King regarded his companion's averted, charming head with a pale smile. -"You know," he remarked after a little, "we can love people while -seeing their imperfections." - -"Not I! I love only perfection." - -King gave a noiseless whistle, and raised his eyebrows. "I'm so glad -I'm perfect," he said at last. - -Linda looked around at him slowly. How pale he was! Ripples of the -flood of tenderness that had bathed the thought of her father flowed -grudgingly toward her companion, as he stood there in the long -twilight, regarding her with lack-lustre eyes. - -"There are pines outside of Colorado," she remarked. - -"That's what Mrs. Porter says." - -"Mrs. Porter?" Linda echoed him with interest; "but she has left town. -I went to the studio yesterday, and she's gone; gone to Maine without -letting me know." - -"You've been pretty hard to locate, remember. She told me she was -going." - -Linda sighed. "If she could have gone West with Father and me, it would -have been perfect." - -"I'm said to resemble Maud very strongly," suggested King. - -Linda regarded him with quick appraisement. "I never thought of it." -She turned back to the window. "I can quote poetry, too, when I think -of her. The other day I found a verse that fits her:-- - - 'He that of such a height hath built his mind, - And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so strong, - As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame - Of his resolved powers; nor all the wind - Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong - His settled peace, or to disturb the same: - What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may - The boundless wastes and wilds of man survey.' - -A man named Daniel wrote that. Isn't it perfect?" - -"H'm," agreed King. "A Daniel come to judgment. Maud likes you very -much," he added. - -"She loves me, thank you," flashed Linda, against his tepid speech. - -"Then it runs in the family. I've told her how I felt toward you -myself." - -"And told her all my faults, I suppose." The girl bit her lip. - -"Oh, I knew she could see those. Maud is very penetrating." Fire and -dew flashed at him again. "Linda," he added in a different tone, -"Whitcomb can't be much longer. Do you know I'm asking you to marry me?" - -An inarticulate sound from his companion, and continued drumming on the -window pane. - -"I came to your father's employ ten years ago. I climbed the ladder -slowly, but just three years and eight months ago I reached the rung -from which I could see you." A pause. "You've haunted me ever since." - -"Unintentional, I assure you." But Linda, her cheeks burning, could not -look around again. In her tumult of hurt pride and indignation there -penetrated a strain of triumph. - -"Certainly," returned King; "you had other things to attend to, and so -had I. You've attended to them with vast credit, and your father will -tell you that I'm not so bad. Now a new chapter begins. Probably no one -will ever love you as comprehendingly as I do." - -"I shouldn't think of marrying any one who didn't consider me perfect," -announced Linda clearly. - -"Remember the chromo that goes with me--Mrs. Porter. Maud would be your -cousin." King dangled his eyeglasses as he made the suggestion, and -regarded a short curl of hair that had dropped against his companion's -white neck. - -Linda was silent for a moment. "I suppose you'll poison her mind -against me now," she said. - -"No. You've poured hot tea and cold water on my budding hopes, but -I'm strictly honorable; and besides, I'm going to remember that both -douches are good for plants. Ask your father if I know how to hang on -to a proposition." - -Silence. Linda's strong heart beat against her ribs as the man came a -step nearer to her. - -"Don't you touch me!" she exclaimed. - -"I wasn't thinking of touching you, Linda. I just wanted to fix your -hair. Something has fallen down here; just wait, I see a hairpin." - -The girl preserved her pose under the caressing hands for a second, but -he fumbled the soft lock, and she suspected him. - -"That will do," she said, jerking her head away. - -"Oh, well, I fixed it. You might thank me, going out as you are." - -"I should think Fred had fallen dead!" she exclaimed. - -"Yes; Maud prescribes Maine for me. She knows the lay of the land -pretty well up there. She says she has known it for thirty years. I -think that's an exaggeration, don't you?" - -"I don't know how old she is, and I don't care; I only know that it -must have nearly killed her husband to die and leave her." - -King rocked back and forth on his toes. "I've heard that it did, -entirely," he responded. - -Linda gave her head a quick shake. "No wonder I say idiotic things!" -she exclaimed. "It's catching!--Fred! Fred!" The sudden call was a cry -of relief, and the girl quickly stepped out of an open glass door upon -the piazza, and hurried down the steps. A motor had stopped beside the -walk. King caught up his hat and followed her. - -"I thought you'd never come!" cried Linda, to the joy of the distracted -chauffeur. - -"Great Scott! I thought I never would either!" he responded. - -"What have you been doing? Climbing trees?" asked King. "Linda and I -had nearly decided to be reckless and go to a movie." - -"Nothing of the sort," averred Linda, "but I had begun to believe all -four were punctured." - -"One was," admitted Whitcomb, "and I've had a dozen delays." And he -gnashed his teeth over a wasted hour of June as he handed his fair one -into the front seat. - -"Whither away?" inquired King. - -"To the North Shore," responded Whitcomb, with fire in his eye which -portended speeding. - -"Drop me at the club, then, will you, Freddy?" And without waiting for -the assent Bertram landed in the tonneau as the car started. - -In front of the University Club he descended, and stepped forward -beside Linda. - -"I may not see you again," he said, standing between the wheels, -hatless, and holding her hand. "Have a good time. If you send me a -picture postal, it will be all off between us." - -"What did he mean?" asked Whitcomb, as with a whirr and a jerk they -were on their way again. - -"Why, I'm going to Colorado with my father; or he's going with me. He's -tired." - -"Well, he has nothing on King," remarked Freddy. "Never saw any one -run down as that chap has the last month. He'd better get some smaller -collars. Don't you care, Linda! Send _me_ a picture postal, and I'll -frame it." - -The look that accompanied this outburst was lost on the adored one. She -was trying to remember if Bertram King's collar had looked too large. - -The University Club was a lonely place! - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE JUNE NIGHT - - -Linda enjoyed the long flight under the June stars between the waves -of the freshwater sea and the star-filled lagoons of Lincoln Park, and -returned late to the dark house on the avenue. - -"Did you ever see anything look so inhospitable!" she exclaimed, as her -escort ran with her up the steps. "I wonder why Sedley didn't light up." - -"Do you want me to go in and look under all the beds for you?" asked -Whitcomb gayly. - -"No. Father's bound to be in one of them by this time. I'm afraid to -look at my watch. You shouldn't have kept me out so late, Freddy. You -know it was against my will." - -He could see her dimples in the starlight. They had been dear to him in -grammar school; dear to him all the years while he was bereft of them -at Harvard. - -"If I could keep you always!" he ejaculated, in a lower tone. - -"Against my will?" she laughed. "How about your promise, Freddy?" - -"Yes, I know I did," was the incoherent response, "but you're going -away--and--are you sure you don't feel a bit--not the least bit -different, Linda?" - -She shook her head at the pleading tone, and its low vibration set -some chord within her to stirring. The sudden vision of Bertram King -rose before her, dangling his eyeglasses and watching to see what -she would say and how she would say it. Freddy had none of Bertram's -hateful way of taking things for granted. He was all that was manly and -humble and appealing. She could see in the dim light his square, strong -hands clenched, and she felt again King's slender fingers on her hair; -insolent, presumptuous: a man who had never courted her. - -She liked Whitcomb so much. She approved of him so deeply. - -"I ought not to have gone with you to-night," she said, and the gentle, -regretful voice was so unlike Linda Barry that it frightened her -devoted suitor. - -"No, no. No, no!" he exclaimed quickly, taking a fresh grip on the -situation. "I assumed all the responsibility. I haven't forgotten it." - -His teeth closed, and the two regarded one another. She again -contrasted his athletic build and efficient effect with King, very much -to the latter's disadvantage. - -"Oh, Freddy!" she exclaimed appealingly, and her fingers locked -together, "there are so many nice girls." She paused, but he was -silent. "I should just love your wife, I know. What fun we would have -together!" - -"Afraid not, Linda. Three's a crowd." A sudden thought corrugated -the speaker's forehead. "Were you thinking--thinking of making it a -quartette?" - -"What an idea!" - -The corrugation remained. "I've been suspecting that that dry-as-dust -King would pounce on you as soon as you left school." - -"Really, Freddy, your language--" - -Linda's cheeks flushed. Were not the boyish words extremely graphic! - -"Well, wouldn't it occur to any one? He must have some human moments -when the machine's resting, and he has eyes in his head. Each man of -us wants the best of everything, and aren't you the best of everything? -I don't care a hang for your father's money. I got a raise last week." - -"Bless your dear heart, Freddy!" - -"Don't!" The young fellow winced. "I abhor that big-sister tone of -yours. King's hand in glove with your father. Everybody says Barry & -Co. take on nothing that King doesn't sanction, and your father is some -business man, as you may know. I only hope he won't ever regret such -absolute faith. I know I bought something, and--well, I believe it's -shaky to tell the truth, and I've begun to wonder if, after all, King -is such a wizard. But--all this is nothing to you. I just want to be -sure that if I'm not the leading man it'll be somebody with more flesh -and blood than King, somebody gaited more like myself, only a better -man. If I've got to give you up, I want it to be to a better man, -Linda; not to a long-legged, cadaverous, conceited prig!" - -"Why, Freddy, Freddy!" Bertram was all that. Why should Linda object to -hearing it in good nervous English? "I had no idea you disliked Bertram -so," she said. - -"Didn't you think he had his nerve to start out with us to-night? I -don't understand how he was able to make me feel that way, but somehow -it was just as if he said: 'Yes, you have my permission to take her -driving this once. Be good children and enjoy yourselves.'" - -Linda laughed. "Imaginative, too! Why, I'm learning a lot about you -to-night; and here I was thinking you were an open book!" - -"Not if you didn't know I was imaginative," declared Whitcomb. "If I -should tell you of some pictures I draw--" - -He came a step nearer, and the girl shrank. - -"Good-night!" she exclaimed; "Father's pretty indulgent, but if he -should wake up he might be worried. Good-night; I've had such a good -time, Freddy." She gave him her firm, brief, boyish hand-shake, and -glided within the door. It was still open and the house not lighted! -Then her father-- - -"Linda, I'm in here, daughter." - -The voice came from the reception room, where earlier she had talked -with King. - -With a swish of her motor coat the girl turned and entered the room, -noting instantly and with relief that her father was leaning back in -an armchair in the corner of the dark room farthest from the window. -Then he had not overheard Whitcomb's talk. - -"Why aren't you in bed? Were you worried, dear?" she asked repentantly. -"These June nights are all like day, aren't they?" She hurried forward, -and sitting on the arm of her father's chair drew his head toward her -and kissed his forehead, taking one of his hands into her lap. "One -hasn't sense enough to go in on such a night. We left Sheridan Road as -lively as if it were noon. Really I don't know what time it is now. Is -it awfully late? I'm sorry if I worried you." - -"No, little one." The reply was gentle and abstracted. "I knew you were -all right. I knew you were with Fred." - -"Why, how did you know it?" The sprightly, fresh voice sounded gay -after the tired one. - -"Bertram told me." - -"Bertram!" The ejaculation was accusing. "Where have you seen him?" - -"At the office." - -"The office! Of all places this glorious night! Father, dear," -reproachfully, "I thought you went off with Mr. Radcliffe to paint -the town. That's what he told me. How could Bertram get hold of you? -I'd have made Freddy tie him to our machine if I had suspected such a -thing." - -"Mr. Radcliffe had some business to talk over, and the data were at the -office." - -The utter weariness of the reply made the fresh face cling again -against the speaker's gray head. - -"But Bertram came here to find you." - -"Yes, I got him at the club." - -Linda gave an inarticulate exclamation. "Oh, doesn't it just do me good -to think how soon you'll be where offices and Bertrams are unknown!" -she said slowly. - -The man in her embrace lifted her hand to his lips in silence. - -"You're the stunningest thing on horseback that was ever seen," she -went on, "and the only time you'll be out of the saddle is when you're -in bed." - -Silence. - -"Why don't you say something?" she mumbled against his hair. "Did you -know I was good-looking?" she added after a pause, lifting her head -and squeezing him. - -"Yes, child." - -"Oh, Father, don't be so meek! Say something nice and impudent, or I'll -think you're _too_ tired, and take you away to-morrow. I was leading up -tactfully to thanking you for being the best-looking man in Chicago so -your daughter could have a nice nose." She burrowed the feature into -his thick hair, and kissed it again. - -"You're my darling girl," he said soberly. "You've been a joy to me -ever since you were born." - -"Hurrah for us!" ejaculated Linda. "I've been no kind of a joy compared -to what I'm going to be. Now I have all this school business off my -hands, I'm going to trail you--just dog your footsteps. Now, don't say -that I won't be near so much of a joy that way, because I can think of -more ways to make you have a good time than you dream of now!" - -"You aren't the sort of girl who stays with Father long." - -"Do you mean marriage? My dear sir, don't you know that handsome girls -are far less apt to marry than the nice, commonplace, cozy ones with -turn-up noses? I admit coyly that I'm something of a peach, but I'm -going to stay with you." - -"Have you ever thought,"--the question came gravely,--"have you ever -thought of--Bertram?" - -Color mounted richly over the face against the gray hair. - -"Thought of him! I should say so! The most critical, disagreeable, -_nosey_ man; always interfering and--and trying to make people over -into his mold. It never occurs to him that his ideas could be anything -less than perfection." - -"I'm surprised to hear you speak so," came the monotonous voice, "and -disappointed too." - -"Father, dear, don't! You make me sad! When I know you've come into -this tired condition, just working for me,--that's one of the pleasant -things Bertram said to me to-night." - -"He was wrong. It wasn't working for you, Linda. Remember that. -Money-making gets to be a disease. A millionaire should be satisfied; -but the multi-millionaires are ahead of him, and the game is -exciting." There was no excitement in the colorless voice. "Mere -prosperity palls. He takes chances, hoping and expecting to do great -things for himself and every one involved with him. There's the pinch. -He should never allow others to take chances with him. That's criminal." - -"Oh, well." Linda opposed a light tone to what she considered the -morbidity of over-fatigue. Her heart reproached her for not having seen -the symptoms long ago. She should have thrown up college and taken her -dear one away long ago. Resentment against King again flared up in her. -His had been daily companionship with her father. How could he have let -it come to this! - -"If Barry & Co.," she went on, "should ever have a setback, they would -simply deal out,"--she gestured as if dealing cards,--"deal out to the -little people and make up their losses. That would be Barry & Co.'s -way," she added proudly. - -Her father's next words were irrelevant, and came after a short silence. - -"I'm surprised that you give Bertram such a bad character. He is -unconscious of offending you, I'm sure." - -"Oh, Daddy, dear, don't bother about that. I don't hate him, you -understand. It's only that he is flint and perhaps I'm steel. At any -rate, there are fireworks when we mingle in society." - -"Not flint at all, Linda. He loves you." - -"A queer sort of love, then. It isn't so much what he says, -dear,"--Linda's cheeks were burning,--"it's that compelling--oh, sort -of--well, compelling's the best word,--that always wants to--to guide -me; and I won't be guided by anybody but you. I'll tell you what, -Daddy, you haven't any son, and I'm going to be your son after this. -If you're very good for two whole weeks after we get out to Colorado, -and don't say one word about business, after that I'll get you to tell -me all about your affairs, and I'll put my whole mind on understanding -them. You know, Daddy, I have a good head for mathematics and for -business generally,--truly I have. This isn't bluffing. If you'll -take a little pains with me, you'll find Bertram isn't the only one -you'll confide in. I think I'd like business. My heart isn't much to -boast of, but my head, now, when it comes to my head--Thank Heaven, -Bertram will be where he can't write to you about anything but fish. -Mrs. Porter has persuaded him to go to Maine. Just think what she did, -Daddy. She went off without saying a word to me. I went down to the -studio and there was no one there but a caretaker, packing up. The -calendar hadn't been torn off, so I tore off a leaf and wrote her a -message on the date I was there. It's a calendar of Bible promises, -and this one was, 'When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then -the Lord will take thee up.' I added something about her inhumanity in -forsaking me." - -"Why--why,"--Mr. Barry's brow wrinkled,--"I'm afraid I've been remiss. -I paid the bill for your lessons, and when she sent back the receipt -she wrote something about having tried to get you on the 'phone, but -that you were too popular, and that she was going East to tell your -aunt that you were a good girl." - -"Then she has gone to the Cape!" exclaimed Linda, with interest. "I -remember when Aunt Belinda was here at Christmas Mrs. Porter talked -about it with her." - -"Yes," responded Mr. Barry, "and I think the plan is for Bertram to -join her there if--when he can go." - -"Right away, won't he?" demanded Linda eagerly. "His doctor says--" - -"Yes, poor Bertram," said Mr. Barry slowly, "he does need it; but, -little one,"--he patted Linda's hand slowly,--"we can't either of us go -quite so soon as we expected." - -"Now, Father!" exclaimed the girl acutely. - -"Something very important, Linda,"--his voice increased as he repeated -it,--"very important. I think we must--" he rose; "but it's late. We -must go upstairs now, little one." - -His repetition of the term of affection impressed Linda. It was -associated with sadness. She remembered how often he had used it during -the week that her mother died. - -"I shall read you to sleep, dear. Please let me," she said as they rose. - -"No, no need of that. Go to bed, little girl. I'll lock up. Good-night, -daughter." - -He put his arms around her, and she clung to him, kissing him again and -again. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE CAPE - - -Maine. Mrs. Porter loved the very word. Always when the train left the -North Station in Boston she sank into her chair with a sense of shaking -off the cares of life; and to-day the smile she gave the porter as he -placed her suit-case beside that chair was valued, even by him, more -than the coin she placed in his hand. - -The cares of life in her case were represented by a busy music studio, -where, luckily for her, every half-hour was a busy one; but there were -the pupils who didn't supply their own steam, but had to be urged -laboriously up the steeps of Parnassus; there were those in whom a -voice must be manufactured if it ever appeared; and those whose talent -was great and whose application was fitful; those whose vanity was -fatuous, and those whose self-depreciation was a ball and chain; those -who had been badly taught and who must be guided through that valley of -humiliation where bad habits are overthrown. Taking into account all -the trials of the profession, any voice teacher in Mrs. Porter's place -to-day might give a Boston and Maine porter a seraphic smile as if he -were opening to her the gate leading to Elysian Fields where pianos and -_vocalises_ have no place. - -"That woman sure do look happy," was the soliloquy of this particular -red-cap as he pocketed the silver and left the car. - -The traveler leaned back in her chair with a glorious sense of -unlimited leisure, and prepared to recognize the landmarks grown as -familiar to her as the scenes on the Illinois Central suburban railroad. - -Probably none of her pupils save Linda Barry, although there were -other hero-worshipers among them, would deny that Mrs. Porter's nose -was too short, her mouth too wide, and her eyes too small; but the -kindly lips revealed such even teeth, and the eyes such light, that no -one commented on Maud Porter's looks, nor cared what shape her nose -was. One saw, as she leaned back now in her chair, that her brown hair -was becoming softly powdered with gray. Her eyes half closed as the -express train gained speed, flying away from care, and her humorous -lips curved as she considered the mild adventure on which she was -embarking. - -When Miss Belinda Barry had visited her brother during the holidays, -she had dropped some remarks concerning her home which had roused -Mrs. Porter's curiosity and interest. The idea had been growing on -her all the spring that, instead of going out as usual to one of the -islands in Casco Bay, she would explore this corner of the mainland -from whence had sprung the Chicago financier. She had not, however, -communicated since with Miss Barry. She did not wish that lady to feel -any responsibility for her. - -A picture of Linda's aunt rose before her mind as she reflected. Tall, -thin, with a scanty coiffure and long onyx earrings. These ornaments -Miss Barry had donned in her youth, and declined to renounce with the -fashion; so that when they began to be worn again by the daring, they -gave her the effect, as Linda had confided to her teacher, of being -"the sportiest old thing in town." - -The naturally severe cast of Miss Barry's features, Mrs. Porter had -always observed, rather increased in severity when the good lady looked -at her niece, and that holiday visit had been a strain on both sides. - -It was happy history repeating itself when the traveler alighted -to-day at the Union Station in Portland. The same involuntary wonder -rose within her that any face could look harassed, ill, or care-worn -here. It was Maine. It was the enchanted land! the land of pines, of -unmeasured ocean, of supernatural beauty in sunset skies; of dreamful -days and dreamless nights. - -She smiled at her own childish ignoring of the seamy side of existence -as evidenced in the look of many of the crowd hurrying through the -busy clearing-house of the station. She beamed upon a porter who took -her to a waiting carriage--a sea-going hack, Linda would have called -it--and drove to a hotel. She would not risk arriving in the evening in -a locality where the only inn might be that of the Silver Moon. - -Till supper time--it would be supper, she considered exultantly--she -wandered up Congress Street to some of her favorite shops. Undeniably -there are other streets in Portland, but to the summer visitor the -dignified city is much like a magnified village with one main street -where its life centers. - -Maud Porter entered one shop after another, repressing with difficulty -her longing to tell every clerk how happy she was to be back, and -enjoying all over again the good manners and obligingness of everybody. - -Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, she made her inquiries and -took her train. It was one that stopped at every station, and when, -after three quarters of an hour of this sauntering, she alighted on a -desolate and unpromising platform, her first thought was to inquire in -the small depot for the first train back. The little house seemed to -be deserted for the moment, however, and she observed an elderly man -with a short white beard, who, with trousers tucked into his boots and -thumbs hooked in his armholes, stood at a little distance, regarding -speculatively the lady in the gray suit and floating gray veil. Near -where he was standing a carryall was waiting by the platform. - -In Mrs. Porter's indecision she looked again within the weather-beaten -station, then across at the motionless, weather-beaten face. - -"There doesn't seem to be any one in here," she said. - -"I cal'late Joe's out in the shed luggin' wood," responded the man. -His pleasant tone, his drawl, the sea-blue of his eyes, caused her to -move toward him as the needle to the magnet. She knew the type. All the -suspended Maine exhilaration rushed back upon her. How clean he was! -How rough! How adorable! - -"I've come," she said, gazing up into the eyes regarding her steadily, -and said no more. - -"Want me to haul ye?" he asked kindly, not changing his position. - -"Yes." - -"Where to?" - -"I don't know." The sunlight of her smile evoked a grin from him. - -"Come on a chance, have ye?" - -"Yes, So did you, I should think. Nobody but little me getting off -here." - -"No, 't ain't time for 'em really to come yet." - -"Who? Summer people, do you mean?" - -"Yes. Folks is beginnin' to think they like it down here; but we don't -take summer boarders to the Cape, ye'll have to know that." - -A prodigious wink enveloped one sea-blue eye. - -"Oh, I'm so sorry." Mrs. Porter's smile vanished in her earnestness. -"Wouldn't--wouldn't your wife, perhaps--" - -"Haven't got none." - -"Oh, I'm sorry." - -"I ain't. Ben glad on't always. Hain't ever repented." - -"Then you mean you never were married." - -"That's what I mean." The speaker nodded as if to emphasize a triumph. - -"But isn't there some one in your--your village--I suppose it's a -village, isn't it?" - -"Shouldn't wonder if 'twas." - -The visitor tasted that "'t wa-a-as" with appetite, and echoed it -mentally. - -"Some one who would take a boarder if--if I want to stay?" The -monotonous landscape was not inviting. - -"Wall, for accawmodation's sake I cal'late they would; but it's only -for accawmodation's sake, ye understand." The speaker winked again. -"The Cape don't take boarders." - -"Oh, I see," laughed the visitor. "But you must have expected somebody. -You're here." - -"Usually git somebody. I haul 'em for hard cash, not for -accawmodation's sake, so ye see I'm on hand." - -"I should hope so. What should I have done if you hadn't been here?" - -"Oh, they'se a car you could git over there a little piece." The -speaker unhooked one thumb and gestured. - -"I'd far rather go with you, Mr.--Mr.--" - -"Holt. Jerry Holt. Most folks forgit the Mister. Shall I take yer bag?" - -It was standing where Mrs. Porter had descended from the train, and -Jerry unhooked his thumbs and clumped across the platform in the heavy -boots in which he had gone clamming that morning. - -Maud Porter, her spirits high, entered the old carryall. She suddenly -decided not to mention her acquaintance with Miss Barry, but to pursue -her way independently. - -Deliberately her companion placed her bag in the carriage, then lifted -the weight which anchored his steed to duty, and took his place on the -front seat, half turning with a sociable air to include his passenger. -"Git ap, Molly," he remarked, and Molly somewhat stiffly consented to -move. - -"You have a nice horse," remarked his passenger fatuously. She knew her -own folly, but reveled in it. Pegasus himself could not have pleased -her at this moment so well as Jerry Holt's bay. It proved that her -remark was the open sesame to her driver's heart. - -"There's wuss," he admitted. "Ye see me lift that weight jest now? -It's nonsense to use it, but Molly's a female, after all, and in-gines -comin' and goin' might git on her nerves; but take her in the ro'd, -now, that hoss, she ain't afraid o' no nameable thing!" The sea-blue -eyes met his listener with a challenge. - -"Not autos even?" with open admiration. - -Jerry Holt snorted. "Shoot! She looks down on 'em. Miss--Miss--" - -"Oh, excuse me. I forgot you didn't know me. I'm Mrs. Porter, from -Chicago." - -"Chicago, eh? We've got a neighbor out there. Barry his name is. A -banker. Ever hear of him?" - -"Oh, yes, certainly." - -"Sister lives here still. We all went to school together." - -They were driving on a good road between green fields, and Mrs. Porter -scented the crisp sea air. - -"There's a handsome new house started over there," she said, indicating -a hill which was to their left. "Who's building that?" - -"Wall, now," the driver responded in his slow, mellifluous tones, "I -couldn't tell ye--sudden." - -Mrs. Porter leaned back in the carriage with a sigh of ineffable -contentment, and thought of the corner of State and Madison streets. - -In a minute more the glorious blue of the ocean came in sight, and -scattered cottages, which with delightful irregularity were set down at -random, some of them surrounded with trees and shrubs. - -Mrs. Porter leaned forward with sparkling eyes. - -"Don't take me anywhere just yet," she said. "Drive about a little. -Have you time?" - -"Plenty," declared her companion. "Hain't got to go to the station only -once more to-day. Git ap, Molly." - -"Oh, let her walk if she wants to. This is beautiful!" - -The Cape ran out into the sea, bearing lighthouses, and was bordered -with high, jagged rocks among which the clear waves rushed and broke in -gay, powerful confusion. As they neared the water the visitor observed -on the side toward the ship channel a cottage whose piazza touched the -rocks. The hill upon which it stood ended abruptly at the water, and -daisies waved in the interstices of the natural sea-wall. - -"Who is the lucky woman who lives clinging to the rocks like that?" -asked Mrs. Porter, indicating the shingled house with her slender -umbrella. - -"That? Oh, that's Belinda Barry's cottage. Might's well live in the -lighthouse and done with it, I say; but she's got a spyglass and likes -to watch the shippin'. See the New York bo't out there comin' in now? -There! Hear her blow? Bet Belinda's got her eye on her this minute. -Seems if Belinda set on them rocks a lot when she was a girl, and had a -cottage in the air, ye might say, 'bout livin' there some day; so when -her brother began to have more money'n he knew what to do with, he give -Belinda that place. Nobody else wanted it, I can tell ye that. When I'm -ashore I'd ruther _be_ ashore, myself." - -A man with a bucket of clams passed their slow-moving carriage, and -looked curiously at Mrs. Porter. - -"Hello, Cy," said Jerry Holt, jerking his head toward the other's nod. - -The visitor looked after the figure in the dilapidated coat. "That man -had a fine head," she said. - -"H'm," ejaculated the other. "A pity there ain't more in it." - -"Oh, is the poor creature--do you mean--" - -"Oh, no, not so bad as that; but ye know how there are some folks no -matter what they try at, they 're allers poundin' and goin' astern. -Cy's that kind." - -"It's a mercy there are always clams," said Mrs. Porter, and Jerry -Holt's sea-blue eyes twinkled at her. - -The visitor's plans for independence suddenly weakened. That cottage -clinging to the rocks was undermining it more swiftly the further the -carriage advanced. - -"I believe, Mr. Holt, you'd better leave me at Miss Barry's," she said -suddenly. - -He shook his head. "Not a bit o' use," he replied. "She won't even -accawmodate ye, let alone takin' a boarder. Belinda ain't stuck up. Her -worst enemy can't say it changed her a mite to have a brother that eats -off gold plates. She was always jest that way." - -"What way?" - -"Oh, high-headed ye might call it. I dunno exactly what; but Belinda -allers claimed to steer; and now she lives to Portland winters in any -hotel she's a mind to, she don't act a mite different from what she -allers did, though lots o' folks claim she does. 'T ain't no use, -though, Mis' Porter, your goin' there. I'd--I'd kind o' hate to have -Belinda refuse ye." - -The speaker cast a kindly glance at his passenger, who smiled back at -him appreciatively. - -"Thank you, but I do know Miss Barry. I met her in Chicago, and I'll -just stop for a call, and she'll advise me where to go; for I tell you -I'm going to stay, Mr. Holt, even if you have to let me sleep in your -carryall. Why haven't you a nice wife, now, who would take me in?" - -"That's jest why. 'Cause that's the specialty o' wives, and I didn't -want to be took in." - -Mrs. Porter laughed, and the carryall drew up beside Miss Barry's -sunlit piazza. She opened her purse. "How much, Mr. Holt?" - -"Well, I'll have to charge ye twenty-five cents for this outin'," he -returned with deliberate cheerfulness. "One minute, till we see if Miss -Barry's to home." - -He got out upon the piazza and knocked on the cottage door, opening it -at the same time. - -"Belinda!" he called. - -"Leave it on the step," came a loud voice from the back of the house. - -"Hear that?" he grinned, turning. "She's home, and I'm to leave ye on -the step." - -"That's all right," said Mrs. Porter, alighting. Jerry Holt's clean, -rough hand assisted her, and lifted out her suit-case "I'm perfectly -charmed to be left on the step," she added, handing her guide a -quarter, which he pocketed with a nod. "I'll try not to envy the girl -who sat on these rocks and built a cottage in the air that came to -earth." - -"She's welcome to it, welcome to it," observed Jerry, as he climbed -back into the carriage. "When I'm to sea I want to be to sea. When I'm -ashore I druther be to shore." - -"Did you ever go to sea?" - -"Cap'n of a schooner fifteen year or more." - -"Why didn't you tell me? You're Captain Holt, of course." - -"Oh," he shook his head, "hain't got nothin' to steer but Molly now." -He smiled, nodded a farewell, and turned his horse around with many a -cluck of encouragement. - -The sound of departing wheels was lost in the swish of surf on the -rocks. Maud Porter stood looking seaward. Again the New York boat in -the distance, lost to sight now, boomed its signal to smaller fry as -it advanced to the harbor. The rioting wind carried her thin gray veil -out straight. She heard the house door open, and turned to meet the -surprised gaze of Miss Barry, in a checked gingham gown, but with her -scanty coiffure and long onyx earrings precisely as she had seen them -last. - -Mrs. Porter smiled radiantly, and captured her streaming veil. - -"I'm what he left on the step," she said. - -Miss Barry's surprised gaze grew uncertain. There was a familiar look -about this radiant face, but where-- - -"Was you one of the Portland Aid--" she began. - -"No, no!" Mrs. Porter stepped forward and held out both her hands. -"Don't let my suit-case frighten you, dear Miss Barry. I've only come -to call. Remember last Christmas in Chicago, and Linda's teacher, Mrs. -Porter?" - -"Mrs. Porter!" exclaimed Miss Barry, letting her hand be captured in -the two outstretched ones. "Do excuse me!" Her face beamed welcome. She -had liked Linda's voice teacher, and when Belinda Barry liked a person -it was once and forever. "Come right into the house this minute," she -said cordially. "I'm ashamed o' myself!" - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE SHINGLED COTTAGE - - -Miss Barry's hard, kindly hands helped remove the visitor's hat and -veil, although Mrs. Porter repeated her declaration that she had come -only for a call. - -"You're going to stay to dinner with me," returned the hostess. "I -always do have enough for two." - -Her lips, which had returned to their rather grim line, twitched a -little as she spoke, and Maud Porter glanced about the living-room with -its old-fashioned furniture and rag rugs. Beyond was the dining-room, -divided from this only by an imaginary line, and the table stood ready -set for one. - -"You live here all alone?" asked the visitor. - -"Not half as alone as I'd like to be. I don't mind the fish and the -barnacles, but it's the folks coming to the back door. Sit right down, -Mrs. Porter." - -"Don't let me detain you if you were getting dinner." The caller -laughed. "How about these folks that come to the _front_ door; the -things Captain Holt leaves on the step?" - -"Oh, I'm in no hurry. I'm going to sit right down with you now. Things -are stewing out there. There's nothing to hurt." - -Miss Barry suited the action to the word. Mrs. Porter regarded her with -curious interest as she sank into a rocker with chintz cushions. The -hostess's narrow face, usually as devoid of expression as a mask, was -now lighted by pleasure. - -"How comes it you didn't let a body know?" she asked. - -"I was going to be so wonderfully independent! I was going to come to -the Cape, and find a place to live, and then some day saunter over to -your cottage bareheaded, and surprise you." - -"And all you accomplished was the surprise, eh?" - -"That's it, and it's entirely your fault. I was driving about with -Captain Holt to see the lay of the land, when suddenly the rocks and -the water, and this cottage perched on them like a gull's nest, did -something to me. I don't know what. I think it gave me a brain-storm. -When he told me you lived here, what could I do but rush in to -congratulate you?" - -Miss Barry's lips twitched again. "I ain't any gull, I will maintain -that, but--it is sightly, ain't it?" - -"Wonderful. Nothing less than wonderful. But in a storm, Miss Barry?" - -"Yes, the windows are all spray then, and the waves try to swallow me -up, and I can't hear myself think, but--" - -"Yes,"--Mrs. Porter nodded as the other hesitated,--"I understand that -'but.'" - -"How'd you leave my brother?" - -"Very tired." - -"That so? Wouldn't you think he'd come up here and rock in the cradle -o' the deep awhile? You write him about that hammock out there." - -Mrs. Porter looked out through the open window toward the end of the -porch, where a hammock hung. - -"The doctor says Colorado," she replied. - -"Doctor? Is it as bad as that?" Miss Barry frowned questioningly. -"Lambert never writes. I don't care for his stenographer's letters, and -he knows it. If he can't take time to write himself, let it go." The -speaker threw her head to one side, as if disposing of the matter of -fraternal affection. - -"Linda is blooming," remarked Mrs. Porter. - -Miss Barry's lips took a thinner line. "Let her bloom," she responded -dryly; and her visitor laughed again. - -"Doesn't she write either?" - -"I should say not." - -"It will be less difficult now she's out of college," said Mrs. Porter -pacifically. "Those girls are absolutely occupied, you know." - -"Never play at all, I presume," returned her hostess, with a curling -lip. - -"Oh, I wouldn't say that." - -"Better not if you care where you go to.--No," after a slight pause, -"I understand my niece a good deal better than she thinks I do. It's -enough that she scorns her own name. She was named for me. Belinda's -been good enough for me, and she's no business to slight the name her -parents gave her." - -"Oh, Linda is such a free lance," said Mrs. Porter apologetically; "and -'Linda' sounds so breezy, so--so like her. 'Belinda' is quaint and -demure, and--and you know, really, she isn't demure!" - -"Not a great deal," agreed Miss Barry curtly. "I'm sorry my brother -isn't well," she added. - -"These business men let themselves be driven so. You remember my cousin -Bertram King. He and Mr. Barry have been worn down in the same vortex, -and both are ordered away. I told Bertram Maine was the best place in -the world for him. As soon as I find an abiding-place I shall let him -know." - -Miss Barry rose suddenly. "I'm forgetting that you're starved. Just -excuse me while I dish up the chowder," she said, and vanished. - -Mrs. Porter clasped her hands and lifted her eyes. - -"Chowder!" she repeated sententiously; then she too rose, went to the -open window, and stood looking out. - -The tide was rising, and the waves, climbing higher and higher, threw -white arms toward the shingled cottage, as if claiming its boulder -foundation, and striving to pass the barrier of daisies and draw the -little house down to its own seething breast. - -As the visitor stood there, a woman, bareheaded, stepped up from the -grass upon the porch, and giving one glance from her prominent, faded -eyes at the gray figure standing in the window, crossed the piazza to -the front door, which was closed. - -Mrs. Porter, advancing, opened it, and came face to face with a scrawny -little woman, who stood with her head apologetically on the side. -Her temples were decorated with those plastered curls of hair known -as "beau-catchers," and across the forehead it was strained back and -caught in a comb set with large Rhinestones. Her red-and-green plaid -calico dress was open girlishly at the throat, around which a red -ribbon was tied with the bow in the back. - -"Why are they always thin here?" thought Maud Porter. "Is it eating -fish? Do they never have to reduce?" - -"Oh, pardon me!" exclaimed the newcomer, with such an elegant lift of -her bony shoulders that it twisted her whole body. "I expected to see -Belinda--that is--pardon me!--Miss Barry." - -"She's in the kitchen just at present. Won't you come in?" - -The newcomer accepted with alacrity, her prominent eyes openly scanning -Mrs. Porter's costume. - -"I wouldn't have thought of intruding had I supposed Miss Barry had -a guest. I didn't notice Jerry brought anybody." Another writhe, and -a rearrangement of a long necklace of imitation coral beads, which -suffered against the red plaid. - -"Yes, he brought happy me," returned Mrs. Porter, wondering whether, -with the chowder so imminent, she should ask this guest to be seated. - -The newcomer relieved her of responsibility by sinking into the nearest -chair. - -"Comin' for the summer?" she asked hurriedly, as though she felt that -her time was short. - -"I don't know. It's a place to tempt one, isn't it?" - -"The views is called wonderful," returned the other modestly. "Of -course, 't ain't for _us_ to call 'em sumtious, but artists _hev_ -called 'em sumtious." - -"They deserve any praise," was the reply, and Mrs. Porter gave the -speaker her sweet smile. - -"It's very difficult, one might almost say comple-cated, for visitin' -folks to find any place to reside on the Cape. We ain't got any hotel." - -Pen fails to describe the elegant action of shoulders and eyebrows -which accentuated this declaration, and Mrs. Porter's smile broadened. - -"I've understood so," she replied. - -"My name's Benslow," said the visitor, casting an apprehensive glance -toward the dining-room. "I've got one o' these copious houses with -so much more room than I can use that sometimes I _hev_--I _hev_ -accawmodated parties. I suppose you're from the metrolopous." - -"Well, we think it is one. I'm from that wild Chicago!" - -"Oh, I s'posed it was Boston." - -Here Miss Barry entered, bearing a steaming tureen, which perfumed the -atmosphere temptingly. - -"Hello, Luella," she said quietly. - -At the word the visitor started from her chair with guilty celerity, -and brandished an empty cup she was carrying. - -"I hadn't an idea you was entertainin', Belinda, and you must excuse -my walkin' right in on--on--" - -Miss Barry kept her eyes fixed imperturbably on the tureen, and turned -to get a plate of crackers from a side table. - -"Mrs. Porter is my name," said the guest, taking pity on Miss Benslow's -embarrassed writhings. - -"Oh, yes, on Mis' Porter. I just wanted to see if you could spare me a -small portion of bakin' soda." - -"Why didn't you come to the back door as you do commonly?" - -"Why--why, the mornin' was so exhilaratin', I made sure you'd be -watchin' the waves, and I thought it would expediate matters for me to -come around front." An ingratiating smile revealed Miss Benslow's full -set. - -"Just go right out and help yourself, Luella. You know where 't is, -and you can let yourself out the back door. Come, Mrs. Porter, the -chowder's good and hot." - -It was, indeed. Miss Benslow's prominent eyes rolled toward the -white-clothed table as she passed it, and inhaled the tantalizing -fragrance. She would presently go home and eat bits of cold mackerel -with her old father, at the oilcloth-covered table in the kitchen. -Neither he nor she was a "good provider." - -Miss Barry laughed quietly to herself as she and her guest sat down. - -"Luella did get ahead of me," she said appreciatively. "I don't know -how she slid by. Her uniform never blends with the landscape, either. -Perhaps she climbed under the lee of the rocks." - -"Oh, _why_ does she wear those beads with that frock?" asked Mrs. -Porter, accepting a dish of chowder. - -"I guess if we could find that out we'd know why she does lots of -things," returned the hostess. - -"Simply delicious," commented Mrs. Porter, after her first mouthful. -"Do show me how to do it, Miss Barry." - -"Surely I will; but serve it after an early start from Portland and a -ride across country with the wind off the sea. That's the sauce that -gives the finishing touch." - -"Why are all the people in Maine thin? Is it fish? You all have the -best things to eat, yet you never get cushiony like us." - -Miss Barry cast a glance across at the round contours, so different -from her own angles. - -"I think a bit of upholstery helps, myself," she remarked. - -"Now, that Miss Benslow--why, she's really--really bony." - -"Yes," responded Miss Barry, eating busily, "but she's got beauty -magazines that's full of directions how to reduce, and she's delighted -with her bones. Unlucky for her father, because she might do more -cooking if she believed flesh was fashionable. Luella's dreadfully -slack," added Miss Barry, sighing; "but so's her father, for that -matter. He goes out to his traps twice a day, but he wouldn't mind his -chicken-house if he lost the whole brood; and just so he has plenty of -tobacco the world suits him all right. You know folks can just about -live on this air." - -Mrs. Porter regarded her hostess thoughtfully. "Then," she said, "I -don't believe their house would be a very good place to board." - -Miss Barry looked up suddenly. "Board!" she repeated explosively. Then, -after a silent pause, she added, "Is that what Luella came over for?" - -"Probably not; but she mentioned--" - -"Yes, I guess she did. She saw Jerry bring you--" - -"No, she said she didn't see him bring me." - -Miss Barry snorted. "Luella says lots o' things beside her prayers, -and if she uses the same kind o' language for _them_ that she does for -other folks, I doubt if the Almighty can understand her half the time. -I often think the futurists ought to get hold of her and her clothes -and her talk." - -Mrs. Porter laughed. "Perhaps she was born too soon." - -"Indeed she was for her own comfort. Luella's as sentimental as they -make 'em, and she still feels twenty. Board with her, indeed! You'd -reduce fast enough then, I assure you. Folks have lived with her till -they were ready to eat stewed barnacles; and the only way they got -along was finally to get her to live somewhere else and let them have -the house to themselves. They've done that sometimes, and Luella and -her father camped out in the boathouse, I guess; I don't know exactly -what they did do with themselves. Tried to get you! Well, I do -declare! Luella's nerve is all right, whatever else she may lack." - -"What _I_ want to know," laughed Mrs. Porter, "is, when she says the -view is 'sumtious,' whether she means 'scrumptious' or 'sumptuous.'" - -Miss Barry smiled at her plate. "Luella ought to write a dictionary or -a key or something," she said.--"Oh, I don't know what's the matter -with women, anyway," she added with a sigh of disgust. - -"Why, Miss Barry, what do you mean? They're finer every year! There are -more of them every year for us to be proud of." - -"A few high lights, maybe," admitted Miss Barry, "but look at the rank -and file of 'em. Look at the clothes they'll consent to wear--and not -wear. Just possessed with the devil o' restlessness, most of 'em, and -willing to sell their souls for novelty. Isn't it enough to see 'em -perspiring under velvet hats and ostrich feathers with muslin gowns -in September, and carrying straw hats and roses above their furs in -February? I get sick of the whole lot. Do you suppose for a minute they -could wait for the season to come around, whichever it is? H'm!" Miss -Barry put a world of scorn into the grunt. - -Mrs. Porter, as she accepted a second helping of chowder, had a vision -of Linda, capriciously regnant, and realized the status she must hold -in her aunt's estimation. - -"Oh, I'm an optimist," she replied, "especially when I'm eating your -chowder. I don't see how you can look out of these windows and not love -everybody." - -She regarded her vis-a-vis as she said it. It was hard to visualize -this spare and hard-featured woman as the young girl who used to sit on -these rocks and build castles in the air. - -"Mortals are ungrateful, I guess," was the reply. "I'm glad you like it -here." - -"It's a paradise to one who is tired of people and pianos," declared -Mrs. Porter. - -"Think you could look out of these windows and love 'em all, do you?" -inquired Miss Barry dryly. - -Mrs. Porter laughed. "At this distance, certainly," she answered. -"Some of them I could love even if they were in the foreground," she -continued. "I'm very fond of Linda, Miss Barry." - -"A point in her favor," remarked the hostess, with a cool rising -inflection. - -"Thank you for saying so. One must make lots of allowance for a girl so -pretty, so rich, and so overflowing with life." - -"Let her overflow, only nowhere near me." - -"Don't say that. She'll settle down under the responsibilities of life. -Do you remember my cousin Bertram King?" - -"Oh, yes. The long-legged, light-haired fellow that aids and abets my -brother in overworking." - -"That's the very one. I must tell you that he's heart and soul in love -with Linda." - -"H'm. I suppose so. I only wish she'd marry him and live out on -Sheridan Road somewhere, then I could live with my brother and take -care of him winters. He'd get some care then. Are they engaged?" - -"Oh, no. She's just out of school. He hasn't asked her yet." - -"What's the matter with him? Is he the kind with boiled macaroni for a -backbone?" - -"No, Bertram's backbone is all right. He wanted to let her get out of -school. He has no relations but me. He had to confide in somebody." - -"Well, he'll get all that's coming to him if he marries her." Miss -Barry sniffed. "I guess if there was a prize offered for arrogance -she'd get it. I speak plain because you're fond of her, and you're -aware that you know her much better than I do, so I couldn't set you -against her even if I wanted to; and _I_ need somebody to confide in -too." - -Mrs. Porter smiled. "You'll change your tune some day. Linda has lots -of goods that aren't in the show window." - -Miss Barry nodded. "If she keeps her distance I may change in time. It -all depends on that." - -The visitor could picture how in little things the high-spirited, -popular girl might have shown tactlessness during the holidays, and -created an impression on the taciturn aunt which it would be hard to -efface. Words could never do it, she realized, and wisely forbore to -say more. - -Dinner was over, and the visitor was just considering that during -the process of social dishwashing she could broach the subject of a -boarding-place, when Jerry Holt's steed again approached the shingled -cottage. Both women discerned him at the same moment. - -"Did you tell Jerry to come back for you? You can't go yet," said Miss -Barry. - -"I didn't, but it might be a good plan for him to take me the rounds." - -"What rounds?" - -"Of possible boarding-places." - -Miss Barry did not reply, for she had to answer the knock at the door. -There stood Captain Holt, holding a telegram gingerly between his thumb -and finger, and his sea-blue eyes gazed straight into Belinda's. - -"I want you should bear up, Belinda," he said kindly. "There ain't no -other way." His voice shook a little, and Miss Barry turned pale as she -took the sinister envelope. - -Mrs. Porter heard his words, and hastening to her hostess stood beside -her as she tore open the telegram. Captain Holt's heavy hand closed the -door slowly, with exceeding care, as he shut himself out. - -Mrs. Porter's arm stole around the other woman as she read the -message:-- - - Mr. Barry died last night. Please come at once. - - HENRY RADCLIFFE. - -Miss Barry's limbs shook under her, and she tottered to a chair. - -Captain Holt sat on the edge of the piazza and bit a blade of grass -while he waited. - -In the silence a pall seemed to fall over the little house, broken only -by the sharp rending apart of mounting waves against the rocks. - -Mrs. Porter knelt by her friend and held her hands. - -"What can I do for you?" she asked. - -"Look in the desk over in that corner, and find the time-tables in the -drawer." - -"I know the Chicago trains, Miss Barry. Let me arrange it all for you. -You wish to leave to-night?" - -Miss Barry nodded without speech. - -Mrs. Porter went out on the piazza and sent Jerry to telegraph, telling -him to return. - -"Did you know my brother was ill?" asked Belinda, when she returned, -still without moving. - -"No. I thought him just overtired." - -The other nodded. "That's the way they do it. Rush madly after money -and more money till they go to pieces all of a sudden." - -The bereft sister's eyes were fixed on space, seeing who knows what -pictures of the past, when a barefooted boy romped with her over these -rocks that held the nest he had given her. Suddenly her far-away look -came back, and focused on the pitiful eyes regarding her drawn, pale -face. - -"I'm glad you're here," she said simply. - -"And I am so glad," responded the other, her thoughts busy with Linda -and Bertram, and longing to fly to them. - -"Will you stay here in my cottage till I come back? I have a little -girl that comes every day to help. She cooks pretty well. She'll stay -with you." - -"Yes, Miss Barry." It was on the tip of the visitor's tongue to say, -"You'll bring Linda back with you," but she restrained the words. This -common sorrow would do its work between aunt and niece, she felt sure. - -There was no further inaction. A trunk was packed, and Mrs. Porter -accompanied the traveler as far as Portland, spending the night again -at the hotel where she had left her belongings; and Miss Barry pursued -her sad journey. - -Henry Radcliffe met her at the station in Chicago; and when they were -in the motor Miss Barry turned to him with dim eyes. - -"What was the matter with Lambert?" - -His pale face looked excited and sleepless. - -"You haven't seen the papers?" - -"No. My head ached and I didn't read them. What do you mean?" Her voice -grew tense. - -"Barry & Co. have gone to pieces." - -"What do I care for that? Lambert! My brother! Tell me of him!" - -"But it carried a lot of innocent ones down in the crash." - -"Oh, my poor brother! What of him, Henry? Tell me. Tell me." - -The young man turned his head away, and his voice grew thick. "He died -down in the office." - -"Heart trouble?" - -"Yes. He never told us if he knew he had a weak heart. The shock was -terrible." - -The young man took his companion's groping hand. - -"Linda is prostrated. We have had to save her in every way. Poor -Harriet! She has had to be a heroine." - -The speaker's voice thickened and choked again, and hand in hand the -two kept an unbroken silence until the motor drew up before the house -on Michigan Avenue, where lilies and ferns hung against the heavy door. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED - - -During the monotonous days following the funeral, Miss Barry and her -niece dwelt alone in the big, echoing house. Harriet had gone home -to her husband and child. The papers still resounded with the Barry -tragedy, but it was not difficult to keep them from Linda, whose stormy -grief had changed to utter listlessness. - -One morning Miss Barry sat by the window in her niece's room with -some mending, while Linda, in her white negligee, dragged herself -about the apartment as if all the spring in her supple young body had -grown flaccid. Occasionally the older woman glanced over the rim of -her glasses at the girl's expressionless face. Miss Belinda herself -felt numbed by shock, but there was present with her the instinctive -necessity which all had felt, of standing between Linda and a complete -understanding of the situation. - -Ever since the girl's breakfast tray had been removed that morning they -had remained here in silence. - -"There's one way I can't make any mistake," thought the aunt, "and -that's by holding my tongue. She knows I'm here, and that if I can do -anything for her I want to do it." - -The housekeeper had answered her appeal for something to keep her hands -busy, and so she worked while Linda moved languidly about, apparently -forgetful of her presence. - -While they still remained thus, a card was brought up. - -Miss Barry took it from the maid. - -"Bertram King, Linda," she said. "Will you see him?" - -She was surprised by the life which sprang for a moment into the girl's -eyes. - -"No," answered Linda clearly. - -Her aunt stood undecidedly, the linen in one hand and the card in the -other. - -"Shall I see him, then?" she asked. - -"I don't care, Aunt Belinda." - -The maid waited, casting curious glances from one to the other. - -"Henry says Mr. King's been wonderful," said Miss Barry, after a -moment of waiting. "The greatest help in the world: always kept his -head, and thought of the right thing to do, though he was suffering so." - -"I'm not--" Linda tried to reply, but her lips quivered, and she bit -them. "I can't see him," she ended abruptly. - -Miss Barry nodded comprehension. The associations would naturally be -overwhelming. - -"I'll go down, then," she said, sighing, and laying down her work. "I -suppose I shall tell him you thank him for all he has done, and for the -flowers every day." - -"No." Linda faced her aunt, and again life leaped in her eyes. "I'm not -sending any message. Remember that." - -Miss Barry frowned in perplexity, thinking of Mrs. Porter's confidences -concerning King. - -"Oh, law," she thought wearily, "I suppose she's refused him." - -So downstairs the good lady went, her black dress trailing after her, -to the reception room, where stood a hollow-eyed young man. His face -had become familiar to her in the past days. - -"Good-morning, Mr. King." - -"Good-morning, Miss Barry." His eyes interrogated her hungrily. "I -suppose I should apologize for coming at this hour, but I'm so anxious -to know how Linda is." - -"She's up and about. Sit down." - -"Would it be impossible for me to see her?" The speaker did not -sit, though Miss Barry did so. His wistful eyes were still fixed -questioningly. - -"Yes, Mr. King. Just impossible. She hasn't seen anybody. She doesn't -even see me." Miss Belinda smiled ruefully. "I just sit there with her. -I don't know whether she knows I'm there or not." - -Now King did sit down, and his companion proceeded:-- - -"To tell the truth, I need to see you alone, Mr. King. I need to know -what Henry means when he says Barry & Co. have gone to pieces. That -isn't so, is it?" - -"Yes, practically." King looked at the floor, and locked his hands -together. "A very big undertaking has failed, and it was the knowledge -that it was impossible to satisfy all the investors that killed your -brother. A run on the bank put the finishing touch to our misfortunes; -but I am taking every step which I know Mr. Barry would wish to have -taken, and the excitement will abate when the public sees that we are -fellow sufferers." - -"Then Linda is--Linda will be poor?" Miss Barry asked it in hushed -tones. - -"Comparatively, yes; she will call it poor, but I know Linda. She -would wish justice done. I want to see her. I must see her, in fact, -as soon as she is able to meet me with Harriet. I know what Mr. Barry -would wish, but it must be a mutual agreement. I'm not forgetting, Miss -Barry," added the young man, kindly, "that this hits you financially -too." - -"You mean my allowance? I'm very thankful, Mr. King, that I've spent -but little of it, and I have the home my dear brother gave me. I never -felt perfectly certain that there wouldn't be any reverses. Business -men when they get as rich as Lambert are like aeronauts. Who can tell -when some current of wind they didn't count on will strike their ship?" - -"I'm glad you've been so wise. I assure you that since the catastrophe -I have often thought of you." - -Miss Barry regarded the speaker kindly. The difficulties of his -position surged upon her. - -"Have I told you I left Mrs. Porter in my house?" - -"I knew she expected to see you." - -"Yes; she was there when the message came, and she helped me in every -way. Best of all, she was willing to see that nobody ran off with my -cottage while I was gone." - -"I wish she were here with Linda, though," said King. "I believe she -could get nearer to her than anybody." - -"I suppose there isn't any doubt," returned Miss Barry without -enthusiasm, "that my niece will go to her. There don't seem any doubt -that I ought to take her home with me and let the sea tone her up. She -may prefer to stay with Harriet. I shall give her her choice. I suppose -this house will be sold." - -"I suppose so. That is one of the things Linda will have to help -decide." - -They sat for a moment in silence, Miss Barry liking her companion -better and better, finding it easy to believe on general principles -that Linda had been cruel to him. - -King rose suddenly from his brown study. "Will you give her these -flowers, please?" he said, indicating a box that lay on a chair. "I -shall get Harriet to arrange a meeting for us to discuss the matters -that are pressing." - -Miss Barry rose, and they looked into one another's eyes. - -"I had hoped that it might be some comfort to Linda to see me, as one -who stood so close to her father," said King wistfully. - -Miss Barry found him pathetic. - -"Seems to work the other way," she answered curtly. "Some folks would -think of your side of it. I can tell you, though, Mr. King, the rest of -the family appreciates all you have done and are doing." - -Miss Barry's hand gave the young man's a decided squeeze as they -parted. Her handshakes ordinarily were of the loose and hard variety. - -She turned and took up the box of flowers. King's offering had come -daily among others since the funeral, but Linda would not allow any -flowers to be left in her room. - -"I'd like to know just what she means by flashing up at the mention of -that poor fellow's name," soliloquized Miss Belinda, as she mounted -the stairs. "Lambert's gone and left him to take the brunt of the -situation. Shouldn't wonder if going down to that office every day is -some like going to a torture chamber." - -She entered her niece's room. Linda was sitting before the dresser, -pulling over with languid fingers the contents of a drawer. Each -article in it was associated with happy, remote days separated from the -present by a cold, dark, impassable gulf--the gulf of grief, remorse, -and despair. Nothing could bring her father back. Every interest that -had kept her from him loomed hateful in her eyes. Just as Miss Barry -entered the room her hand had fallen on a morocco box. It contained the -necklace which had been her graduation gift from him. She had worn it -at the dinner dance at the South Shore Club. - -What had her father been doing that night? Why had she not insisted on -his presence at the dinner? How she loathed each of those triumphant -hours when the gems had risen and fallen on her happy breast. Her head -suddenly fell forward on the dresser, and her shoulders heaved in -deep-drawn sobs. - -Miss Barry dropped the flower box on a chair, and her cheeks flushed as -she advanced uncertainly. Her niece's previous reserve made the older -woman feel that Linda might resent her presence now. She retreated a -step toward the door; but no. The girl was her own flesh and blood. -She didn't know what to say to her, and her own eyes dimmed under the -repressed agony of those despairing sobs; but she approached and put a -timid hand on the convulsed shoulder. - -"Linda, Linda," she said. "I wish, poor child, I could do something." -And the tremor in her voice carried to the young aching heart. - -The girl did not raise her bowed head, but she reached up one strong, -smooth hand, and quickly it was locked in Miss Belinda's. - -The latter's eyes regarded the open morocco box on the dresser, and -noted the lustrous pearls lying on their white velvet. "That necklace -means something special, I suppose," she thought, and winked away big -drops from her own sight. - -"Maybe it'll do you good to cry, Linda," she said. "Did your father -give you the beads, dear?" she added tenderly, and the smooth hand -clutched hers tighter. - -After a minute more of the sobbing silence, Miss Belinda reached out -her free hand and closed the morocco box. - -"I wouldn't look over these things yet," she said; and Linda freed her -hand, and crossing her arms on the dresser rested her head upon them. - -"I never did anything for Father," she declared in a choked voice. - -Miss Barry thought this was probably true, and she winked hard in a big -struggle with her New England conscience. - -"He didn't think that way," she replied at last. - -"Yes. Yes, he thought that way." - -"What do you mean, child?" - -"He left me." The words seemed wrenched from the depths of grief. - -Again Miss Barry's conscience objected to making the sweeping -contradiction for which the occasion called. - -"How could he help that?" she asked at last, gently. - -"He couldn't help it, but perhaps I could have helped it," came the -weary answer. "If I had been more to him--filled a larger place in his -life--been a companion instead of just his pet--" - -Miss Barry felt coerced to extend meager comfort. "But your school, -Linda. I know your time was all taken up." - -"Yes, because I let it be. I've wasted four years when I was old enough -to have been a companion to Father." - -"Why, you had visits with him once a week. Supposing you had gone East -to college." - -"That is something, no doubt," returned Linda, slowly lifting swollen -eyes and looking listlessly out of the window; "but I didn't make -myself count with him." - -"Nonsense, child," said Miss Barry, trying to speak stoutly. "That's -morbid, isn't it?" - -Linda shook her head slowly, still with the dreary eyes looking into -space. - -Miss Barry sank into the nearest chair, and regarded the stricken girl -helplessly. - -"I know you suffer, too, Aunt Belinda," said the girl, at last. "I know -I'm selfish, but life--everything--seems blotted out for me. It is -only once in a while that I can feel anything." - -Linda recalled her far-away gaze and looked at her aunt. She saw her -now, not as a negligible figure with too-long earrings and too-thin -hair, brushed with a New England thoroughness which concealed rather -than exhibited what there was of it. Aunt Belinda was a fellow -sufferer, and Linda recognized it, but without sympathy. She turned -back to the sorting of the articles in the open drawer. Her handbag -lay there, and a piece of paper projected from it. She took out the -crumpled leaf, and remembered how on one of those remote happy days -she had gone to Mrs. Porter's studio and discovered her departure. She -had torn off a leaf of the calendar, and seeing no place to bestow it -had crumpled it and placed it in her bag. She straightened it now, -reflecting on the date, and how little she had known then that it was -one of the days she would now give half her life to recall. The clearly -printed words looked up at her, and her eyes rested on them heavily. - -"Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree; and instead of the -brier shall come up the myrtle tree." - -In the present passionate longing to escape from her nightmare, the -words seemed significant. Oh, if they could be anything but words! If -there were any hope! Her lips moved as she read the verse again. Her -aunt was watching her, motionless, helpless, dim-eyed. - -"Did you ever hear this, Aunt Belinda?" she asked, and read the -sentences aloud in her colorless voice. - -"I think I have," responded Miss Barry. "It's in the Bible, I think." - -"Yes, it's in Isaiah," returned the girl, her eyes on the paper. "I -tore it off Mrs. Porter's calendar. It's a calendar of promises. What's -the use of promises made thousands of years ago?" - -Her breath caught in her throat. - -"Mrs. Porter is very fond of you, Linda," ventured Miss Barry. - -The girl nodded. She seemed to see the soft light in her teacher's -eyes. The calendar message would probably find response in her optimism. - -"We took a course in the Bible at school," she went on. "We had to; -but Mrs. Porter says she reads it because she likes to. I gave her this -calendar as a kind of a joke." - -Miss Barry made no comment on the dreary irreverence. - -"I haven't told you," she replied, "that Mrs. Porter is keeping house -in my cottage." - -The girl turned her slow regard upon the speaker. - -"When the right time comes," went on Miss Barry, "I want you should go -back with me, Linda." - -"I wish to stay here," returned the girl quickly, "and, Aunt Belinda, I -don't want you to wait. I know you must long to get home, and there's -nothing, really nothing, for you to wait for here. All I wish is to be -quiet and just stay where--" her throat closed. She glanced once more -at the calendar leaf, and started to drop it in the basket, but changed -her mind and put it back in the open drawer. - -"All in good time, Linda," was the reply. "Here are some flowers Mr. -King brought you." - -The girl turned with a frowning glance toward the long box. "He seems -to have plenty of money to waste," she said, "in spite of Barry & -Co.'s troubles. Probably his own nest is well feathered." - -"Why, my child!" exclaimed Miss Barry, bewildered at sight of that -strange fire which again illumined the heavy eyes. "What can you have -against that poor young man?" Linda's lassitude seemed to drop from -her like a garment. She rose suddenly, took the flower box, and moving -to the door pushed it into the hall with her foot, and closed the door -upon it. Then she stood, her back against the wall, tall in her white -garments, and pressed a hand to her throat, choking with her sudden -passion. - -"Not much against him," she said in a stifled voice, her eyes shining -upon her bewildered companion. "Bertram King murdered my father. That's -all!" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -A BUSINESS INTERVIEW - - -Miss Barry's brow was troubled as, that afternoon, in much harassment -of mind, she wended her way to the home of her elder niece. Miss -Belinda had always approved of Harriet. She was wont to declare with -energy that there was no nonsense about Harriet. To-day when she went -into the apartment she found the young wife in a violet tea-gown -sorting a pile of little stockings. - -"Harry does go through his clothes so," were her first words after -their greeting. - -"Give me a needle, for mercy's sake!" exclaimed Miss Barry avidly, -pulling off her black gloves. "If I could feel for five minutes that I -was of some use, it would put flesh on my bones." - -"Then take off your hat, Aunt Belinda, and in a few minutes we'll have -a cup of tea. Selma has taken Harry down into the park, but he'll be -back before you go. Do you know, he misses Linda dreadfully? You must -tell her when you go back. He was asking for her again this morning. -There's scarcely been a day since she left school that she hasn't had a -romp with him until--and he adores her. Perhaps it would divert her if -I should bring him over. What do you think?" - -The traces of grief and strain were still in Harriet's face, and she -asked the question with solicitude. - -Miss Barry seated herself by the dainty workstand, and seizing the -little stockings with eagerness shook her head. - -"I find my best way is not to think, Harriet," she said emphatically. -"Linda acts like a sleep-walker most of the time, but this morning she -got to looking over some things in her bureau drawer, and she's been -crying her eyes out." - -Harriet dashed away a quick tear as she sat opposite her aunt, -replacing a button on a little white blouse. - -"I do want to get her away from here, and I broached the subject this -morning, but she took fright at once." Miss Belinda's busy needle ran -in and out of the spot where a small active toe had peeped through. - -"I wish," replied Harriet, "that there were something in the world she -_must_ do. There's no such blessing at a time like this as not to be -able to brood. A husband and baby have rights that can't be put aside. -I do wish Linda cared for some one of the men who admire her. I don't -believe there's one who would let the changes in her fortune weigh with -him at all. I hope, Aunt Belinda, it doesn't hurt your feelings to -see me wearing this colored gown." The speaker lifted her eyes to her -aunt's somber black. "Father never believed in mourning, but he was a -prominent man, and I want to wear the badge of respect before people -who would expect it. I'll wear black in the street, but Henry and -little Harry would feel the gloom of it in the house, and though Henry -hasn't said anything about it, I have decided not to wear mourning at -home." - -"You've got a lot of sense," was her aunt's response. "I believe in -that." - -"We can't mourn any less," and Harriet dashed away another tear. "No -girls ever had a better father than ours." - -Miss Belinda lifted her eyes from her work. - -"Mr. King called this morning, and brought more flowers for Linda. If -flowers would heal hearts Linda would never shed another tear, but she -can't seem to bear them. She won't let one blossom be in the room." - -"I suppose they look too cheerful," said Harriet. "How is poor Bertram?" - -"Thin as a rail. Looks as if he had the weight of the nation on him, -and I suppose he has. I guess from what I hear these days are terribly -hard on him." - -"Terribly," echoed Harriet. "Henry's just heart-broken over the -situation." - -"Has Henry lost money in Barry & Co.? Don't tell me if you don't want -to." - -"No. Of course Henry's young, and has never had much money to invest, -but Father never wanted family connections mixed up in his business. I -know that sounds as if he didn't feel certain of his propositions; but -there isn't a man who knew Father and Barry & Co. who wouldn't tell you -he believed in their absolutely honest intention. I've had only one -talk with Bertram about the business since--but he called me up this -noon and said he must see Linda and me together as soon as she is able." - -Miss Barry dropped her work again, and regarded her niece's dark head, -drooped over her work. - -"You like Bertram King, don't you?" - -"Indeed I do." Harriet looked up in surprise. "Henry and I both love -him like a brother." - -"Well, I just wanted to know if you felt him worthy of all confidence." - -"Oh, you've heard that talk, have you?" - -"What talk?" asked Miss Belinda cautiously. - -"About his being the moving spirit of Barry & Co. That always irritates -Henry and me beyond everything. As if my father were invertebrate, and -couldn't think for himself." - -"Well, Linda believes it. That is, she believes Mr. King had an -abnormal influence over your father. In fact, she blames Mr. King for -the disaster." - -"She's in an abnormal state herself. That's what's the matter. I -know her grief at losing Father is profound, and no doubt the money -loss means more to her than it does to me. Henry and I have talked -it over, and we feel it will be just as well for Harry if he doesn't -have so much money to look forward to as we expected. With Linda it's -different. It does deprive her of much that perhaps she expected to -do. We don't know what her thoughts have been all these days she has -lain there so quiet. She thinks Bertram is to blame for taking on that -irrigation business?" - -"To blame for everything. She--she used some pretty strong language -this morning." - -"Oh, but that's Linda," responded Harriet quickly. "She's always -extreme." - -"Do you think Mr. King is in love with her?" asked Miss Barry bluntly. - -Her niece looked up curiously. "Why? Do you?" - -Miss Belinda made a protesting gesture with one stockinged hand. - -"My dear! You'll never prove anything of that sort by me. I think he's -all stirred up about her, but if she's right, that might be remorse on -his part. He looked to me this morning as if some able-bodied woman -ought to take him in her lap and rock him." - -Harriet smiled and returned to her sewing. "Bertram has always seemed -too wrapped up in business to care for girls. He likes to tease Linda -and play with her, but her interests have all been apart from him. -Henry and I have often talked about it, and said how nice it would be -if they should care for each other. I should dislike to believe that -he was the cause of our misfortunes; but Henry says that is the rumor -and the general feeling. Even Father Radcliffe credits it, but I'm too -loyal to Daddy to believe that a young man like Bertram could sway him." - -"I think," said Miss Barry, "that you girls should give him the -interview he wants, and soon. He needs all the help he can get." - -"I know he does. I promised him we would see him to-morrow." - -Miss Belinda glanced up. "But you haven't Linda's consent." - -"She must consent. It will be good for her. It's what she needs, to -have something she must do." - -"She's so fond of Mrs. Porter I thought she'd be glad to go home with -me and join her, but she shrinks from everything like a sensitive -plant." - -"She has leisure to think of what she wants, you see," returned -Harriet. "I haven't. Perhaps she will come and make me a visit." - -"Well, you come back with me to the house this afternoon, anyway, and -make the plan for to-morrow. I think an interview with Mr. King is -just what Linda needs to make her sense what the poor fellow is going -through." - -Accordingly, a little later Harriet donned her black street clothes, -and accompanied her aunt to the house on the avenue. - -They found Linda in her room, stretched in a _chaise longue_ and -looking out of the open window at the June sky. An incessant whirr of -motors filled the spacious room. - -"Don't get up," said Harriet, as the white figure moved to rise. She -kissed her sister. "I'm so glad to see you dressed. You must soon get -over to us. Harry talks about you every day." - -As this declaration called forth no answering smile, Miss Barry left -the sisters together, shaking her head as she went. - -"I'm glad it isn't my job to persuade her," she thought. - -Harriet came straight to the point. "I can't stay long, Linda, for I'm -never away when Harry has his supper, but I came over to tell you that -we must meet Bertram to-morrow." - -"I can't," returned Linda, her eyes looking startled but determined. - -"Yes, you can, dear. We can see him right up here if necessary, but it -isn't fair not to answer his questions, and help him as much as we can." - -"He doesn't need to ask any questions. He knows a hundred times as much -about it all as we do; and no one can help him. He never wanted any one -to help him." - -"Well, we won't discuss that, dear. He must have our sanction about -certain things, and every hour counts. Surely you'll bestir yourself -for the honor of Barry & Co." - -"For the honor of Barry & Co.," repeated Linda, in the tone of one -whose fires have burned out. - -So when the appointed hour arrived next day, it found Linda dressed and -ready to descend the stairs at her sister's summons. Any effort was -better than to allow King to come up to her room. A stranger he was and -a stranger he should always remain. - -The first sight of her, white and tall in her thin black gown, was a -shock to King. The lips held in a tight line, the colorless face and -manner, were in such marked contrast to the exuberance of the Linda he -had last seen, that he marveled at the change, with a sinking of his -tired heart and brain. She might well have been disturbed by his own -appearance, but she scarcely looked at him. - -Miss Belinda was present. The four sat around the massive table in the -den; while King slowly and carefully outlined the business situation. -Lambert Barry's will left bequests to various charities, ten thousand -dollars to his sister in addition to the investment from which for -years she had drawn what he called her allowance, and the rest of his -fortune was to be divided equally between his two daughters. Bertram -paused, and Linda met his hollow gaze. - -"I judge the chief thing you wish to know from us," she said, "is -whether we wish to give more than the law compels, to satisfy -creditors." - -King wondered whether grief could be responsible for the inimical look -in her eyes. - -"Mr. Barry, the day before he died," he returned, "expressed a -longing to prevent as far as possible suffering resulting from -the--the--misfortunes of Barry & Co." "I'm sure of that," returned -Linda. "We spoke of it together one evening. I said that would be Barry -& Co.'s way." - -"Did you see trouble coming, Linda?" asked King gravely. - -The girl was sitting straight and tense, and her eyes did not drop from -his tired gaze. - -"No. I thought at that time there was no trouble in the world that -could touch my wise, honorable father." - -Miss Barry moved uncomfortably, watching the girl's expression. - -"I'd like to say," she put in, "that the ten thousand my brother left -me I want should go to make up arrears as far as it can." - -"Dear Aunt Belinda," said Harriet, putting a hand on her aunt's knee as -she sat next her. "Now, we don't any of us want to be quixotic," she -went on in her moderate manner. "We want to be calm and sensible." - -"Harriet," her younger sister turned to her, "we do want to be -quixotic, if that is what the world calls returning money secured -under false pretenses. So far as I am concerned, there is only one -possibility for peace for me, and that is to keep our father's memory -as clean before the world as it always has been. I can speak only for -my share, of course, but my wish is this: that this house, the motors, -and all these belongings, be sold--" - -"You can keep your electric, Linda," interrupted King. - -She brought her eyes back to him. - -"You cannot tell me what I may keep," she answered, slowly and -incisively, and the young man frowned wonderingly at her tone. - -"I want everything sold," she went on. "I want my share of money, -property, life insurance, everything, added together, and applied _pro -rata_ to the losses of every one who put a misplaced trust in Barry & -Co." - -"Linda--" began Bertram gently. - -She rose suddenly and turned upon him, her nostrils dilating. - -"Tell me this, Bertram King. Have you a dollar invested in the Antlers -Irrigation Company?" - -King started to his feet, and viewed the girl in amazement. Her brow -was furrowed, and the eyes in her white face blazed. - -"Speak," she insisted. - -A flood of color rushed to the man's very forehead as he realized her -open enmity. In silence they stood thus for a moment. - -"I refuse to answer you," he said at last. - -Her gaze swept him scornfully. "It is what I expected." Then she turned -to her sister, speaking gently. "Settle it between you now, Harriet. -I suppose I may dispose of my own, and you know my wishes. They won't -change." - -After she had gone out, Harriet seized Bertram's hand as he stood dazed. - -"Forgive her, Bertram," she said anxiously. "I do believe she's nearly -crazy." - -He sat down again, very pale, and with no comment proceeded to sort his -papers. - -Miss Barry's earrings were trembling, and she thought with longing of -the peace of her "Gull's Nest." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -CORRESPONDENCE - - -Before Miss Barry's train had reached Chicago, Linda had received a -telegram conveying sympathy from Mrs. Porter. A pile of notes and -letters lay now unopened on her desk. Her sister had read the telegram -at the time of its arrival, and left it on the table beside Linda's -bed, where one day she read it; but the girl refused the least pressure -on her wound from even the most friendly and delicate fingers. This -very afternoon, when, tingling with excitement and antagonism, she -swept from the room, she passed the maid who was at the door, just -bringing in the mail. Somewhat hesitatingly the girl offered the -letters to her young mistress. She and all the other servants stood in -awe of the suffering that had so altered the jolly, careless, imperious -young woman. - -Linda, her heart beating tumultuously with its indignation, accepted -the package automatically, and went on upstairs to her room. - -She raised her hand to her throat in the effort to stop its choking, -and threw down the letters. The handwriting on the top one was familiar -and full of happy association. Here was one person who loved her, and -understood her, and whose patience had never failed. - -With the picture vividly before her of the faces of her scandalized -sister and aunt, she caught up this letter and held it to her breast, -her large gaze fixed straight ahead. The kindly expression, the -humorous smile, the loving eyes of her teacher as they had rested on -her hundreds of times, strove with the other picture. She felt she -could bear to have Mrs. Porter talk to her. She moved to the door and -locked it, conscious suddenly that she was trembling; then she sank -into a chair and opened the letter. - - _My dear Linda_ (it began),-- - - I have waited a full week to write to you because I felt that at first - you wouldn't care to read a letter even from me. Do you notice that - "even"? Yes, I feel sure you love me as I do you, sincerely, and it - gives me courage to talk to you just as if you were lying beside me on - these sun-warmed rocks, with the cool wind trying in spurts to snatch - off the duck hat that is shading my eyes. It can't succeed, for the - hat is tied on with the white veil you gave me. There is a little - scent of orris in it still, marking it as yours, and giving me the - pleasant feeling of one of your "bear's hugs." - - I am sorry to be a thousand miles off from my little girl's troubles, - and so all this week I have been trying to know that the opposite of - this sense of separation is the truth; that all that I love in you is - mine still, and that the greater part of what I could do for you if - I were there it is my privilege to do here. The personal touch, the - interchange of loving looks, is dear to our human sense, but sometimes - even these get in the way of the loftier, broader mission which God's - children may perform for one another. - - I have been thinking much about your father, a man whose keen sense of - honor, and large charity, will be discerned more and more clearly when - the present confusion is straightened out. - -Linda's suddenly blinded eyes closed, and she again held the letter to -her breast a minute before going on. - - * * * * * - - He is incapable of wrong intention. Do you notice that I say "is"? I - wonder if you are feeling that sense of continuous immortal life which - is your rightful and best comfort at this time. All that you loved - best in your father were traits which your hands could not touch. Your - heart and mind only discerned them. They are yours still, and they - were that real part of him which God sustained and now sustains, and - which were the reflections of His Light and Love. - - I cannot touch your body now, any more than if it had ceased to dwell - upon this earth,--any more than you can touch your father's,--but that - makes you no less real to me. My tall little Linda speaks to me in - her generosity, her lovingness, her gayety, as vividly as if you were - beside me this minute, and it would be so if I knew I was never to - look upon your face again. "The flesh profiteth nothing," the Bible - says; and it is one of those lightning flashes of truth that glance - away from us until the trained thought is sensitized to receive it; - but after that, little by little it proves itself. - - Perhaps I am talking too long, but please know that I am thinking of - you daily, with thoughts full of love. - - The Comforter that Jesus promised us is a real Existence, and - "underneath are the everlasting arms." - - "As one whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort you, saith the - Lord." How I love to think of that when I think of my dear girl. - - I found those words a few weeks ago on the calendar you gave me, and - now I give the wonderful promise back to you. Say it over to yourself, - dear child, even if you don't now see how or when it will come true, - for His promises are sure. It only rests with us to open our hearts to - receive them. - - Your loving friend, - MAUD PORTER. - -Linda's lip was caught between her teeth, and her brow frowning, as -she finished reading. She turned the letter back to read again the -sentences about her father. Here was no uncertain note. - -She crumpled the sheets between her hands and closed her eyes. - -"Oh, God, You have taken away my father. Help us now to clear his name!" - -It was a cry from her heart, the first time in all this eternity of -days that her thought had turned to the Higher Power with any feeling -save resentment. She saw her friend lying on the sun-warmed rocks -in the sunlit atmosphere of a joyous June day, longing to help her, -longing to impart to her the sustaining calm of her own faith, and -gratitude woke feebly in her. - -She rose, and carried the letter to her bedroom, folding it again in -its envelope. It did not belong in her desk. Such a message from the -woman who had long been her ideal was a thing apart. She placed it in -the back of a drawer in her dresser, and there her hand encountered -a scrap of paper which she drew forth. Its clear lettering stood out -against the ivory-white background. - -"Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree--" - -She read no further. The calendar again! She recalled also that leaf -which in the studio she had marked for Mrs. Porter's reproach:-- - -"When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then the Lord will take -thee up." - -She dropped the papers and covered her eyes again with her hands. - -"Oh, Mother, Mother!" she moaned above her breath. "How could God, if -there is a God, comfort me as you would!" - -Supposing immortality, in which every Sunday in church she declared -her belief, were really true. Supposing her father and mother were -together. Supposing her mother were now consoling him for his -mistakes,--for Bertram King's mistakes,--would that thought not bring -consolation? Her worried father! Her lonely father! She sank into a -chair, weeping helplessly. She had worn his pearls and danced, while he -was lonely! If she could only die and go to her father and mother. Life -here was ruined, and no one needed her. Harriet was engrossed with her -family. Aunt Belinda's heart was in her home, stern duty alone holding -her in this place. - -After a few minutes the mourner lifted her bowed head, pulled a sheet -of paper toward her, and wrote:-- - - * * * * * - - I am bleeding. Please write to me again. - - LINDA. - -When she had addressed the note to Mrs. Porter, she washed her face -and made herself ready for the tete-a-tete dinner with her aunt, which -would shortly be served in her sitting-room. She had never entered the -dining-room since the last meal she ate there with her father. - -She set her door open in order that Aunt Belinda should not be afraid -to come in, and shortly the much-tried lady did appear, her lips set in -a line of endurance. Miss Barry had never approved less of her niece -than at the moment of the girl's exit from that business interview. She -gave a sharp glance now at her, sitting as usual with eyes gazing from -the window at nothing, and hands loosely folded in her lap. - -"Harriet left her good-bye for you," she said. "She had to hurry home -for Harry's supper." - -"Yes," responded Linda. - -Miss Belinda sat down, and the gaze she fixed on her niece waited for -an explanation or an apology. None came. - -Miss Barry cleared her throat. "Harriet wishes to put herself on -record," she said distinctly, "as entirely disowning any such feeling -toward Mr. King as you expressed." - -"You know he is her husband's cousin," returned Linda passively. "One -must keep harmony in a family." - -"More than that, Linda Barry," continued her aunt crisply, "that young -man would have had to be guilty of designing your father's downfall to -deserve such words and such a manner as yours." - -The girl eyed the speaker steadily, and again the fire of excitement -glowed in her look. - -"You saw that he could not answer my question." - -"I saw that he would not." - -"It would be a good plan for you to talk with some of the prominent -business men of the town," remarked Linda, the light going out of her -eyes. - -"I don't need any business man to tell me that that poor boy is about -used up--and in whose service, pray? Answer me that, Linda Barry." - -"Mammon," was the sententious reply. - -"Pshaw!" ejaculated her aunt. "A clever man like your father didn't -trust that man for no reason. Harriet's and my heart just ached for -the poor fellow this afternoon. I thought for a minute after you went -out that he was going to faint." - -"Yes," returned Linda listlessly; "I suppose he had been sure no one -would hold him in any way responsible." - -The servant here came in to spread the little table for dinner, while -Miss Barry, her hands tightly locked together, gave her indignant -thoughts free rein, and followed Bertram King to his room at the club. - -Had she really been able to see him, she would have witnessed his -finding upon his arrival a letter in Mrs. Porter's handwriting. - -His white, stoical face did not change while he read it:-- - - * * * * * - -_Dear Bertram_,-- - - I want to send you a few lines to the club, because I feel sure there - will be a quieter atmosphere there than at the office these troublous - days. There is never an hour in which my thoughts do not go to you - and Linda, fellow sufferers and both so dear to me. I can scarcely - wait for the day when your duties will let you leave Chicago and come - here. Doubtless Linda will arrive soon, and here you will both find - healing for your sorrow, and if it is right, find each other. She will - have a double reason for nearness to you as the chief earthly link - with her dear father, and here in this simplicity and quiet the real - things of life are more easily discernible. Complications seem to have - no place in these broad, harmonious spaces, and both you dear ones can - forget the fevers of sorrowful excitement. - - Let me hear from you. - - Yours as ever, - MAUD. - -It was by return mail that Mrs. Porter received the answer to this -letter. She opened it with eagerness:-- - - * * * * * - - _Dear Maud_,-- - - Thank you for your letter and far more for your affection. It is some - comfort, while I am locking horns with enemies, or endeavoring to - untangle labyrinths, to know that there's a good little woman ready to - coddle me when I have time to be coddled. - - I see you remember the heart-to-heart talk you drew me into one - day--and I admit I was easy to draw. Now I ask you to forget all that - I said if you can. My wishes and plans have undergone a complete - change, and I am glad you are the only person living who knows what my - designs and hopes were, for they have vanished. - - Pardon brevity. I'm "that druv," as your Maine friends would have it, - that I don't know whether I'm afoot or horseback. I'll look forward, - however, to an hour when you and I can elope to some Arcadia for a few - weeks, and I'll let you know when such a day looms on the horizon. - - Your devoted cousin, - - BERTRAM. - -Mrs. Porter's face had slowly undergone a change from eagerness to -dazed and sad surprise. - -"I wouldn't have believed it!" she soliloquized, as she let the sheet -fall. "People have so often said that Bertram cared for the dollar mark -above all else, but I laughed at them. How I hope she doesn't care! How -I hope it!" - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE SPELL BREAKS - - -That spot in Miss Belinda's heart which had softened toward her niece -in the latter's misery of bereavement bid fair to harden over again -every time she thought of Linda's attitude toward Bertram King. It -was bad enough to harbor the absurd theory that so young a man had -been able to mould the opinions and actions of his employer; but it -was unthinkable that in this time of grief and stress the girl had -been able to sneer at him, and so evidently cut him to the heart with -her accusation. Every time that scene rose before Miss Barry's mental -vision her earrings quivered again. What did these weary days that she -was undergoing amount to? Linda was civil to her, but indifferent to -everything and everybody. The girl made no effort to conceal that the -visits of her own sister were a weariness, and, unthinkable to Harriet, -she made excuses not to see little Harry. - -Day after day of the big empty house and the silent girl, the constant -whirr of motors through the wide-open windows, caused Miss Barry to -find that she was guilty of nerves. Again and again she hinted to Linda -that the sea air was what she needed. The girl was usually deaf to -the suggestion, or else returned, gently and civilly, it is true, to -pleading with her aunt not to remain longer, protesting that she was -entirely recovered and able to be left alone. - -One day her answer became more frank. - -"Mrs. Porter has written me that she is trying to get Bertram to come -there to rest," she said. - -Miss Barry gazed at the speaker. "Sits the wind in that quarter?" -thought she. Her earrings quivered again, and she counted ten. Of what -use was it to contend with a statue? At last she spoke. - -"I only wish we could do something for him," she said, "but it won't -be that. I met him on the street yesterday, and he said it wouldn't be -possible for him to get away before autumn." - -Linda making no reply to this, Miss Barry stared at her for a minute -more, then sought her own pleasant, spacious room. Hers was not the -pen of a ready writer, but she sat down now at her well-appointed desk, -and wrote a letter. - - _Dear Mrs. Porter_,-- - - I begin to see a loophole of light on our situation. I wrote you a - week ago how crazy I am to come home. I'd like to burn every devilish - automobile in Chicago, I'm so sick of their noise; but Linda's kept - on just as obstinate as a mule, saying she must stay, but wanting me - to go. I can't go unless she does. She's taken against everybody. - Harriet thinks she's out of her mind because she refuses to see the - wonderful baby; and I assure you I'd be squeamish about leaving her, - for I couldn't be sure she wouldn't do away with herself, she's so - morbid. I haven't told you the greatest proof of her morbidness - (perhaps it ought to be morbidity, but no matter)--she acts like the - devil incarnate to your cousin Bertram King. You know you told me he - wanted to marry her. Well, I guess he's graduated from that notion. At - any rate, it seems she thinks he led her father into the business deal - that brought on most of this trouble--that big irrigation project out - West. My brother wasn't anybody that could be led by the nose, but - Linda won't hear to reason, and my patience with her is exhausted. - Well, this morning when I returned to the charge about going home, it - came out that she was afraid Mr. King was going to you. Now he isn't, - because he can't get away for months to come. So won't you write her - that you've given up trying to get him, and that you want to see - her--if you can make up your mind to a whopper--and that you hope for - my sake she'll exert herself and bring me home! That's a good one! - Bring me home! If any one can persuade her, you can, for so far as I - can find out you're the only person on earth she hasn't taken against. - Sometimes I speak of you, sort of carelessly, and say I hope you ain't - feeling it too much responsibility to take care of the cottage when - you'd _hoped_ to have an entire rest! And if she hears what I say she - looks at me real human for an instant. - - Once I asked her if she wouldn't sit down to that little piano in her - sitting-room and let me hear her voice. Law! You ought to have seen - the way her eyes turned on me. Truly I never saw anybody who could - look so near as if they had a knife in their heart as she can. - - I'm getting as nervous as a cat. After we've dragged through a day, - then comes on the night, when everything on wheels goes past our - house. If Gatling guns came small enough I'd rig one in my window and - do some of the shooting myself. - - Now, you do your best to fix it up, Mrs. Porter, and if you can - just get us to the Cape, then you can go off somewhere else where - there won't be any wet blanket to spoil your fun. Linda ought to be - outdoors; but I've never got her out once since we came back from the - cemetery. She asks every day if the cars are sold. She has it on the - brain to pay back everybody who lost anything in the catastrophe. - - I'm hanging all my hopes on you, and am - - Yours truly, - BELINDA BARRY. - -While reading this letter Mrs. Porter's cheeks grew pink, and upon -finishing she fell into a prolonged brown study. So it was not -mercenary considerations which had altered Bertram's aspirations. Her -heart went out to him. She had never known till now how much she cared -for Bertram. The impulse attacked her to leave this peaceful scene and -take the first train for the spot where her loved ones were in such -distress; but Miss Barry's adjuration must be heeded. To get Linda away -from those scenes and associations was surely the first necessity. -Mrs. Porter found she had to meet and banish some resentment toward -the unhappy girl who could so ruthlessly add to another's woe. But she -had Linda's appeal. When one is bleeding one may be ruthless without -realizing; so again Mrs. Porter sat down and addressed herself to the -task of helping the sufferer: - - _My dear Linda_ (she wrote),-- - - I'm not on the warm, breezy rocks to-day. A nor'easter is gathering, - and I am sitting in Miss Barry's living-room, where her good little - Blanche has let me build a roaring, glorious fire of birch logs. It - seems almost wicked to burn anything so beautiful as the white birch, - and yet anything so airy and poetical should not, perhaps, be allowed - to wither and fall into decay. Better, perhaps, that it should be - caught up in a chariot of flame. - - If you knew how lovely it is here, how sweet the smells, how pure and - clear the silence of all save Nature's sounds, you would, I am sure, - take the first train out of Chicago. I have given up the hope of - persuading Bertram to leave. He would far rather die right there than - leave one duty to your father unperformed. I shall hope to go back in - August and get him to go West with me for a time before my teaching - begins. - - I think of you every day, my little Linda. I received your note. We - do bleed when we are wounded; but blessed are they that mourn, for - they shall be comforted. The blessing of mourning is the finding of - real comfort--spiritual comfort; the oil of joy for mourning; the - realization that we need never mourn; that this world is not all; that - no good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly; that no - blessing is ever taken away from God's child. - - We hear people say, "Shan't I believe the evidence of my own senses?" - I once heard a lecturer enlarge upon that theme, showing that our - whole education is largely for the purpose of instructing us away - from the evidence of our senses, from learning that the sun does not - rise or set,--through the whole list of deceitful appearances. If I - believed what I see now, I should say that the sun had left the world - to storm and darkness, but we know that the glorious sun and cloudless - firmament are there to-day as truly as on the brilliant yesterday, and - we have no fear that we shall not see it again. - - The deceitful appearance which you have now to recognize is that your - father has died and left you. Life never dies, and Love is immortal. - Life is progress, too, and he knows more and greater and happier - things than he knew here. Every right motive and act of his life - is receiving its logical reward, and opening out new channels for - progress. Let us not think of him in the flesh, but in the spirit. Let - us not dwell sadly on his mortal harassment or disappointments. How do - we know but such thoughts are a drag upon his spirit? Let us speed him - on with our own love and courage, and let us try every day to harbor - no thought that will hamper our souls and make us less fit to join him. - - It is easier to sink down under a blow than to rise and go on; and yet - rising and going on is what will make you keep step with your loved - one and not be left behind. Your sister has an advantage over you, - because she _must_ rise and go on. If you are finding that the strong - leading-spirit, Linda Barry, is faltering and weak now, you are making - a blessed discovery; finding that the strength of the human will is - not the true strength, and that like a little child you can turn to - your Heavenly Father, and receive from Him strength which no mortal - blow can destroy. Keep the fire of Love glowing in your heart, and you - will find that it is the fuel that will make strong and bright every - faculty. Unselfishness follows where that fire burns; but withdraw the - fuel and the heart is cold, and those about you feel the chill. - - I am hoping daily to hear that you are ready to bring your aunt home. - Has she ever told you the pretty story of her girlish day-dreams on - these rocks, and how her barefooted brother resolved mentally that he - would be a prosperous man some day, and give her a home right here? He - was able to fulfill that boyish resolve, and somehow this cottage is - to me very full of him. Many men would have forgotten in the rush of - business to carry out such a plan, but not your father. I can imagine - with just what refreshment his thoughts flew here from the clatter of - the city. I am sure Miss Barry's come here every day, and I am sure - she will be very happy when you decide to leave. I know you are not - detaining her willingly, but in her place I should feel as she does - about coming without you. Do you know that I want very much to see - you? Here in the nest of your dear father's generous, loving thought, - I am resting, and waiting for you to rest too. You'll feel nearer to - him than in the crashing city. Come and try. - - Yours lovingly, - MAUD PORTER. - -Miss Barry had brought this thick letter to her niece, and though her -hands were busied with some work as she sat at a distance from her, she -glanced furtively at the girl from time to time, striving to glean -from her face some hope as to its effect. - -When Linda finished reading, she dropped the sheets and looked up so -quickly that she caught her aunt's inquiring glance. Miss Barry flushed -guiltily, and looked back at her work. - -"How soon do you think we could go to the Cape, Aunt Belinda?" - -In her excitement and eagerness Miss Barry's words stuck in her throat. - -"Why--ahem!--how about--how about to-morrow?" - -"Let us go to-morrow," said Linda. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -EASTWARD HO! - - -Fred Whitcomb felt his eyes sting, but he scorned to wipe them as he -strode manfully up Michigan Avenue. Instead, he scowled and set his -teeth and threw his shoulders back, as one who yearns to meet the -foe hand to hand. His opportunity was near, for Bertram King, having -forgotten some papers, was walking hastily toward the club, and Fred, -blinded and distrait, turned a corner and ran directly into him. - -The lighter and taller man seized his assailant. - -"Don't do that again, Freddy. It's a wonder I didn't go over like a -tenpin." - -"I didn't see you," growled Freddy, winking hard. - -"I gathered that," remarked King, and was hurrying on, but Whitcomb -held him. - -"Why weren't you at the station to see them off?" he demanded. "I -thought of course you'd be there." - -"More room for you, Freddy," returned the other, looking steadily into -his friend's belligerent eyes. - -"I don't see how you could neglect Linda at such a time." - -"Do you think she missed me?" asked King quietly. - -"Of course she did," hotly. "I found out only by accident by what train -they were going. They didn't let anybody know, Miss Barry said; but of -course you knew. I'd--I'd hardly know Linda." - -A terrific lump rose in the speaker's throat, and blinded again by -grief he turned hastily away to continue his march. - -This time Bertram detained him. Freddy tried to escape, but it was a -grip of steel on his arm. "Come into the club a minute," said King, and -his companion obeyed the leading. At least it would be a place where he -could use his handkerchief secure from observation. - -"Now, you're not taking me to your room," objected the younger man, -as his captor, not relaxing the hold on his arm, led him toward the -elevator. - -"Guess again, Freddy," said Bertram; and the visitor, after a moment of -holding back, found himself in the elevator. - -When they were in King's room, and the door closed, the host indicated -a chair, but the guest remained standing. - -Bertram smiled a little wistfully as he regarded the other's youthful -strength, thinking his face, in its present condition of repressed -emotion, looked as it must have done when he was ten. - -"What do you want with me?" asked Freddy, his head held high. - -"I wish I knew what you use for a hair tonic," said Bertram, passing -his hand over his own fair locks, beginning to feel thin at the crown. - -"Don't be a--What have you brought me up here for?" - -"To let you pull yourself together for one thing. You were in a fair -way to assault and batter all down the avenue." - -"You--you _fish_!" ejaculated the visitor, changing his mind suddenly, -and dropping into the offered chair. Quite frankly he covered his -flushed face with his handkerchief and choked into it. - -King sat down near an open window, and waited for the paroxysm to pass. - -"It breaks me up completely to see Linda like that," said Whitcomb at -last, wiping his eyes and shaking his shoulders impatiently. He faced -his host, and realized the latter's appearance. No one could look -seedier than King, he thought. "Of course I know you're rushed," he -added, "but in your place I'd rather have sat up all night than not to -see her off; and the humorous part of it is that I've been believing -you were crazy about her." - -The two regarded each other for a silent space, and for the first time -there crept into the younger man's mind the cold suspicion that the -change in Linda's fortune had affected Bertram King. Even so, it could -not have made such a brute of him as to let Linda creep off alone! - -"Harriet was there, and Henry," he said, just for the sake of speaking, -while he strove with this strange idea, one which had elements of -relief for himself while it added fuel to his indignation with King. - -"Of course," answered the other coolly. "So that was a pretty good -bodyguard, for you're always a host, Freddy." - -"There was very little I could do for her," declared Whitcomb, "and I'm -sure you--you hurt her feelings." - -"I'm glad you were there," said King. - -"You've no right to be glad," retorted Freddy. - -The older man smiled. "Isn't it magnanimous in me to be glad she's -wearing your violets instead of mine, eating your chocolates instead of -mine, reading your magazines instead--" - -"Stop!" said Whitcomb, raising his hand imperatively. "It's sacrilege -to joke about her." - -"You're a nice chap, Freddy," declared King slowly. - -The visitor rose. "Don't you dare to patronize me," he said. "Thanks to -your cursed bank I'm a _poor_ chap. I'd begun to hope--to hope--What -do you care what I hoped? You're as cold-blooded as that irrigation -swindle that's fooled us all." - -A little slow color crept over Bertram King's lantern jaws. - -"Sit down," he said briefly. "I brought you up here to talk about that. -You didn't attend the meeting of the stockholders last night." - -"No. I was doing errands for Miss Barry; and I didn't care to sit there -and listen to empty platitudes." - -King hesitated a moment, but he put constraint upon himself. Freddy was -desperately in love, and had had a desperate disappointment. - -"I don't blame you for feeling sore," he said at last, "but I believe -I have good news for you. The irrigation proposition would have gone -through all right if the panic in that region hadn't suddenly knocked -the bottom out for the time being. It's a legitimate thing, and we were -able to show the stockholders last night that if they would be patient -and give us time, we would issue notes and the bank depositors would be -paid." - -"What?" asked Whitcomb incredulously, and again sat down. - -King nodded. "The bank closed, but it didn't fail, and if Barry & Co.'s -people will trust us, I firmly believe everybody is going to have his -own--say in a year or two." - -"Two!" echoed Whitcomb, the hopeful light fading somewhat. - -"Of course. Money in the bank, boy." King rose and advanced to him and -slapped him on the shoulder. "You don't need it to live on." - -"No, I need it to get Linda," returned the other bluntly. - -Bertram smiled wanly, and balanced back and forth on his heels and toes. - -His visitor regarded him curiously. "I'll bet you've done some tall -working on this," he said slowly. - -"No fish ever worked harder," admitted Bertram. - -"But when you knew it was your own fault--" suggested Whitcomb. - -King's quizzical eyes regarded the speaker. "That conviction does -always make a fellow rather hump himself, Freddy." - -The caller rose. He didn't like the look in his host's face. All this -heart-breaking business should be treated seriously. King looked worn, -but he didn't look humble; and as Mr. Barry's factotum he had been -frightfully neglectful of Linda this morning. No, Whitcomb didn't feel -like shaking hands with him, even after King had lighted for him a -beacon of hope. The caller suddenly assumed an abrupt, businesslike -manner. - -"This won't do for me," he said. "So long, King," and he started -precipitately for the door. One backward glance at his host, who was -still standing with feet wide apart and thumbs hooked in his vest, gave -him pause. King's face showed so plainly the battle he had fought. -Freddy returned and took Bertram's hand and wrung it. - -"Do you know, I was sure you wanted Linda," he said, with sudden -frankness. - -King's slender fingers gave his a viselike grip, and his lips smiled -calmly. "It isn't so much a question of what we want as what she wants, -is it?" he said. - -A cloud passed over Whitcomb's face, and again Bertram thought he could -see exactly how Freddy had looked at the age of ten. - -"Don't you believe she'll ever want me?" he asked naively. Now that he -knew King was out of the running--whether from mercenary reasons or -otherwise--he could put the question as to an intimate friend of the -family. - -King laughed softly for the first time since Lambert Barry's death. - -"Don't know, Freddy. If I were a girl I'd want you, I know that. You're -all right." - -Whitcomb blushed and scowled; and as he took the elevator on its -downward trip he reflected on Bertram King's power to irritate his -fellowman. - - * * * * * - -Ensconced in their stateroom on the train for Boston, Miss Barry heaved -a sigh of relief scarcely concealed by the mutter of the moving wheels. -They had not taken a stateroom without protest from Linda on the -ground of extravagance. Linda considering economy! It was a wonderful -circumstance; but Miss Barry, anxious as she was to be gone, delayed -their departure a few days to secure the room. Instinctively she felt -that a door which she could close on her niece would give her a sense -of security. She regarded her now, while the train gained swiftness, -with something of the triumph the captor of an elusive, valuable wild -animal might feel at seeing it safely in his possession. - -Linda, passive and white, did not resemble a wild creature at the -present moment. The first thing she did after the train started was -to withdraw the pin from the huge bunch of violets she had put on to -please Whitcomb, and toss them over on the divan. Miss Barry, taking -off her hat, watched her furtively. - -"Put my hat in the bag when you do yours, will you, Linda?" - -The girl looked vaguely surprised. It was long since she had performed -a service for any one, and she even held her own hat a moment -uncertainly, after she had removed it, as if she expected her aunt to -take charge of it; and she looked at Miss Belinda questioningly. - -"Yes, put them both in, and hang them up over there." - -Miss Barry handed her the bags, leaned back in her corner, and sniffed. -A dog wags its tail to express emotion. Miss Belinda sniffed--a dry, -sharp little sound, which just now expressed determination. - -"It's time for her to give up sleep-walking," she thought, and she -looked industriously out of the window. - -Linda's eyes fell to the hats, and she slowly performed the office, and -more slowly climbed on the seat and hung up the bags. - -As Miss Barry noted the languid motions of the erstwhile captain of -a basket-ball team, she realized that her niece was like a person -convalescing from a siege of illness. Was she convalescing? Was she -improving or retrograding? No matter which; they were going home, -home to the Cape, where Miss Barry would not feel at a constant -disadvantage; and her heart sang. Linda was too feeble to jump off the -train, and they were as good as there. Miss Belinda sniffed again. - -Her eye fell on the violets. Linda had sunk back into her corner, her -lips apart, her eyes languid. The train was very warm. An electric fan -whirred above their door. - -Miss Barry leaned across and took up the violets. Whitcomb's face had -been vibrant with emotion as he left them. - -"The poor boy!" thought Miss Barry. She had learned a number of -masculine names through reading the different cards coming repeatedly -with boxes of flowers for Linda; but Fred Whitcomb had been more -pushing and insistent than the others. He had, as it were, often put -his heart in Miss Belinda's hands to be offered to Linda on a salver; -and in the stress of emotion this morning Miss Barry had been afraid -once or twice that her niece was going to be kissed by proxy. She -certainly felt sorry for Freddy Whitcomb, almost as sorry as for -Bertram King, whose absence had moved her keenly. - -"Wouldn't you like to hold these? They're so refreshing," she said, -holding out the violets toward their owner. The girl made a faint, -protesting gesture with one hand, and shook her head. Miss Barry -plunged her nose into the velvet depths, and looked over the bouquet at -the white, immobile face in the opposite corner. - -"Ch-ch-_choo_, ch-ch-_choo_," went the wheels, faster, faster. Welcome -sound. Sweet violets. The scattered fragrance of woodland places, -massed together for the joy of woman, offered by an eager heart to a -cold one. - -"Violet time is over at the Cape," she remarked. - -"What?" - -"I say, violet time's over at the Cape. Daisies and clover now, and the -wild roses swelling up and getting ready." - -Even the preoccupied Linda observed a new vitality in her companion's -face, and life in her eyes in place of endurance. - -"You're riding backward, Aunt Belinda. I didn't notice till this -minute. Change with me." The girl leaned forward. - -"Sit still, child. It makes no difference to me." - -"Then come here beside me." Miss Barry hesitated. Once she would have -declined on the ground of mutual comfort, but an overture from her -captive was remarkable. - -"Well, if it won't crowd you," she said, and after a moment of -reluctance she obeyed. - -"Don't you want to sit by the window?" asked the girl. - -"Law, no. I wish the artists who do the Castoria signs would adopt -futurist methods." As she spoke, Miss Barry made herself as small as -she could against the arm of the seat, and again caressed her nose with -Freddy Whitcomb's violets. The divan opposite was filled with American -Beauties, magazines, and bon-bon boxes. - -"I ought to put the flowers in water," she remarked. - -Linda's large, somber gaze rolled toward the display. - -"Yes, please do," she said. - -"H'm," thought Miss Barry as she rose. "One word for the flowers and -two for herself. She wants 'em out of sight." - -"I think we ought to enjoy the violets," she said aloud. "Such a -cabbage of 'em must have cost that boy a pretty penny, and they won't -live only so long, anyway. Poor Mr. Whitcomb, didn't he look pretty -near ready to have apoplexy when he got off!" - -"He's got over it by now," said Linda, in her quiet expressionless -voice. - -"He's the kindest boy that ever lived. I didn't realize how many little -things there were to attend to in leaving, or I'd have had Henry do -them; but Mr. Whitcomb came and put himself at my disposal, and I -certainly disposed of him, the good boy." - -"He is a good boy. He ought to hate us," declared the girl languidly. - -"Why's that?" - -"He told me a long time ago that he had invested in--in--" the speaker -caught her lip under her teeth. - -"Now, now," returned Miss Barry soothingly, as the other paused. "He's -young, and able to stand a few knockdowns. Every business man gets them -sooner or later, and they're lucky when disaster comes early in their -career instead of late. Now, now, Linda!" for the girl's handkerchief -dried a drop stealing under her eyelid. "He adores you, the nice lad." - -"Don't you see that makes it harder--as if I ought to marry him to make -up?" - -"Now, now!" Miss Barry tried to speak lightly. "He'd be worse than -Shylock. I'll bet it's a hundred and thirty pounds when you're in good -case. Aren't those candy boxes wonderful! I must take 'count of stock." - -She started up and laid the violets on the vacated seat. Linda looked -at them. She could hear Freddy Whitcomb's voice as it broke boyishly on -that last evening of her life:-- - -"I don't care anything about your father's money, Linda. I had a raise -last week." - -Her hand fell gently on the velvet mass, and rested there. Miss Barry's -Argus eyes observed the movement. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -EN ROUTE - - -Miss Barry took the rest of the flowers and placed their stems in -the washbowl, where the lovely blossoms lolled over awkwardly in an -increasing haze of dust, after the manner of train flowers; then she -stepped back to the divan and inspected the boxes of bon-bons, stuffed -dates, mints, and so on. A flat tin box met her eye, and a note was -tied against the cover. - -"I didn't notice that preserved ginger," she reflected, and picked up -the box with satisfaction, for the confection was her favorite. Her -own name appeared on the note in a small, close chirography which was -unfamiliar. She slipped off the metal cord and opened the letter. Its -beginning brought a smile to her lips, and a recollection of jocose -passages between herself and the writer, away back in the Christmas -holidays. - - _Dear Lady of the Earrings_ (she read):-- - - If you knew the circumstances under which I stopped to buy these coals - to send to Newcastle, you would never doubt my devotion. However, - I'll not pose, but hasten to tell you of the meeting to-night of - stockholders and depositors from which I have just come. There was - much antagonism to be overcome, and I'm beginning to feel a little - dull in the upper story, so it wasn't an easy experience; but the - outcome was so good that I slight my bed to tell you briefly that I - now feel the first relief from the crushing pressure of the last few - weeks. Those people could have put Barry & Co. in a hole out of which - we couldn't climb, and some of them were bitter and inclined to do it; - but the majority were willing to listen to my representations, and the - minority were finally persuaded. - - We shall issue notes to everybody concerned, and they have agreed to - wait and give Barry & Co. a chance to turn around, and I have good - ground for hoping that the memory of that grand man, Lambert Barry, - will be cleared of every particle of the reproach which some angry and - disappointed people have been flinging about. This night has been a - great epoch in my career, and if I anticipated that there were any - more such coming to me, that little crib out in the lake would suit me - for a downy couch. As it is, I will now surprise my neglected bed by - getting into it before three G.M. - - Bon voyage, dear lady, and I hope you will sleep the better to-night - for this message. I shall not communicate with Harriet until after you - have gone. - - Sincerely yours, - BERTRAM KING. - -Miss Barry had stood in the aisle during the reading of this epistle, -too absorbed to notice the discomfort of lurching about. Now she -held the letter for a space, in excited thought. Her thin face was -flushed. She looked at Linda, whose gaze was fixed on the flat, flying -landscape. The violets lay on the seat beside her, disregarded. - -Miss Barry's lips tightened. "She doesn't deserve to know," she -thought. "Oh, that wonderful young man! That poor boy!" - -She seated herself opposite her traveling companion, and Linda -languidly turning her head at the movement, her attention was caught -by the fact that her aunt was wiping her glasses, and that her eyes -were wet. An open letter lay in her lap. - -Miss Barry was keenly aware of King's failure to mention Linda in this -matter so nearly concerning her. It was only the relief of the news to -her own heart which softened her sufficiently not to be glad of this -punishment to the cruel young sufferer opposite. She hoped remorse -would follow the reading in Linda's case. - -She held out the letter in silence. The girl shrank and made a quick, -protesting gesture. - -"I can't--I can't bear any more!" she said. - -"You can bear this," returned Miss Barry. - -"But you're crying!" - -"With joy, Belinda." - -When her aunt gave the girl her full name it meant either a climax of -indignation or a moment of sacred solemnity. That she knew well. - -She regarded the letter with apprehension as she accepted it, and at -once recognizing King's writing a sort of hard strength stole over her -expression as she instinctively prepared to resist his statements. He -was smooth and self-contained and clever. He could deceive Aunt Belinda -and Harriet, but he could not deceive her. - -After a moment of vigorous application of her handkerchief to her eyes, -Miss Barry put on her spectacles again, and leaning back in the seat -deliberately prepared to watch the effect upon her niece of Bertram -King's letter. - -Linda's lips, set firmly as she began, slowly relaxed as she read on, -and her eyes grew darker. She began to breathe faster, and before she -finished such an expression came over the young face that the older -woman could no longer look, but closed her eyes and waited. It seemed -to her a long time before she opened them again to find Linda regarding -her. Life had revived in the large mourning eyes. - -"Thank you, Aunt Belinda. May I keep it a little while?" - -"You may keep it always," said Miss Barry solemnly. "It is more yours -than mine. Isn't that a wonderful young man, Belinda Barry? Didn't I -always say your father was too clever to trust the wrong people?" - -"Bertram is clever," said Linda simply. - -Miss Barry eyed her curiously, far from satisfied. "It's just," she -thought, "as if some mental starch had gone all through the girl." - -She wondered if her niece had no regret, no shame, that she had put -herself so beyond the pale that Bertram ignored her. - -"Really she is a handsome creature," thought Miss Barry, still -regarding her vis-a-vis with some sternness. - -"I hope as soon as we get home you will make haste to tell Mr. King -that you appreciate all he has done." - -"I do appreciate all he has done," said Linda, still with the exalted -look in her eyes, "but he is doing his best to make up for it, Aunt -Belinda." She leaned over far enough to put her hand on Miss Barry's -knee, "If this comes out as Bertram hopes I will believe in God." - -"Why, my dear child!" exclaimed the other. - -"I tell you if a man like my father could be remembered in Chicago as -touched by the faintest shade of dishonor, I should know that there -couldn't be any God of justice." - -"Very well, Belinda," replied Miss Barry warmly; "if you think so -highly of justice you'd better try to practice it more yourself." Her -nostrils dilated. - -Linda relaxed and gave a little one-sided smile as she shook her head -and leaned back again. - -"Well, I never did!" thought Miss Barry; and she too leaned back in the -corner, where her niece forgot all about her. - -What a gift, what a wonder, to dare to think about her lost one! -Hitherto to dwell upon the thought of him was to be cut with knives. -The only peace possible had been negative; had been to harden herself -to insensibility. - -"It is the Spirit Flower," she thought, and her lips took a tender -curve that matched the melting eyes above them. The association of -ideas brought thoughts of Mrs. Porter, for it was the song Linda had -last studied with her teacher whose words flowed now through her mind. - - "My heart was frozen, even as the earth - That covered thee forever from my sight. - All thoughts of happiness expired at birth; - Within me naught but black and starless night. - - "Down through the winter sunshine snowflakes came, - All shimmering, like to silver butterflies; - They seemed to whisper softly thy dear name; - They melted with the tear-drops from mine eyes. - - "But suddenly there bloomed within that hour, - In my poor heart, so seeming dead, a flower - Whose fragrance in my life shall ever be: - The tender, sacred _memory_ of thee." - -Linda's eyes closed, and slow crystal drops stole under the lids, but -for the first time they were not bitter tears. The journey would now -not be wearisome. For a long time she sat motionless, her eyes on the -flying clouds, nurturing that spirit flower. - -She had put Mrs. Porter's letters in her traveling-bag, and after a -time she took them out and read them over, this time with more open -vision. She could not realize how recent was her bereavement. She -seemed to have lived years in this new world into which she was born -the day they brought her father home. It was to look back ages to think -of their last breakfast together, his last embrace. She had asked that -morning to come downtown to lunch with him, and he had told her that -he couldn't spare the time. At least she had been assiduous that last -week. With that world she had had nothing to do for so long. It was -with this world, this world without her father in it, that she had now -to deal, a world in which it seemed to her she had had time to grow old. - -Her mind roved busily to and from the lines of Mrs. Porter's loving -letters as she read. This new liberty to think, this hope contained in -Bertram King's letter, endowed her with an unrestraint which seemed -wonderful, and she sometimes read a line six times before the roving -mind grasped its meaning. - -Miss Barry had fallen asleep in her corner. How weary and haggard her -face looked in its repose. Linda's wakened heart went out to the signs -of her aunt's unregarded sorrow. - -An express train going in the opposite direction crashed suddenly by -the open windows with a deafening racket. Miss Barry started and waked. - -Blinking, she realized her surroundings, and sat up. She met her -niece's eyes. Linda had taken up the violets and her nose was buried -in their soft fragrance. - -"That was too bad, Aunt Belinda," she said, leaning forward. "It's -growing very warm. Can't I get you a drink?" she said. - -"Glory be!" thought Miss Barry. "Yes, I wish you would," she said -aloud. Her eyes followed the girl, as she slowly rose and moved away -to get the water. "At last," continued Miss Barry mentally, "she isn't -walking in her sleep." - -She accepted the glass when it came, and drank thirstily, although she -had not been thirsty. - -When Linda returned, moving slowly and holding by the seat, she did not -take the place she had vacated, but sat down beside her aunt. - -"Tell me something about Father," she said. - -"What sort of thing? What do you mean?" - -"Not the things the newspapers have printed, about his beating his -way to Chicago on the trains, and being an errand boy, and having no -education, and all that--his phenomenal rise to fortune. Not that." - -Miss Barry snorted. "No education! Absurd! The newspapers make me sick. -He had education enough to make him one of the smartest men in the -country. I should think folks would know better than to believe such -stuff." - -"And you took care of him, didn't you, Aunt Belinda? I never used to -want to know anything about his childhood. I grew tired of hearing -people say he was a self-made man, and I was ashamed to know that he -was barefooted and poor. That was another thorn," finished Linda, under -her breath. - -"Another what?" - -"A thorn." - -Miss Barry looked around at the speaker. "Oh, a thorn in your side, -you mean. I guess you have always been some high-headed, Linda." She -used the past tense instinctively as she viewed the pale, languid face -leaning back beside her. - -"You took care of him like a little mother," persisted the girl. "He -has told me so." - -"Yes, I was only ten when Ma died, and I guess the papers would -'a' been right about your father's education if I hadn't saved her -slippers." - -"You mean figuratively? You stepped into them." - -"No, I don't. I mean it just as literal as anything could be meant. Pa -was easy-going and had enough to attend to, black-smithing and selling -flour and feed, so if anybody was going to spank Lambert it had to be -me." - -Linda's lips, pressed tightly against the violets, quivered against -them. - -"I'm sure you loved him tremendously," she said unsteadily. - -Miss Barry sniffed, with a one-sided smile. "I didn't have much time -to think about that. I had to get breakfast and get to school myself, -and spank him when he ran away, and when he hitched on trains, and -robbed apple orchards, and so on, but mostly when he wouldn't go to -school. Ma's slippers were 'most done for, when one day I caught him, -and took one of the old tattered things and was going to give him what -he deserved, when he just caught my arms in his two hands, and began -to laugh. I noticed then for the first time that he was as tall as I -was, and his eyes looked straight into mine the fullest of mischief -you ever saw. I could feel myself getting as red as a beet. 'Let me -go this minute,' I yelled at him. 'Let me go, Lammie.' That's what the -schoolboys called him when they wanted to be mean. He fought a lot o' -boys for that before they learned better, and I remember exactly how he -managed to get both o' my calico sleeves into one hand, and boxed my -ears with the other; not real hard, he was laughing all the time. - -"'Come on, Belinda,' he said, 'let's bury the slipper.' I knew what -he meant, because the boys were always playing Indian, and burying -hatchets; but, do you know, he made me bury that shoe then and there? -He took me outdoors and made me take the hoe and bury that slipper in -the garden. He stood over me, and before I finished I was crying, I was -so mad. I was fifteen then, and he was eleven, but I was small for my -age; and that was the end of the spankings. But you see by that time," -continued Miss Barry complacently, "I'd made him a real good boy." - -"Yes, yes, you did," agreed Linda warmly. "What then?" - -"Oh, then it was lobster traps, and I helped him with them, and I got -Father to buy lobsters off him, and buy his clams, too, and I think -Lambert was always sort of sorry for me even when I was scolding him. -He knew I had a lot to do for a young one." - -"Yes," said Linda, with eagerness, "and he resolved to make it up to -you, I know." - -"He did make it up to me. He was the best brother in the world," -answered Miss Barry simply. - -The girl's lips trembled again against the violets, and the two watched -the flying landscape in silence. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -HOME-COMING - - -Often during the remainder of the journey Linda questioned her aunt -about her own and her father's childhood. Hitherto she had avoided -as far as possible all mention or knowledge of his antecedents and -the struggles which preceded his success. Again she felt the relief -consequent upon opening a mental door until now painstakingly kept -closed. Instead of the thorn again came up the fir-tree, as her -thoughts, led by Miss Barry, roved about the hard but wholesome past, -and she acquainted herself with the good stock which had produced her -lost treasure. - -"Don't grieve. Speed him on," had been Mrs. Porter's tender and strong -admonition. Linda tried to remember it every time that submerging wave -of realized loss went sweeping suffocatingly over her head. - -Miss Barry, rousing from practical thoughts of her home and -housekeeping, or waking from a nap, usually saw her niece poring over -letters, and occasionally it was Bertram King's that she held in her -hands. - -Once when this was the case Miss Belinda held out a metal box. "Try -some of this ginger," she said. "Coals to Newcastle! Did you ever? -Isn't Mr. King the impudent one?" - -Linda leaned politely toward the confection, then drew back again. - -"Don't waste it on me, Aunt Belinda. I don't seem to care for sweets." - -"Well, I hope Mrs. Porter will. I can't eat all these things alone," -replied Miss Barry, casting a glance toward the varied boxes. - -At the same time she let that eagle glance come back to her niece. - -"I hope you're going to remember," she said impressively, "that that -fine man to whom we owe so much is related to Mrs. Porter." - -"What?" asked the girl absent-mindedly. "Oh," suddenly gathering her -aunt's meaning. "Yes, certainly." - -Miss Barry sniffed. "Linda," she said, "I don't know but I'd ought to -go and dig up your grandmother's slipper!" - -The girl smiled, and the older woman shook her head. "She is a handsome -thing," she thought. - -Mrs. Porter thought so too when she met them in Portland. In spite of -the change wrought in her pupil's appearance during the last month she -reflected how beauty at twenty-one will be beauty still. - -"There's no place like home!" exclaimed Miss Barry, as she accepted -Mrs. Porter's embrace. "I'm aching for one look at the ocean." - -"Isn't she saucy to our grand lake?" asked Mrs. Porter, putting her -hand through Linda's arm, and leading the way to the motor waiting -outside. - -"What does this mean?" asked Miss Barry. "The train's good enough for -us." - -"No, it's such a beautiful afternoon. It will rest you both to motor -home," said Mrs. Porter. She supported Linda's arm, noting the -feebleness of the girl's movements. - -The two black-clothed women entered the car, the porter put in their -suit-cases, Mrs. Porter jumped in, and they started. As yet Linda -had scarcely spoken. It was curious to her to see her teacher thus, -off duty, wearing an outing hat and corduroy. She, who had always -been surrounded with a wall of delicate formality which no pupil save -herself had ever had the audacity to break down, now smiling, tanned -and rosy, girlish in her soft white hat, seemed another identity. Linda -regarded her teacher gravely, while the latter responded cheerfully to -Miss Barry's questions. The sun shone, the breeze was crisp. - -As they emerged into the suburbs and countryside, all the joyousness of -June smote upon the travelers' tired senses. - -Linda turned her wistful eyes away when Mrs. Porter met them, a -reassuring strength in her regard. - -"Jerry was so disappointed when I told him he needn't come to the -station for us," she said. "All your neighbors are excited over your -home-coming." - -"H'm," sniffed Miss Barry in a one-sided smile. "Luella accommodatin' -any boarders?" - -"Yes, a mother and daughter from New York." - -"H'm. Their bones beginning to show yet?" - -Mrs. Porter laughed. "If it is as you say, why shouldn't Miss Luella -advertise a reducing establishment? I'm sure it would pay." - -The speaker's cheer covered a pang. Linda's slenderness and pallor -spoke eloquently, and made her forget the girl's probable injustice to -Bertram King. - -Linda had made but one visit before to the Cape. That was ten years -ago, when her aunt's cottage was first built. It had been a flying trip -with her father and mother, and she had slight recollection of the -place. Her mother had cared more for mountains than sea, and Linda had -visited them on both sides of the ocean. It was now to a practically -new place that the motor was carrying her. - -She straightened herself with interest when the settlement came in -sight, and her large gaze sought for the little house that had been her -father's gift of love to his sister. - -Mrs. Porter saw her eagerness. "Just about three minutes away now," she -said. - -"Is that it? The brown one?" asked the girl as they neared the rocky -point. - -"Yes, the Gull's Nest," replied Mrs. Porter. "I don't know what Miss -Barry calls it, but how could it have any other name?" - -"Lambert was always telling me to name it and he'd give me some writing -paper, stamped." - -"And why didn't you?" - -"I did." Miss Barry tossed her head a little toward the welcoming waves. - -"What is it?" asked Mrs. Porter eagerly. - -"Oh, no matter," returned Miss Belinda. - -"You haven't told? Do you mean you haven't _told_?" Mrs. Porter's eyes -twinkled at the proof of New England reticence. - -"What's in a name, anyway?" returned Miss Belinda evasively. - -Her niece regarded the flush on her aunt's thin cheek wistfully, and -wondered what bit of sentiment she was concealing. - -The wonder heightened the interest with which she entered the cottage. -The little house was unexpectedly roomy within. Lambert Barry had given -his sister _carte blanche_ as to coziness, provided she would have -room enough for him and his when they could arrange to come; but the -nearness to the great diapason of the waves had repelled his wife, and -after he lost her the engrossed business man could make only flying -visits to the scenes of his childhood. There were the rooms, however, -and Linda was soon led to hers. - -"It's the one I always called your father's room, Linda," said Miss -Barry, as she ushered her in. - -Mrs. Porter, after brief explanation of her preparations, had remained -below stairs to leave them alone. - -Linda looked from the windows on the limitless ocean, dotted with -distant sails; on the fleecy islands of cloud in a sky as blue, as -limitless. - -She turned back to her companion. A look of satisfaction had overspread -her aunt's wan face. - -"You've been very good to me, Aunt Belinda," she said deliberately. -"I've known it all the time, but I shall appreciate it more and more." - -"Well, well, that's all right, child," returned the other hastily. "I -think there's everything here to make you comfortable. The bathroom's -here, between your room and mine; and if there's anything you want that -you don't see, just let me know." - -She went out and left Linda standing there, her wide gaze fixed on the -open sea and ships. Islands were but distant scenes from the Cape. -Here the granite cliffs rose high and higher. She could get glimpses -along the shore of their hollows, which soon would shelter luxuriant -deep-pink wild roses, but now waved with snowy daisies, flirting with -the foam which ever sought to reach them. - -An hour afterward she went downstairs, and found Mrs. Porter sitting -with a book in the glassed-in end of the veranda. - -"See? I've been saving this hammock for you," said Mrs. Porter, looking -up. - -Linda stood still and smiled, looking with fascinated eyes at the sea. - -Mrs. Porter remained quiet, watching the girl's face grow grave. - -"It's very wonderful after the city, isn't it?" she asked at last. - -"Yes. The noise on the avenue was constant, then the banging and -confusion of trains. This is like being born into a new world. I was -wondering just now if Father felt that same great contrast and peace -when he waked up." - -"I'm sure he did," replied Mrs. Porter. She said no more to urge her -friend to lie down, but dropped her book and took up some sewing that -lay on the table beside her. - -Pretty soon Linda came over to the hammock and seated herself on -its edge, and at that moment Miss Barry appeared with an armful of -neglected bon-bon boxes. - -"This is day before yesterday's candy," she announced, "but most of -them haven't been opened at all, and any that you don't want will -find a market in the neighborhood." The speaker raised her eyebrows -significantly. - -Mrs. Porter smiled. "Poor little Blanche Aurora, for instance. She's -been a good little helper." - -"You don't mean to say she hasn't broken dishes." - -"Well, not so very many, really. She's been very much excited over your -home-coming." - -When Jerry came with the trunks, his sea-blue eyes regarded Linda with -respectful interest, while he shook hands with her aunt. - -"Ye look some faded, Belinda," he remarked. - -"I'll pick up," was the reply. "This is my niece, Cap'n Holt." - -Linda brought her absent-minded gaze back with a start, realizing that -the "expressman" was being introduced to her. - -He put out his rough hand kindly, and she saw by his expression that he -was acknowledging her bereavement. She put her hand in his in silence. - -"Cap'n Holt knew your father, Linda," said Mrs. Porter. - -The girl's eyes met his. "Did you work for my father?" she asked. - -"Dunno 'bout that," was the good-humored response. "I was the oldest, -and I guess mebbe he worked fer me some." - -Cap'n Holt's lips twitched as if a humorous continuation of his -declaration was imminent, but Linda's grave looks and her black gown -restrained him. A faint color mounted to the girl's cheeks. She must -remember hereafter! - -"He was well liked around here, your father was," finished Jerry Holt -warmly. - -"Thank you," said Linda, and Jerry dropped her smooth young hand -awkwardly. - -"Sometime you must tell me about when he was a little boy," she -continued, still gazing at him. - -Jerry Holt winked hard as he drove his team away from those appealing -eyes. "She takes it hard," he said to himself, "she takes it hard." - -Luella Benslow had seen him drive by with the trunks, and she was -working in her garden as he returned. Luella had not succeeded in -entirely breaking down the reserve of that pleasant-faced Mrs. Porter, -who had been keeping house for Belinda. The socially experienced -musician had known how to awe her. Luella was by no means certain that -Belinda Barry's loss had dulled her speech, so she restrained the -curiosity which urged her to create an immediate errand at the Barry -cottage. - -Jerry must pass her house on his return, so she set herself to work at -piling some wood, her father not being amenable to the performing of -such an arduous task. - -Her regimentals for such labor consisted of a deep shaker bonnet -provided with a flowing collar, in which her complexion was shielded. -She also wore a complication of capes, and a terraced arrangement of -aprons, one above the other, the whole giving the strong, sportive sea -wind an assorted lot of banners, which it tossed in all directions. - -As Jerry's wagon approached, Luella was too deafened by the wind -and her shaker to hear the wheels on the soft earth. She was at the -roadside, gathering the smaller wood which had fallen by the way, -and the back view of her stooping figure presented an appearance -which Jerry's steed, mentally consulting a long experience, could not -remember to have seen paralleled. Deciding that it would be on the safe -side to approach no nearer, Molly planted her forefeet, and all Jerry's -adjurations failed to persuade her to move. Her eloquent ears went -forward and back. - -At last there came borne to Luella a stentorian yell. - -"Git up! Git up, I tell ye, Luella." - -She slowly lifted her head, turned, and brushing her hair out of her -eyes beheld Molly with feet planted and ears laid back. Jerry was -standing up in his wagon, gesticulating with his whip. - -"Git up, I tell ye! The hoss won't go _by_ ye!" he yelled. - -Luella arose with alacrity, but slowly, her arms full of kindling. -This she dropped incontinently, and Molly shied as the fluttering -figure ran forward. - -"I want to speak to you, Jerry. Don't go till you tell me about 'em!" -she said breathlessly. "Do excuse my looks," she added with a simper. - -"I can overlook 'em if Molly can," replied Jerry. - -Both Molly and Luella seemed to be indulging in a return to the -skittishness of youth. - -Jerry had twice taken Luella home from singing school in days gone -by, and he had been ticketed as one of her beaux ever since! A -might-have-been with whom she consistently played the game. - -She pushed her shaker back. "Have you seen the orphan?" she added, -again brushing stray locks of hair out of her curious eyes. - -"Yes." - -"What's she like? Awful proud, I s'pose." - -"Mebbe. She favors Lambert. He went some on looks, you remember." - -"How should I remember?" returned Luella with a coy smile, which showed -dentally the evenness of piano keys. "I was so _much_ younger than you -and Mr. Barry." - -"I wish Luella's teeth wouldn't kind o' drop," reflected Jerry Holt. -"It makes me dizzy." - -He snapped his whip gently, while Molly, reassured, rested in the first -position. - -"I think I'd ought to call real soon," said Luella. "Don't you?" - -"Well, 'f I was you I'd let 'em ketch their breath," remarked Jerry -impersonally. - -"The Mrs. Lindsay and her daughter stayin' with me, they're related to -a young man in Chicago that's a dear friend o' the Barrys," went on -Luella eagerly. "I think 't would make the orphan feel more to home to -know she had a mewchal friend in the neighborhood. Don't you?" - -"Couldn't say," drawled Jerry. - -"_Sh!_" hissed Luella, lowering her voice portentously. "The ladies are -about sure their relation had all his money in Lambert Barry's bank. -_Sh!_ They think from all they've heard he was a scoundrel. You can't -talk about folks that's dead, though, can you?" - -"Well, some folks find it's the safest time." - -"Well, what do _you_ think, Jerry?" she asked, still low-voiced, -pressing close to the wagon. - -"I think I got to be goin'. Careful there, Luella. Don't let Molly step -on ye." - -"Well," she returned, retreating, "I've always believed I could write -a play as good as anybody else for those here emotion pictures, and -this'd be a splendid story, with Lambert Barry for the villain, and his -beautiful daughter believin' in him; don't you think so? I'd make her -beautiful, you know." - -Jerry Holt's lips twitched as he gathered up the reins. - -"Well, one thing sure, Nature's saved ye the trouble there, Luella. Git -ap, Molly." - -Luella looked after the wagon, her mouth open in her interest. Her -friend's meaning slowly percolated. Then she hurried toward the house, -removing aprons as she went, to inform her boarders of the arrival. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -BLANCHE AURORA - - -When Linda waked next morning, she had been dreamless for nine hours; -sunk so deep in slumber after weeks of restless, fitful naps that the -return to earth was a slow, scarcely credible process. A soothing, -rhythmic sweep of sound seemed saying, "Sleep _on_, Sleep _on_"; but a -song sparrow perched on the corner of the sloping roof above her window -was loudly declaring that it was ecstasy to waken. The rapturous burst, -often repeated, won her slow attention. The sun shone through the rosy -curtains and a breeze fanned her opening eyes. She turned her face into -her pillow. Her first thought as ever of her father, she seemed to -commune with him. - -"I'm here in your room, dear. I dare think about you. The insults are -going to cease, dearest, _dearest_!" - -Her rested brain recalled those sentences in one of Mrs. Porter's -letters, prophetic words of what the public verdict would be when -truth began to appear. Then had come King's reassurance. She knew each -phrase of both letters by heart. - -Mrs. Porter had put Miss Barry's best photograph of her brother on -the dresser in this room. Turning, Linda again opened her eyes and -they rested upon it. For a moment she gazed, then rose with a sense of -refreshment. How quiet the house was! She took her bath and dressed, -still without hearing a human movement, and at last went downstairs -to the empty living-room. The old-fashioned clock above the fireplace -pointed to nine forty-five. - -"I surely am a petted child!" thought Linda. She moved through the -dining-room and was going to the kitchen when the swing door suddenly -opened, nearly striking her, and a girl of thirteen years appeared. -By dint of peeking around the corner of the house, Blanche Aurora had -obtained a glimpse of the tall slender figure in black when aunt and -niece arrived yesterday; and of the two, Linda was the more surprised -at the sudden encounter now. - -In any case, Blanche Aurora was not easily daunted. She had spent -years in twitching smaller brothers and sisters into the path of -duty. Perhaps the necessity of her being "careful about many things," -notwithstanding her youth, had drawn Miss Belinda to her in sympathetic -remembrance of her own childhood; but if that was the case, it had -resulted in no tenderness given or received. Theirs was a relation of -armed neutrality in which neither ever got much the better of the other. - -Blanche Aurora's eyes were round, expressionless, and light blue. Each -of the two pigtails of her red hair had a string braided in with it to -discourage relaxation, and this cord was twisted around their ends with -a determined hand, the whole so tightly reined that each braid turned -up at the end like a fishhook. - -A dozen times this morning she had pushed open the swing door under the -impression that she heard the guest descend: the wonderful guest, who -never had to touch foot to the ground, but rolled around in carriages -and ate off gold plates. Blanche Aurora had vaguely expected something -so overwhelming in the appearance of the millionaire's daughter that -the apparition of Linda in a plain white gown, not glittering at any -point, was somewhat disappointing. The flat-chested little maid viewed -the tall girl's shining, waving hair and her large, grave eyes for a -moment; then she spoke:-- - -"Pretty near hit you, didn't I?" she said airily. - -"My aunt--" murmured Linda. - -"They've gone to see the chickens, and I'm to give you your breakfast. -There's your place." - -Blanche Aurora's businesslike, no-time-to-spare finger pointed to the -white table which bore a dish of fruit and a single goldbanded plate -with its complement of silver and napkin. - -Linda sat down meekly. - -"I s'pose you'll want a finger-bowl," said Blanche Aurora. - -"If--if it's convenient," replied Linda. - -The other actually smiled. "Ho! We've got lots of 'em," she returned, -and stalked to the sideboard, where she poured water into a bowl and -placed it close by Linda's elbow. - -While the guest opened an orange, the light-blue eyes watched her -white ringless hands. "She don't look a bit rich," thought Blanche -Aurora, "but I'll bet she's stuck-up." - -She withdrew against the wall, from whence Linda felt her unwinking, -round stare. - -"Are you my aunt's little maid?" asked the girl, after the silence -began to be embarrassing. - -"No," came the prompt reply, "I'm her help." All Blanche Aurora's -remarks were made in a loud tone as if she were talking against the -sound of the sea. "I come after I git the children to school." - -"Children?" - -"My brothers and sisters." - -Linda glanced up at the short, slight form clad in a faded gingham -dress that was outgrown. - -"Don't you go to school yourself?" - -"Ho! No! I got through last year; I'm thirteen." - -A pause, during which the help reluctantly admired Linda's hands and -her deft manner of manipulating spoon and orange. As the guest laid -down the empty rind, her companion's voice rent the air. - -"Oatmeal, wheatena, and all the cold cereals!" she vociferated. - -Linda started. "I--I don't really care--" - -"One's jest as easy as the other. They're all handy." - -"I'll take the--oatmeal, please," replied Linda under the pressure of -that strenuous reassurance. - -During the brief absence of the small maid, the girl leaned back in her -chair, and looked through the open windows fronting the sea. - -Presently, Blanche Aurora's foot kicked open the swing door and she -advanced with the cereal and noted that the guest shivered. - -"Be ye cold?" she questioned sharply; "I can shet the winders." - -"Yes, I wish you would. This is like eating on a boat." - -"I hate bo'ts," vouchsafed the help, and crossing to the windows -slammed them down, after which she resumed her position against the -wall while Linda served herself with oatmeal. - -"There's coffee and rolls and eggs," shouted Blanche Aurora after half -a minute of dead silence during which the clock ticked. - -Linda jumped again. The help was so very responsible and so clean and -wiry that she smiled as she lifted her eyes. - -"I've got an hourglass and you're to tell me when you want 'em put on." - -"What?" - -"The eggs; they're good and fresh. Luella Benslow's hens laid 'em." - -"Are those the hens Aunt Belinda has gone to see?" - -"Yes; Mis' Porter wanted to see the hens that have hot-water bags." - -Linda kept on smiling. - -"Dear me!" she said. "What is your name, please?" - -"Blanche Aurora Martin," came the prompt report; "but you don't have to -say the Martin. It's Blanche Aurora for short." - -"I see; and I am Miss Barry." - -"Yes, I know," was the prompt reply; "but I made up my mind to call you -Miss Belinda 'cause if there was two Miss Barrys, I couldn't stand it." - -"Really? Very well; but what did you mean about hens with hot-water -bags?" - -"Why, Luella puts 'em in every nest when it comes cold, and Mis' -Porter, she laughed and laughed when she heard about it; Luella's some -slack about lots o' things, but she's got real good ideas about helpin' -the hens along and Mis' Porter wanted Miss Barry should take her over -and see 'em." Blanche Aurora's sharp gaze noted the guest's languid -appetite as evinced by the slight diminution of the oatmeal. "The eggs -is real good," she continued, "and I've got an hourglass." - -Linda lifted her somber eyes and showed the tips of her white teeth -again. - -"I hope you don't boil them an hour, Blanche Aurora?" - -It wasn't very often that Miss Barry's maid was offered a joke, but the -relaxing of her thin cheeks now showed that she could take one. - -"No danger!" she returned smartly. But the suggestion of eggs, even -those laid luxuriously in the proximity of a hot-water bag, could not -tempt the pale guest this morning. - -"Coffee and toast sound very good," she said. "No eggs this morning, I -think." - -"Hev it your own way," returned the help; "we cal'late to give you -what you want," and at once she attacked the swing door. The little -creature's sudden energy of motion after absolute repose was like her -stentorian tones breaking dead silence. - -When coffee and toast were set before the guest, Blanche Aurora again -supported the wall and watched her charge with an unremitting stare. - -"You don't need to wait," said Linda. - -"I druther," returned Blanche Aurora with a finality which admitted of -no argument. - -The guest followed the line of least resistance. - -"Is Mrs.---- is the hen lady one of your neighbors?" - -"Luella Benslow? Yes, she and her father. Her father's a wonderful -man--Luella's father is." - -"What does he do?" - -"Well, he don't do nothin' much. He never did support his family nor -anythin' like that; but he has such wonderful 'complishments. There -ain't nobody can ketch a frog like Cy Benslow can." - -Linda looked up and felt color coming into her cheeks in the novel -desire to laugh. - -"How does he do it?" - -"Like this." The round light eyes gained a spark of interest as Blanche -Aurora began describing large circles in the air with her right -hand, and advancing toward the table with a stealthy tread. As she -approached, the circles contracted gradually, until close to the guest -they had narrowed to a small ring out of which the hand made a jab -toward the victim's face, and Linda jerked her head back. - -Blanche Aurora smiled in triumph and returned to her place. - -"I--I really thought you had my nose!" - -"That's jest it. Ye see the frog's got to look so many directions, he -don't know which way to jump, so he's jest kind o' par'lyzed and gits -ketched." - -"Very ingenious," laughed Linda. - -Yes, she laughed. Blanche Aurora, unconscious that she had performed a -feat eclipsing Cy Benslow's, warmed to her theme. - -"And you jest ought to see him git worms for bait." - -"Now, Blanche Aurora, it was bad enough to be a frog. I positively -decline to be a worm." - -"You don't have to be. I'll jest tell ye about it. He goes up to a -post, Cy does." The speaker moved forward, and Linda put out a warning -hand. - -"Nor a post either, Blanche Aurora. I firmly decline to be a post." - -"And he takes a board and scrapes it back and forrard across the post; -it grits somethin' awful, and the shakin' gets to the worms somehow -and they begin comin' up out o' the ground to see what's goin' on, -and"--Blanche Aurora nodded significantly--"and that's the last they -_do_ see, I can tell ye. They go whack into Cy's pail and ketch his -dinner for him." - -"What a wizard!" - -"No, he don't get no lizards, and I'm glad we don't have 'em. There was -a lady once boardin' to Benslows' and she had one with a chain to its -leg and she let it run all over her. Bah!" the speaker shuddered. "I'd -hate to feel their scrabbly feet, wouldn't you?" - -"I've finished, Blanche Aurora," said Linda hastily. She pushed her -chair back from the table. There was pressure in her throat and in her -eyes. She rose abruptly. - -"Say! you forgot your finger-bowl," shouted her waitress after the -figure swiftly retreating toward the piazza. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE HARBOR - - -Blanche Aurora's prey could not so easily escape her. She had been left -in charge of Linda and she followed her now to the porch: that exciting -porch surmounting a castle wall of rock, with soft niches of green -where Nature's mother-hand found vulnerable spots to plant her lovely -ferns and flowers. - -To Blanche Aurora the situation of the cottage was objectionably noisy -and windy, and she often wished her employer's house could be moved -back on the road where one could see the passing. She scowled now -against the dazzling sun and boisterous wind. - -"Be you goin' to set out here?" she roared at Linda. - -"How beautiful it is!" escaped involuntarily from the guest. - -"Then I'll git you some warm things. You're sick and delicate!" yelled -Blanche Aurora as one whom the roar of old Ocean could not down. - -Linda looked at the slim child in the faded gingham. The salt air went -through her piercingly. - -"I'm not delicate at all!" she protested, but little cared her mentor -for her defense. - -She straightway brought a steamer-rug, shawl and pillows from a near-by -closet. - -"There!" she said, depositing them in the hammock on the glassed-in end -of the porch. She gave her queer little grimace of a smile and again -her thin cheeks wrinkled. "Miss Barry said you looked like a hothouse -plant, so I guess you'd better stay under glass for a spell." - -"Aren't you cold yourself in that cal--that thin dress?" asked Linda. - -"I dunno. I don't believe so." - -Linda's eyes grew softer. It was so evident that the little caretaker -had small leisure to think of her sensations. - -"Lay down and I'll cover you," commanded Blanche Aurora. - -"Lie down? No, indeed. I'm just up." - -The help paused with the rug in her thin arms. She was undecided as to -whether to humor this rebellion. - -"Blanche Aurora, do you like candy?" - -The slender face lost its worried expression and grew younger. - -"There ain't much sense to that question," she returned. - -"Then come into the house with me," said Linda. - -The wraps were dropped in the hammock and willing feet followed the -guest. - -From a cabinet in the corner of the room Linda chose the reddest of red -boxes, generous in size, and placed it in a pair of eager hands. - -Blanche Aurora viewed the prize, amazed. "I ain't ever in my life had -all the candy I wanted," she said in such awed tones that Linda smiled -and reached for a violet box which she piled upon the other. - -"Oh!" gasped the recipient. She looked up at the pale guest with a -new realization of what it meant to be a millionaire's daughter. Gold -plates and carriages sounded fine, but it was only like hearing about -Cinderella and other impossible maidens. Here were tangible chocolates -given away recklessly and with nonchalance. What a consciousness that -bespoke! - -As they stood there, Linda, watching her erstwhile mentor endure an -ecstatic paralysis, Miss Barry and Mrs. Porter entered. - -"What are you doing, Linda Barry!" exclaimed her aunt. "I'll keep those -boxes myself and give the child a few at a time. She'll make herself -sick." She hurried forward, but Linda pressed her back. - -"Let her make herself sick," she pleaded. "I'll take care of her." - -Miss Barry looked from one to the other undecidedly. She recognized -this surprisingly good symptom in her niece, but such a wholesale -relaxation of discipline toward the most willful, stubborn child on the -Cape was unheard of. - -While she hesitated, Linda stepped to one side and made room for the -"help" to pass, which Blanche Aurora made haste to do, the wonderful -boxes clutched in her arms, and the fishhook braids vibrating with the -double excitement of her gift and getting the better of her employer. - -Mrs. Porter watched Linda thoughtfully. When she and Miss Barry a few -minutes ago had left Luella Benslow and her pampered hens, and their -hilarious mood had quieted, the younger woman had at once brought up -the subject of Bertram King, whose situation dwelt much in her mind. As -they walked across the soft grass she took Miss Barry's arm. - -"Tell me about my cousin, Mr. King. How does he look?" - -"Like the last run o' shad," returned Miss Barry promptly. - -"I never met a belated shad." - -"Well, you've eaten 'em, haven't you? I'd just as soon eat a fried -paper of pins." - -"You mean that Bertram is thin?" - -"Just so. He looks as if he'd been through the war, and so he has." - -"I feel as if I ought to go back to him." - -"Law! Don't leave me yet!" exclaimed Miss Barry in a panic. "You're the -only person Linda can stand the sight of. Oh! if I'm not glad to get -home!" The speaker inflated her lungs and stepped lightly. - -"You say she blames Bertram for her father's misfortunes." - -"Yes; and I guess she ain't the only one, from what Harriet says. Lots -o' folks think my brother pinned his faith to Mr. King's judgment in -taking on a new proposition." - -"Yes," returned Mrs. Porter thoughtfully. "I've heard it said." - -Miss Barry glanced around at her companion quickly. "Well, I hope you -didn't take any stock in it," she returned sharply. "Lambert Barry had -a backbone of his own. I'm surprised at his own daughter's not knowing -him well enough to scout such a notion." - -"Bertram is very clever. He had been with him a long time." - -"Clever! I guess he is clever. I could just about worship that man for -all he's done," was the warm rejoinder; "and if that cock-and-bull -story was true about Bertram King dragging the bank into that Antlers -thing that broke the camel's back, he's made up for it with pretty near -his life's blood, working night and day to undo the damage." - -Mrs. Porter's eyes glowed with interest and surprise at such heat from -the reserved New England woman. - -"You do feel that way! I'm so glad. Then, why doesn't Linda?" - -"Because if Mr. King laid down and died it couldn't bring back her -father," returned Miss Barry slowly. - -Mrs. Porter looked away and shook her head. "How dreadful it seems," -she said in a low tone. "Then you have no blame for Bertram?" - -"Not a particle." - -"What is the situation now? What has he been able to do?" - -"Wonders," returned Miss Barry sententiously. "He sent me a letter to -the train. I ought to have given it to you as soon as I touched home. I -ought to have realized that you were so close to Mr. King that it would -mean a lot to you as well as to us. You'll never see the Linda that was -before that letter came. It gave her new life." - -"Then didn't it make her feel kindly toward Bertram?" asked Mrs. Porter. - -"No. She just accepted it as penance and the best restitution the -poor fellow could make for a tragic and unpardonable--mind you, -_unpardonable_ mistake." - -"Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors," murmured Mrs. Porter. - -"I know it," returned Miss Barry; "and you'll see when you read that -letter that he has some forgiveness to do himself. He never mentioned -Linda in it, and good enough for her. She had flouted him and refused -to see him for days before he rightly sensed how deep her feeling was -against him. It was at a business meeting we had that she came out flat -with her suspicion and meanness. Oh, it was perfectly awful. I just -have to remember and _remember_ how much provocation she would have had -if all she believed was true. That poor boy nearly fainted away in his -tracks, the way she spoke to him." - -Mrs. Porter bit her lip. She could picture the scene and her eyes -filled. - -"He loved her so!" she said softly. - -"Yes, and there's that Fred Whitcomb, too: as nice a boy as ever lived. -He just adores Linda; and it seems there's lots of others. I didn't -believe before that I could ever get sick of arranging flowers; but -really they were a pest. Linda wouldn't look at one, and I got so I -passed them over to the waitress. She fixed them perfectly awful, -too. They looked like crazy quilts when she got through--such colors -together! Linda was a buxom, healthy girl, and good-looking enough, but -for the life of me I can't see why she's such a snare." - -"Poor child. She shows how she has suffered, but why didn't it soften -her? How could she inflict suffering at such a time? I can hardly wait -to see that letter," added Mrs. Porter, unconsciously hurrying her -steps. - -"I haven't got it. I gave it to Linda for her comfort, and hoping, too, -that she'd get some punishment out of Mr. King's ignoring her. Never -mentioned her name, you know." - -"And didn't she feel it at all?" - -"Not a mite." - -"Then I suppose, after all, she never did care anything for Bertram," -mused Mrs. Porter. "It was as well, perhaps, for him that she shocked -him out of his dream. As well for him--not for her, poor child, it -wasn't well for her to be cruel." - -"I don't want to be too hard on her," said Miss Barry. "Maybe she -wasn't really responsible. Land! What we went through! Well," she -added, briskness coming into her voice, "that chapter's closed." - -"Let me," said Mrs. Porter, "let me be the one to ask Linda for the -letter. You have been so tried, Miss Barry. I don't want to ask you -to reopen the sorrowful chapter; but I long to see what Bertram has -to say. I have always thought him an extraordinary young fellow and -respected him as much as I loved him." - -"Just so. Just so," responded Miss Barry warmly. "All right. You ask -for the letter. I pass my niece over to you now." - -They had reached the porch of the shingled cottage and in another -minute they walked in upon Linda's presentation scene. - -Miss Barry was quite prompt in following her maid into the kitchen, -but the minute's delay in hanging up her hat and coat was sufficient -for all sign of the candy boxes to have disappeared. When she opened -the door Blanche Aurora was at the sink letting floods of hot water -into the dishpan and singing with vigor, "A charge to keep I have," -meanwhile rattling pans and china, the whole giving an amazing effect -of clatter. - -Miss Barry involuntarily clapped her hands to her ears. - -"You needn't sing," she remarked loudly. - -"All right," returned the help, ceasing, "but you told me 'twas good -for my lungs." - -"That's all very well when you're alone, Blanche Aurora; but I'm going -to be busy out here seeing what shape you've got the closets into -while I've been gone and how many dishes I've got left. To-morrow I'm -going to begin putting up strawberries." - -Miss Barry was in the habit of preparing in the summer time of peace -for the war of winter, when boarding-houses could not supply her with -home-prepared fruit. - -Meanwhile, in the living-room the light of amusement had died from -Linda's pale face and she sank into a chintz-cushioned wicker rocker. -Mrs. Porter took a neighboring chair. - -"You had a good sleep, I hope, Linda." - -"Wonderful. I went completely out of the world for the first time in--I -don't know how many weeks." The girl met the kind regard fixed upon -her. "I can't get used," she added, "to seeing you far away from your -busy life. It seems as if I must hurry to say what I wish because in -half an hour I shall be turned out by another pupil." - -"Vacation is astonishingly pleasant when you've earned it," replied her -friend. "I fancy that a lot of people who thought it would be great -fun to retire from business soon made the discovery that when one -stops working he stops playing too, because vacation has lost its zest. -Familiarity breeds contempt in lots of ways." - -Linda's large eyes rested upon the speaker, who had retained an orange -silk sweater over her white waist and white corduroy skirt. The -hero-worship that for two years she had laid at the feet of this woman -was among the enthusiasms of that vital past, now gone forever. Once -it would have meant wild elation to claim unlimited companionship with -the adored one in this isolated, romantic spot. To-day, as she gazed at -the wholesome, calm face of her teacher, it was that other teaching she -had received from her, those words of balm that had proved the first -comfort in her affliction, which gave her friend value. - -"I owe you so much, Mrs. Porter," she said suddenly, after a mutual -silence, full to each of them. - -"I'm glad," returned the other as simply. "My heart cried out to help -you, Linda." - -The speaker knew that if the hurt, groping soul can find something for -which to feel gratitude, healing has begun. - -She came no nearer to the girl nor took her hand. It was a new Linda, -cold, white, and undemonstrative except for her cruelty to Bertram -King. Mrs. Porter steadied her own thought as it fled to him, and tried -to think only of the needy one before her. - -"You believed in my father--believed in him from the first. Bertram -says now that he will be vindicated to all before very long; but I -shall never forget those who believed in him from the first." - -Mrs. Porter listened quietly to the low, vibrating voice. She saw the -girl swallow and exercise self-control. - -"Miss Barry tells me that my cousin wrote a letter to her, telling of -hopeful conditions. She says that you have it. May I see it?" - -"Yes. You deserve to see it. It is in my envelope of treasures: your -letters." Linda's heart spoke through her eyes, then she arose. - -"Let us go out of doors and read it," said Mrs. Porter. "We waste time -in the house on such a day. Bring a warm wrap when you come down." - -Linda went upstairs slowly. Her friend's eyes followed her inelastic, -slow movements. Could this be Linda Barry! - -She returned wearing a white sweater and Mrs. Porter pinned a white -corduroy hat on the dark head and flung a polo coat over her own arm. -She also took a cushion from the hammock as they passed. - -"We won't sit on the piazza this morning," she said. "I have a surprise -for you." - -Leading the way around the corner of the house, the two walked away -from the blue breakers, across a wide, grassy field. - -"Your father did a fine thing in buying so much ground for his sister," -said Mrs. Porter. "She says when he built the house he was afraid she -would be lonely and he planned to build other attractive cottages -through here, but she told him she didn't want any one near enough to -shoot. She says he laughed and gave her the deed to all this land and -told her to go ahead and suit herself. Do you see that mowing machine -at work? That is Cap'n Jerry, who brought your trunk. See him mounted -on his little throne and driving Molly--that wonderful horse that he -says 'ain't afraid o' no nameable thing.' He is opposed on principle to -doing anything 'sudden,' so he has taken his time to get at the mowing; -but how sweet it will smell here to-morrow! Passengers will have to -get over from the train the best way they can to-day. Cap'n Jerry says, -very reasonably, that he can't be 'in two places to once,' and he's -just a little bit afraid of your Aunt Belinda. He won't put off her -work too long." - -Linda's grave lips were parted as she looked across the field toward -the machine where Captain Jerry was cheering Molly on and calming -her disgust when the clipping knife encountered a stone, balking her -efforts. - -"He is the one who went to school with my father?" - -"They all did. You'll meet others." They crossed the field, then Mrs. -Porter turned inland. "Now, down this path, Linda. See, it is a path. -I made it myself. Partly by constant use, partly with a sickle. I wish -Miss Barry would sell me this spot. I don't believe she could shoot as -far as this, do you? And--what do you think of it?" - -Mrs. Porter paused and regarded her companion in triumph. She had led -her around a clump of white birches, the advance guard of a forest -of pine and balsam which held back the prevailing south wind. The -zephyrs, forcing their way through, here and there, brought delicious -odors of the firs. The ocean was sufficiently distant for its roar to -be muffled, and an enchanting spring bubbled up in a natural rock pool, -falling like liquid crystal over the granite barrier, and meandering -away toward the steep bluff where it fell in a narrow rivulet down to -the sea. The brooklet had worn a rut for itself and was bordered by -greener grass and larger flowers than dotted the surrounding field. It -made a gurgling sound, dear to its discoverer, and one of the gray, -slanting rocks of a New England pasture rose in the bower of the -birches, rising to a sufficient height to serve as a comfortable back -for two people sitting side by side on the green couch, secure from the -wind. - -"See what a proof of my affection," said Mrs. Porter, "that I bring you -here. I sneak away--I steal away! Not even Blanche Aurora knows where I -am when I come here." - -"I should incline to doubt that," returned Linda. - -Mrs. Porter laughed. "Those round eyes do see about all that's going -on, I admit; but I like to believe in my own cleverness sufficiently to -feel that I have guarded this." - -The speaker proceeded to spread the polo coat in front of the rock. -"Sit down," she said, and when Linda obeyed she fitted the pillow in -behind her back. - -"No, indeed," protested Linda. "Blanche Aurora cried aloud that I was -sick and delicate, but it's nothing of the kind. You must take the -pillow yourself." - -"Oh, to please me," urged Mrs. Porter. "I never bring a pillow. This -sun-warmed rock just fits my back. We haven't tried it on yours yet, -and I wanted your first experience to be positively sybaritic." - -"My first," returned Linda; "then you do intend to let me come again?" - -"Indeed, I do," was the cheery reply. "I don't know a better object -lesson in the fact that nothing is too good to be true." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE VOICE OF TRUTH - - -"And I," returned Linda, clasping her hands behind her head as she -leaned back beside her friend, "I have felt that nothing was too bad to -be true." - -Mrs. Porter did not speak; and after a short silence, the girl -continued:-- - -"In the happy days, I tore off a leaf from your Bible calendar, and -one morning, when everything was black and despairing, I found it in -my bag. It read, 'Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree, and -instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree.' I suppose I was -like the drowning man, and this promise, impersonal and silent, was a -straw to be clung to blindly. At any rate, I couldn't throw it away; -and it persisted in ringing through my confused head. Soon your letter -came. Oh, Mrs. Porter--" Linda choked and ceased. - -Her companion laid a comforting hand upon her for a moment and withdrew -it. - -"You will never know what you did for me," went on the girl presently: -"do you know what it means to a despairing one to be given a gleam of -hope? You can't, unless you know it by experience." - -"I know it by experience," returned Mrs. Porter quietly. - -Her companion glanced around at the calm face for a fleeting instant. -Could it be possible that such poise would ever be won for herself? - -"It was a willingness to listen to you, and the hope that I could -believe you, that brought me, shrinking and shuddering as I was, out -of my home and into the train and here. Then, on the train, came this -letter that Aunt Belinda told you about. It brought me more of peace -and hope than I had dreamed of. I have dared to think since then. Here -it is." - -The speaker passed to her companion the envelope she had been holding -tightly. - -Mrs. Porter accepted it in silence and took out the letter. As she -read, a deeper color mounted to her cheeks, but Linda did not observe -this. She had dropped her hands in her lap and her eyes were fixed on -the clear-cut horizon line. - -"Dear Bertram!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter as she finished. Then she read -the letter again. Finally, she folded the sheet, put it in its envelope -and handed it back to Linda. Her face wore the radiance for which her -pupils were wont to watch as the highest reward for achievement. - -"Splendid," she said. "Tell me why news so vital should have been -addressed to Miss Barry instead of to you." - -Linda's grave gaze met hers. - -"I don't like to tell you, Mrs. Porter," she answered. - -"You needn't fear, dear child." - -"Oh, I can't go into it again, I can't!" exclaimed Linda, suddenly -averting her head. - -"As you please, dear. I don't want to force you; but I know so well -that what you quoted a few minutes ago is as true as that two and two -make four. Instead of the thorn _will_ come up the fir tree, as soon as -you cease to give the thorn nourishment." - -"I give it nourishment?" Linda's brow contracted. "Do you mean that I -nurse grief? You're mistaken." - -"No, I didn't mean that. I love Bertram, and something very wrong must -have occurred to cause him not to mention you in that letter. I want -you to be happy. I want for you just what your father is getting now: -greater knowledge of God and His love and wisdom and guidance. You see -that guidance is the most everyday thing in the world: the closest; -not anything far away or mysterious. If it is your fault that Bertram -ignores you in this--" - -"Oh, no, no!" interrupted Linda. "It is not my fault. It is poor -Bertram who brought us all to this. I appreciate more every time I -read that letter--and I know it by heart--how valiantly he has worked -to undo the mischief. At first I didn't pity him in the least, because -the crime of getting my father into all that trouble overwhelmed my -thoughts at every turn; but, of course, I can see now that it has been -a hard experience for Bertram as well." - -Linda ceased, catching her lower lip between her teeth. - -"I know something of what you refer to," rejoined Mrs. Porter. "I know -Bertram's reputation for influence in Barry & Co." - -"And you have been so good to me," said Linda hurriedly, "and Bertram -is your cousin, and, as you say, you love him, I--I can't bear to -discuss him with you." - -"But I can bear it, Linda, if you will allow me to ask you one -question. Do you believe that Bertram intended any harm to your father?" - -"No," came the quick answer; "but he is so conceited and so -opinionated--" - -"If you believe him innocent of wrong intention, should you become his -enemy--" - -Linda's pale cheeks flushed and she straightened up. - -"When a person strikes you a murderous blow, Mrs. Porter, can you, -before recovering breath, care much whether it was accidental or -intentional?" - -"No! but after recovering breath, you can. What do you believe your -father would say to your treatment of Bertram?" - -Linda glanced around at her companion quickly. "Aunt Belinda has been -talking to you," she said. - -"She wrote me something of it before she came home. This letter that I -have just read tells me most, however. You were very dear to Bertram, -Linda. This double and treble sorrow of his appalls me." Linda saw -her companion's eyes fill. "You are right," added Mrs. Porter, not -very steadily, "we would better not talk about it at present. Better -thoughts will come now that, as you say, the clouds have cleared -sufficiently for you to think." - -They both leaned back against the rock for a silent minute and Linda -saw her friend press her handkerchief to those brimming eyes. Tears and -Mrs. Porter! Impossible connection of thought. - -"I would like you to tell me one thing, Mrs. Porter," she said. "Are -you pitying Bertram, or me?" - -The older woman turned to her with a sudden flashing smile. - -"I am not going to pity the devil in any form," she returned, "because -there ain't no sech animal. All this discord is no part of the reality -of things." - -Linda frowned in her earnestness and grasped her friend's arm. - -"I know all that you have written me by heart too. I'm trying to -believe in God; but even if I do, that stupendous fact arises--He took -my father away from me." - -"No, little Linda"--Mrs. Porter shook her head slowly. "This world is -very full of awful happenings at the present day. Mankind is confronted -with the choice between a God of Love or none at all. Love doesn't send -war and unspeakable suffering, yet such is existing now in this mortal -life of ours. Aren't we reduced to finding some philosophy which will -give us an anchor? The arbitrary will of a God of war is no anchor of -hope. It would be a cause for apprehension--even terror--to believe -in such a power. To come to your own individual loss, your father has -gone from your sight like thousands of other girls' fathers, dead on -battle-fields; but God, who created man in His image and likeness, -knows nothing but the unbroken current of life." - -"Then, why--where do all these awful things come from? What is the -source?" - -Mrs. Porter smiled. "Where does darkness come from? Did you ever think -of trying to trace darkness to its source? Every minute of the day we -are called upon to divide between reality and unreality." - -Silence fell between the two friends in the wide sweep of peace that -surrounded them. The heaped foam of cloudlets sailed across the blue -and a crow cawed in the neighboring wood. - -"We had such an amusing visit this morning, Miss Barry and I," said -Mrs. Porter at last. "One of the neighbors is a character." - -"I heard that you went to see her hens." - -"Yes. Oh, it is funny to see your aunt brought up against the kind of -person who lives in a lax, slipshod sort of way." - -"Yes," assented the other; "Aunt Belinda has no half-tones. Everything -with her is either jet-black or snow-white; and if there is anything -she can't bear it is a thing she doesn't like." - -Mrs. Porter smiled and sighed. "That is true; and poor Luella Benslow -is such a mixture of airy affectation and slack housekeeping that -Miss Barry is obviously on the eve of explosion all the time they are -together. Her hens are her fad, and she has hot-water bags for them, -Linda. Can you believe it! She puts them in the nests during a cold -snap." Mrs. Porter's laugh rang out as merrily as though sorrow had -never entered the world. - -Linda smiled. "Blanche Aurora told me so. It seems that the ingenious -lady belongs to a very talented family." - -"Really? In what way?" - -"You must get Blanche Aurora to tell you that. I couldn't do the -subject justice." - -"Well, I'm afraid it isn't a talent for cooking. Luella has a couple of -boarders; a Mrs. Lindsay and her daughter from New York. Fortunately, -they have a sense of humor. It's quite necessary that Luella's -boarders should have a sense of humor. Mrs. Lindsay walked with us -to the gate when we came away and told us some of their trials; but -she is one of those efficient women who are capable of managing, and -she and her daughter have funny times. It seems that Miss Lindsay has -just been enjoying her first winter in society and has overdone it -so greatly that the doctor ordered a dry-land sea voyage, like this, -in an uninhabited spot like this, and told her to live the life of a -vegetable. Mrs. Lindsay is one of these thin, snappy women, strung on -wires, and I judge nervous to a degree. She has a busy time trying to -dominate the circumstances. She says if they only were vegetables and -didn't have to eat, or to care whether their rooms were swept, it -would all be quite simple. The daughter is rather skin-and-bone-y too; -but she's the sort who would look smart even in bed. You can see that -she is a New Yorker of the New Yorkers." - -"Oh, why did you visit them, dear Mrs. Porter! You want to get away -from people too, don't you?" - -"No danger, I fancy, of their troubling us. Vegetables don't return -calls. Mrs. Lindsay was very much interested, though, in knowing that -you were here. She and her husband dined with your father last June, -and they are related distantly to that friend of yours--Mr. Whitcomb." - -"Fred?" - -"Yes; Mrs. Lindsay said he had told them a great deal about you. Isn't -the world small!" - -"Too small," sighed Linda. "I hope they'll not try to see me." - -"Miss Lindsay was quite lackadaisical and seemed to have no interest -beyond her hammock; and I can easily defend you from the mother," said -Mrs. Porter reassuringly. - -That evening Linda received a letter from her sister. - - _Dear, dear Linda_ (it began)-- - - I can hardly wait for the word that will tell us that you are - safely at your journey's end. You had such a hot trip; I hope you - bore it well. I'm sure the good news Bertram sent by letter helped - wonderfully. If Bertram has any sin of commission on his conscience, - he has done all he could to make up for it. He looks so badly. - I wonder, at times, if he worries at night over misleading Papa - instead of sleeping; but Henry says he has had a lot to do nights, - beside worrying or sleeping either. Henry thinks Bertram is one in - a thousand, even if he has made mistakes. He came to us the evening - of the day you went away--it's such a blessed thing Henry wasn't an - investor in the Antlers, because it does away with embarrassment--and - he told us what he has accomplished for Barry & Co. He didn't express - any regrets,--sometimes I think it's strange that he never does,--but - he just told us, in a rather light way, the arrangements he has made - and I assure you Henry shook hands with him hard. I could see that - if he had been a girl he would have hugged him. So I hope that as - you grow stronger you can see things more temperately and come to - the place where you can write a letter of acknowledgment to Bertram. - He deserves it, Linda; he really does. I referred to you once in our - talk, but he made no response and I could feel my very ears burning. - He knew, and I knew, that we were both thinking of that moment in the - library when you rose and left us. You mustn't think I blame you too - much, dear, but remember, to err is human--to forgive, divine, and - Bertram was young for such heavy responsibilities. If he made mistakes - which in any way hastened dear Papa's end, can't you see he will carry - the scars forever? We don't need to add to his punishment. - - Harry is standing by me, and ) ) ) there, he made those - wiggles. He says they are his love. He has grown a lot since you saw - him, etc., etc., etc. - - * * * * * - -Linda could not keep her mind on Harry. She was standing in the -living-room reading her letter by the twilight, and she looked up now -far across the ocean. The darkness fell while she stood there and a -great planet began to ascend the sky. Its brilliancy sent a narrow -path across the sea. The isolation and peace were healing. A great -thankfulness filled the girl that she was far from those scenes called -up by her sister's letter. She wished fervently that she need never -return to them. Here was peace: consolation: relief. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE RAINBOW - - -Bertram King, in all the years she had known him, had not dwelt in -Linda's mind so often as in these days. She felt aggrieved to have the -thought of him thrust upon her as it had been by her aunt and Mrs. -Porter and now by Harriet. - -It had been a settled fact in her thought that she and Bertram could -never again be friends. The mental picture of his haggard face as he -made love to her on a June evening, again as he bade her good-bye -before the University Club, and later, the dazed look in his eyes -under her accusation in the library--all these pictures of him were a -gallery apart from the remembrance of the successful man whose unspoken -criticism had so often piqued her. - -She thought also of that Sunday afternoon at Harriet's when he had laid -his teasing admiration at her feet. She had admired him too, reluctant -as was her approval. She exulted in achievement, and Bertram King -stood high among young Chicago men who had achieved. Considerable -jealousy had entered into her feeling for him. The words, "Bertram -thinks," or "Bertram wishes," were often on her father's lips, and -occasionally she had felt that she herself was gently set aside in -deference to some plan of Bertram's. An unwilling secret acknowledgment -of his superiority had fled in the cataclysm of her wild resentment and -despair; and now that she was made to feel that she stood alone in her -condemnation, and was silently condemned for it by those who loved her, -Bertram's image persistently arose as something to be reckoned with. - -Fairness had been the characteristic upon which, in school, Linda had -greatly prided herself: fairness which excluded preferences. She had -so impressed her impersonality upon her classmates that she had won a -high reputation as social umpire and was often called upon to decide -vexed questions. Now, therefore, she looked Bertram King's insistent -image straight in the tired eyes, with her grave, severe estimate, and -sustained no pricks of conscience. Time, the wondrous healer, brought -her, however, as weeks went on, to raise him from the status of a mere -criminal to the rank of a fellow sufferer. All the same, they could -never again be friends. The thought of her wronged father, her beloved, -must rise between them to the end of their lives. It went without -saying that the young man must suffer, even though his pride would not -permit him to confess his error. He was not a callous person. Doubtless -his punishment had been heavy. Thus her thoughts would run on in the -hours that she spent alone. - -She was granted the boon of utter freedom. Mrs. Lindsay and her -daughter Madge had essayed to be neighborly, but Mrs. Porter acted as -an effective buffer between Linda and all social assaults, and as the -weeks went by, slowly they brought the girl back from morbid dwelling -on a dead past to recognition of the living present. She remained -subdued and quiet, but elasticity was returning to her mind and body. - -Miss Barry, busy about her home duties, left her niece, with lessening -anxiety, to her own devices, and Mrs. Porter was careful to allow Linda -to make every advance; but the steady shining of the older woman's -happy personality was a magnet toward which the girl was constantly -attracted and they were often together. - -Blanche Aurora was also a little unconscious missionary. There was -something about her youth, her intrepid spirit, stern practicality, and -scanty wardrobe which continually touched Linda's sense of humor and -compassion. - -One day she sent for the child to come up to her room. Blanche Aurora -was always glad when duty sent her to sweep and dust this apartment. -The hint of violets in the air, the dainty toilet articles on the -dresser, the filmy lingerie, which she put in place caressingly with -her tanned hands, all bespoke the world of which she had read. She had -adored Linda from the moment when unlimited chocolates had been pressed -upon her acceptance, but never before had the guest sent for her to -come to her room. - -As she ascended the stairs, Miss Barry's "help" swiftly reviewed her -own sins of commission, but decided that neglect of any duty toward -Linda had not been among them. Indeed, her mistress often reprimanded -her for lingering over her duties above stairs where perhaps the -small chambermaid was hanging hypnotized over a wrist-watch with tiny -sparkles that caught the light, or endeavoring to decipher the monogram -on a handbag, or examining some other object in the fascinating room -from which her round orbs could scarcely detach themselves. - -To-day as she entered, Linda in her black gown was sitting by her -charming window, reading. - -She looked up as Blanche Aurora, conscience-free, and expressionless as -ever of countenance, stepped inside and stood waiting. - -The faded gingham was getting more outgrown and hueless every day. -Linda wondered that her aunt never seemed to observe or care about the -child's clean forlornness. - -"What do you want?" asked the "help" bluntly. - -Harriet Radcliffe, at this moment rowing her small son around a -Wisconsin lake, would have enjoyed seeing her sister's eyes suddenly -sparkle and match the little laugh that fell from her lips. - -"You should say," she remarked to the small maid, all wrists and with -her thin legs looking long above the sneakers she wore,--"you should -say, 'Did you call me, Miss Linda?'" - -"Well, you did, didn't you?" returned Blanche Aurora. - -Linda regarded her for a silent moment, appreciatively. - -"Are you in a hurry?" she asked then. - -"If I wasn't I'd get fired," returned the "help" promptly. - -Linda laughed again. "I do really believe you exaggerate," she -returned. "I'm sure Aunt Belinda thinks a great deal of you." - -"She knows I'm the only kind of a girl she can keep," said Blanche -Aurora coolly, "Grown-up ones won't stand it." - -"What do you mean by 'it,' you naughty child?" asked Linda, her eyes -laughing toward the fishhook braids and the freckles. "Aunt Belinda is -a very kind woman." - -"Oh, yes, if you was sick she'd call the doctor, but even if you was -sick you'd have to hang each rag on its own separate hook and let her -smell o' the fish-pans after you'd scrubbed 'em." - -"It's nice to be particular," returned Linda, laughing again. - -"Huh!" vouchsafed Blanche Aurora; but her eyes, roving around the magic -room, had seen something unusual. - -"Good," she thought. "She's goin' out o' mournin'. I'll bet she looks -pretty in them." Her round gaze cleaving to the bed saw three gowns -lying there; one of blue, one of pink, and a tailored skirt and coat of -a small black-and-white check. - -"Do you like those dresses?" asked Linda, following her regard. - -"Yes, they're real sightly." - -"Come here, Blanche Aurora." - -The child advanced slowly until she stood beside the black-clothed -figure. Linda indicated her father's photograph in its silver frame -on a neighboring stand. Before it stood a single wild rose in a small -glass: a wild rose of the sea: deep in color and twice the size of its -inland sisters. - -Linda took one of the child's hard tanned hands in her satin-smooth -one, and Blanche Aurora started and held her own imprisoned hand stiff -and straight. - -"Every morning when I come upstairs I find a fresh rose like that -in front of my father's picture. At first I couldn't speak of it." -Silence. "There are some things too precious to speak of. At last -one day I thanked Mrs. Porter for the lovely thought. She said it -was a lovely thought, but not hers. Then I wondered if Aunt Belinda -could possibly--but one day I met you as you were coming downstairs." -Silence. "Blanche Aurora"--Linda's voice stopped again. - -Had Blanche Aurora been accused of highway robbery she could not look -more guilty. Not one freckle was discernible in the sea of red; but her -unwinking stare was fixed on the window. - -Linda placed her other hand over the one she held. - -"I thank you," she added. - -"You gave me the candy," blurted out Blanche Aurora. "I couldn't think -of anything else to do. My Pa's dead, too. He drinked, though," she -added in a tone which seemed to suggest no flowers. - -Linda squeezed the hard little hand and released it, to its owner's -relief. - -"Your mother has so many children, and so little time to sew. Have you -a suit at home, Blanche Aurora?" - -"What do you mean--a suit?" - -"A coat and skirt alike." - -"Not alike. I've got a brown skirt that was Ma's and a jacket I wear to -church when it's cold. 'Tain't cold now, though. I wear a white waist -on Sunday." - -No suspicion of Linda's intentions enlightened her. - -The girl arose and walked over to the bed and the blue eyes followed -her. - -"I sent to Chicago for these dresses of mine." - -"I seen the big box come yesterday," returned the other, gravitating -toward the bed, and gloating over the color of the fine fabrics. - -"Yes, I thought perhaps I could fix some of my things for you." - -"What things?" returned Blanche Aurora mechanically. - -"These," indicating the bed. - -Blanche Aurora gasped. - -"For me!" she cried, the loudness of her usual tones restored, with a -crack of excitement added. "They ain't serviceable nor durable." - -Linda bit her lip. "This one is," she said, picking up the -black-and-white checked skirt. - -Blanche Aurora handled it reverently. "Why, Miss Linda," she said in -the same high key, "how can you give away--" - -"You'd better ask how can I fix them for you. I'm such an ignoramus, -and yet I'm just conceited enough to try. Aunt Belinda has a machine." - -"Oh, yes,"--eagerly,--"she's got a real good one. I can run it, too, if -you want me to, and she can spare me." - -"All right, child." Linda patted the bony shoulder. "Run along now." -Her eyes had a humorous light as she observed the string woven tightly -in the tortured red braids. "I'll have to do some ripping to these -dresses first, and then I'm sure Mrs. Porter will help me, though -probably she doesn't know much more than I do." - -The child's reluctant feet drew slowly away from the bed, but not -before she had laid her hand lovingly on the pink and blue gowns. - -"Miss Linda," she said, looking beatifically at her benefactress, "I -used to think that more than anything in this whole world I'd rather -have that teeny clock o' yourn that you punch and it tells you jest -what time it is; but now I don't even want that!" - -Without another word she walked on clouds out of the room, and Linda -went up to her father's picture, and lifting it, pressed her cheek -against the cool glass. - -"'Instead of the thorn,'" she murmured. - -Blanche Aurora tripped downstairs, the red still obliterating the -freckles on her cheeks. She was too absorbed in her daydream to observe -her usual caution in opening the swing door, and simultaneously with -her energetic shove a cry sounded from Miss Barry accompanied by a -clattering of glass on tin. - -"Blanche Aurora, will you ever remember to come through that door -carefully? You knocked my arm and I nearly spilled all this jelly." - -Miss Barry glared at the help as she spoke. She had just sealed a -trayful of glasses and was about to deposit them on a shelf near the -swing door. - -"I'm glad--I mean I'm sorry!" said the culprit, her eyes still looking -far away. - -"Well," snapped Miss Barry, her elbow still smarting, "it would be -well for you to be certain _which_. I _was_ going to give you a glass -of this jelly to take home to your mother, but now I think I ought to -punish you." - -"Yes'm," replied Blanche Aurora, gliding through the pantry into the -kitchen. - -Her employer caught her expression as she passed. - -"Come here," she said sharply, and the little maid obeyed. - -"Help me set these glasses on the shelf. Don't they look good?" - -"Yes'm.--Real pink, some of 'em." - -"Aren't you sorry I can't give you one?" - -"No'm. Yes'm. I'm tryin' to be." - -"Let them alone! I never knew you so awkward. You'll break one -yet,"--as the glasses tinkled together dangerously. - -Again Miss Barry scrutinized the flushed face and shining eyes above -the flat-chested little figure. - -"Where have you been, Blanche Aurora?" - -"Up in Miss Linda's room." - -"What doing? You got through up there hours ago." - -"She hollered to me down the stairs to come when I got through in the -dinin'-room." - -Miss Barry's eyes wore their extracting expression. She wondered what -form of intoxicant Linda had been administering now. The Scylla of -the chocolate gorge had passed safely. What was this Charybdis that -threatened? - -"Well?" said Miss Barry suggestively. - -"Well," returned the "help," dancing defiance in the round eyes which -returned her employer's regard brazenly. - -"Don't you be sassy, Blanche Aurora," warned Miss Barry. - -"I ain't," answered the other; and as her mistress watched her radiant -countenance, she had her first doubt as to whether Blanche Aurora was -really so very homely. There were such things as ugly ducklings who -outwitted their neighbors. "Has Miss Linda been giving you more candy?" - -"No. Clo'es," returned the other in such a high key of ecstasy that -Miss Barry recoiled and winked. - -"How many times must I tell you that I'm not deaf!" she said sternly. -"What kind of clothes?" - -"Pink--and blue--and not worn out," was the blissful reply. - -"Absurd. I can't imagine my niece having anything sensible and durable -enough for a little girl." - -"They ain't," declared Blanche Aurora, her eyes seeing visions. -"They ain't sensible--nor durable--nor serviceable." Her smile was -near-seraphic. - -"Then they're not appropriate," said Miss Barry severely. - -"No'm," assented the other sweetly. - -Silence for a moment, then the mistress broke forth:-- - -"That's what came in that great package yesterday, then." - -"Yes'm. She sent 'way to Chicago. She can't wear 'em 'count of her Pa -dyin'," explained Blanche Aurora, with an evident tempering of grief at -the loss of Lambert Barry, Esq., respected head of Barry & Co. - -"Linda has no judgment!" The low vexed soliloquy was not directed at -Miss Barry's "help," but she caught it. - -"No, she ain't got no judgment," shrilled Blanche Aurora triumphantly, -"but I bet she knows how a girl feels that ain't got anything pretty -to wear, and has to go 'round lookin' like somethin' put up in the -field to scare the crows." - -The child's eyes glistened anew and her voice grew passionate. - -"I tell you what I'm goin' to do, Miss Barry, the first day I wear that -pink dress. I'm goin' to take this one,"--she plucked scornfully at a -fold of the faded gingham,--"and I'm goin' to kick it into the ocean. -Kick it--_hard_." She suited the action to the word, and the glasses -tinkled again as she thumped the baseboard. - -"That's very wrong, Blanche Aurora. That dress isn't ragged. Your -mother mended that last tear very neatly. It would do quite well for -your little sister." - -"No, sir--I mean ma'am. Nobody else is goin' to have to hate this the -way I have!" - -"Pink," repeated Miss Barry disapprovingly. "The blue would look quite -well on you, I dare say, but pink.--Don't you know your hair is red, -and you'd look--" - -Blanche Aurora winced. She was afraid to let her mistress go on for -fear she was intending something crushing about freckles. - -"I don't care--I don't care," she struck in wildly. "You don't know, -_she_ don't know, nobody knows how I love pink. Pink's happiness, pink -is, whether you see it in the sky or in the roses or where! Don't, Miss -Barry, don't!" - -The loud voice broke, and two big tears suddenly overflowed from the -round eyes and rushed down the freckled cheeks, while Blanche Aurora -ran stormily through the second swing door into the kitchen. - -The door swept back and forth under the swift impact, and Miss Barry -stared at her jellies. - -"Don't what!" she said to herself in silent amazement and injury. -"Don't what!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE PINK DRESS - - -Mrs. Porter was Miss Barry's prop and stay in matters regarding her -niece, and she turned to her when succeeding days revealed the fact -that Linda had set out deliberately to spoil the "help." - -The mistress of the house left the kitchen one morning after her plans -were perfected for dinner and sought Mrs. Porter. She could hear the -faint buzzing of the sewing machine which lived by the front window in -the hall upstairs. - -She ascended with a firm tread. "This is a shame," she announced -warmly, as she stood beside her friend, viewing the lengths of silky -soft pink stuff which were running beneath the swift needle. - -"What's a shame?" asked Mrs. Porter, without stopping her work. - -Miss Barry sat down in a chair opposite her. - -"That you should be penned up in the house this beautiful morning -stitching away hour after hour. You were doing the same thing -yesterday." - -"It's fun," returned Mrs. Porter. - -"Oh, fun!" scornfully. "You always say everything's fun--walking to the -village when Blanche Aurora has carelessly forgotten something, going -out in the rain to take in the towels she's overlooked--everything's -fun with you." - -Mrs. Porter smiled without raising her eyes from her fine seam. - -"I don't believe you ever taught music eight hours a day," she said. - -"Where's Linda?" demanded Miss Barry, but she lowered her voice. She -still regarded her niece as an uncertain quantity, possibly dangerous. - -"Gone to Portland." - -"For the land's sake!" ejaculated Miss Barry, her tone no longer _sotto -voce_. There was no danger of Linda's hearing from the trolley car. -"What takes her there?" - -"Sh!" warned Mrs. Porter, still with her gay smile. "Underclothes for -the little girl, I think. I'm only guessing." - -"Now, look here!" responded Miss Barry. "Where is this going to stop? -I understand Blanche Aurora better than any one else does. Doesn't -Linda suppose I take any care of her? She's high-headed enough by -nature. She needs a strong hand, and I've held a tight rein over her -on principle. She's a loud, stubborn, willful young one who thinks she -knows it all." - -"I'm not sure, I'm not sure," replied Mrs. Porter. "I kept her -here nights while you were gone and I used to read to her in the -evening--'Little Women' and 'Heidi,' and so on. She was very gentle and -nice and seemed to enjoy it." - -Miss Barry sighed. - -"I've had her two summers with me. This makes the third. I've taught -her quite a little about cooking and I've nearly lost my immortal soul -doing it; and I've taught her to be neat. Yes, Blanche Aurora's neat. -I ain't afraid to eat after her. I've taught her to take proper care -of herself, to brush her teeth and to use plenty of soap. I _give_ her -plenty of soap; and such things are enough to give her. This!" Miss -Barry picked up a fold of the soft pink and rubbed its thinness between -her fingers. "Why, she'll catch it on a nail the first day and it'll -be in slithers in no time, and her taste for good tough calico will be -gone too." - -"There's plenty of pink calico," suggested Mrs. Porter. "It's color -that makes the difference to a child." - -Miss Barry continued to regard the zephyr gingham gloomily. That -frenzied defiance, "Pink's happiness," seemed to sound again in her -ears. - -"Linda's just going to fill the child's head full of notions and make -her discontented," she declared. - -"Perhaps she has been more discontented than you realized," suggested -Mrs. Porter. "Anyway, Miss Barry," she added, stopping the machine and -looking up, "I fancy we are more interested in Linda than in any one -else just now. Aren't we?" - -"Well, of course, we are," acknowledged Miss Barry grudgingly, -realizing whither the admission tended. - -"To provide her with a wholesome interest is no small matter." - -Miss Barry sniffed. "I don't know how wholesome it is. Blanche Aurora's -as insubordinate a young one as ever lived. I'd hate to have her think -any more of herself than she does already. All these expensive clothes -now, and then next winter, nothing. That ain't going to help her mother -any." - -"That black-and-white checked suit can be made warm," returned Mrs. -Porter, beginning to stitch the hem of the pink dress. - -"What started her on it, anyway?" asked Miss Barry. "'Taint a mite like -anything I ever knew of Linda." - -Mrs. Porter smiled at her work for a silent space. - -"Linda has been born again in some ways," she said at last. "In the -school of this world you must have noticed that if people's eyes are -not opened by truths vital to right living, they have to learn by -suffering. Linda has suffered greatly. It has softened her heart. In -this little experience right here she shows she longs to do something -for another: to make the lot of another happier. This humble little -girl happens to be to her hand." - -"Humble! Not so you'd notice it," commented Miss Barry. - -"I feel as if we could just lend a helping hand and be thankful." - -"Of course, I'm glad she's stopped moping," admitted Miss Barry; "but -I don't yet see what started her out on this. It really isn't Linda's -business." The speaker was still smarting under the invasion of what -she considered her own private and particular territory. - -"Oh, I'm not so sure. We are our brother's keeper after all and our -little sister's too." - -"It don't do them any good to make them vain," declared Miss Barry. -"However," she added, "Blanche Aurora's as homely as a mud fence. I -don't know as there's much danger." - -"Sh! Sh!" warned Mrs. Porter. - -"Oh, she's outdoors, she won't hear me." - -"You ask what started it," said Mrs. Porter. "Linda's awakened -observation and her desire to add to the sum of happiness might have -done so, but it really was Blanche Aurora's own thoughtfulness that did -it." And Mrs. Porter told the story of the daily wild rose. - -"Of all things," remarked Miss Barry when she had finished. "Well, I -certainly never would have thought that of that sharp little thing." - -"We're none of us such sharp things as we seem," returned Mrs. Porter. - -"I don't know how it is with you," said Miss Barry presently, "but I -think a great deal about that poor Mr. King," and her long earrings -swung in a challenge. - -"I do, too," returned the other quietly. - -"Linda's clothed now and in her right mind, as you might say. I think -instead of dressing dolls it would be more to the point, if her heart's -so soft, if she'd write that young man a letter with some human -kindness in it." - -Mrs. Porter looked out over the sea which seemed as ever ready to -encroach on the cottage and carry it off in triumph. - -"Perhaps she has done so," she replied. - -"No, sir. I don't believe it," was the energetic response, earrings -swinging in the strong head-shaking. "If she had, he'd have answered, -and I've seen every letter that's come to her. I know his writing." - -"No one sees it very often," said Mrs. Porter, stitching steadily. "I -should feel much easier if he would write to me, yet I don't urge it -because I won't add a straw to his burdens." - -"Well, I don't see how Linda, with some of the memories she's got of -her own actions, can have the heart to think of clothes instead of -trying to atone for her injustice." - -"We don't have to take care of that," said Mrs. Porter. "I love Bertram -so dearly that I've had something to meet, to conquer resentment; but -the last thing we need worry about is that people won't get sufficient -punishment for their mistakes. The law is working all the time, and -when we strike against it until we're sufficiently hurt we turn to the -gospel: Love." - -"H'm," grunted Miss Barry. "Lots o' folks don't seem to get hurt. They -just go ahead and flourish like the green bay tree." - -"You don't see far enough," returned Mrs. Porter, smiling, "that's all. -Everything isn't finished when we're through with this world; but many -times you can see the working right here." - -"I'd like to," snapped Miss Barry sententiously. - -Mrs. Porter finished her hem and drew the dress from the machine. It -had a tucked skirt, and narrow fine embroidery edging the sailor -collar and cuffs. She shook it out and held it before the other's eyes. -"Pretty, isn't it?" she said. - -Miss Barry made some inarticulate response, arose, and went into her -own room. She had some calico in her lower drawer now, designed as a -parting gift to her "help" when the summer should be over. It was stone -gray with white spots. - -A little color burned in her cheeks as she opened the drawer and looked -at it. - -"Sensible and suitable," she said to herself: "sensible and suitable. -She'll be glad enough of it some day when those flimsy things are in -ribbons." - -It was supper time when Linda returned from the city, and as soon as -Blanche Aurora had done the supper dishes she always went home. - -She kept her eyes on Linda, while she was waiting at table to-night, as -nearly all the time as possible; and this evening there was no change -in her expression; but she too had been listening for several days to -the delectable music of the sewing machine. She had even been fitted -to the pink and blue dresses and she saw them in a heavenly mirage -floating above dishes, washtubs, and scrubbing-pails. - -To do Miss Barry justice she never allowed the child to do any heavy -work, and the latter's laundry efforts were limited to the dishtowels. - -From three to five every day Blanche Aurora had two hours to herself; -but she was expected to remain within call and to answer the door. - -She had enjoyed the high happiness, therefore, of doing some of the -ripping on these gowns of a millionaire's daughter which were designed -to clothe her own slight form. - -The way her ears listened for Linda's call now at three o'clock of an -afternoon, and the celerity with which she obeyed the voice and fled -up the back stairs, every freckle on her expectant face seeming to -radiate, was observed by her mistress. - -All the morning of the day following Linda's visit to Portland she -received rebukes from Miss Barry for slap-dashing, as that lady called -it. - -Blanche Aurora felt, in every one of her small but evident bones, that -the pink dress must be finished. Mrs. Porter had promised her that it -should be the first one in hand. She panted for three o'clock to arrive -while Miss Barry gave her sundry dissertations on the wear and tear -on solid silver when whacked together and the sinfulness of chipping -goldbanded china. - -"You know I told you," she warned, "that I bought a stock set on -purpose this summer, so that I could replace everything you break and -take it out of your wages. You have fair warning." - -"Yes'm," replied Blanche Aurora with the loud pedal down. She was -possessed by a recklessness of anticipation. What did she care for -wages! What had they ever brought her comparable to the treasures, -unearned, which had descended upon her from a paradise named Chicago -where a Cape boy had been able to pick up a million dollars in the -golden streets! - -It was her experience that three o'clock did finally come every -afternoon; but this day was evidently going to be an exception. - -At dinner, the weather being unusually warm, Linda looked like a -dark-haired angel in a plain gown of white crepe de chine. Blanche -Aurora was faintly disappointed because her quiet manner was just as -usual. Surely, if her dream was to come true, and to-day was the day, -Linda and Mrs. Porter couldn't behave as if nothing had happened. - -Wandering about within sight of the cottage, those vacation hours were -the ones during which the little girl found the perfect wild rose -designed for Mr. Barry's picture. She carried it always to the room at -the back of the house which was hers, and where she slept when Miss -Barry wished her to stay all night. - -There was a closet there, curtained off, where her waterproof and -rubbers and umbrella reposed in bad weather, and a dark calico dress -also hung there in case she got wet and had to change. Three hooks in -the middle of the closet had lately attained significance. No human -being could be cruel enough to ask another to be separated from the new -dresses all day by leaving them at home. Besides, her sister Letty was -almost as tall as herself. She would be sure to try on those sacred -habiliments and wear them all around the neighborhood. The thought was -paralyzing. - -Although Blanche Aurora was quite certain several times between -one-thirty and three that the clock had stopped, it did finally -laboriously drag its hands around until they looked like the legs of -a ballet-dancer she had once seen on a circus poster. It was actually -three o'clock. She tiptoed toward the stairs. No sound. - -"If I don't get the rose I'm afraid I'll forgit it," she soliloquized. -So she went out the back door and around to the front of the house to -a great rock under whose lee some rosebushes cuddled out of the wind. -The minute she felt herself out of sight of Linda's window, however, -she panted back for fear by some tragic mischance her fairy godmother -might call, and receiving no answer imagine that she had gone home for -an hour as Miss Barry sometimes gave her permission to do. - -Finally, after much darting back and forth, Blanche Aurora secured the -rose, and returning to the house, placed it as usual in a glass in her -own room to wait for the morning. - -As she emerged she heard her name called at the head of the back stairs. - -She landed on the lower step in two leaps. - -"Yes, Miss Linda," she answered, the heart under the outgrown gingham -going like a triphammer. - -"I want you now." - -It was as the voice of an angel in the yearning ears. - -"Yes, ma'am," and Blanche Aurora ascended, two steps at a time. Her -dingy sneakers would not have bent daisies had they been growing upon -the staircase. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE WILD ROSE - - -As the panting little figure approached and hesitated in her doorway, -Linda turned from some white stuff she had been piling on the bed and -met the round, expectant eyes, "Come here, Blanche Aurora," she said. -"I want to show you something." - -With long steps the beneficiary was beside her. - -"Here are some things I found for you in Portland yesterday." - -Blanche Aurora dragged her gaze from the pink and blue dresses that -were lying there, finished, and beheld white underclothing, and large -enveloping aprons--a pink-and-white checked one, a blue-and-white -checked one, and one all white in a satiny-looking plaid. There was -also a pile of stockings and some black low shoes and white sneakers. A -bride, inspecting a complete trousseau just arrived from Paris, might -experience in faint degree the elation that choked Blanche Aurora now. - -"For me?" she uttered mechanically. - -"For you, you good little thing," said Linda. "Now take these, and go -into the bathroom and put them on." - -Like one in a dream, Blanche Aurora accepted the underclothing, -stockings, and sneakers put into her arms, and marched toward the -bathroom, her head held high and the fishhook braids quivering down her -gingham back. She went in and closed the door. - -Linda smiled, and seating herself in her wicker rocker clasped her -hands behind her head. - -Mrs. Porter came to the door. - -"What did she say?" she asked, smiling. - -"Oh, nothing. She's far beyond speech. What did you do with Aunt -Belinda?" - -"Mrs. Lindsay arrived and Miss Barry is showing her her rockery and the -ferns, so I thought she was safe and I'd come up for the fun." - -"You certainly deserve to." Linda sighed unconsciously. "Wouldn't it be -wonderful if everybody could be made happy so easily! I believe that is -the only satisfaction there is in the world, after all--making others -happy, whether you are so yourself or not." - -Mrs. Porter came in and took another of the wicker chairs. - -"I don't believe you can avoid the latter if you do the former," she -remarked. - -Linda regarded the speaker, a line appearing in her smooth brow. She -often suspected Mrs. Porter to be thinking of Bertram. She had no right -to ask impossibilities. The superhuman should not be required of the -merely human. - -"It is easier said than done, though, as a usual thing," said the girl -aloud. "There is one man in Chicago, for instance, to whom I owe much -kindness, whom I couldn't make happy except by marrying him." - -"Not Bertram," returned Mrs. Porter quickly. - -"Of course not Bertram," said Linda coolly. - -"It may be some relief to you to know that Bertram no longer wishes -that," said Mrs. Porter, after a moment of silence. - -Linda's lip curled as she kept her lazy attitude, her hands clasped -behind her dark head. - -"Of course not," she repeated. "Bertram may make business mistakes -occasionally, but he will not commit that of marrying a poor girl." - -"Linda!" ejaculated Mrs. Porter. Color rushed over her face and she -waited a moment to gain control. "How can you insult him in his -troubles!" she finished. - -"Please forgive me," returned the girl in the same tone. "It is the -hardest thing in the world for me to remember your relationship." - -"Your thinking it is quite as bad as saying it." - -"Be fair to me, dear Mrs. Porter. You can't blame me for not having -illusions, after my sledgehammer blows." - -"You can feel compassion instead of hatred, if any one has wronged you." - -"That isn't human nature." - -"Of course not. We have to learn that we can't have any respect for -human nature. Spiritual nature is the only thing we must nurture. -We don't have to take care of punishing those who have wronged us. -'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.' In other words, -the working of spiritual law brings inevitable punishment to all -who violate it. We may well exercise compassion instead of hatred -to wrongdoers. If Bertram has, humanly speaking, deserved all the -contempt you send him, you can well afford to feel more kindly toward -him than before. Nothing but his own repentance and amends can end his -punishment; and rest assured you do not need to add to it." - -"Mrs. Porter,"--the girl dropped her nonchalant attitude,--"I meant it -when I asked you to forgive me. If I lost your friendship I should lose -the greatest treasure I have left." - -"You won't lose it, poor child," was the response, as the deep color -faded from Mrs. Porter's face. "You strain it when you speak so of -Bertram, but I have to remember exactly the truths I have been telling -you." - -"That I shall be punished?" - -"Assuredly, dear child--just as far as you are wrong." - -Linda leaned forward suddenly and laid an affectionate hand on the -other's knee. - -"But I'm right, dear," she said, her eyes bright. - -Mrs. Porter patted the hand in silence and the bathroom door slowly -opened. - -Blanche Aurora, looking very young indeed, clad in white, with white -arms and neck, and tanned face and hands, stood with the old plaid -gingham over her arm. Her gaze fled to the bed, then returned to the -rusty plaid. So might a butterfly regard the chrysalis from which it -had just emerged. - -"Do I put this on again?" she asked. - -"No," returned Linda. "Fold it and put it on that chair over there." - -Light scintillated in Blanche Aurora's eyes as she obeyed; a light -which boded ill for the faded gingham. - -Linda rose and placed a chair in front of her dressing-table. - -"Come here and sit down," she said. - -Blanche Aurora hesitated but for an instant before complying. - -"What be you goin' to do?" she asked as Linda lifted the tortured -braids and inspected the white string. "Goin' to cut my hair off?" - -"Do you want me to?" - -"I don't care. It's only a bother, anyway. I have to braid it every few -days." - -"Every few days? Oh, Blanche Aurora, you ought to brush it every -night." - -"I should worry," ejaculated the other. "Red hair don't deserve -anything like that. If I didn't have red hair I wouldn't have so many -freckles and I'd look nicer in the pink dress. I pinch it good when I -braid it," added Blanche Aurora savagely. - -"I should think you did," returned Linda, whose deft fingers were -meanwhile unbraiding the hair and removing the disciplinary string. "It -is kinky enough to stuff a little mattress. You have a nice lot of it. -Mrs. Porter, will you hand me that box at the foot of the bed? I'm glad -I remembered to get you these." And Linda opened the box, displaying a -white brush and comb which she began using on the bright hair while its -owner colored with excitement through all her tan at the possession of -such grandeur. - -She sat silent, watching in the glass the amazing vision of Linda -combing and brushing the freed locks which seemed making the most of -their escape to fly in all directions and encircle the excited face -with a bright aureole. Linda turned and smiled at Mrs. Porter, who -nodded appreciation. Many a fine lady would gladly pay a small fortune -for the luxuriant shining waves that rippled now under Linda's brush. - -"I suppose your hair is straight," she said. - -"As a poker," agreed its owner promptly. "I douse it good when I have -to braid it over and you'd better too, Miss Linda. You can't never -braid it the way it is now; and it likes to git the best of you." - -The speaker eyed her halo vindictively. Her hair was an ancient enemy -and only her mother's commands had protected its existence. - -"When did you wash it?" - -"Last week. I don't never wash it winters, but summers Miss Barry makes -me." - -"You don't need to wash it often in this clean place; but brush it a -lot with your white brush. Will you, Blanche Aurora?" - -This was a more awful demand than Linda realized. Overwhelmed as she -was with benefits her beneficiary demurred. - -"I can't only once in a few days." - -"But you're going to braid it every day now." - -"Oh, Miss Linda," was the aghast response. "I ain't got time. I -couldn't! You don't know my hair. It acts as ugly as sin; jest as if -it knew it was botherin' the life out of me. I have to git the children -off to school--" - -"Not now." - -"Well, not now; but Miss Barry wants me the middle o' May, and I have -to git over early--" - -"Yes, but it's July now." - -Blanche Aurora ceased protesting and winced. - -"Oh, did I pull? I'll be careful." - -"Pull it good if you want to. Good enough for it." - -"You must like your pretty hair," said Linda. - -"Pretty!" uttered Blanche Aurora. - -Of all the surprising things that had happened to her, that adjective -was perhaps the most surprising. - -"Certainly it is, and it deserves good treatment." - -Blanche Aurora looked in the mirror at her friend's face. Could Linda, -every tiny escaping hair of whose wavy locks curled in a curve of -beauty,--could she call this red stubborn mane pretty? Then there was -no more to be said. - -Blanche Aurora leaned back and studied the narrow trimming on her new -clothes and rubbed her hard hands surreptitiously against the soft -fabric of her white petticoat. Linda divided the modified waves of hair -into two parts. - -"Now your hair will soon straighten out," she said. "Let it stay -straight and smooth and well-brushed." - -"I'd like curly hair like yours," returned Blanche Aurora; "but I guess -I'd pretty near die tryin' to comb it." - -Linda smiled. "You remind me of the tramp who said he didn't see how -folks stood it to comb their hair every day. He did his only once a -year, and then it most killed him. Now, you mustn't strangle your hair -with that string any more," she added. - -"Strangle it! I think that's real funny," said Blanche Aurora -judicially. She was radiant. There was only one small cloud on her -horizon and that was the prospect of a daily wrestle with that hair. -That hair! Why, angels couldn't go through it and keep their religion. - -"Now, see what I'm doing?" said Linda. "You'll be glad to do this when -you see how nice it looks." - -With round and solemn gaze Blanche Aurora watched the braiding of first -one half and then the other of her captured locks. - -"Be sure to begin as near the middle of your neck as you can." - -Linda swiftly doubled the two ends of the braids and fastened them. - -She looked at Mrs. Porter again as the fluffy braids hung down the -slender back, and again Mrs. Porter nodded. - -"Miss Barry wants 'em tight," declared the child. - -"Miss Barry will be satisfied with this," rejoined Linda. Then she -proceeded to cross the braids and wind them around the small head, -tucking the ends out of sight with hair pins. This loosened the hair at -the temples and the round eyes took in the fact that the arrangement -was becoming even to freckles; but the breath-taking moment was to come. - -Linda opened a box on her dresser and revealed a fresh pink and a blue -ribbon. She took out the pink one and soon a generous bow surmounted -those braids, and Blanche Aurora gasped with pleasure. Her white, -low-necked, short-sleeved reflection with the new coiffure held her -happy gaze, and when Mrs. Porter brought the pink dress and slipped it -on and buttoned it up, the red beneath the freckles was very deep, and -the modern Cinderella was speechless. - -At last she turned to Linda and threw her slender arms around her. - -"I can't say nothin'," she gulped. - -Linda pushed her gently back and took hold of the hard hands and -her eyes were soft with an inner flame as they looked down into the -glistening ones. - -"I can say something, Blanche Aurora," she answered kindly. "I can say -that you look like a wild rose. Do you understand?" - -She put her arm around the happy girl and led her to the small table -where stood her father's picture, and blooming before it, the child's -offering. "Like a wild rose, Blanche Aurora," she repeated slowly. - -The pink-crowned head lifted to her. "Oh, Miss Linda," she exclaimed -breathlessly. - -"Now, then," said the fairy godmother in a different tone, "you have a -chest of drawers down in your back room; and after a while I want you -to put white paper in them and come up and get these things," waving a -hand toward the bed. "But first you go down and see Miss Barry." - -"I'm 'most afraid," declared Blanche Aurora, wringing her hands -together. "She thinks a pink dress and red hair is awful." - -"She won't," returned Linda. "Run along. I think she's outdoors. Yes, -I see her there, stooping over the rockery. Mrs. Lindsay has gone and -she's alone." - -Blanche Aurora left the room. She even forgot the chrysalis and her -determination to kick it into the ocean. Seraphs, wafted on rosy -clouds, forget such earthly longings. - -Mrs. Porter and Linda stood at the window where they could see all -that occurred, and despite Linda's assured words she was not sure that -she wished to hear what would be said. Her college chums would have -recognized Linda Barry again in the mischievous sparkle of her eyes. - -Miss Barry, rising from her labors among the ferns, beheld a bareheaded -little girl coming slowly toward her. The stranger was clothed in a -pink dress with spotless white stockings and sneakers, and as she -advanced the sun turned to gold the fluffy hair under a billowy pink -bow. - -Miss Barry pulled her spectacles down from the top of her head, and -even then for a second she thought some summer boarder was straying too -far from home. In another moment full recognition burst upon her. - -"For the land's sake!" she exclaimed; and the two stared at one another -for a silent space. It would have taken a hard heart to resist the -beatified, yet shy, expression on the face of Blanche Aurora, and Miss -Barry's was not hard. - -"Pink's happiness. Pink's happiness!" Miss Belinda saw the statement -exemplified. - -"Come here, you little monkey," she said. - -It wasn't so pleasant to be called a monkey as a wild rose, but Miss -Barry's smile was different from any her "help" had ever yet received -from her. Perhaps she liked monkeys. - -Blanche Aurora came nearer, aware every moment of the fine materials -touching her skin. - -"Well, well, so my niece hasn't got by the doll-dressing stage," said -her mistress. - -The lenient tone restored confidence and unloosed an eager tongue. - -"Oh, Miss Barry, I ain't a doll. I'll work just as hard. I'll work -harder. I've got aprons to cover me all up and I won't break a dish -nor slam the silver. The aprons is the most beautiful you ever see and -these stockings they feel just like silk." - -The reference to the stockings flowed forth because Miss Barry was -stooping and running her hand down the slim leg. - -The watchers above were edified to see her lift up the pink skirt and -examine the underwear. - -"You're good clear to the bone," declared Miss Belinda at last, -approvingly. "Pretty sensible things, considering that Linda bought -them." - -The speaker rose again to her full stature and looked curiously at her -maid's head. - -"What under the canopy--" she began slowly. "Have you got a wig on?" - -The broad wavy braids, glinting in the sun as Blanche Aurora turned her -head, seemed to bear no relation to the strained tightness usual over -her temples. - -"No'm, it's my same horrid red hair, but I don't look at it, I look at -the pink bow," was the eager response. "The kids at school was always -teasin' me,"--a gulp of hurting memory interrupted the speech,--"they -said I was the homeliest girl on the Cape, and it's nice for homely -girls to have somethin' pretty on their heads so folks can look at that -instead of at them." - -"H'm," returned Miss Barry, touched by the ingenuous burst. She had -never suspected her willful help of feelings. "Well, you certainly look -very nice, and I'm glad that you're happy." - -"Oh, Miss Barry, may I put some of the white shelf paper in the burer -drawers in my room? Miss Linda told me to, and I'm to go back and get -the rest o' the clo'es and and fix 'em nice in the burer." - -"You're going to keep them here, are you?" - -"Don't you think I'd better?" Blanche Aurora wrung her hands together -eagerly. - -Miss Barry took a mental survey of the child's crowded home and the -small marauders who would be likely to molest her treasures. She -nodded. - -"Yes, that's best," she agreed sententiously, and instantly there was a -pink flash, and a twinkling of white pipe-stem legs across the grass, -and Blanche Aurora was not. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -BEHIND THE BIRCHES - - -When Linda wrote to Chicago for the dresses to be sent on, she asked -the caretaker of the house to send a photograph of her mother which she -would find in her dresser drawer. - -The woman had been in doubt as to which picture was wanted, as there -were several in the box indicated, so she had packed box and all, and -it now lay on Linda's table waiting to be opened. - -When the radiant little Cape girl had carried downstairs the last of -her possessions and Mrs. Porter had gone to her own room, Linda turned -her attention to this box. - -Taking off the string she lifted the cover, and straight up into her -eyes looked Bertram King. The likeness was a striking one and color -flowed over her face. As she gazed, the thought came to her that -Bertram must have consummated a good business deal on the day he sat -for this. - -There was lurking humor in the eyes and lips. It was Bertram at his -best: his most prosperous. A clean-cut face, she thought, as she -looked, a well-born face: intelligent, full of character and confidence. - -"Overconfidence," murmured the girl, and turned the picture face -down. She closed her eyes in endurance of the flood of associations -the photograph had evoked, and stood motionless thus for a minute -before delving deeper into the box. It held pictures of several of her -friends, among them one of Fred Whitcomb. Her sad lips smiled as she -encountered his wide-awake countenance. - -"Good old Fred," she thought. "Some day I must write to him." - -She found her mother's pictures and those of several girl friends: also -one of Mrs. Porter. Some of these she left out; but the one of Bertram -King went back into the box. She took one more glance at it and the -veiled humor in the eyes seemed to mock her. Face down it went in, -quickly, the cover was put on, and the whole placed in her closet. - -At the same time her thought was contrasting the pictured face taken -one year ago with Bertram's appearance the last time she saw him. - -At the supper table that evening Blanche Aurora, as she waited on -table, was enveloped in the white apron with satiny plaids. - -"She's not a bad-looking child," said Linda on one occasion when the -girl had left the room to get more biscuit. "That little turn-up nose -of hers is cute and her teeth are so white." - -"Those teeth!" ejaculated Miss Barry. "The time I had! But I finally -taught her to keep them properly." - -"Everybody knows happiness is the best beautifier, anyway," remarked -Mrs. Porter. "It looks as if you would have an angel in your kitchen -from now on, Miss Barry." - -"Yes, 'looks,'" retorted the hostess. "Familiarity breeds contempt and -I don't know how long Blanche Aurora can be subdued by her dry goods. I -ought to make her put on her brown calico to go home in." - -"Oh, don't, Aunt Belinda. Let her have all the fun there is in it." - -So Miss Barry consented to leave her "help" in freedom; but the shrewd -little brain under the fluffy red wig was working. Blanche Aurora -knew about where the dividing line would occur in the bosom of her -family between respect and ridicule. She felt instinctively that the -limit would be reached before that crown of glory, the pink bow, should -dazzle the irreverent vision of the home circle. She, therefore, when -the dishes were dried, went to her room, took off the ribbon, and -laid it reverently in her upper drawer beside the blue one. She gazed -soulfully for a minute on the effect, then closed the drawer softly. - -There was a clean towel on the bureau and upon it reposed the white -brush and comb and near that a bottle of violet toilet water. Yes, the -last thing the wonderful one had put into her hands was this bottle of -green liquid which the child said to herself "smelled purple." - -She hated to go home. A thief might break in during the night and -bereave her. She lifted up the closet curtain and looked at the pretty -blue dress hanging there. - -Well, she thought, with firm lips, the thief shouldn't get the pink -one, for she was going to wear it. Further cautious thoughts of rough, -teasing brothers caused her to remove the hairpins from her braids and -let them hang down her back as of old. Then she put on her new white -sweater and started to run across the fields to a properly awestruck -family. - -A week later Blanche Aurora was alone in the house one afternoon -cleaning silver. The day was beautiful, and no one stayed indoors who -was not obliged to. She glanced up occasionally at the kitchen clock -and saw that in half an hour she too would be at liberty to go out and -get Miss Linda's rose, and hunt for four-leaved clovers. - -She enjoyed finding these and placing them beside Linda's plate at the -table. - -"But," objected her friend one day, "I have to find them myself, don't -I, in order that they should bring me luck?" - -"Perhaps so," returned the donor; "but while you're waitin' I'd like to -give you some o' my luck.--I got so much." - -Indeed, Blanche Aurora was beginning to gain curves, and the round eyes -to find expression. - -She sang at her work to-day, the pink bow on her head shaking with her -energy as she rubbed. Suddenly the iron knocker on the front door sent -a sharp rap-tap through the house. - -Blanche Aurora arose, laid down a fork, and moved through the rooms to -answer the summons. - -Pulling open the door she beheld behind the screen a broad-shouldered -man with a bright, expectant face, and his seeking eyes saw a -pink-and-white aproned figure with red hair, and a perky pink bow atop. - -She was delighted at the prompt manner in which the stranger lifted his -hat. - -"I wonder if I have the right house," he said. - -"I dunno. What house do you want?" came the stentorian response. - -"What is your name, please?" asked the young man. - -"Blanche Aurora." - -He smiled, a nice gleeful smile. "I mean your last name." - -"Martin." - -"I'm sorry. I'm looking for Miss Barry." - -"Oh, she lives here. I'm the help." - -"Really? I didn't dream it. I thought you were the nice little daughter -of the house." - -"Miss Barry ain't married," replied Blanche Aurora practically, but she -gave full credit to the pink bow. - -"Is her niece--is Miss Linda Barry here?" The eagerness of the question -and of the very good-looking visitor was fully appreciated by the -little maid who recognized a kindred spirit. - -"Oh, yes, she's here,"--the freckled face shone radiant. "Ain't she -grand?" - -"The grandest ever. I want to see her. Aren't you ever going to open -the screen door?" - -Upon this the screen door opened. "But she ain't in the house," replied -Blanche Aurora, coming out on the piazza. "There ain't anybody in the -house, so I can't leave it to hunt for her, but I can tell you where I -bet she is." - -"You're a good--a particularly good child," was the earnest response as -Blanche Aurora's finger pointed across the field. - -"Do you see that clump o' trees and then there's woods beyond?" - -"Yes." - -"Near them white birches you'll likely find her. Mrs. Porter and she's -got a secret place." - -The visitor laughed. "Secret from whom?" - -"Everybody but me, I guess." - -The man looked at the smile that was keeping his laugh company. - -"What do you think they'll say to your telling their secrets?" - -"Well"--Blanche Aurora gave a comprehensive glance at the city clothes -and the gay face above her. "I kinder think Miss Linda might be glad to -see you, and if she would, what's the use o' waitin'!" - -"That's what I say," was the hearty response. "I can't wait. I'm going -to scour this Cape till I do find her, and then if she _isn't_ glad to -see me, do you know what I'm going to do?" - -Blanche Aurora's neatly coiffed head shook a denial. - -The visitor grasped her small shoulder with a strong hand. - -"I'm going out to that point of rock there,"--he pointed to the height -of the cliff,--"and throw myself--dash myself into the sea!" He scowled -portentously. - -"Well, you might wait till she gits used to you," suggested Blanche -Aurora. "She might like you better." - -"I've been waiting two years, but your advice may still be good." - -"Be you her beau?" the question was roared solemnly. - -"I be; and if I don't find her this afternoon you tell her that her -beau has come to town, and for her not to leave the house again till he -arrives." - -"All right, sir," answered Blanche Aurora, her eyes nearly starting -from her head with interest as the caller jumped off the piazza and -swung whistling across the field. - -The soft turf was springy beneath his feet. - -"'A vagrant's morning, wide and blue,'" he muttered to himself. - -Gulls wheeled high over his head in the landward sallies from which -they sailed back above the sea, their wings glinting like the distant - - "Foam of the waves, - Blown blossoms of ocean, - White flowers of the waters." - -Whitcomb strode along, the picture of Linda as he last saw her in the -railway station still fresh in his mind. - -Miss Barry's "help" had been galvanized into interest at the mention -of the girl. She had called her "grand." It sounded hopeful. - -Beyond the clump of birches, in their favorite spot, the two friends -were sitting against their rock with their books and work. - -Talk amounts to very little. It was Emerson who said, "Don't talk! What -you are thunders so loud above what you say, that I can't hear you." - -What Mrs. Porter was, had in their daily contact impressed itself so -increasingly upon her young friend, that Linda, though reluctant, had, -through very curiosity, come to be willing to look into the source of -her friend's faith and strength. That little nook behind the birches -had become dear to her. Near by rose the rich dark grove of firs and -pines, the sea murmuring in their tops, and the spring bubbled with a -silvery plashing. - -Here Whitcomb found them. They both started at his sudden appearance -and he halted, and rapped on a white birch stem. - -"May I come in?" The gay, hearty voice set Linda's heart to beating -fast. "Don't let me disturb you," and the visitor hurried forward, his -hat off, and kneeling on the grass before her, took Linda's hand. - -"You have met Mrs. Porter?" - -"Once, I think," said that lady, shaking hands graciously with the -young man. The devouring eyes with which he was taking in every detail -of Linda's improved appearance made the older woman certain that here -was the Chicago man whose happiness the girl had said she could not -secure save by extreme measures. - -"You look wonderful, Linda. Good for the Cape!" said Fred, seating -himself comfortably on the grass, and continuing to observe her with -huge satisfaction. - -"But how did you know where to find us?" inquired the girl. - -"Blanche Aurora told me. Happy name! Dickens himself couldn't have done -better. Blanche A-roarer." - -"But she didn't know about this place. Nobody knows." - -"So she observed--howling it to high heaven; but you might as well try -to keep a locality from the sparrows as from kids of that age." - -"Well, I'm glad she did know," said Linda graciously, "It's good to see -you, Fred,--you have a sort of a white, city look, as if a vacation -couldn't hurt you." - -"Mrs. Lindsay told me you were related to them," said Mrs. Porter. "I -suppose you came through her." - -"Yes, I did. I wouldn't have known there was any place to stay here -except for her; and I did feel a bit seedy, as well as King, so I -pulled up stakes--there being a strong magnet in this vicinity." He -flashed a still further enlightening smile around at Linda. - -But Mrs. Porter had suddenly lost interest in his possible romance. -"Mr. King--Bertram," she said, leaning forward. "He has been ill?" - -Whitcomb gave a soft significant whistle. "Rather!" he returned briefly. - -"I'm his cousin, Mr. Whitcomb. Tell me all about it, please." - -"I know you are. He has talked to me of you." - -Linda's lips had gained the close line the mention or thought of King -always evoked. - -"Good old King. He's some fighter. You ought to be proud of him, Mrs. -Porter." - -"I am. Tell me all you know of him, please. How is he now?" - -"On the upward way. He's going to come out all right, but"--the speaker -cast an almost apologetic look at Linda--"you doubtless know that -King was up against it for a while. It seems that one night there at -the club when the strain was over, he felt himself going to pieces -and he wrote me a note asking me, in case of his illness, to keep his -papers--the contents of his desk--from Henry Radcliffe until he should -recover." - -The blood pressed into Linda's face. She was too charitable to her -friend even to glance her way. - -"The note was not finished. King had evidently taken the precaution to -address and stamp the envelope before he began, and the last sane thing -he did was to seal the letter inside it. By the time I received it and -got over to the club, King was gone." - -"Gone!" Mrs. Porter gasped. "You said--" - -Fred nodded reassuringly toward her questioning face as she leaned -forward. - -"Yes, they had taken him to the hospital, you know." - -"Oh!" cried Mrs. Porter, "and I here. Why didn't somebody write me?" - -Linda sat erect, in an attitude of courteous attention. - -"I never thought of it, Mrs. Porter. To tell the truth, I didn't know -till he was convalescing that you were at all near to one another, and -I didn't want to write anything to add to Linda's worries." He glanced -at the girl's unmoved face. - -"Did you keep his papers from Henry?" she asked dryly. - -"I'll tell you about that." - -"But you stayed with him--" There was a little break in Mrs. Porter's -low, even voice. "You helped him." - -"You bet I stayed with him, just as much of the time as my boss and the -nurse would stand for. I was there every night." - -"Oh, Mr. Whitcomb," exclaimed Mrs. Porter gratefully, "you don't know -what that means to me. Bertram wasn't entirely deserted." - -"No. Harriet was up in Wisconsin or she would have wanted to help, too. -Henry kept King's illness from her; because even if she had been at -home she couldn't really have done anything, you know." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -REVELATION - - -Linda, looking at Mrs. Porter, saw in the light of their many talks -that her friend was striving for the composure with which it was her -wont to meet adverse circumstances. - -Fred Whitcomb, too, recognizing that the older woman was the more -interested of his listeners, began to address his narration chiefly to -her. - -"King was pretty badly off," he went on. "He was nutty for days, and -some of the things he said in his delirium made me feel that--well, -that perhaps he'd had a rather lonely time of it. At any rate, he had -asked only that his papers should be kept from Radcliffe, so I made up -my mind that I'd go through them myself." - -Fred paused and gave a rather doubtful and wistful look at Linda's -immovable countenance. - -Mrs. Porter's eyes were shining in their attention. - -"Well, I hadn't spent much time at his desk before I discovered why -King had written me those directions. Henry can do what he pleases -about Harriet, but I know Linda's a good sport. I know she wants the -truth." - -"I do," returned Linda, with cold promptness. "What had Bertram against -Henry?" - -"Nothing, bless your heart. The telltale package of papers concerned -the Antlers Irrigation proposition. Your father was out in the West -on the spot and King was in Chicago and these letters and telegrams -were their correspondence at the time. It seems that Mr. Barry was -completely fascinated by the proposition, but King knew the people -connected with it better than Mr. Barry did; and though it appeared -entirely legitimate, King begged your father to have nothing to do -with it. He admitted that if it succeeded it would be a fortune, but -the whole thing was on such a big scale and would involve Barry & Co. -so deeply that King advised strongly and even urged that they let it -alone; but after an argument of days Mr. Barry decided against him." - -Fred met Linda's frowning gaze. He waited while her face flushed, then -watched while the red tide sank. In her concentrated look she appeared -to be angry; and Fred hurried on defensively. - -"I tell you, Linda, I thought you ought to know this. You've always -stood for fair play, and there the whole business world has been -knocking Bertram King for months. He was a good fighter--but they -knocked him down at last. If you'd seen him as I did, lying there, -burning up with fever, and babbling scraps of talk that showed how he -has worried--" - -Linda leaned forward and took Fred Whitcomb's surprised hand in one as -cold as ice. Her brow still frowned, but the relaxed lips parted. - -"Thank you for telling me; thank you," she said. - -Mrs. Porter hurriedly gathered together her sewing materials, stuffed -them into her silk workbag, and rose. - -Whitcomb, much relieved by Linda's words, also stood up. - -"Don't disturb yourselves," said Mrs. Porter; "I am going home to pack. -I shall go at once to Chicago." - -"Do you mean to King?" asked Whitcomb. - -"Of course." Mrs. Porter also seized the young man's hand, and her -moist eyes poured out their gratitude. "I can't tell you, Mr. Whitcomb, -how I thank you, for befriending him: it's impossible." - -Fred smiled broadly. "Oh, say," he returned, "you don't need to pack. -King is here." - -"What!" - -"Sure thing. I wouldn't have come without him. Not on your life. He -didn't care much about it, but then he didn't care much about anything, -and Mrs. Lindsay had said it was doing Madge a world of good--and Linda -was here,"--the speaker turned and looked down at Linda, leaning back -against the rock with a face as stony as its gray wall,--"so I bundled -the poor chap on the train, and here we are." - -"At that awful Benslow place?" gasped Mrs. Porter. - -"It isn't so worse," said Fred. "I'm a dandy camper and I'll take care -of King myself. The doctors told me just what to stuff him with, and, -believe me, I'm going to stuff him. He doesn't slide off this planet -till he gets some of the justice that's coming to him. Not if I know -it. I haven't talked to him yet about my discovery of the letters, but -I told Henry Radcliffe all about it the night before we left and he can -do as he pleases about telling Harriet." - -"Mr. Whitcomb, you have earned my life-long gratitude," repeated Mrs. -Porter. "Between us we will put that dear boy on his feet again. I'm -off to see him. Good-bye." - -Linda felt hurt that not by word or look did her friend recognize the -misery Mrs. Porter must have known she was suffering. Lightly that lady -sped away around the clump of birches and was gone; and Fred Whitcomb's -sturdy shoulders dropped down again near Linda's rock divan. - -"I thought you were looking great when I came up a few minutes ago," he -said, examining her, "but it seems to me you might raise a little more -color in this perfectly wonderful air." - -"You've given me a great shock, Fred." - -"Well, I hated to seem to disparage your father in any way," he -returned tenderly, "but I knew--I just knew, Linda, you'd want to see -King get fair play." - -"I do. I have blamed him cruelly myself." - -"How could you help it when everybody was feeling the same way? Does he -know you blamed him?" - -"Yes." - -"I wonder if that had anything to do with his not seeing you off that -morning in Chicago?" - -"Probably." - -"I blamed him for that; but now," added Whitcomb, happily, "everything -is understood. We mustn't have another sorrowful minute." Linda's lips -were looking as if there were only sorrow on earth. "There's a great -reaction in Chicago in favor of your father," he added. "The excitement -has calmed down, and when Lambert Barry is spoken of now it's with the -same old respect, Linda; the same old respect." - -"And Bertram has done that," she said slowly. - -"Indeed, he has, and as he comes back to strength he's going to feel -pretty good over it, too, I can tell you. So--take a brace, Linda. I'm -so happy to see you, I can hardly contain myself." - -"What a good fellow you are, Fred!" - -"You mean for standing by King? Think what he's done for me. Snatched -my savings like brands from the burning. My boss, too, is a big -beneficiary by King's efforts, and he gave me an extra long vacation so -I could come up here and look after him." - -"Is he very weak?" - -"Not any worse than you'd expect." Whitcomb's constitutional inability -to look on the dark side shone in his happy eyes. "That Cap'n Jerry of -yours is a dandy, though. He brought us over from the station and he -whiled the time away telling how suddenly people either convalesced or -died here. King coughs a little, and that inspired the genial captain -to tell of his brother who'd been 'coughin' quite a spell'; and how -'sudden' he went off at the last. He said, 'Bill got up one mornin', et -a good breakfast; then all to once he fetched a couple o' hacks and was -gone!'" - -"Fred!" Linda frowned and smiled. - -"He did, for a fact. King says he positively refuses to fetch two -consecutively." - -"He jokes, then," Linda spoke wistfully. - -"Oh, yes. He's as game as ever." - -"Fred,"--Linda clasped her hands tightly together,--"you don't know -how cruel--how beastly I've been to Bertram." - -"Oh, forget it," Fred's worshiping eyes met the mourning gaze. - -"I'd like to; and I could if Bertram would, but he never will, I'm -afraid. He hates me." - -"He'll get over it." - -"Tell me, Fred,--you must have spoken to him about me. What does he -say?" - -Whitcomb looked off as if consulting his memory. "I can't remember -his mentioning your name since Reason resumed her throne. He used to -babble about you and your father, too, during his illness; but nothing -connected: nothing that I can remember." - -"I'm really surprised that he was willing to come where I was staying." - -"I don't believe he knew it till we were on the train. I told him about -the Lindsays and that I believed it was the right place for him." - -"But he must have known this was where Mrs. Porter was, and that she -was with Aunt Belinda. He must have known I was with them." - -Whitcomb shrugged his shoulders under this insistence. "Perhaps he -did," he admitted. "I spoke several times about you on the train, of -course,--how I anticipated seeing you and all that." The speaker's eyes -again sought some personal reassurance from his companion's distant -gaze. - -"And he didn't say anything?" - -"I don't remember. I didn't notice. I don't think so." - -"Fred,"--Linda leaned forward in her earnestness and wrung her hands -together,--"you don't know how hard it is for me to sit here and wait -instead of running--_running_ to Bertram and confessing the wrong I've -done and imploring his forgiveness." - -"None of that: none of that." Whitcomb raised a warning hand. "You -mustn't say things to King to excite him. He's glassware, remember, -glassware." The speaker sank on his elbow, bringing his eager, boyish -face nearer the girl's white gown. His hat was on the grass beside him -and his thick hair fell forward in his movement. - -"But here _I_ am, Linda," he added, in a different tone, "husky to the -limit. When it comes to me, go as far as you like. You haven't seemed -conscious of me yet." - -"Oh, yes, I'm conscious of you. I'm very grateful to you for finding -out the truth and taking such care of Bertram." The girl's eyes were -glowing in her pale face. "'Instead of the thorn';--Fred, did you ever -read the Bible?" - -Whitcomb sat up under the sudden question, and stared at her. - -"The Bible!" he repeated. "Why, sure thing--some of it." - -"There's a promise in it, 'Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir -tree.' It struck some chord in me when first I read it and it seems to -mean more and more. See those firs,"--Linda waved her hand to where -on the other side of the little brook the soft variation of color in -the evergreens stood against the sky. "Breathe the balm they send out -in the air? Mrs. Porter has shown me how it just rests with us to do -away with the wounding thorn, and receive the peace of the stanch, -unchanging fir tree, with its soft, invigorating perfume and color, and -the music in its branches. It has come to be a great symbol to me--the -fir tree." - -"Hurrah for the Tannenbaum," returned Whitcomb, mechanically, not -knowing what to say to this changed Linda with the exalted eyes. - -"You have done a wonderful thing for me to-day, Fred; and if only I -could wipe out from my own and Bertram's memory my wickedness, the -fir tree could at once begin to come up; but my father suffered for -his mistake and I must suffer for mine. To be patient--to put down -my willfulness--to be willing just to guard my thoughts and to think -right and to leave all the rest to God--that's my lesson; and you know -how hard it is for me, Fred. You know how I've always managed, and -dictated, and carried my point, and never had any patience." - -"You suit me all right, whatever you've done," blurted out Whitcomb, -upon whom Linda's matter-of-course mention of the Creator had made -a profound impression. "You've changed a lot in some ways," he went -on, rather dejectedly, "but in a certain line where I'm interested, -you don't seem to have made much progress. I'm the biggest donkey -this side of Cairo, I know that; but when I'm away from you, I forget -all the discouraging things you've ever said, and I build a lot of -castles-in-the-air, each one more attractive than the last, and then -the minute I get with you, with a simple twist of the wrist you tumble -them all about my ears." - -"Oh, Freddy!" - -"Don't you 'Oh, Freddy' me. I was awfully afraid of King at one time, -but when I found he wasn't in the race, I felt there wasn't anybody -ahead of me and Holdfast's a good dog. I made up my mind to win." - -"Oh, Fred!" - -"Why shouldn't my thorn be pulled up, too? Why shouldn't _I_ have a -nice Tannenbaum with just one gift hanging on it?" - -"Because, Fred, we can't any of us outline. We must be faithful and -unselfish and let things grow right, and they will, because we were -created for happiness. Mrs. Porter says so." - -"Oh, she has inside information, has she?" returned Whitcomb, with as -near an approach to a sneer as his wholesome nature could come. - -"Yes, that's a very good name for it," returned Linda promptly. "Even -I, Fred," she added humbly, "even I have had some inside information. -In not getting me," she added gently, "you will get something better if -we're all thinking right." - -Silence, during which Whitcomb gloomily uprooted such long grasses as -grew near him. - -"I have no expectation of marrying anyone," said Linda, "and you are a -hero in my eyes to-day, if that is any comfort to you." - -Whitcomb lifted a frowning, obstinate gaze to hers. - -"Holdfast's a good dog," he said sententiously. Presently he spoke -again. "It's time for King to eat. I must go." - -"I'll walk with you as far as Aunt Belinda's." - -Whitcomb helped her gather up books and work and they moved away -together. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE PENITENT - - -Blanche Aurora caught sight of the two strolling through the field -toward the house and she called her mistress's attention to them. - -"There's the man I told you come, Miss Barry," she said eagerly; and -Miss Belinda pulled down her glasses and viewed the approach. - -"Why, if that isn't Mr. Whitcomb!" she said. She groaned. "I don't -think I've got a supper for a man; I do hate to cater for the great, -walloping things." - -She craned her neck, keeping well out of range of the window in the -forlorn hope that the threat might pass by. Forlorn, indeed. What place -was there for the visitor to go to? - -To her surprise the young man's firm step lingered but a moment at the -door, then from her vantage-ground she saw him lift his hat, jump off -the piazza, and walk away. - -From another window Blanche Aurora's round eyes were watching too, with -an unwinking gaze. She wished to see whether the stranger would seek -the rock cliff; but evidently Miss Linda had been glad to see him, for -he swung energetically across the grass in the opposite direction. - -Miss Barry, guiltily conscious of her inhospitable attitude, and -remembering with a rush the helpfulness with which Whitcomb had -smoothed her path away from Chicago, met Linda as she entered. - -What meant the glowing expression in her niece's face? Had there really -been more than appeared in her friendship for Fred Whitcomb? - -"That was Mr. Whitcomb, wasn't it? Why didn't he come in? What a -surprise to see him here," said Miss Barry. "After all," she added -mentally, "those broiled lobsters would probably have satisfied him." - -Linda put an arm about her aunt's shoulders and drew her into the -living-room. - -There was a roseate gleam in the dusky distance as Blanche Aurora -withdrew through the swing door. - -Miss Barry could feel a nervous tension in the arm about her, and as -she looked curiously into the pale, excited face she felt certain that -portentous news was impending. - -"I don't care if she has,"--the swift thought fled through her mind. -"He's young and only beginning life, but he's a good boy. I like him; -and I grudged the poor fellow a meal!" - -"Yes, it was Fred," said Linda, seating herself and her captive on a -wicker divan. - -"Why didn't you ask him in?" - -"Because he had to go to Bertram." - -"Mr. King here?" - -"Yes, convalescing from a serious illness; a terrible illness, Aunt -Belinda,"--the girl's voice began to shake,--"an illness I helped -to bring on. If"--the voice refused to go further, but broke in a -flood of tears as the speaker collapsed in Miss Barry's amazed arms. -"Wait--wait," sobbed Linda. - -"There, there, child. There, there," was all Miss Belinda could think -of to say in the way of comfort while she, her curiosity effervescent, -patted the sufferer. "Where are they, Linda?" she asked gently. "In -Portland?" - -"No, at the Benslows'." - -"The Benslows'!" ejaculated Miss Belinda. "And I grudged that boy a -meal!" - -"Did you say Mr. King is convalescing from something, dear?" - -"Yes--yes." - -"Do they want to kill him, taking him to Luella's?" - -"It's--it's the Lindsays' doings,--and--and--Fred thinks it's all -right. He--he has a tent, and he's taking care of him." - -Miss Barry's voice was very kind and she kept on her mechanical patting -of the sobbing figure. "I didn't know they were such special friends, -Linda." - -"They were--weren't before; but everybody wants to help--help Bertram -now. You were right all the time, Aunt Belinda. He was--was behaving -nobly and--and protecting Father. It was--was dear Father's mistake -about--about the Antlers. It has--has all come out now. Oh, why was I -so cruel!" - -"Now, now, dear. Now, now," soothed Miss Belinda, snapping her moist -eyelids together. Feeling her helplessness to say the right thing -brought to mind her ally. "Where's Mrs. Porter, Linda?" - -"Gone to see Bertram. Oh, if I only could!" - -"Why, you can, of course. He isn't in bed, is he?" - -"I wouldn't care if he was in bed; but how can he ever want to see me -again?" - -Miss Barry pursed her lips and her head gave a little shake over the -bowed one. The remorse she used to wish for her niece had evidently -come in an avalanche; and the New England conscience could but admit -that it was good enough for her. - -"Oh, there's such a thing as forgiveness in the world," she suggested -comfortingly. - -"You know Bertram stood next to Papa. I don't think Papa knew any -difference in his love of us and him. He was just like a son to him, -always so faithful and efficient." - -Miss Barry raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. A few words longed -to pass them, but she bit them back. - -"I fought my admiration of him always because I thought he didn't -admire me. I was jealous of him, too. I was the most selfish girl in -the world. I wanted to be absorbed in my own trumpery interests nearly -all the time; then when I had an hour for Father I wanted him to put -me above Bertram in his confidence and consideration; whereas Bertram -was always standing shoulder to shoulder with him." - -"Now, Linda, do be reasonable. You had to go to school. Don't blame -yourself too much." - -The girl slowly lifted her head and drew a long, sighing breath. "I -can't eat supper, Aunt Belinda," she said after a moment of gazing into -space. "You'll forgive me, won't you? I feel as if I must rest and -think until to-morrow morning, and then I promise to go on as before." - -"How about Mr. Whitcomb? You don't say a word about him." - -"He's been splendid--wonderful. We owe it all to him that we know the -truth. Bertram would have lived and died and kept silence; but Fred -read the letters in his desk while he was ill. His delirious talk -had roused Fred's suspicions." Linda gave another sobbing sigh, the -aftermath of the storm. - -"I'm awfully tired, Aunt Belinda. I'll go upstairs and perhaps I'll go -to bed. Don't think of me again until to-morrow." - -"Suit yourself, child," returned Miss Barry kindly. "We shall miss you -at supper." - -Linda vanished up the stairs and Miss Barry went out to the kitchen, -where she found her maid with a very red little nose and extremely -dolorous wet eyes. - -"What are you crying for, Blanche Aurora?" she demanded. - -"'Cause--'cause _she_ did." A loud sniff. - -"You've been listening," said Miss Barry sternly. - -The little girl fairly stamped in her outraged feeling. - -"I guess you ain't got no business to say that," she returned, and the -honest wrath of her gaze caused her mistress to clear her throat. - -"Well, well, I don't suppose you did. Miss Linda has a friend who is -ill." - -"He's a-goin' to drown himself, that's what," gulped Blanche Aurora, -the relief of speech overbalancing her righteous wrath. - -"What do you mean, you crazy child?" - -"He told me he would if she wasn't glad to see him; and if Miss Linda -wants me to, I'll go after him, and stop him." - -The girl's hands and feet moved restlessly as if she longed to be up -and doing. - -"Nonsense, child. Mr. Whitcomb is always joking." - -"Oh, no, Miss Barry. He warn't jokin'. He said he was her beau, and -Miss Linda wouldn't cry like that--" a spasm constricted the speaker's -throat--"if she hadn't given him the mitten and warn't scared what he'd -do." - -"Law! Blanche Aurora, it's another man she was crying about." - -The restless hands quieted and the little maid listened doubtfully. -Her mind was so thoroughly made up as to the tragedy that it changed -reluctantly. - -"Wherever Miss Linda is," went on Miss Barry solemnly, "men spring up -through the ground. Who'd ever think of those two coming here to have -the finishing touch put on a sick man at Luella Benslow's! If I should -hire a boat and take Miss Linda out there,"--Miss Barry indicated the -sea,--"out as far as the eye can reach, mermen would begin coming to -the surface and swarming up the side of the vessel." - -"Oh, dear," gasped Blanche Aurora. The situation was worse than she -had feared, thus complicated by a man so dear to Miss Linda that -loyalty to her beau could not prevent her from sobbing her heart out -about him. - -"Let's take him _here_," she said as the fruit of her swift cogitation. - -"Who?" - -"The sick man." - -"Mr. King!" ejaculated Miss Barry. - -King! His name was King! That settled it. Blanche Aurora's heart bled -for the gay, broad-shouldered young man who had gained her sympathy, -but Miss Linda's wishes were paramount. - -"Let's take him here and cure him," she repeated stoutly. - -"You're perfectly crazy, child," was the startled reply. "I shouldn't -consider taking a man into my house; and I think they'll make out all -right at Luella's with our help. I shall let you take nice things over -to him once in a while." - -Blanche Aurora's breast swelled with excitement. She should see the -King: see the wonderful person who could wring tears from the powerful -and self-contained Miss Linda; but at the same time she felt very, -very sorry for Fred Whitcomb. Going about to get supper she narrowly -escaped scorching the biscuit and she poured the tea into the water -pitcher. - -The long evening had dimmed to twilight when Mrs. Porter appeared at -Linda's open door. The girl had left it ajar as an invitation to her. - -"What's this? What are you doing?" asked the older woman cheerily as -she descried the face on the pillow. - -"Hating myself," returned Linda briefly. - -Mrs. Porter's pleasant laugh sounded. "There's nothing in that," she -returned, and she came and sat on the foot of the bed. - -"He's better, or you couldn't laugh," said Linda. - -"Yes, he is. That nice Whitcomb is a regular steam engine. He has a -tent with all the outdoor sleeping paraphernalia and they don't expect -to spend many nights indoors. Of course, it's just the right season for -the experiment." - -"Does Bertram--does he look very--very ill?" - -"Oh, rather frail, of course; but he looks very good to me with his -nice gray eyes so care-free." - -"He has the most lovely teeth I ever saw," said Linda with a gulp. - -"Yes; they're just as nice as ever." - -"I wish you were in a serious mood, Mrs. Porter." - -"How can I be when I'm so relieved and grateful?" - -"Can't you be a little sorry for me, who am absolutely miserable?" -Linda's words were interspersed with catches in the throat, but she was -determined to weep no more. - -"No one should be that. Cheer up, girlie. That nice Whitcomb--" - -Linda jerked her face around into the pillow. "Oh, don't go on calling -him 'that nice Whitcomb!' It seems as if I was born just to make -everybody miserable!" - -Mrs. Porter squeezed the ankle by which she was sitting. "Not -everybody. I'm sure Madge Lindsay will give you a vote of thanks if you -don't absorb Mr. Whitcomb." - -"Why? Has she come to life?" inquired Linda gloomily. - -"I should say she has. Everybody over there is galvanized with all this -excitement. Mrs. Lindsay says Luella nearly went out of her mind at -first with two men impending, and she told Mrs. Lindsay she couldn't -do so much cooking: that she'd have to get a 'chief' from Portland; -but I tell you, Mrs. Lindsay is a general. She promised Miss Benslow -to help her. She exiled Pa to his boathouse and hired Letty Martin to -wash dishes,--that's Blanche Aurora's sister,--and Luella, from being -desperate, is now on the top of the wave. That nice Whitcomb--excuse -me,"--the speaker gave the ankle a little shake,--"I mean that strong, -good-natured Freddy has kissed the blarney stone, probably. At any -rate, Luella is his bond slave already." - -"What relation are the Lindsays to him?" - -"Mrs. Lindsay told me. She and Fred's father are own cousins." - -"That's not too near," said Linda dismally. - -"No, but don't order any wedding presents yet, though I assure you -Madge looked very fetching this afternoon in a rose corduroy gown and -hat." - -"Oh, I shan't do anything pleasant yet," responded Linda. "Mrs. -Porter, I don't see how you can keep me in suspense. Didn't Bertram -speak of me at all?" - -"I--I don't think so." - -"Don't think so! Wouldn't you be certain if he had?" - -"I'm sure he didn't, then." - -"You know all you've said to me about our being punished for everything -wrong we do." - -"Yes." - -"How long--how long do you think my punishment will last?" asked Linda -naively. - -"What does it consist in? What do you mean?" - -"Bertram's not forgiving me. I have that awful feeling that Bertram -never will forgive me--never can like me again, when--when"--the -nervous excitement in the low voice increased--"he's the most important -person in the world to me: the one Father loved best and who has helped -him most. Think what I've done! Put myself beyond the pale of his -liking: his forgiveness." A dry sob shook the speaker. "And Fred hasn't -told him about the letters. He doesn't dream yet that we know the -truth; and Fred says I mustn't tell him: that he mustn't be excited." - -"Hush, Linda. Think, dear. You know enough truth to steer by now. 'Cast -thy burden on the Lord, and He will sustain thee.' All your part is to -think right and do right to-day. You don't want to escape punishment, -do you?" - -"Yes, I do. I've been punished enough, just in the last few hours. -I want Bertram to know I suffer and to forgive me, and to accept my -appreciation of all he has done." - -"Look out there, Linda,"--Mrs. Porter indicated the starry firmament -visible through the broad window, every golden point scintillating -in the crystal clear air. "The marvelous order and peace of that sky -will rest you and make you realize what it is to allow yourself to be -guided by the same Mind that planned those unthinkable depths yet which -notes the sparrow's fall. Turn to Him. Never mind Bertram King and -Linda Barry. Just know that God is Love, and that to-morrow you will be -guided to take steps in the right direction. 'Commit thy way unto Him -and He will bring it to pass.'" - -"Bring what to pass?" asked Linda eagerly. "What?" - -"Ah, there comes in the temptation to outline. We can't tell what; but -we must have faith that it will be the best thing, the happiest thing." - -"Yes, I know," dejectedly. "I preached it all to Fred." - -"That's it, dear. We don't really know these truths--they're not ours -until we've lived them." - -A few minutes longer Mrs. Porter sat on the foot of Linda's bed. The -crescent moon dropped into the west, and the waves lapped the rugged -shore in long, murmurous sweeps. - -They talked no more, and when Mrs. Porter said good-night and went to -her own room, had it not been so dark she would have observed that a -photograph of Bertram King had found a place on Linda's table. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -A GOOD NEIGHBOR - - -Miss Benslow was wont to refer to her weather-beaten house, woefully in -need of paint, as "the homestead." In her grandfather's time the place -had been a small farm, but Cy Benslow had sold all of it but a couple -of acres to Portland people who had put up cheap summer cottages. - -The house was set back some two hundred feet from the sea and a few -Balm-of-Gilead trees relieved the monotony of the wind-swept landscape. - -Madge Lindsay had found places for a couple of hammocks, which Fred -Whitcomb observed with satisfaction on his arrival with his charge. - -"You're perfectly welcome to them," Miss Lindsay assured him. "Did you -ever play the role of a head of cabbage for six weeks?" - -"Is it anything like a blockhead?" inquired Whitcomb. "I've played that -all my life." - -"Yes, they're ever so much the same," drawled Madge. Perhaps she had -affected a drawl to offset her devoted mother's snappy, nervous manner. -At any rate, it was second nature now. "You're not allowed to have an -idea when you're assigned the role of cabbage head; so it amounts to -the same thing as your limitation." - -"Thanks awfully," returned Whitcomb. "It's worth everything to discover -sympathy." He was establishing King in a steamer chair on the piazza -while they were talking: a precarious piazza it was, with a list to -leeward. - -Mrs. Lindsay looked on solicitously and held ready a steamer rug. -"These slanting boards used to make me seasick at first," she said, -"but after a while you don't mind anything here, the air is so divine -and there's so much of it." She extinguished King's evident shiver with -her rug. - -"Thank you, Mrs. Lindsay," he said. "Do you guarantee that in a short -time I shall act and feel less like a shaky old woman? Or, perhaps, -I'm more like a baby. Whitcomb's brought everything along but a -nursing-bottle, and his beefiness makes me feel like a rattling -skeleton." - -"Oh, just be a cabbage, Mr. King," advised Madge, "and you'll come out -all right. You know how much stress is laid on _thinking_ these days. -Don't think a shaky old woman, and don't think a baby, but think a -cabbage. It's the most restful thing in the world; and there's nothing -and nobody here to inspire a thought." - -"You have neighbors," said King, "according to Whitcomb. A cousin of -mine, Mrs. Porter, is staying here with Miss Barry. Mrs. Porter is the -sort to inspire even a cabbage." - -"Not when she's being one herself," returned Madge. "She's a music -teacher! Who can blame her? I know if I were one, I'd be a murderess -too.--Yes, they are over there, and so is Linda Barry. I hope neither -of you is attached to her, for I think she's the coldest, most -impossible girl I ever met." - -"Surely you know of her sorrow?" said Whitcomb, and his expression was -a reproach to the girl's drawling speech. - -"Oh, so you _are_ attached! Forgive me, won't you? All the same, if -I'm ever in mourning I'm determined not to freeze my sister-woman and -slink away from her into by-ways." - -"Madge, dear," warned Mrs. Lindsay. - -"Oh, Mother and Miss Barry have had some traffic over ferns; and Mrs. -Porter's offishness is different from Linda Barry's. She's a queen, -Mrs. Porter is. I'd take lessons of her just for the companionship, -only that she'd think _I_ thought I had a voice." - -"And so you have, a very nice one," chirped Mamma. - -"Her goose is such a swan," exclaimed Madge, with a lazy smile. "No one -should be without a mother." - -"Shoo, all of you," said Whitcomb, motioning with his hands. "I want -King to go to sleep." - -The convalescent's eyes closed as his head rested against the pillow of -his reclining chair. "There goes Whitcomb, again," he announced through -his nose. "Baby always goes to sleep in his carriage when he hits the -oxygen, you know." - -"No, no, Mr. King. Cabbage, cabbage," exclaimed Madge in reminder, as -she jumped off the rickety steps. - -Her acquaintance with Whitcomb had been very casual heretofore. There -had been a few hours in New York and a few hours in Chicago at various -times when cousinly amenities were exchanged; and now, as her youthful -vitality had reasserted itself, the role of vegetable was becoming a -frightful bore, and this invasion of the two young men restored an -interest in life. - -There was a level plain back of Miss Benslow's house and Madge had -discovered signs that previous boarders had essayed to play tennis -there. She led Whitcomb to it now. - -"Don't you think we might fix it up?" she asked. - -He looked dubiously at the tufts of grass. "And crack a few tendons -over these hummocks?" he suggested. "Do you play much?" - -Her dark eyes gave him a provocative glance. "I might surprise you," -she drawled. - -"Good enough. It will be better than nothing." - -"Which? A girl antagonist or the court?" - -"I'll tell you that later." - -"Then go and ask Luella for a scythe and a lawn mower. Let's begin -right off. I'm aching to play." - -"Don't believe I can this afternoon," returned Whitcomb, rather -consciously. "I ought to go over to Miss Barry's and call the first -thing." - -"Oh, yes. I forgot the attachment." Madge's dark, tanned face lighted -brilliantly with a gleam of white teeth. She feigned a shiver. "Be -careful that she doesn't freeze you. To call on Linda Barry seems an -intrepid act to me." - -"You didn't grow up with her." - -"I suppose she's really charming when one knows her," said Madge, as -they turned away from the potential court and strolled toward the -house. Whitcomb's manner as he replied had suggested danger. "She's -certainly lovely to look upon." - -"You haven't seen her yet in a normal condition," he replied, somewhat -mollified. "People can't get over shocks like hers in a minute. This -must have been a great place for her, though." - -Whitcomb's eyes swept the vastness of sea and sky. - -"If you don't find her much improved, tell her of the cabbage stunt," -said Madge. Then she pointed out to her companion the low, broad, -shingled cottage, clinging to the rocky shore, and turned away toward -the house. - -"To-morrow morning for the tennis court," said Whitcomb gayly as he -left her. - -"How tiresome," she thought. "That Barry iceberg will never like me, -and now Fred will want to drag her into everything. If only Mr. King -had his sea legs." - -She looked disapprovingly toward the piazza, where the convalescent's -clear-cut face showed, sleeping against the blue chintz pillow. - -"Where has Fred gone, dear?" asked her mother's voice at her elbow. The -sharp eyes had witnessed her child's desertion. - -"Gone over to call on Linda Barry. I think that's all he came here for." - -"H'm. Shows Fred's not mercenary. Still, you know, things aren't going -to turn out so badly as people expected. I had a talk with Fred this -morning and he's quite optimistic. It seems that that Mr. King is the -hero of the whole affair. I'll tell you about it sometime. Hasn't he -an aristocratic face!" added Mrs. Lindsay, with an approving snap of -her eyes toward the steamer chair. - -"I wanted to fix the tennis court. I wish that human Thermos bottle was -in Kamchatka." - -Mrs. Lindsay laughed. "They retain heat as well as cold, remember. -Perhaps Fred knows what is inside that one better than you do." - -Madge yawned and put an arm around her mother as they walked toward the -house. They were excellent friends. - -The following morning, when Whitcomb had finished ministering to the -convalescent's needs, and had placed him comfortably in the hammock, he -was ready for the tennis court proposition. - -It proved that Luella's lawn mower was an antique whose working days -were over; and she indicated to the young people a house where one -could be borrowed. It was not Miss Barry's cottage! - -When they had traversed some distance across the field on the errand, a -demurely stepping figure approached them. It was a very young girl in -a blue frock, bareheaded, and carrying with great solicitude a bowl -covered with a napkin. - -As she approached, Whitcomb recognized her, and it was with some relief -that she recognized him, bareheaded, and in khaki trousers and sweater, -with a general appearance of being long for this world. He was laughing -and talking with Luella's boarder in a reassuring manner, and when his -eyes fell upon her, he spoke. "Why, good-morning, Blanche Aurora." - -"Good mornin', Mr. Whitcomb," she responded loudly in her best manner -and with a sharp glance at the dark young lady in the rose gown. - -"Whither away, Blanche Aurora?" - -"I'm carryin' jell to the king," she announced. - -"What's this?" Fred's eyes lighted curiously on the snowy napkin. -"Something nice for King, eh? Bertram the first?" - -"Lemon jell," announced Blanche Aurora, with a proud accession of lung -power, and an evident desire not to be delayed. - -"Well, Mr. King's over there in a hammock," said Whitcomb, looking -doubtful. "I don't believe I need to go back." - -"Go back? Of course not!" cried Madge.--"Ask for Mrs. Lindsay when you -get to Miss Benslow's and she'll see to it. Come on, Fred." - -Blanche Aurora gave the young lady one look, as cold and impersonal as -china-blue optics are capable of bestowing, and moved on her way. Call -for Mrs. Lindsay! Not likely, now that she knew the king was easy prey -in a hammock. - -"But poor King," protested Whitcomb, as he followed Madge's determined -march. "Is it fair? No cotton for his ears." - -"Oh, she probably won't see him at all. The young one will give the -jelly to Mother and she'll attend to it." - -Little Madge Lindsay knew of the swelling heart beneath the blue -gingham frock. Blanche Aurora's confused and excited meditations had -conferred royalty upon the mysterious stranger, and should she find him -informally wearing a crown in his hammock, it would not astonish her in -the least. - -Arriving at the Benslow house, she cast glances askance toward piazza -and windows, fearing that some one might inquire her business; but it -was ten-thirty in the morning, a busy time for housekeepers, and she -proceeded unmolested toward the Balm-of-Gilead trees. - -One hammock hung empty, its fringes stirring but lightly in the -protected nook to which the trees owed their life. - -The visitor caught sight of fair hair on the pillow of the second -swinging couch, and continuing from the head a long black chrysalis. - -She approached eagerly. King, glancing around at a sound, suddenly saw -beside him a blue-clothed figure with long, white, pipe-stem legs, and -white sneakers. The newcomer's red braided hair glinting in the sun was -surmounted by a voluminous blue bow. - -As he turned his head, the better to see his visitor, she burst forth -in one breath: "I'm Miss Belinda Barry's help, Blanche Aurora Martin, -Blanche Aurora for short, and I've brought you a snack, O King." - -The invalid turned, chrysalis and all, the better to view the bowl -being extended to him. - -"Why--why"--he said, exhibiting broadly the teeth Linda had -commended,--"somebody is being very kind to me." - -"It's Miss Barry; but I made the jell and she sent it with her -compliments. Snacks is good for folks that's sick and delicate." - -As she spoke, the visitor was devouring the royal features with -intent to verify her suspicion concerning the new photograph, and to -understand the great man's influence on Miss Linda. - -"What did you say was your name?" - -"Blanche Aurora." - -"Well, you're a very kind little girl. Do you say that jelly is for me?" - -"Yes, and you'd better eat it right off, O King, 'cause the middle o' -the mornin' is the time for snacks. I've got a spoon in here,"--she -took off the napkin and revealed it. "If you eat it now, you see, I can -take the bowl back; 'cause if it once gits in with Luella's things, no -tellin' when we'd ever see it again." - -King's gray eyes twinkled. "Blanche Aurora, you're a joy," he declared -mildly, "and never in my life have I seen anything look so good as that -jelly." - -"It is good, O King," admitted the visitor, stentorianly modest. "It's -got orange juice in it, too." - -"Then, get that chair over there under the tree, and bring it here -where you'll be more sociable; and would you mind getting the pillow -out of the other hammock so I can be royally propped up. If I'm a king, -nothing's too good for me, eh?" - -"Of course, nothin's too good for you," declared Blanche Aurora -solemnly, as she carried out his directions. - -"I'm afraid somebody has been--well--stringing you, to put it -informally, concerning myself," remarked the invalid when his visitor -had propped his shoulders to her liking. "If my head should lie any -uneasier if it wore a crown, the game wouldn't be worth the candle. -Could you pull that pillow a little higher--there, that's fine. Now, -then, for the jelly." - -The visitor took it from the chair, and handing it to him, seated -herself, with her demurest company manner. - -"One thing more, you good child. Can you tuck the end of that rug under -my feet?" - -"Is your feet cold?" asked Blanche Aurora sharply as she jumped up and -complied. "Do you wish you had a hot-water bag?" - -"I dare say Whitcomb brought one." - -"But the hens can lend you all you want," declared Blanche Aurora -earnestly. "They don't need 'em this weather." - -"The hens? What sort of a place have I got into?" - -So the visitor explained Luella's invention, and King laughed till he -was weak, while the little girl eyed him solemnly. - -"Do stop," he begged. "Spare me this last humiliation of being in the -old hen's class. Now, Blanche Aurora, here goes." And he began an -appreciative attack on the jelly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -WHITCOMB'S CONFESSION - - -Blanche Aurora never removed her eyes from her beneficiary. - -"The best jelly ever," he remarked between two mouthfuls. - -"You don't talk a bit like a king," she declared judicially. - -"Have you known many?" - -"Only in stories." - -"Somebody evidently has told you a fairy story about me,"--the speaker -continued to eat industriously. "Who tried to induce you to believe -that I was anything but an American rack of bones?" - -"I knew you was a great man, and they said King." - -"A great man, eh? How's that?" - -"And I believed nobody but a king could make Miss Linda cry." - -The gray eyes lifted for a look at the visitor before the eating -recommenced. - -"Not guilty," said King. - -"She cried somethin' terrible 'cause you was sick." - -The memory seemed to make the small piquant nose tingle, for Blanche -Aurora wiggled it and snapped the china-blue eyes. - -"She cries a good deal, I suppose." - -"She never cries," declared the small maid indignantly. "Why should -anybody that can have anythin' in the world and do anythin' in the -world _cry_? I didn't know Miss Linda could cry; but her beau came -over--" - -The gray eyes lifted again, for a moment, but the convalescent's -appetite appeared to be still ravenous. - -"--And she was walkin' with him, and she come into the house and told -Miss Barry you was sick, and--" Again Blanche Aurora's nose and lips -wiggled in grievous reminiscence. - -"Do you mean Mr. Frederick Whitcomb?" - -"That's him. He told me he was her beau, but I guess he ain't no -longer. I don't believe"--a shrewd look coming into the blue gazing -eyes--"I don't believe she'd cry like that about _him_, 'cause she -never does cry." The addition was made with a return of indignation. -"She's the beautifulest, kindest lady in the whole world." - -"H'm," mumbled King, over an extra large spoonful. - -"She give me this dress"--the speaker grasped a fold of the azure -gingham--"and a pink one, too, and ribbons. She used to wear the -dresses herself, 'fore her pa died. When she come here first I looked -like a scarecrow." - -"My compliments, Blanche Aurora." King bowed toward his companion whose -small white teeth gleamed in a face thrilled into vivacity. "You do -Miss Linda credit." - -"So I wondered what you was like, O King--I mean Mr. King. I guess -you're just plain Mister, ain't you?" - -"There never was a plainer." - -"And so, when I seen this new likeness on Miss Linda's table, standin' -by her pa's, I wondered if perhaps 'twas you, and it is!" finished -Blanche Aurora with all the triumph of a Sherlock Holmes. "I put a wild -rose front of her pa every day, and says I to her this mornin', 'Shall -I git a rose for the new picture, too?'--but she looked awful sad and -she shook her head and says, 'I'm afraid not, Blanche Aurora. We need -pansies for that'; and we ain't got a pansy on the place. I'm awful -sorry." - -"Do you know, I don't believe I can quite finish this delicious jelly? -I feel now as if my sweater wouldn't give any more." - -"Well, you've et quite a lot," observed the visitor, looking into the -bowl. - -"I certainly have; and will you thank Miss Barry for me, and tell her -that I feel in these noticeable bones that I'm going to be up and -around before very long?" - -"I'll tell her; and, oh, yes! Be you able to see folks?" - -King's eyes twinkled. "Well, I seem to have seen you without any -danger." - -"Yes, but they didn't expect I was goin' to see you." There was a -triumphant gleam in the speaker's eyes. "They told me to leave the -jell." - -"You think for yourself, don't you, Blanche Aurora?" laughed King, -settling down comfortably into his pillow. - -"I was bound I was goin' to see who it was could make Miss Linda sob, -and _sob_, and besides, I wanted to see if the likeness was you that -wasn't ever on her table before." - -Long after the visitor's departure King lay, a deep line between his -brows, his perplexed thoughts accompanied by the constant sound as of -rain in the rustling Balm-of-Gilead leaves above him. Linda in wild -tears; Linda placing a photograph of himself beside that of her father -and all following Fred Whitcomb's visit; there was something here to be -inquired into. - -It was nearly noon when the laborers on the tennis court returned. King -could hear their laughter as they approached the house; and shortly -Whitcomb appeared beside the hammock, exasperatingly robust and gay, -and wiping his moist brow. - -"How goes it?" he asked, grasping the rope and swinging the couch. - -"Stop that, or I'll murder you," growled King. - -"Sure thing. I forgot," said Whitcomb as he tightened his hold and -brought the chrysalis to a standstill. "Madge Lindsay's a scream," he -continued. "She's more fun than a barrel of monkeys. She knows every -word of the Winter Garden and Follies songs for the last two years. -I'll get her started so you can hear her one of these times." - -"Good Lord, deliver us!" uttered King devoutly. - -"Got a grouch, old man?" asked Whitcomb with a solicitous change of -tone. "Did Blanche A-roarer, the human siren, blow her whistle too near -you? We met her and she said she was bringing you jell." - -"She did, and it's safely stowed away under my sweater. What are you -going to do next?" - -"Why, we thought we'd go into the water. We both took a Turkish bath -out there on that Transgressor's Boulevard that we're trying to turn -into a tennis court. It's high tide, and Madge says there's a beach -down here where we can get a ducking when the water's high. That's the -trouble with this place. It's so jagged and deep, only a submarine -could go bathing here at low tide. Why?" added Whitcomb. "Did you want -me for anything?" - -"No. What should I want you for? Get out." - -"All right. You'll be coming with us in a little while. So long. We're -watching the time and we'll be on hand for dinner. Mackerel, the fair -Luella told me. I can hardly wait." - -King gazed after his friend as the latter ran across the grass and -disappeared within their tent. He closed his eyes, and opening them in -a few minutes at a sound, found beside him a figure in a long black -cloak, with a dark face beneath a red bathing-cap. Miss Lindsay was -smiling down at him. - -"We're going for a dip, Mr. King. I wish you could come." - -"Pardon my not rising," said the invalid. - -"It's such fun to have somebody to play with. I'm so glad you brought -Fred here. I was getting so bored." - -"That's a consoling way of putting it," remarked King. "It's a proud -moment when I am spoken of as taking anybody anywhere." - -"Oh, you'll be out of that hammock in a week. Do you like the banjo, -Mr. King?" - -"I hate it," he replied distinctly; then seeing the dark face fall, -"but not more than I do everything." - -"So discouraging," drawled Madge. "I was going to promise to give you -some perfectly jolly darky tunes to-night." - -"Good Lord, deliver us!" again rose to King's lips, but he swallowed -the phrase. "Don't mind about me," he said. "Just give me a few -board nails to bite, and let it go at that. I'm not worse than other -convalescents, I dare say." - -"Lemon jelly wasn't the thing to feed him," said Madge to Whitcomb, as -a few minutes later they were scrambling down the bank toward a short -stretch of pebbly beach. "He should be fed saccharine and nothing else. -You never do know what to do with such people. You don't like not to -be civil. You have a wonderful disposition, Fred. Yes, you have. I've -always noticed it." - -"I fancy I am something of an optimist," admitted Whitcomb, "but I need -to be, as badly as anybody that ever lived. Now I'm trying to think -that that sunny water will feel the way it looks." - -"Come on, then," cried Madge, flinging aside her cloak, and seizing his -hand she drew him, protesting and howling, into the icy flood. The wind -was offshore, and Madge, thoroughly acclimated, had been anticipating -mischievously the effect upon the tenderfoot. - -He was game, however, and Lake Michigan had made him practically -amphibious, so they had an exhilarating swim before coming out on the -white pebbles for a sun bath. - -"I'm afraid it will be a long time before King can stand that," -remarked Whitcomb. - -"What did you mean," asked Madge, "by saying a few minutes ago that you -need a happy disposition more than other people? Is it because Mr. King -is so difficult?" - -"No," replied Whitcomb, gathering up a few pebbles and beginning to -play jackstones. He avoided his companion's very good-looking but -enterprising eyes. - -"Well, aren't you going to tell me?" - -"I don't know why I shouldn't. You're my cousin. I adore a girl who -doesn't care a hang for me." - -"The Thermos bottle," thought Madge acutely. "But you won't tell me -who?" she hazarded aloud. - -"Why should I?" - -"You don't have to; but just remember this, Freddy Whitcomb. Look at -this great ocean. It's like the great world. That saying, 'there's just -as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it,' is true; and"--Madge -captured Whitcomb's reluctant gaze with as bright eyes as ever sparkled -under a red cap--"some people are only fish with gold scales," she -drawled. - -"She isn't," blurted out the young man defensively. - -"Of course not," laughed Madge. "Want to go in once more?" - -Whitcomb sprang to his feet. "Once more, and then what ho! for the -mackerel!" - -As he helped Madge up the bank a little later he said: "I must stay -with King this afternoon." - -"And call at the Barrys'," thought his companion. - -"I'm afraid he got sort of down this morning, all alone." - -"Well, we'll have another go at the court to-morrow," replied Madge -good-naturedly. "Freddy needn't have worried," she thought. She was far -too clever to satiate a man with her society. - -King came to the dinner table and did full justice to the meal. "I'm -quite sure," he said to Mrs. Lindsay, "that those hammocks were -dedicated to the naps of yourself and your daughter, and I want to -assure you that I've had my share of them for to-day." - -The ladies protested kindly. - -"I've had my eye on a big rock there is over there nearer the water," -said King. "I'm going to try my rickety legs that far." - -A chorus of approval of the plan arose, and after a short time of -sitting about the discouraged piazza, he and Whitcomb rambled slowly -off. - -To King's disgust, his friend as they left had picked up a steamer rug. - -"Oh, cut it out," begged the convalescent. - -"Shut up!" returned the other cheerfully. - -Arrived at their goal, he threw down the rug and King was glad to sit -on it under the lee of the big rock. - -"What did you do yesterday, Freddy?" asked King, going directly to the -subject uppermost in his mind. - -"I called on Linda and Mrs. Porter. Mrs. Porter told you, didn't she?" - -"Yes. She came over, exuding gratitude to you at every pore, and -adorably sympathetic and charming to me." - -"Well, that's all right, isn't it?" returned Whitcomb, a little -uncomfortable under his friend's gaze, which seemed more portentous -than was necessary. "Women always overdo the gratitude business. Just -like her to praise me for engineering an extra long vacation for -myself." - -"Freddy, you haven't told me everything," said King sternly. "Now, spit -it right out in Papa's hand." - -"What are you talking about?" asked the other uneasily. - -"I don't know, but I'm going to find out. When Linda left Chicago I was -the blackest sheep on her black list. What did you tell her to change -her attitude? It wasn't that I had been ill, for she would have buried -me cheerfully. Now, out with it!" - -"Is this the third degree?" Whitcomb was gathering the daisies within -reach. - -"Yes. It wasn't any opinion you had of me contrary to hers. She thinks -for herself; so give me the real stuff." - -"Why do you believe she has changed?" Whitcomb returned the other's -gaze now doggedly. - -"Because, after you left, she wept;--according to impartial testimony, -loud and long. Also she dug up my photograph and placed it on a table -beside her father's. This information was fed to me with the jelly." - -"Blanche Aurora!" exclaimed Whitcomb, scowling. - -"Exactly. Now, then!" - -"Well," said Whitcomb, "it seems the time to tell you. While you were -in the hospital your jabbering aroused my suspicions. I wasn't Henry -Radcliffe and I hadn't been forbidden; so I went through some of your -papers. When I had found the Antlers correspondence I didn't need to go -any farther." - -King's thoughtful frown deepened and his face grew slowly and darkly -red. - -Whitcomb maintained his steady regard. "At that time I didn't know -whether you were going to live or not, but I did know that justice was -going to be done you." - -Recollection of Whitcomb's devotion swept over the other man like a -tide, submerging the first sensation of outraged privacy: of having -been outwitted. - -"You meant well," he said in a low tone. - -"Yes, and I did well," said Whitcomb slowly. "I didn't tell Radcliffe -till the night before we left Chicago. Harriet was in Wisconsin. I -don't know her so well as Linda; but Linda is as fair-minded as another -fellow. There was only one thing to do in her case." - -There was a short silence, then Whitcomb continued:-- - -"I'll tell you frankly that if I had had any idea of the depth of her -feeling in the matter, I should have hesitated. This laying down your -life for a friend isn't in my line. It's beyond me. You know how I've -banked on seeing her. Well, she can't see me. I used to be awfully -afraid of you and it passed. Now I'm afraid of you again." - -King saw his friend's increasing difficulty of speech, and he put a -hand on the big brown arm. - -"No cause, Freddy. Absolutely no cause," he said. - -There was silence for a time, then King sank back from the erect -posture he had maintained. - -"It can't be helped," he said, speaking low. "It can't be helped." - -"No," said Whitcomb roughly, "and it ought not to be helped. There was -no sense in your quixotism." - -"Would you, do you believe," asked King slowly,--"would _you_ do as -much for Linda?" - -The other looked up at him sharply. - -"Did you do it for Linda?" - -"Yes; every act of my life I believed was for Linda," returned King -quietly. - -"Then"--began Whitcomb excitedly. - -"Yes; _then_," interrupted King, still quietly. "Then; not now. It's -over. It's finished." - -Whitcomb frowned off toward the illimitable sea; and Madge's attempt -at consolation came back to him. He repudiated it. Linda Barry was -peerless. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE MAN AND THE MAID - - -King's improvement was slow, but steady, and the stretch of good -weather upon which he happened on arriving at the Cape enabled him to -live out-of-doors and was a great factor in his favor. - -Miss Barry called on him very early in his stay, bringing with her an -appetizing little custard. It was a form of food which King had always -detested, but feigning polite enthusiasm he tasted it to please her, -and promptly discovered that the gastronomic question was no longer, -"What is it?" but merely, "Where is it?" He finished the custard. - -Mrs. Porter was a daily visitor, and one afternoon, when they had -walked over to the big rock and were resting there, she told him of her -own Arcadian retreat beside the spring. - -"In such a little while you will be able to walk as far as that," she -said. "You will enjoy seeing Miss Barry's cottage, too. Did you know -it was her brother's gift?" - -King nodded. "She was telling me about it the other day." - -The sun had already begun to paint hues of health on his face and his -voice was gaining resonance. "I try to visualize Mr. Barry here in his -role of 'barefoot boy with cheek of tan,' but it's a hard proposition." - -"So it is for Linda. She follows up old Jerry or any one else she can -find who went to school with her father, and gleans every possible -anecdote of his boyhood." - -King leaned his head back on the rock and gazed up into space. "Isn't -it wonderful here?" he said. "I've thought many times since I arrived -of the old woman who, when she first beheld the ocean, exclaimed, -'Thank the Lord, that at last He's let me see enough of something!'" - -"Yes, it's emancipation. Linda and I have often remarked that it would -seem impossible to have narrow thoughts here. She doesn't wish to -intrude, Bertram, but she would like to come to see you." - -King met the sweet, questioning expression of his companion's eyes. "I -see plainly," he answered with a smile, "that you and I must have it -out about Linda. Your persistent references to her each time you come -show that she is very much on your mind." - -"She is very much on my mind," returned Mrs. Porter gravely. "I wish -you would send a kindly message to her by me, and say that you would be -glad to see her." - -"But I wouldn't, Maud," returned King mildly. "What would you do in -that case? Of course, you know the whole situation, and know that -Whitcomb with his grand little revelation bouleversed all Linda's fixed -ideas." - -"Oh, she is so changed, Bertram," exclaimed Mrs. Porter. "She's not the -Linda you knew." - -"Perhaps; but it's safe to say that she's still--still tremendous. I'm -more or less shaky yet; and I must confess that the prospect of an -interview with Linda in a cyclone of repentance makes me--well, shrink. -It croozles me, if you know what that means. Sort of takes me in the -pit of the stomach." - -"You're all wrong. She has been through the fire, and she has learned -self-control." Mrs. Porter paused to choose her words. "She longs, -Bertram--longs for your forgiveness. - -"I've nothing to forgive her," he returned pleasantly. "She had plenty -of company in the mistake she made." - -Something in Mrs. Porter's loving look and wistful eyes caused the -speaker to change his tone. - -"I won't fence with you, Maud. I told you once I loved Linda. I did, -with a depth which seemed to exhaust my power of loving. It's true -that one doesn't feel a pin-prick when at the same moment he is struck -a mortal blow. The fatal fact was not that Linda blamed me for the -sorrow that had fallen upon her. It was that there was no desire on -her part to give me a chance: to hear my side of the story: none of -the extenuation which one ray of love would have naturally expressed. -Instead, there was hatred in her eyes. That was the only thing that -mattered." - -King leaned back against the rock, breathing fast. "I tell you this, -Maud. You're the only person in the world who will know it, and -we won't speak of it again. I know Linda so well. I know how this -revulsion of feeling would express itself with her. She would like -to come over here and wait on me by inches. My wish would be her law; -but that would matter no more than her mistake about the Antlers. The -essential fact has been revealed, and--nothing else matters." - -"Is your present feeling for her dislike, then?" asked Mrs. Porter. - -"Certainly not." - -"It would be no pain to you to meet her?" - -"It would be a bore," returned King gently. "Isn't that enough? Of -course, it will have to come some day; but I've been a good deal -indulged lately, and I believe in putting off an evil day. I should -like Linda to have worked off some of her repentant steam before we -meet." - -King, his self-possession regained, smiled again into his companion's -face. "Whitcomb is devoted to her. Let her work it off on him," he -added. - -"She will never marry him," said Mrs. Porter. - -"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," was the polite response. - -Mrs. Porter leaned toward her companion with her broad, charming smile. - -"Bertram King, that's a lie," she remarked slowly. - -He winked and lifted his eyebrows. - -"There's a lot for you to learn about love," she went on. "To love -unselfishly is the best thing that can happen to anybody." - -"There's no such thing as unselfish love," declared King. - -"Oh, yes there is, and you proved that you experienced it. You put -Linda's happiness above your own. You willingly endured injustice to -mitigate her pain. Don't you know that your nature was enriched by -that? Don't you know that your action, now that she understands it, -reflects upon her, and uplifts her nature and her ideals? We can't -crystallize, because we're the children of God; and God is Infinite -Love, and Love is a divine principle which is ever active. You -assume too much when you hold Linda to the narrow development of her -school-girl days. You can remain behind your human defenses and refuse -to forgive her if you choose--" - -"I told you, and honestly, that I have nothing to forgive." - -Mrs. Porter shook her head. "God doesn't treat us so when we turn -to Him repentantly. He doesn't say there is nothing to forgive and -leave us with the sharp thorn unremoved. That sweet sense that God is -Love is borne in upon us after a genuine repentance, and gives the -consciousness that we shall be upheld if we long to be, and guarded -from a repetition of the offense." - -"My dear Maud, you're way beyond my depth." - -"No, Bertram, I am not. You reflected something of the divine in that -tender protecting love you felt for Linda. I don't despair of you. In -spite of all the things you have been saying to fortify your human -self, I know, for actions speak louder than words, that a very lofty -affection once found place in your heart, and that pure flame cannot -die because it was a reflection of that which is immortal and eternal. -Never mind Linda. God will take care of her, too. Your business is with -your own thought, to keep it in a high place, trusting to be led to -that happiness which God has prepared for them that love Him, without -outlining what that happiness shall consist in." - -King drew a long breath and smiled, looking long and affectionately at -his companion. - -"Isn't she the great little preacher!" he remarked. - -"Oh, it's all so simple!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter softly, clasping her -hands together. "Why can't everybody see it!" - -When she went home to-day, she told Linda nothing of this interview. -The girl had ceased to cross-question her friend on her return from -these visits; for she never received any satisfaction, and the -invitation she longed for never came. - -Blanche Aurora was very much alive to the fact that her adored one was -the only member of the family who had not called on the convalescent. -She was not entirely satisfied to have it so. King's photograph had -been framed, and Blanche Aurora in the growing scarcity of wild roses -made little bouquets of clover and daisies and placed them between the -two pictures, and she noticed that Linda allowed the sharing. - -Whitcomb came to call sometimes, but between his attentions to King -and the carrying out of Madge's various plans, his time was pretty well -occupied. - -Late one afternoon Blanche Aurora found Linda in the hammock and alone. -She seized her opportunity. - -"Say, Miss Linda," she began, "we've got a real good Bavarian cream for -Mr. King's supper. 'Tain't convenient for me to take it over. I wonder -if you could." - -Linda sat up, and regarded the white-aproned short figure. The pink bow -atop quivered with the depth of its owner's imaginings and deep-laid -schemes. The keen eyes observed that Linda flushed and hesitated. - -"Mrs. Porter is still in Portland?" she asked. - -"Why, yes, and didn't you know Miss Barry went too? I've got to get -their supper, you see; and the cream come out awful good." - -Linda rose. "Yes, I'll go," she said quietly; but there was no quiet -within. - -All the way across the field, her heart hurried. She had never called -at the Benslow house. To go for the first time to see King, without his -request, and risk his betraying, perhaps, before the others, that she -was unwelcome, was an ordeal which she dreaded, but the desire to see -him rose above the confusion of her crowding thoughts, and though her -hands trembled on the covered bowl she pushed on. - -The lovely late afternoon light struck across the field. Bertram King, -wandering down from the piazza, noted the golden sheen upon the grass -and the majestic cloud-effects in the vast arch above. His near-sighted -eyes beheld a white figure advancing in the golden light. - -He hastened his steps in welcome. - -"Good for you," he cried. "I was getting very tired of myself. There's -been an exodus from here to Portland to-day. I know I'm a big boy now, -since Whitcomb was willing to leave me. Even Miss Benslow is out and -I'm holding the fort." - -All the time that his words were calling through the still air, he -was walking toward the visitor. Linda's face from doubt grew radiant. -The relieved, happy color rose in her cheeks. Her lovely eyes beamed. -In her white gown and with her shining, grateful joy, she was very -beautiful as her light springing step brought her near and into -King's field of vision. His breath caught in the shock and he stood -stock-still. - -"I'm glad to see you, too, Bertram," she cried. Her eyes were starry, -her smile enchanting. - -"Why, Linda! I beg your pardon. I thought you were Maud," he exclaimed. - -The change in his tone, his blank surprise and ebbing eagerness, set -Linda's heart to beating wildly. The stricture in her bosom drew back -the radiant promise from her face. - -King saw the transformation with a pang. "Forgive my shouting at you -like that," he went on, struggling for his self-possession. It was -as if Linda's soul had been revealed to him for an instant, joyous, -hopeful, humble: the new Linda of whom Maud had spoken. - -"You have something for me, I'll wager," he continued. He could see -the white napkin trembling in the suddenly unsteady hands. "Let me -take it," suiting the action to the word. "I've grown arrogantly used -to bowls coming across this field filled with something delicious, -designed to upholster these bones." - -Linda had made good use of the time he gave her. Her throat was free -again. She could speak. "You look better than I expected," she said -quietly. - -"And you, too, Linda. You do credit to the place." King was trying to -regain some of the plans he had formulated for their first interview; -but they had been designed to baffle effusiveness, and this girl in the -white gown seemed to radiate calm. - -"Yes," she returned. "I have Blanche Aurora's word for it that the -Bavarian cream in that bowl is good. There has been an exodus to -Portland from our house, too, so she asked me to bring it over." - -"Awfully good of you," said King, hot with mingled sensations. "There -never was any one so spoiled as I." - -"I must run back now," said Linda. "I can see that you will soon have -the freedom of the neighborhood, and we shall be looking for you at -Aunt Belinda's." - -"Oh, don't desert me," begged King. It was as if he had obtained the -promise of a wonderful gift: the lavish outpouring of a rich nature. -A veil had fallen, concealing it: a veil, pure, white, impenetrable. -Linda's eyes and voice were friendly, self-possessed. - -"Blanche Aurora says snacks are good for you when you're sick and -delicate," he went on; "but never have I been reduced to eating a snack -alone. It's tea-time, too. Couldn't you make me some tea?" - -Linda's dimple appeared. "I'm afraid the duty of a host presses upon -you. I'd better not. I've never called at the Benslows'. Besides, you -say there's not a chaperone on the place." - -"There are the hens," said King eagerly. "Won't they do? You never saw -so many in your life. Come. We'll have tea on the piazza. Whitcomb has -rigged up an old sail across one end so Boreas shan't strike my frail -form too roughly." - -He turned back toward the house, beseeching her with his eyes, and -Linda followed in silence. "I'm getting to know this bowl," continued -King, lifting it and investigating its blue stripes. "It's a magic -one, never empty excepting when I get through with it. We'll have two -spoons. I'm not stingy." - -As they ascended the rickety piazza steps, King continued: "The -tea-table is in there in the living-room. I'll get--" he staggered, -and stopped. Whitcomb had been right when he said that his friend -couldn't yet bear excitement. - -Linda, looking up, saw him grow ghastly pale. - -"Oh, confound it!" he gasped. - -The blue-and-white bowl fell from his hands down among Luella's -sweet-pea vines. He managed to take a step toward the steamer chair, -collapsed into it, and fainted away ignominiously. - -Linda threw herself on her knees beside him. "Bertram, Bertram!" she -cried in grief and terror. It was for her father and for her that the -strong man had come to this. She slipped her arm around him. In her -inexperience she thought he might be dying. - -"Oh, Bertram, speak to me!" she cried. There was a pitcher of water on -the neighboring table. She dipped her handkerchief into it and dabbed -his brow and his fair hair, and softly between dry sobs she called his -name. They were alone in the remote, tumbledown house. Even the ocean's -mighty grasp of its rocks sounded distant. There was no one to call -upon save the invisible Reality, and Linda turned her full heart to -the very present help. - -In a minute, which seemed to her an hour, consciousness began to return -to King. Her arm was around him; she had drawn his cheek against her -bosom. As he slowly realized his position and heard her low voice, he -seemed again to see Linda as she had come toward him in her white gown -across the green gold of the field. Every paining haunting memory was -submerged in a strange, ineffable bliss. - -Without opening his eyes he spoke her name. - -"Yes, Bertram, yes," she responded joyfully. - -"I love you, Linda." - -Her heart bounded, and he felt it; and she did not change her position. - -"I shall always love you. Whitcomb has stirred your gratitude toward -me. I don't care for it." - -"Yes, I know," answered the girl, still holding him close. - -"You wouldn't palm that off on me, would you?" - -"I want to be fair"--the response was low. King's hands lay loosely -before him. "All that I am sure of is that I belong to you, Bertram." - -"Are you certain that's all? It's a good deal, but it's not enough." - -Linda's bosom labored. She remembered the longings of the last weeks, -the many moments of despair. - -"Father loved you so," she uttered. - -"That's not enough, either." - -She drew herself gently away from him, but remained on her knees. He -sat up in the low chair, and their faces were on a level. Into hers -returned that look of riches unutterable and her eyes poured their gift -into his. She clasped her hands across her breast as she gazed. - -The arms that had held him so close and protectingly felt empty. - -"I love you, Bertram," she said, the words falling from her lips like a -vow. - -Instantly the man's loose-lying hands became vital. King clasped her to -him. Their cheeks clung together and they kissed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -A DIPLOMATIST - - -Luella Benslow had enjoyed her round of afternoon calls. She had -paraded the importance of the guests she was "accommodating" and had -swelled with satisfaction in the interest she had elicited. - -In this complacent state of mind she was passing near Belinda Barry's -cottage on the way home when she observed a strange object on the roof -of the shed. The thing, whatever it was, moved, seeming to grow and -shrink again before her eyes. Luella owned some spectacles, but they -were worn only in private and reposed in these days in the kitchen -drawer, from which they occasionally emerged stealthily when some -exigency arose like the reading of a label on a spice box. - -It was out of her way to go nearer to the cottage, but that mysterious -manifestation on the roof of the shed was too great a temptation for -flesh and blood to resist. - -She changed her route and approached. In a minute the object, -recognizing her, rose to its full height and faced her cautious advance. - -"For the land's sake!" exclaimed Miss Benslow in a minute more. She -stood still. - -"Blanche Aurora Martin, what under the canopy are you doin' up there? -Don't you know you'll defame them shingles?" - -Blanche Aurora looked down on the newcomer, who was dressed in her -very best. About her neck hung chains enough to excite the envy of the -aborigines. On her head she wore a hat with an ostrich feather which -stood up bravely, although its appearance suggested that a sea-bath had -been one of its many trying experiences. - -"I'll bet Belinda ain't to home," went on Miss Benslow accusingly, and -the culprit stood at ease, her arms akimbo. - -"I should think you was old enough by this time not to go caperin' -around on roofs. What you up there for?" - -"Lookin' for my gum," replied Blanche Aurora. - -"You needed a spyglass for that, did you?" - -Indeed, the accused was balancing a long slender glass on one hip. - -"You know the store Miss Barry sets by that glass, and I'll bet she -wouldn't let you touch it. Your folks must be all out, the way you're -actin'. The idea o' stickin' your gum up on that roof. Get it and come -down this minute. It's dretful bad for them shingles." - -"Oh, I don't care 'bout my gum anyway. I don't chaw no more 'cause Miss -Linda don't like to have me." - -With surprising ease and carelessness the speaker dropped to a sitting -posture, slid down the low shed roof and landed upright at Miss -Benslow's feet. - -The visitor started back. "My heart!" she exclaimed, clapping to her -breast the hand not burdened with a blue parasol. "A wonder you didn't -drop that glass, you naughty girl." - -"Oh, dry up!" remarked Blanche Aurora nonchalantly. - -"How dare you address me so! Don't you know your sister is in my -employ?" - -"What's that got to do with the high price o' putty?" inquired the -other in a swaggering manner. - -"Well!" ejaculated Miss Benslow wrathfully. "Your wonderful Miss -Linda don't seem to have improved your manners as much as she has your -attire. I hope Letty Martin knows there's nobody at my house that's -goin' to rig _her_ up in pink ribbons. We ain't such fools over there: -though I guess the Lindsays could buy and sell Linda Barry since her -c'lamities, and the _gentlemen_ that I'm accawmodatin'--" Miss Benslow -raised her scanty eyebrows impressively--"is simply _made_ o' money! -Good gracious," she added in a different tone, "here I am wastin' my -time with you, and Mr. King left alone all this time. He might want -somethin'!" She turned with an air of pressing business. - -Blanche Aurora had pricked up her ears at the last remark. - -"Alone?" she repeated, with sudden interest. "Has your folks all gone -too?" - -The spyglass from the roof had discerned a white gown on the Benslow -piazza, but the disturbing question had been to whom it belonged. Mrs. -Lindsay or her daughter might have been keeping the invalid company, -while Miss Linda wandered away for a walk. The little girl's brain -worked fast. - -"Say, I'm sorry I was impident to you," she said, with conciliatory -meekness. - -"Well, you'd better be," snapped Luella, pausing to loosen a point of -her parasol from the fringe of her cape. - -"Say, you don't need to hurry right off, do you? I'm all alone." - -Miss Benslow looked suspiciously at the speaker. It was too much to ask -one to believe that saucy Blanche Aurora, with her tip-tilted nose and -her bold eyes, was really penitent. - -"Yes, I do," she retorted, unmollified. "If this pesky parasol will -ever let go that fringe." - -"Let me fix it," offered the meek one; and she did fix it so -effectively that for almost five minutes more Miss Benslow stood there, -fuming. - -"Oh, pshaw, let it go!" she exclaimed at last, jerking away; and with -the jerk the parasol freed itself. - -"Oh, say, Luella--I mean Miss Benslow. I feel so kind o' lonely. You've -got a fireless cooker, hain't you? I don't see why you have to hurry -so." - -"Of course I've got a fireless cooker, and a new blue-flame stove, and -a receipt book better than any thing _you_ ever saw." - -"Well, I was only goin' to say wouldn't you like some violet perfume -on your handkercher? I've got some perfectly ellergunt and you're -a-carryin' such a pretty handkercher." - -"That there handkercher," announced Miss Benslow proudly, "was brought -me by a gentleman, the last time he was to Portland." - -"Oh, I didn't know as Mr. King was strong enough to go to Portland," -said Blanche Aurora humbly, touching the handkerchief admiringly. - -"He ain't," declared the visitor, with a grand air. "'T warn't him. -'T was somebody quite different: somebody that calls me Luella." The -visitor giggled. "He asked me if he might." - -"I wonder," said Blanche Aurora with an awestruck air, "if it could 'a' -ben that spullendid Mr. Whitcomb!" - -"Well," returned the other, smiling and bridling, "that's jest who -it is. He wants me to call him Fred, but I'm awful shy that way. I -may some day, but I haven't yet. You needn't tell nobody, but Madge -Lindsay is perfectly crazy over him. She tries to hide it, but she -can't from me. I've got eyes and ears. She sings to him on the piazza -these moonlight nights and plays on a thing that looks like a big -potater-bug. She calls it a bandelin." - -"I think you're real smart to get along with such a big family," said -Blanche Aurora with the same admiring air. - -"Well, I didn't know's I could, fust off; but you see, it was this way. -Miss Lindsay she confided in me. Madge was gittin' strong and beginnin' -to hanker to git away where things was gay,--the merry whirl, you -know--" - -Oh, yes; Blanche Aurora's nod, and her close, respectful attention -showed that though young and inexperienced she did know. - ---"So jest at that crucical time there come this appeal from Fred--I -mean Mr. Whitcomb--in Chicago, and Mis' Lindsay says to me, she -says, 'I b'lieve if my daughter had her cousin here to play with -she'd settle down contented again. I don't want her to go away yet.' -Cousin!"--contemptuously--"'T ain't any very near cousin, I guess; -and I can tell you she does play with him--and _to_ him--and _at_ him. -Oh"--with sudden recollection--"ain't I smart! I must go." - -"Well, jest a minute, Miss Benslow. I'll bet it would please Mr. -Whitcomb like everything to have that spullendid handkercher smellin' -good. Jest come in my room a minute." - -Once in the room Luella found her hostess so entertaining that she -stayed another ten minutes, admiring the pretty things which closet -and dresser revealed, and which under ordinary circumstances their -owner would have guarded sedulously from these inquisitive eyes and -loquacious lips. However, it was all for Miss Linda. Of course, Blanche -Aurora couldn't be certain that her adored one wanted this extra -latitude, but her absorption in Linda had made her preternaturally -observing; besides, she remembered those sobs. - -Her quick conclusion was that it were better to let Luella Benslow tell -all over the neighborhood about her stockings and petticoats than to -interrupt the interview which the spyglass had revealed. - -"Why, it must be time for the folks to be gettin' home!" ejaculated -Miss Benslow at last, with a return of panic. "I'll have to run every -step o' the way." - -Blanche Aurora gave a sweet smile of contentment and sought no further -to detain her guest. She watched from the window, and laughed wickedly -as the ostrich feather veered and swung in the half-lope, half-run of -its conscience-smitten wearer. - -Halfway across the field Miss Benslow met a white-clothed figure moving -unhurriedly. - -"Why, Miss Linda, I thought you was to Portland," she said, breathless -from her race. At the same time a hope sprang within her. "Was you to -my house?" she added. - -"Yes." - -"I'm real sorry we was all out, 'cause you ain't ben neighborly." Miss -Benslow strove for easy elegance, but she was out of breath, and again -that pesky parasol had caught in her fringe. "Did you see Mr. King?" - -"Yes." - -"I'd ought to ben home sooner to give him his tea, but I hadn't a -time-piece with me." - -"I gave him his tea." - -"Oh, I'm so thankful! Now I can ketch my breath. You'll call again, -won't you?" - -The radiant young girl blessed Miss Benslow with a wonderful smile. - -"Yes. I'll come again to-morrow," she answered graciously, and passed -on her way. - -Miss Benslow turned to look after the lithe, graceful figure crossing -Elysian fields. - -"It's the first time I ever got a square look at her," she soliloquized -in surprise at her own impression. "She's a--a"--she hesitated for a -simile for the perfect simplicity of the girl's appearance, and that -enchanting smile. "I'd call her a sunlight beauty," she finished, and -trudged on. - -Blanche Aurora, watching the road at the back of the house for Captain -Jerry's carriage, didn't see Linda until she had nearly reached the -piazza. The child then ran to the front door and in her eagerness -slammed the screen behind her and stood waiting. - -As soon as she met her friend's eyes she began to flush. Yes, it had -been worth while! It surely had been worth while! Her heart hammered. - -The white figure came on out of the sunshine into the shadow where -Blanche Aurora stood transfixed. - -"You good little thing," said Linda slowly, and she put an arm around -the small shoulders and stooping, kissed a burning cheek. - -"Where's the bowl?" demanded Blanche Aurora, her emotion driving her to -take refuge in the practical. - -"Among Miss Benslow's sweet-pea vines," returned Linda, her dimple at -its deepest. "He--we dropped it, and it broke." - -"And that Bavarian cream?" - -"I suppose the hens ate it up in no time," confessed the messenger. - -"I won't trust you again," said Blanche Aurora, with shining eyes. "Mr. -King must be starved." - -"No, I fed him with tea and cakes. Please trust me again. Please send -me back to-morrow." - -The little girl and the big girl exchanged a long look; and during it -the possibility dawned upon the elder that this infant had designed and -carried out a plan! - -She colored slowly, continuing to gaze into the shining eyes, but -Blanche Aurora retired demurely with a word about supper, and alone in -the kitchen executed a dance which threatened every stick of furniture -in the place. - -Linda was still standing there watching the violet sea, so different -from its morning dazzle of blue, when Jerry Holt's carryall approached. -His voice was loud and defensive. - -"I telled Mis' Lindsay and Madge they could sqwut to the depot till I -got back," he was saying. - -"Why, Jerry," said Miss Barry. "I would have let you take them home -first. I thought they decided to go in the street car and walk the -half-mile." - -"My rule's fust come, fust served," responded Captain Jerry inexorably. -"I seen you git off the train fust." - -"But they have an invalid over at their house," pursued Miss Barry. - -"I know they hev. Thet Whitcomb feller seen a car comin' and he said -he could make it quicker'n Molly could." The Captain's feelings had -evidently been hurt in the most sensitive spot. "Says I, 'Go it then, -young man;' and I made up my mind to haul you fust. Madge wanted to go -with him, but her mother didn't want to sqwut alone, nor she didn't -want to walk the half-mile neither, so Madge stayed." - -"Why, we had room for Mrs. Lindsay," said Mrs. Porter. - -"No"--the driver's response was firm. "Not with all them bags and -bundles." He smiled a smile of satisfaction at the punishment he had -meted out. "Now, I guess I'll go back and haul 'em," he added, as his -passengers alighted. "They'll be tired o' sqwuttin'. They're dretful -uneasy folks, anyway. What ye lookin' at, Linda?" he added, loud and -cheerfully. - -The girl turned toward him, and came to meet the arrivals. "My future," -she answered. - -He regarded her admiringly. He had never seen her like this. - -"Seems to be a bright one," he remarked, grinning. "Ye'd better git -some smoked glasses if ye're goin' to look at it long. Git ap, Molly." - -With a grating of wheels the old carryall turned around and moved on -its way. - -"You bet the Cape agrees with them city folks," he soliloquized. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE FULL MOON - - -"I declare that was too bad of Jerry," said Miss Barry. "He's usually -so"--her voice died away because she became aware of Linda, standing -before her, a sort of glorified presence. "Hey?" she finished sharply. - -The girl had one of Mrs. Porter's hands and with the other arm she now -softly embraced her bewildered aunt, then drew away far enough to look -into the questioning eyes of first one and then the other. - -"You've both had so much trouble with me," she said. - -"Well?" returned Miss Barry crisply. "Is it over?" - -The girl nodded. - -"Linda," said Mrs. Porter, with excited urgency, "what has happened, -dear?" - -The girl continued to look at them for a moment of silence, as if loath -to let her secret pass her lips. - -"Bertram!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter. - -Linda nodded. - -Miss Barry gave her niece a shake. "Speak out," she said, cross in the -mounting excitement of the moment. "Has he been over here?" - -"No. I went there. Blanche Aurora sent me with a snack. The hens got -the snack; but--we had tea." - -"Oh, you darling!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter under the eloquent eyes and -dimples. "You shall kiss her first, Miss Barry. Hurry up. I can't wait." - -"I don't see any reason for kissing her," said Miss Barry, and her -earrings quivered with what she was repressing. "Feeding dainties to -the hens. The idea!" - -"Oh, there is a reason, there is a reason, Aunt Belinda." Her namesake -spoke softly, and taking her in her arms kissed her. "How good you've -been to me!" she said tenderly. - -Then Mrs. Porter had her turn, and the eyes of both women grew wet in -their long embrace. - -"Well, give _me_ some place to sit down," said Miss Barry desperately. -She looked around and found a piazza chair, into which she dropped. "In -all my born days I never saw such a girl. She's either got to hang a -man to a sour apple tree, or else she's got to marry him!" - - * * * * * - -Over at the homestead Bertram King was winning golden laurels from his -self-appointed caretaker. - -At the supper table his novel vivacity and good appetite gave him the -appearance of complete recovery. - -"See here," remarked Whitcomb, "solitary confinement is evidently all -you've been needing. We'll clear out soon again. Even you went away, -didn't you, Luella?" The speaker turned to Miss Benslow, whom on his -return he had discovered scrambling about to get supper in her robes -of state. She was now waiting on table and blessing Jerry Holt for his -dilatoriness in bringing the Lindsays home. - -"I did step out for a spell," she returned in her best manner; "but I -guess I warn't missed," she added coyly. "Miss Linda Barry gave Mr. -King his tea." - -"Really!" drawled Madge Lindsay. "How cleverly she chose the right -moment for her first call." - -"There are cats in the room," announced Whitcomb, helping himself to -honey. - -Madge lifted her eyebrows and made a defiant grimace. - -"I met her as she was a-comin' back," said Luella. "I guess she felt -dretful bad not findin' me home, 'cause she said she'd call again -to-morrer." - -This remark coming under the head of what Madge called "juices," she -glanced at Whitcomb for sympathy, but he was preoccupied. He was -looking curiously at King's debonair countenance. - -"It's jest as well I warn't in, _I_ think," continued Miss Benslow, -casting Whitcomb her most kittenish glance. "Mr. King's tay-a-tay seems -to 'a' done him a world o' good." - -The object of her remark caught his friend's eye and laughed frankly. -Whitcomb reflected the laugh with a smile, but his curious interest -precluded much notice of Luella's sallies. He regarded King's good -cheer and increased color questioningly. Evidently Linda had used tact -and succeeded in making her peace, and the talk had relieved King as -well as herself. He wondered whether his friend would tell him of the -interview or leave it to his imagination. - -"To-morrow, tennis!" cried Madge triumphantly; "and don't we deserve -it, Freddy?" - -"We do, we do," he replied, returning with gusto to the hot biscuit and -honey and lobster salad. - -When the meal was finished, Whitcomb pantomimed throwing a ball at -Madge and raised questioning eyebrows. - -"All right," she said, rising with alacrity. - -"Oh, you crazy children," protested Mrs. Lindsay, "are you going to -play ball? Can't you be satisfied to be still a minute? Freddy, you'll -take all her nice new ten pounds off her." - -But the young people only laughed. Though Madge Lindsay might drawl, -she could throw a ball like a boy, and in default of King, Whitcomb, -whose muscles were always crying out to be used, was glad to accept her. - -Mrs. Lindsay went to the kitchen with Luella to bestow the provisions -she had purchased, and King strolled out on the piazza and watched his -friend and Madge. - -The girl was still in her smart tailor gown. From previous observation -of her tactics he believed that when the game was over she would change -her dress before starting in on her evening; and he watched for that -psychological moment when she should disappear. - -The moon was full to-night, and with the marvelous obligingness -of Maine weather the wind had gone down with the sun, making the -out-of-doors even more attractive by night than by day. As the twilight -deepened, the great planet changed from silver to gold. - -When at last the ball players took off their leather gloves, Madge -spoke wistfully. - -"I wish we could go out on that moon path! Think of this heavenly night -and no boat except that old smelly tub of Mr. Benslow's! When we come -again, Freddy--" - -She stopped, and he smiled down at her brilliant dark face, rosy with -exercise and brown from the sun. - -"Yes, next time sure," he said. "You see I didn't want to do anything -about a boat so long as King couldn't go out." - -"You're the best friend I ever knew," declared the girl. "Wait till -I get on another frock. We'll drag him with us over to the rock. The -Loreleis will be singing to-night, I am sure." - -"One will, I hope," returned Whitcomb. She skipped before him. "You've -never seen me dance," she said. "Before the moon goes I must dance for -you on the grass. I have a costume here and my castanets." - -"You'd be a wonderful Carmen," returned Whitcomb, regarding her lithe -dipping and swinging, admiringly. - -"Oh, mar-velous!" she rejoined. "So long," and taking the rickety -piazza steps two at a time she disappeared into the house. - -King immediately buttonholed his friend. "Come over to the tent, will -you?" he said. - -"Sure thing," returned Whitcomb, flinging an arm around the other's -shoulders. - -They crossed the grass and entering the tent sat down on camp-stools in -the opening, where the increasing mystery and magic of the night was -spread before them. - -"I can see that you and Linda have fixed it up," said Whitcomb. "She -has worried her head off for fear the old friendship would never be -renewed. She thinks an awful lot of you, old man." - -At the beginning of this speech King looked up eagerly. Could it be -that his task was going to be so easy? - -But as Whitcomb continued, his look veered away, back to the moon path. - -"Yes, we fixed it up," he replied. - -There was a space of silence during which he tried to decide how to go -on. - -"You've been frank with me, Freddy, at various times regarding Linda, -and I've been rather surprised lately to notice that you're not very -assiduous in your attentions over there." - -Whitcomb's eyes also sought the moon path and a perplexed line came in -his forehead. - -"No," he admitted. "Something has happened to Linda. She's different. -I can't say that she ever let me come very near to her, but now--since -she left Chicago, she has grown away from me; far away. She seems to -have a lot of new ideas that I can't follow. I don't seem to get on -with her." - -"And you do get on with Madge Lindsay?" suggested King. - -"Isn't she a peach?" ejaculated Whitcomb, turning to his companion a -suddenly bright face. "Why, it's like owning a whole vaudeville company -to be with her. Little slender thing that looks as if you could snap -her in two between your thumb and finger; but game! Gee, but she's -game!" - -"She is game," agreed King, the vapor-cloud which had obscured a trifle -the full sun of his happiness melting away. - -"Of course, a man doesn't connect sentiment with that sort of girl," -went on Whitcomb, "but she's a comrade: just as good as a chap, you -know." - -"I understand perfectly," returned King, "but sometimes these -delightful chaps in petticoats have very feminine hearts; and you don't -want to break them in two between thumb and finger." - -"Oh, rot," returned Whitcomb, trying not to look pleased. "There she -is," he continued, starting up from his camp-stool as a figure in a -pale wrap of some sort came out on the piazza. "That's another thing -about Madge. She can change her clothes in a jiffy." - -"Hold on a bit, will you?" said King quietly. - -"Sure. Long as you like. Madge and I thought perhaps you'd come over to -the rock with us and listen to the Loreleis." - -"I haven't quite finished telling you, Freddy. You know I said -something to you about the past being dead and all that." - -"Yes." - -"Well--I was mistaken. Linda and I--" - -Whitcomb turned like a flash and dropped back on the camp-stool. - -"What?" - -"We fixed it up this afternoon for all time." - -"_What!_" - -"Yes. It's a trite thing for a fellow to call himself the happiest man -on earth, but Linda has given me back everything I had lost. I am as -much a new man as if I had been created to-day." - -The quiet words thrilled through Whitcomb. He tried to answer and -gulped. Tried again, and shook his friend's responsive hand. - -"You deserve it," was all he could manage to utter. - -"I want to go over there to-night, Freddy." - -"You can't walk that far." - -"Try me. I've never seen Miss Barry's cottage, and I--well, I can't -stay away." - -"We'll walk over with you, then," said Whitcomb gravely. He walked -toward Madge and called her, and she came springing across the grass. - -"Ho for the rock?" she cried gayly. - -"No. King wants to go to Miss Barry's. He thinks he's up to it. We'll -walk over with him." - -The three moved away across the enchanted field. The night was hushed. -Even the tide whispered. Not yet sounded the _crescendo_ which would -culminate at midnight in a crashing, magnificent choral. - -Madge scented something novel in the mental atmosphere. Her companions -were grateful for her easy chatter. - -When they neared the shingled cottage she protested tentatively. - -"Oh, do we have to go into the house on such a glorious night?" - -"You and I are not going in," answered Whitcomb quietly. - -They stood a moment near the piazza steps. - -"Good-night, King." The two men shook hands. "I think that is Linda now -over there in the hammock. Give my love to her, will you?" - -"I will." - -Above the dazzle of golden water and under the pulsing beat of the -stars, King moved up the steps. - -There was a stir in the shadow at the end of the piazza and in a moment -one word sounded on the still air. - -"Bertram!" - -The voice and its tone wrenched some deeply rooted fiber in Whitcomb's -being and all his blood seemed trying to rush at once to his heart. - -Madge, too, heard the revealing joy of the single word. As they turned -to walk back, her clinging silken draperies stirred, and she slipped -her hand through her companion's arm, and clasped it. - -"It's a vast sea," she said softly. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSTEAD OF THE THORN*** - - -******* This file should be named 53049.txt or 53049.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/3/0/4/53049 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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