"Well, lassie, are you all right? Don't you feel a 'little queer,' too?"

"Yes, thank you, Judge Breckenridge. I'm right enough but I don't know whether Miss Greatorex wants me to come to our room now or whether she'll need her things again. She went away in a great hurry, seems if; and so—so did 'most everybody else. Funny for them all to get sleepy just in a minute so."

The old traveler laughed and patted Dorothy's shoulder.

"A 'fog swell' is what we've struck. That explains the darkness and the hasty departure of our neighbors. Seasick, poor creatures! and no suffering worse, while it lasts. Sure you aren't yourself, Dorothy?"

"No. I don't feel any different from ever, yet, Judge Breckenridge."

"Good enough. I'm mighty glad for you. Poor little Moll will be apt to have a sorry time of it until we reach Yarmouth and land. By the way, lassie, I observe that you've been well trained to give a person their name and title when you speak to them. But we're on our holiday now, you know, and mustn't work more than we can help. So, my dear, suppose you call me Uncle Schuy, or simply Uncle, while we are together. 'Judge Breckenridge' is considerable of a mouthful for a small maid who, I hope, will have to address me a great many times. I shall find it pleasant to be 'Uncled' for I greatly miss our boy, Tom."

He did not add, as he might, that some pity mingled in this desire. Coming unobserved upon the little figure sitting alone in the steamer-chair, amid a pile of rugs which almost hid her from sight, deserted, and possibly also in the throes of illness, he had resolved to make her time with him and his as happy as he could. He would have done this under any circumstances; but Molly's fervid description of Dorothy's orphanage and ignorance of her real parentage had touched him profoundly.

Loving his own little daughter beyond all others in the world he loved this deserted child for Molly's sake; and felt that he should promptly love her for her own.

Sitting down again beside her he covered himself with rugs and begged permission to smoke; remarking:

"It's a shame to keep you up longer but I fancy that your stateroom wouldn't be very pleasant just now. It's next to my sister's, you know, and I saw Number Eight coming out of it with considerable haste. Miss Greatorex is probably ill, but should be better once she gets settled in bed. Then you must go and also get to rest. Quite likely you'll be the only little girl-companion I'll have for the rest of the trip. I was afraid Molly would make a poor sailor, and she's proving me correct. My sister, though, never suffers from seasickness and is a charming traveling companion as you'll find."

He relapsed into silence and a great drowsiness began to overpower Dorothy. Her day had been long and most eventful and the sea air was strong. Presently, her head drooped against the back of her chair, the Judge grew indistinct in her sight, and she fell asleep.

He considered then what was best to do; and presently decided that, if she wasn't sent for, she might well and safely pass the night on deck as he intended to do.

Indeed, so often had he voyaged on that ship that its employees had learned his wishes without telling; and now there came to him one Number Seven, his own room attendant, bringing a pillow and more rugs. He was dispatched for another pillow and between them they gently lowered the back of Dorothy's chair, placed a pillow under her unconscious head and tucked her warmly in. Then he settled himself to rest and neither of them knew distinctly anything more until the daylight came and the sunshine struggled with the enwrapping fog.

She, indeed, had had vague dreams of what went on about her. Had heard muffled bells and passing footsteps, but these had mingled only pleasantly with her sense of rest and happiness; and it was a very surprised young person who at last opened her eyes upon a gray expanse of mist-covered ocean and a gray-haired man asleep on a chair beside her.

Sitting up, she stared about her for a moment till she realized what had happened; then smiled to think she had actually slept out of doors. Afterward, she wondered with some anxiety if Miss Greatorex had sent for her during the night, or if she were still too ill to care about anybody save herself.

"Anyhow, I must go and see. My! how damp these rugs are and yet I am as warm as can be. That's what dear Miss Penelope said she meant to do—sleep on deck. But she didn't come and I've done it in her stead. What a queer world it is and how things do get twisted round! Now I must be still as still and not wake that dear Judge—'Uncle', who's so lovely to me!"

With these thoughts she slipped softly out of her rugs and tiptoed away, having some slight trouble to locate "Number Thirteen" stateroom; and, having done so, discovered its door ajar, fastened against intrusion by a chain.

She peeped through the opening. Miss Isobel lay with her eyes closed, but whether asleep or not Dorothy couldn't decide. She was very pale and perfectly motionless, and a too-suggestive tin basin was fastened to the railing of her berth.

"Ugh! I can't go in there and wake her, if she's asleep; or to go any way. I'll slip around to this other side the boat where there are such heaps of chairs and nobody in them. My! It's cold and I haven't anything to put over me here. Never mind, I'll stay. If I go back to where I was I might wake Judge Breckenridge, and I shouldn't like to do that. I don't wonder Molly called him a handsome man. He looked better than handsome to me, sleeping there, he looked noble."

Thus reflecting she settled herself on a chair against the inner wall and watched the men at work mopping the wet decks and putting the steamer generally "ship-shape" against the day's voyage. It was a forlorn outlook into the world of fog, through which the sound of the bells rang strangely. Also, there was an almost continuous blowing of whistles and a look of some anxiety on the faces of such of the crew as passed by.

Finally, out of some far-off stairway, young bugler Melvin came tripping and hurried along the deck in her direction. She fancied a look of surprise in his eyes as he perceived her and that he would pass on without further notice. Yet, just as he reached a point opposite her chair, he flashed one glance toward her; and almost as quickly turned about to retrace his steps. Shivering and rather miserable she watched him idly, and now the surprise was her own.

He returned and still without speaking, yet with an almost painful flush on his face, tossed two heavy rugs into her lap and instantly passed on. She had no chance to thank him, but readily answered a laugh from a deck-hand near by who had witnessed the little incident and enjoyed it. The "Bashful Bugler" was Melvin's shipboard nickname and no lad ever better deserved such. Yet he had been well "raised" and there was something very appealing to the chivalry of any lad in the look of Dorothy's just now sad eyes; though commonly their brown depths held only sunshine.

The sweeper on the deck moved the chairs near her and even her own, though without her leaving it, the better to clear off the moisture which the fog had deposited. She had echoed his laugh and he remarked:

"Nice boy, 'Bashful' is; but no more fitted to go round 'mongst strangers'n a picked chicken."

Both the sailor and Dorothy were glad to speak with anybody, and she asked:

"Will this fog last long? Is it often so cold right in the summer time?"

"Cold enough to freeze the legs off an iron pot, slathers of times. This is one of 'em! As for fogs lastin', I reckon, little Miss, there won't be no more sunshine 'twixt here and Yarmouth harbor. If you're cold out here though, and don't want to go to your room, you'll find things snug down yonder in that music-room, or what you call it."

"Oh! is there a place? Under shelter? Will you show me?"

"Sure. If 'tis open yet. Sometimes it's shut overnight but likely not now. I'll take them rugs for you, Sissy, if you like."

"Thank you. Thank you so much. How nice everybody is on a steamship! Is it living all the time on the water makes you kind, I wonder?"

"Give it up!" answered this able seaman, not a little flattered by Dorothy's appreciation of his service, and in Molly's own frequent manner. With another smile at this memory, Dorothy followed as he walked ahead, dragging his mop behind him and leaving a shining streak in his wake.

They found the little saloon, music-room, writing-room, or "what you call it," closed, but the door opened readily enough, and Dorothy was delighted to creep within the warmth and comfort of the place. It was dark inside but the man turned on the electric light, and, doffing his cap, went out, shut the door behind him, and left her to her solitary enjoyment.

"What a pretty room! How cozy and warm! I'm going to cuddle down in this easy chair and take another nap. There's nobody stirring much and I heard one man say to another that there were more folks sick this trip than had been all summer. I wonder if poor Molly is yet! I'd go and see only I don't want to disturb Mrs. Hungerford.

"Now, Dorothy girl, shut your eyes and don't open them again till breakfast time. I am awfully disappointed. I'd counted upon watching the sun rise over the ocean and was going to get up so early to do it: Huh! I'm early enough, but the poor sun is taking a bath and can't be seen."

Artificial heat had been turned into the room which accounted for the warmth she found so grateful. This, succeeding her shivering fit, made her drowsy and she shut her eyes "just for forty winks." But a good many times "forty" had passed before she opened them once more and found herself still alone. She got up and looked about her, thinking that she must go to "Number Thirteen" and bathe her face and hands, though not much more than that could be accomplished in such limited quarters. She'd go in just a minute. Meanwhile there was a piano. She'd like to try it, though her lessons on that instrument had been but few. However—

"Oh! joy! There's a violin case on the shelf yonder! I'm going to look at it. If there's a violin inside—There is! I'd love, just love to try that, far more than a jingling piano. I wonder would anybody hear me? I don't believe so. It's so far away. I'm going to—I am!"

With a fiddle once more under her chin Dorothy forgot all but that happy fact. Delicately and timidly at first, she drew her bow across the strings, fearing an interruption; but when none came she gathered boldness and played as she would have done in Herr von Peter's own helpful presence.

How long she stood there, swaying to her own music, enwrapped in it and no longer lonely, she didn't know; but after a time the minor chords of her last and "loveliest lesson" were rudely broken in upon by other strains which cut short her practicing and set her face toward the door.

There stood the "Bashful Bugler" tooting his "first call to breakfast" directly toward her, and her response was a crash of discord from the violin. The effect upon Melvin was to make him lower his bugle and flash out of sight as if propelled by a hurricane.



CHAPTER VI

SAFE ON SHORE

The bad weather continued. So did the illness of Miss Greatorex and Molly Breckenridge. Neither of them left their stateroom again till that day and another night had passed and the "Prince" came to her mooring in Yarmouth harbor.

Both Mrs. Hungerford and Dorothy spent much of their time with one or other patient, yet were often alone together on deck or in the music-room and became very well acquainted, indeed, during their hours of loneliness. From the girl Auntie Lu drew many details of her short life, and was especially interested when she found that Mrs. Betty Calvert was a friend of them both; exclaiming:

"Why, my dear, I've known Mrs. Betty Calvert all my life! She was my mother's dearest correspondent. They had been girls together, though Mrs. Calvert was older than mother. Their homes were near each other in Maryland; and—why, the Calverts, or Somersets, were as intimate as it is possible for families to be with our folks—the Breckenridges! This is most interesting. Most certainly interesting. I must tell my brother. Schuyler is so loyal to all our old Marylanders; he thinks there are no people like them anywhere, though for my part I find human nature's pretty much the same all the world over."

"Yes, Mrs. Hungerford, I've heard Mrs. Calvert say that there was no gentleman so fine as a southern one. Mr. Seth laughs at her and says that's a 'hobby,' and she's 'mistaken.' He says 'gentlemen don't grow any better on one soil than another,' but are 'indigenous to the whole United States,' though Mr. Winters is a Marylander himself." Then she naively added in explanation, and in a little vanity about her botanical lore: "'Indigenous' means, maybe you don't know, a plant that belongs to, is a native of, some particular region. Mr. Seth taught me and Father John. They both know lots about botany, though father hasn't lived in the country as long as our 'Learned Blacksmith,' who does know, seems if, all there is worth knowing in this world. For a man, I mean."

Aunt Lucretia smiled and nodded, but in an absent sort of manner as if she had scarcely heard what Dorothy had said. Then as the girl rose, remarking: "I'll go now and sit a while with Molly if she's awake. Funny! She says she feels all right as long as she lies down and so horrid when she tries to get up and dress;" the lady's gaze followed her little figure with a keenly critical interest. Also, she eagerly greeted the Judge, who now came to her, with the ambiguous exclamation:

"Schuyler Breckenridge, the most marvellous thing! I've discovered—or I believe I have—what that remarkable likeness is which has so perplexed me. Blood always tells, always crops out!"

"Exactly. Especially in cases like this. Having nothing else to do I've tried whittling—with this result. Tie it up, Lu, and explain yourself—if you can," he answered, whimsically holding out a finger he had cut and that was slightly bleeding.

"Oh! you poor dear!"

"Yes. Am I not! Wait. Here's a bit of court-plaster. Forgot I had it or wouldn't have troubled you. Now, talk ahead."

"Schuyler, a man like you shouldn't trifle with edged tools. You have no gift for anything but—lawing. It wouldn't be any laughing matter if you should develop blood-poison—"

"It certainly would not, and as I like to laugh I shan't do it. Now, what is this marvellous thing you've discovered, please? I'm getting tired of fog, no newspapers, and chess with a stranger; so welcome even a woman's gossip with delight!"

She paid no heed to his chaffing but began:

"I believe I know who that Dorothy's parents were. I'm as positive as if I'd been told; and I'm perfectly amazed at Mrs. Betty Calvert. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Apparently—to you. Not yet to me. I've understood that two and two makes four; but how your 'belief' and poor old Betty Calvert make sensible connection I fail to comprehend. I await instruction."

"Stop jesting and you shall have it. Then tell me if I haven't given you better food for thought than you'd find in to-day's paper—if you could get it here at sea."

Thereupon, hitching her chair a little nearer to her brother's and glancing about to see no stranger overheard, the lady began a low toned conversation with him. This proved, as she had foretold, far more entertaining than the day's news; and when it was over, when there was nothing more to be said, he rose, pulled his traveling cap over his eyes, thrust his hands into his capacious pockets and walked away "to think it over." Adding, as he left:

"Well, if you're right everything is wrong. And if you're wrong everything's right."

Over which eminent legal opinion Mrs. Hungerford smiled, reflecting:

"He's convinced. There's nobody I know so well versed in Maryland genealogy as Schuyler Breckenridge. It's been his pastime so long he'll be keen on this scent till he proves it false or true. And if it is true—what a shame, what a shame! That horrid, lonely old woman to take such an outrageous course. Poor, dear, sweet little Dorothy!"

The result to Dorothy of this conversation was a greater kindness than ever on the part of Molly's people; who now seemed to take her into their hearts as if she were of kin to them. She often found them looking at her searchingly, trying to trace that "likeness" which one of them had discovered. But no word of what was in their minds was said to her. She was merely invited to call Mrs. Hungerford "Aunt" as she was to call the Judge "Uncle."

So despite the dullness of the fog, which prevented her seeing much of the ocean, the day passed very well. When she was asked if she could play and to give her new friends a little music, she took the violin from its shelf and gave them her simple best. To please them who were so kind to her was a delight to herself and her readiness to oblige was instantly construed by Aunt Lucretia as a fresh proof of her "discovery."

"Only a well-born child has that easy grace of manner, Schuyler, as you must often have observed," she remarked with pleased conviction.

To which he replied by warning:

"Take care you don't build up a romance that will fall to pieces like a house of cards at the first breath of reality. But as to birth, be it high or low, Dorothy is a most winning little maid and I'm thankful to have her along with us on our holiday. Thankful, also, that impulsive Molly chose just such an unselfish, ingenuous girl for her 'chum.' My poor little lass! Her first ocean voyage will be a dreary memory for her!"

"Oh! not so bad. She's perfectly comfortable when she lies still. She has plenty of attention and sleeps a deal. She's not losing much fun out here in this weather and will be no more glad to step onto solid land again than I shall. Except that, but for this enforced close companionship with little Dorothy I might not have thought out her story as I have."

"There you go again! Well, the suggestion haunts me, too. I'll investigate promptly; and—what I shall do after that I haven't yet decided. I hate a meddler and am not anxious to become one. Heigho! No matter how hard a tired man tries to mind his own business he can't do it! Here comes that young Melvin Cook, and he's a lad with a pedigree, let me tell you, as long as any oldest Marylander of all. He and I have a bit of business to discuss, so I'll walk the deck with him awhile. Dorothy, I suppose, will sleep in her own stateroom to-night, since Miss Greatorex is comfortable. Good night, and sleep well."

The deserted deck and the quiet gloom were a forcible contrast to the radiance and hilarity of the evening before, so that Mrs. Hungerford did not linger long after the Judge had left her, to pace up and down in earnest conversation with the "Bashful Bugler." Yet her thought was now upon the lad and his name which her brother had mentioned.

"Cook! Cook, from Yarmouth. Why, that's the same as that quaint old fellow brother took into his private office. He came from Nova Scotia, too, and called himself a typical Bluenose. Feared he was liable to consumption and left home for our milder climate. Wonder if he is a relative of the blond bugler! After all, as Molly so often exclaims, 'what a little bit o' world it is! Everybody you know turning up everywhere you go!' Quite a keen observer is my flighty little niece, in spite of all her nonsense; and bless her heart! I must go and see how she is and send small nurse Dorothy to her own slumbers."

So she too walked forward, and was seen no more till the grating sounds and the shouted orders told that the good ship "Prince" was docked and her goodly company had reached that safe "haven where they would be."

Then as if by magic the decks filled with a merry company, even those who had suffered most from seasickness the gayest of all.

"So good to go ashore! Too early for breakfast? Of course; but I'll take a walk on dry—or fog-wet ground before I take mine!" said the gentleman who had been first to succumb to the "fog swell," and stepped down the ladder, whistling like a happy lad.

Miss Greatorex and Molly emerged from their staterooms a little pallid, rather shaky on their feet, but quite as happy as their neighbors. Not the less pleased, either, because the Judge promptly announced:

"We'll not bother for breakfast here. Some of us don't remember the 'Prince's' dining-room with great affection, eh?" and he playfully pinched Molly's wan cheek. "We're going to stop in Yarmouth for a few days, and the hotel carriage will take the rest of you up to it at once. You'll find your rooms all ready for you. I'll see to our luggage and have that sent up, then follow in time to join you at table. All right, everybody? All your small belongings in hand? Then driver, pass on."

Already the fog was lifting, and the urbane old man upon the box leaned down and informed his fares:

"Going to be a fine day, ladies. You'll see Ya'mouth at her purtiest. Ever been here before, any of you?"

Miss Greatorex's propriety began to return. A sure sign, Mrs. Hungerford thought, that she was feeling better; and she watched in secret amusement the sudden stiffening of the angular figure and the compression of the thin lips as the "instructress" looked fixedly out of the carriage window and vouchsafed no other reply.

But Aunt Lu always adapted herself to the habits of any country of the many she had visited and replied, with an eagerness that was half-mischievous and for Miss Isobel's benefit:

"No, indeed! and we're anxious to see and learn everything new. So please point out anything of note, and thank you."

"Hmm. I should suppose there could be nothing 'of note' in a place like this," murmured Miss Isobel, severely, as she scornfully observed the dingy streets and dwellings of that neighborhood.

But the hackman was gratified by Mrs. Hungerford's interest and a chance for his own garrulity, and promptly informed them:

"'Tain't never fair to judge no town by its water-front. Course not. Stands to reason that shipyards and docks and sailorses' saloons ain't laid out for beauty. But just you wait till we get up the hill a speck and then you'll see somethin' worth seein'. True. There ain't a nicer town in the whole Province o' Novy Scoshy 'an Ya'mouth is. Now we're a gettin'. Now! See there?"

"Ah! how lovely!" "Oh! Auntie Lu!" "Oh! my heart, my heart! If only darling Father John could see that hedge? What is it, Auntie Lu, can you tell?" cried Dorothy in rapture; for, indeed, the hedges of this old town by the sea are famous everywhere the name of Yarmouth is heard.

The driver didn't wait for Mrs. Hungerford to reply, even if she could have done so. He received every question and exclamation as personal and proudly answered:

"Ha'tho'n, them are, this side. Then yonder is spruce. And our gardens! If you women-folks love posies as most females does, you'd ought to be here a spell later. Roses ain't out yet but cherries is in flower."

"Roses not in bloom? Why, they're past it with us!" responded Auntie Lu, surprised.

"Hmm, ma'am. And where might that be, if I c'n make so bold?"

"The vicinity of New York, I was recalling."

"Hmm. Exactly. A poor kind of country, New York is, even though they do call it the 'Empire State' and try to bolster up its failin's with a lot of fine talk. Now our Province o' Novy Scoshy, and this Ya'mouth, don't need to do no talkin'. All's necessary for us and them is just to—BE! Once a feller comes and gets a good square look at us—no water-front way—" he interpolated, with a shrewd glance toward Miss Isobel's averted face and an absurd wink to Mrs. Hungerford—"he just sets right down and quits talkin' of his own places. Fact. I've lived here all my life and that's the reason I know it."

The man's good nature and self-satisfaction were vastly amusing to Aunt Lucretia, who ignored what seemed impertinence to the more formal Miss Greatorex, while the former inwardly delighted in this to her "new type" of liveryman, and was already anticipating the Judge's entertainment when the story of this ride was told him.

But Molly waxed indignant over his disparagement of her native land and exclaimed:

"I wish you'd not talk that way! We're Americans. I don't like it!"

"American, be you? So'm I."

"Oh! well. Course it's all America, but I mean we're from—from the States," as she chanced to recall an expression she had heard.

"From the States, hey? So be I."

"Yet you say you've lived here all your life. If you hadn't you'd have been more—more liberal—like travel makes people. If you'd once seen New York you wouldn't think that little Yarmouth was so mighty pretty. A right smart you know about it, anyway!"

"Huh! Gid-dap!" was the scornful rejoinder, as Jehu whirled about on his seat and touched his team to a gallop.

Mrs. Hungerford gave Molly a warning tap, though she was inwardly pleased to find the child so far recovered as to take an interest in defending her own home.

It was rather startling to have an ensuing silence broken by the old driver's facing about once more and declaring with great glee:

"You ain't no New Yorker, so you needn't be touchy about that little village. You're from down south."

"How do you know?"

"Yorkers don't say 'mighty pretty' and 'right smart,' as the Johnny Rebs do. I know. I've druv a power of both lots. As for me, I'm a Yankee, straight descent. My forbear, Sealed Waters, was one the first settlers here. A Yankee I claim to be, and the 'wa'' ain't over yet, 'pears like. Ha, ha, ha!"

His mirth was contagious and they all joined in it; even Miss Greatorex emitting a faint little cackle, which was all her dignity permitted. Also, by that time the carriage had been halted before a fine hotel, into which other passengers from their steamer were already passing; and they were duly helped to alight and enter, their loquacious jehu calmly extending his card with his name and number and, after a most business-like fashion, requesting their patronage during the rest of their stay.

"Show you the purtiest little town in the world, and'll live to hear you admit it, Ma'am. Thank you, ma'am, and good-day to you."

The Judge had secured their rooms long in advance of their arrival, and it was well that he had. The Province had come greatly to the fore as a summer pleasure ground and less thoughtful travelers did not always obtain such quarters as they preferred.

"Oh! this is fine!" exclaimed Mrs. Hungerford, as she entered her chamber with its neat appointments and refreshing bath. But Miss Greatorex was not enthusiastic. She was disappointed in the inn as she had been in the steamer, having anticipated something much larger and finer. The exaggerated term of "palatial," which the proprietors had attached to both, had deceived her and it was no great comfort to have her companion explain:

"Of course, one can't find Broadway hostelries nor European 'liners' in this part of the world; but brother has often stayed in this house and knows it well. There is a larger, newer hotel, but he likes this little inn. The fare is excellent, the place is safe and quiet, and the landlord becomes your actual host. That's the charm of the Canadians; they are all so simple and so courteous. Try and ignore the disadvantages, dear Miss Isobel, and get all the fun out of our trip you can. If you'd seen some of the places I've slept in you'd think this is really 'palatial.'"

The girls were out of hearing and Mrs. Hungerford felt herself justified in thus much of admonition to her traveling mate, whose ideas had been too highly raised by the circulars and descriptions she had read. Fortunately, Miss Greatorex was so thankful to be once more on land that she really tried to forget minor annoyances and to look upon whatever happened as so much further "education." Her little notebook was promptly put to use and she filled several pages with memoranda of the old seaport which she had so despised at first and found so historically instructive afterward. Indeed, as Molly declared:

"You'll have to buy a good many books to hold all you want to write, even in that fine hand, dear Miss Greatorex; and what a lot of things you'll have to tell the girls at our 'twilight talks!'"

Nor could any inexperienced traveler have found better companions than Judge Breckenridge and his sister. They were so simple, so friendly, and such keen observers. Everywhere they went they met and mingled with the people exactly as if they were old and familiar friends; and in the gentleman's case this was quite true. He had been in the Province many times, as has been said, and he had the happy gift of a good and willing memory. He never forgot an acquaintance nor recalled one unkindly, and it surprised even Mrs. Hungerford to see how many faces brightened at his approach and how often the greeting came: "Welcome, welcome, friend!"

"Why, Judge, you back again? Well, I'm certain glad to see you? 'Tourists' like you are the sort we welcome heartiest to Ya'mouth. Fact, ain't it? The more folks know, the more they've traveled, the more they find to admire and enjoy even in such a place as this!" cried one old seaman, whom they met on their morning walk.

For having enjoyed a most excellent breakfast and the sun now shining brilliantly, they set out for a stroll through the pretty streets and past the charming gardens of the town; and finally brought up at the postoffice where there were letters for everybody, even for Dorothy.

Hers was from Jim Barlow, and full of news of the mountain and old friends there; saying, also, that he had been invited to join his tutor, the Rev. Mr. Sterling, who was sometimes called the "tramping parson," on a walking tour through the northern part of the Empire State. It was overflowing with enthusiasm over the places he would visit and the wonderful "good luck" which had so changed the life of the truck-farm lad; "and I mean to make the whole 'tramp' a part of my education. I tell you, Dolly girl, if there's much gets past me without my seeing and knowing it, it'll be when I'm asleep. Mr. Sterling's a geologist, and likes to take his vacation this way, so's he can find new stones, or hammer old ones to his heart's content.

"Whilst he's a hammering I'll be hunting things in the woods. I mean to make a regular list of every bird I see, and every animal, and study all their little habits and tricks. I'll carry some old newspapers and a book, too, so that if I come across any new kind of flower or plant I'll press it for you. That way my vacation'll be considerable of a help to you too.

"Try and learn all you can, Dorothy child, whilst you have the chance. There's nothing so perfectly grand in all this world as learning things. I've noticed you were getting a little flighty, along back, and setting more store by your clothes than you used to, or that a girl who'll have to teach for her living had ought to. Needn't get mad with me for reminding you. I can write it easier than I could say it to your face, some way; and amongst all the good times you're having don't forget to write to me once in a while, for we've been so like brother and sister this long time that I want to hear. So no more at present from your affectionate

"JAMES BARLOW.

"P. S.—I had a letter from Mrs. Cecil Somerset-Calvert. She wrote I was to call to Deerhurst and get Peter and Ponce, her two Great Danes, and take them with me on my tour. She'd already written to Mr. Sterling, because she knew he was a dog-lover, and he was pleased to have them on the trip. Good-by.

"JIM."

"Well, this changes our plans somewhat," remarked the Judge, looking up from one of his letters, with an expression of some disappointment. They had all paused outside the postoffice building to hastily scan their news, and now grouped about him in interest, as Mrs. Hungerford rather anxiously asked:

"Why, Schuyler, what's happened?"

"Oh! nothing unpleasant. Not at all. Only this is from Ihrie, and the boys will be on hand earlier than expected. So, to get around to all the places we want to see and yet be at our rendezvous in time we'll have to cut our stay here short. I wouldn't like to fail the boys."

"Not on any account!" exclaimed Aunt Lu, merrily; and then explaining to Miss Greatorex: "Let me tell you, Miss Isobel, that these 'boys' range anywhere from fifty to seventy-five years in age! and that one of them is a college president, another a world-famous surgeon, and the third an equally notable merchant. Old class-mates under their president, whom it is their glory to have with them on these annual trips."

"Why, I—I think that is beautiful!" returned the teacher, with so much enthusiasm that the others reflected how she was "waking up." "Beautiful," she added again, after a pause in which she had looked with new interest upon her own young pupils.

"Yes, we must get on. So let's plan our day the best we can, and take the evening express for Digby. How does this suit? To call a carriage and have you ladies driven all around, to 'do' Yarmouth as thoroughly as possible in so short a time. Don't wait dinner for me—for us. I have a visit to make which must not be postponed, since it concerns the interests of other people. I'll take the girls with me and give them a chance to see the inside of a Yarmouth cottage. Also, if we're invited, to taste a bit of native Yarmouth cookery. We'll get around back to the inn in time for collecting our traps and making the train. Eh?"

"Suits me well enough;" answered Mrs. Hungerford, and Miss Isobel nodded acquiescence, saying to the surprise of the others: "That descendant of 'Sealed Waters' might impart the most information of any driver, possibly."

"But—Molly! Why, Molly, what are you acting that way for?" demanded Dorothy, smiling at the antics of her mate. For the girl had hastily scanned two of her letters and having saved "the best to the last" was now prancing all over the sidewalk, waving the missive overhead and crying:

"Splendid! Splendid! SPLENDID!"



CHAPTER VII

FINNAN HADDIE IN A GARDEN

As Molly's excitement seemed pleasurable they did not tarry for its explanation but promptly separated; the ladies returning to their hotel to order their carriage and repack the few articles they had taken from their valises.

The Judge set off down the street, still examining his mail and bidding the girls to follow; and, as they did so, Molly exclaimed:

"It's just too lovely for words! Monty's coming, Monty's coming!"

Dorothy almost lost sight of the Judge as he turned a corner into a side street, so long she paused and so disgusted she felt.

"That boy! What's he coming for? I hope not to be with us!"

"Exactly what he is, then! We laid a little plan that last morning when we started. His mother was in Newburgh, you know, and hadn't decided where she would pass her vacation. So I suppose he went right to her and asked and she always does just what he wants. He writes that she'd never visited Nova Scotia nor Canada and was simply delighted to come. She wouldn't force their society upon our party, oh! no, not for anything! But she'll manage to take the first steamer out from Boston and will go straight to Digby. We'll meet there; and if Aunt Lucretia doesn't think a Stark is good company for a Breckenridge, I'll know the reason why. Oh! fine, fine."

"Oh! nuisance, nuisance! But come on! Your father is ever so far ahead and we'll have to hurry to catch up."

They set off upon a run and for a few minutes neither spoke. Molly was disappointed that Dolly didn't "enthuse," and the latter felt that a boy—such a boy—would effectually spoil the good times she and her mate might have had together, alone. Finally, Molly asked:

"Who was your letter from?"

For answer and with considerable pride Dorothy drew James Barlow's epistle from its envelope and held it toward her friend, saying:

"You can read and see."

Molly read and returned the letter, with a little sniff of contempt and the remark:

"Huh! The only interesting part of that is the post-script. It will be just fine to have those dogs along. I suppose Mrs. Calvert sent them up from Baltimore to Deerhurst. But if I were you, Dolly Doodles, I wouldn't let that ignoramus preach to me like he does to you in that letter. He's a prig, that's what he is, and I hate a prig. So there."

"No, he isn't. Mr. Seth would say that he had only 'lost his head' for a minute. You see poor Jim can't get over the wonder of his getting his 'chance.' He's simply crazy-wild over learning—now. He believes it's the only thing in the world worth while. He didn't mean to scold me. I—I guess. If he did I don't mind. He's only Jim. He just knows I'll have to take care of my father and mother, some day, if our mineral spring and mine don't pay better than now. He's afraid I'll waste my 'chance,' that's all. Dear, faithful old Jim!"

"Pooh! Horrid, pokey old Jim, I say. But Monty'll have some fun in him; unless—he thinks two girls are poor company."

"I hope he will. I hope he'll coax your father and those old 'boys' to take him with them into the woods. That might do him some good and take the nonsense out of him."

"Well, Dorothy, I think that's not a nice thing for you to say. You must have forgotten the night of the fire and what he did to help you. There wasn't any 'nonsense' about Montmorency Vavasour-Stark then, if you please!"

Instantly touched by this reminder and fully regretful for her sarcasm—though still sorry that he was coming—Dolly returned:

"That's true, Molly, honey. I did forget, just for a minute. He's not half bad, Monty isn't; and I guess he'll be useful to climb trees and pick cherries for us, or get flowers that we can't reach. Anyhow, we're fairly dawdling and almost quarreling, and all the time your father is getting further away. See! He's stopping before that house? I'll race you to the gate!"

"All right. One—two—three—go!"

It was a charming little cottage before which they brought up at the Judge's side. Its front yard was small, so that the bay-windows one upon each side the door, came almost to the white paling before the grounds; but one could catch a glimpse of a deep garden behind and Dorothy's flower-loving soul was enchanted by it, even as by the contents of the windows.

"Oh! look! How lovely! Did you ever see such Gloxinias and Cyclamens? And that Weeping Fuschia in the other window! It is gorgeous, simply gorgeous! But how queer, too, to keep plants indoors as late as this! and their lace curtains up, right in the summer-time! Are we going in here, Judge Breckenridge?"

"Yes, indeed. I paused only to let your rhapsody have vent, though I really wish the little mistress of this home could have heard such a spontaneous tribute to her skill as a florist. You'll notice that peculiarity all through the Province. Window plants remain in the windows all the year round and there is scarcely a home that hasn't its share of them and its tiny conservatory, such as is here.

"Curtains? I hadn't thought why they're up, but maybe it's to keep out the prying gaze of too eager 'tourists.' A fine scorn the native always has for the average 'tourist'—though he has no scorn for the tourist's cash. Ah! Here she comes!"

At that instant his summons upon the tiny knocker was answered by the soft footfall of a woman, and the opening of the door a narrow way. Then it was as instantly flung wide and a dainty little housemistress, white-capped and white-haired, extended two small, toil-worn hands in greeting.

"Oh! Judge Breckenridge! You did give me such a start! But I'm so glad to see you! So more than glad. Do step right in, please. All of you step in."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cook, for your welcome and your invitation; but we'd rather step right out if you don't mind?"

"Why—sir!"

"No lack of appreciation, believe me. But I've a young lady here who is 'plumb crazy' over posies and, coming along on the steamer, I promised her a glimpse of some of Yarmouth's garden 'cosy corners.' I know none lovelier than your own; and as for your window-plants—I'm afraid if we don't take her away from temptation she'll break the glass and 'hook' one of your 'Gloxamens' or 'Cyclaglinias' or—"

The lady laughed as merrily as a girl and patted Dorothy's shoulder with appreciation of the Judge's joke. Then started to lead the way around the cottage into that inviting greenery behind, when a curious voice hindered her by a pathetic appeal:

"Mamma! Oh! Mamma! Don't go and leave poor Mum! Quisanthemum must go with Mamma!"

The visitors turned in surprise, toward this querulous "child" as the girls fancied it, though the Judge was already smiling his understanding of the matter. Then there appeared in the doorway a parrot, of wonderful plumage and exaggerated awkwardness; who waddled from side to side, climbed one side of its mistress's gown to her shoulder and walked head-first down the other, rolling its eyes and emitting the most absurd moans till the two girls were convulsed with laughter.

Then Mrs. Cook held out her wrist, the parrot settled on it, and they proceeded to the garden; the lady explaining:

"This little Miss Chrysanthemum is a spoiled baby. She's only a few months old, was brought to me by one of my sailor friends, and about rules the house now. Especially when my boy is away."

As she mentioned her "boy" the tiny woman looked rather anxiously into the Judge's face; and Dorothy noticed that her own was really quite young, despite the white hair and widow's cap which crowned it. She thought the lady charming, she was so small, so delicate and quaint. Yet there was the real "English color" on her still fair cheek and her eyes were as bright a blue as Molly's own.

"Son told me you would call. Also, Ephraim wrote me in his last letter; but I had not expected you to-day. I thought you were to be in Yarmouth for a week or more and didn't anticipate so prompt a kindness."

Then opening a little bag which hung fastened to her waist, the cottager drew from it a pair of blunt-pointed scissors and gave them to Dorothy, saying:

"It's you I see, who has the keenest eyes for flowers. Cut all you want of anything you fancy;" and she swept her hand rather proudly toward the hedges of sweet-peas, just coming into bloom, and the magnificent roses which were earlier in her protected garden than elsewhere in the town.

Had Dorothy known it, this was a rare privilege that had been accorded her. Mrs. Cook loved her flowers as she did her human friends and had a fancy that cutting them was almost as cruel as wounding a person she loved. Until they faded she never cut them for her own enjoyment; and only now and then nerved herself to clip them for the cheer of some ailing neighbor. She was therefore greatly pleased when the girl returned the scissors, after one questioning glance toward Molly, as to her possible disappointment.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cook, but I don't like to do that. They are so lovely and look so happy in this beautiful garden, I'd hate to. We shall be going, I'm told, and they'll only be ruined for nothing. But, if you please, I'd like to sit down on these steps and enjoy them. Wouldn't you, Molly? While your father talks with Mrs. Cook."

The steps belonged to a sort of lean-to, or outdoor kitchen. The little addition was covered with vines in leaf and more sweet-peas clambered about its base. Behind it was the living-room with its open door and table already set for dinner. A savory odor issued thence and set the girls to thinking how remarkably hungry they were, despite their late and substantial breakfast. Also, to wondering if Nova Scotia air was to whet their appetites this way all the time.

Thought Molly, in especial: "If it is I shall buy me a little bag to wear at my waist, as Auntie does, and fill it with crackers."

Then, thinking of food, she "pricked up her ears," hearing her hostess inviting:

"But, Judge Breckenridge, I would take it the highest honor if you would share our dinner with us. Of course, it isn't what I'd have liked to have, had I known. But my husband used to say, 'Welcome is the best sauce.' Besides, if you're to leave so soon I'll be glad to talk over that matter of which I just spoke. I am really so perplexed as to what is best. You've been so kind to my brother-in-law, Ephraim, that—"

She interrupted herself to laugh and observe:

"Yet that's presumptuous of me, too. The fact that you've been a kind adviser to one of the family doesn't form a precedent for all the rest of us. But, business aside, cannot you and your daughters join us?"

"Thank you. We will be most happy; though I must set you right on that point—of relationship. One is my daughter, the blonde, not the flower-lover; and one is my temporarily 'adopted.' Molly and Dolly their names; and two dearer little maids you'll travel far to find."

"Aye, they're fair bonny, and so unlike. Now, sit you down, please, while I dish up; and tell me, if you will, how does the man, Ephraim? He was ever in fear of his health but a better one never lived. After my sister died—the pair of us married brothers—he grew lost and finical. Nought we could do for him just suited the man. It was the grief, I knew. So, after he'd mumbled along more years than he'd ought, fending for himself, he crossed over to the States and drifted south to Richmond and you. 'Twas a sad pity he'd neither son nor daughter to cheer him in his widower life, but so was his Providence. Mine has been better. Son is my hope and—and my anxiety. He's not found his right niche yet, poor lad. There's a love of the sea in him, like his sailor father; but he's never got over that tragedy of his father's death."

"Where did that happen, Mrs. Cook? Ephraim told me he was drowned," asked the visitor, sympathetically.

"Off Pollock Rip Shoals. A bad and fearsome place that, where many an honest fellow has sunk to his last sleep." She dashed a tear from her eye, and laid her hand for an instant upon her widow's cap. Then she went on more cheerfully, as if time had taught her resignation: "But that's a gone-by. Son's future isn't. It's laid upon me by the Lord to be both father and mother to the boy and I must study what's for his best, not mine. Ephraim wrote I was to consult you who are a Judge and wise. He said in his letter that he hadn't been a sort of general-utility-man in your office thus long without knowing it wasn't your best paying clients that got your best advice. That, wrote Ephraim, came out of your heart for the widows and orphans. We're that, son and I, and—What a garrulous creature I am!"

All the time the little woman had been talking she had also been preparing for the meal; and it now being ready to serve she stepped to the rear door, opening on the place where the girls were sitting, and announced:

"Our finnan haddie and greens are ready, young ladies, if you will come and partake of it. Also, lest you be disappointed, I'll say that there's a 'John's Delight' in the 'steamer,' and a dish of the best apples in the Province for the sweeties. Eh? What, my dear?"

To Dorothy's utter amazement Molly was doing a very rude thing. She had risen and made her very prettiest courtesy, but had supplemented this act of respect by the petition:

"Please, Mrs. Cook, may we have ours out here, on these steps?"

"Why, Molly!" cried her chum, in reproof. "The idea of giving all that trouble!"

"No trouble whatever, but a pleasure," replied the hostess, although she, also, was surprised.

Molly wheeled upon Dorothy, demanding:

"Wouldn't you like it here? Could you find a lovelier place to eat in? As for making trouble, I don't want to do that. I—If Mrs. Cook will just put it on one plate I'll fetch it here for us both. It would be like a picnic in a garden; and you could stay here and—and watch."

"Watch? What am I to watch, except these beautiful flowers?" asked Dolly, even further surprised.

Fortunately for Molly her father had not overheard her odd request or she would have received reproof far more effectual than Dorothy's. Also, Mrs. Cook was hospitality itself, and this meant wishing her guests to enjoy themselves after the manner they liked best.

As swiftly as either of the girls could have moved, she was back in the pleasant living-room, arranging a tray with a portion of the palatable dinner she had provided; saying in response to the Judge's inquiring expression:

"We thought it would be a fine thing, and one the lassies will long remember, to have their Bluenose dinner in a Bluenose garden. For all their lives long they can think of this summer day and my greenery yon; and, maybe, too, of the first time they ever ate 'finnan haddie' and 'John's Delight.' More than that, it will give us the freedom of speech with son, as it wouldn't were they sitting by. He's aye shy, is my laddie."

Then she carried out a little table, set it beside the steps and placed the tray thereon. After which she "Begged pardon!" and lifted up her gentle voice in an appeal that sounded almost pathetic in its entreaty.

"Son! Dear son Melvin! Come now to dinner with your mother! Son! SON!"

The last word was spoken in a tone he rarely disobeyed, and low-toned though it was, it was so distinctly uttered that people passing on the street beyond heard it. So also must he have heard who was summoned, if he was anywhere upon those premises—as he had been when these guests arrived.

However, he did not appear; and Mrs. Cook and the Judge sat down alone, while "Son" for whom that "home dinner" had been specially prepared was "fair famished" for want of it.

Out upon the steps of that lattice-covered, vine-enwrapped summer-house, the two girls enjoyed their dinner greatly. In particular did mistress Molly. Her eyes sparkled, her dimples came and went, her smiles almost interfered with her eating, and her whole behavior was so peculiar that Dorothy stared. She was puzzled and began to be slightly disgusted, and at last remarked:

"Why, honey, I never saw you get so much—so much fun out of your food. I've heard about gourmands. I think I can guess now what they are and act like. Hark! What's that noise? Kind of a crackle, as if a cat or something was overhead among those vines. I hope it isn't. Cats love fish. I always have to shut up Lady Rosalind when Mother Martha has it for dinner. Isn't 'finnan haddie' a queer name?"

"Yes. I've heard Papa tell of it before. It's haddock smoked, some sort of queer way. But this is nice—My! How nice this is! Umm, umm, umm!" giggled Molly, as if she found something most amusing in the food she smacked her lips over in such a very strange manner.

"Well, Molly Breckenridge, one thing I can say for you. That is: it's a good thing Miss Rhinelander isn't here to see you now. You—you act like a little pig. Excuse me, but you really do."

"Cats do like fish. Maybe it's a cat. Let's call it a cat, anyway," answered Molly, in no wise offended by her chum's plain speech. Then lifting her voice she began to call: "Kitty! Kitty! Kitty—kitty—kitty—kitty—kitty—come!" as fast as she could speak.

Just then Mrs. Cook came out to them to remove their plates and bring them generous portions of "John's Delight," a dessert which Molly declared was "first cousin to a Christmas plum pudding," and over which she was tempted to smack her lips in earnest, not pretence. A momentary soberness touched her merry face, however, when the hostess observed with keen regret:

"I am so sorry Son isn't here to do the honors of this little picnic. I don't see where he can have gone. His dinner on shore is always such a pleasure to him and besides—I wanted him to meet you all in a private fashion, not as a bugler aboard-ship."

"Maybe—maybe he is—is doing the honors!" said Molly, half choking over the strange remark. "Maybe he's—he can see—he's rather shy, isn't he? The sailor said they called him the 'Bashful Bugler.' But he—he bugles beautifully, especially first calls to meals which a seasick girl can't eat. I—"

Then she stopped abruptly. Mrs. Cook was looking at her with much the same expression Dorothy's mobile face had worn; and again from overhead came that ominous crackle of breaking twigs. Also, a few crushed leaves fluttered to the ground and caused Dorothy to exclaim:

"Must be a pretty big cat to tear things like that. Did you see it? Do you suppose it's a wildcat? Don't they have all sorts of creatures in the Nova Scotia woods? Do you suppose it's wild—"

"It certainly is. It's about the wildest thing I ever met—of its size. Isn't this pudding delicious? If I was a hungry, a sea-starved cat how angry I should be to be kept out of my share of it just by a couple of girls. Girls are cats' natural enemies. Sometimes girls eat cats—if they're nice, purry, pussy-cats! Some cats have blue eyes, and some—Why, Papa! Are you ready? Going so soon?"

"Yes, dear. I can't wait any longer. I am greatly disappointed in not seeing Melvin again; but possibly he may run up to the station before the train starts. I'll try to be there early. As early as I can, though I have some little affairs here still to attend to. Good-by, Mrs. Cook. I think the plan we have discussed is the best all round. It will be a test, so to speak. There is nothing like life in the woods together to break down all barriers of shyness or reserve.

"Thank you, cordially, for your hospitality. I haven't enjoyed a dinner so much in many a day. I will see you again, if we return this way, and I will keep you informed of my address if our plan falls through and we have to try some other."

Deeply moved, the little mother began to utter her own profuse thanks; for what the listening girls did not know. But these were promptly suppressed by the Judge's manner of saying:

"Don't do that, yet, my dear lady. Wait and prove Ephraim's words are true. And now good-by again. I had hoped to have you and my sister meet, but our unexpected departure has prevented that until some more fortunate future day."

He raised his hat, bowed profoundly, and walked away; the girls making their adieus and expressing their own thanks for hospitality received in a manner which did credit to Miss Rhinelander's training. Only Molly's cheek burned with an unusual blush, and she did not lift her eyes to Mrs. Cook's as readily and affectionately as Dorothy did.

The latter, indeed, was to receive a rare tribute; for the lady followed her to the street and slipping inside the front door broke from her beautiful Gloxinias a handful of blossoms and gave them to the girl, saying:

"My dear, I'm sure you will appreciate these; and I'm equally sure you and I have much in common. Good-by. May all good things attend you." Then she kissed the red lips which had impulsively kissed her and watched them all out of sight.

But she did not kiss Molly; and though that young person would not have expected such a caress, she was for an instant jealous of that bestowed upon Dorothy.

The Judge waited for them to join him and taking a hand of each, in his fatherly fashion, remarked:

"I find that sailor's widow a very charming woman and a perfect hostess. No apologies for what she had to offer, though in her heart a slight regret that it was not of some sort more expensive. A pity Melvin didn't appear. I would have liked to study him in his mother's presence. One can always tell what a boy is by the way he treats his mother; and I wasn't pleased that he so disregarded her call to dinner, because she said he had been there when I knocked and after we had entered the garden itself."

A sudden comprehension of the state of things flashed through Dorothy's mind, and she turned her eyes inquiringly toward Molly, who flushed, hesitated, and finally burst forth:

"He couldn't come, Papa dear, because—because I wouldn't let him! He got caught in the trap of his own horrid bashfulness."

Somehow Molly was no longer giggling, as she had been at intervals ever since they reached the cottage. Things didn't look as "funny" as they had a few minutes before; nor was she pleased to have the Judge stop short on the path and demand:

"Explain yourself, daughter."

"Why it's easy enough. When that Melvin boy, that bugler, saw us coming to that porch he was scared stiff. He just looked at us a second, then scrambled up that lattice-work to the top of that arbor or whatever it is, and—course he had to stay there. That's why I sat down on those steps. Why I wanted my dinner out there. Oh! it was the funniest thing! A great big boy like him to stay up on such an uncomfortable place just because two girls whom he'll never see again had sat down beneath him. Of course, he'd have to pass us to answer his mother's call to dinner; and he'd rather go without that than do it. Oh! it was too funny for words! And when the leaves fell Dolly thought it was the 'cat.' She wondered if it was a 'wildcat,' and I said 'yes, it was wild!' Oh! dear! I was so amused!"

Dorothy laughed. To her the affair had also its "too funny" side, now that she understood it. But the Judge did not laugh. If he felt any secret amusement at the girlish prank he did not betray it in his expression, which was the sternest his daughter had ever seen when bent upon her idolized self.

"Well, Molly, you certainly have distinguished yourself. The joke which might have been harmless under some circumstances was an abominable rudeness under these. I am ashamed of you. I shall expect you to write a note of apology to Mrs. Cook, before you leave Yarmouth. And as for never seeing Melvin again, let me set you right. I have invited the lad to join us for our entire summer vacation. Understand?"

Alas! She understood but too well. Yet if a bomb had exploded at her feet she could hardly have been more astonished.



CHAPTER VIII

DOROTHY AND THE BASHFUL BUGLER

The main street of pretty Digby runs close to the water. The bluff is crowned by a grassy sward and a row of well-grown trees, with a driveway between these and the buildings on the further side.

"Oh! how lovely and how different from our own seaside places, with their hot sands, board walks, and cityfied shops. I hope no board walk will ever spoil this charming boulevard!" exclaimed a lady, who stood at a hotel window overlooking Annapolis Basin, on whose shore nestles the little town.

"Yes, Mamma! Aren't you glad you came?" asked Monty Stark, entering the room and joining her at the window.

"I hope I shall be, dear. I'm a little anxious about your friends. I should greatly object, myself, to having people force themselves upon a touring party I had organized. But you must understand, Montmorency, that if I discover the slightest sign of objection to us, I shall go on my own way and you will have to go with me. I—I am not accustomed to being patronized or—no matter. I came to please you, my precious boy, and I hope it will be all right. Let me see if you are quite correct. I suppose the guests wear evening dress for dinner as in other civilized places. Though—it looks more like a country village yonder, than a real watering place."

"But, Mamma, it is a country village. Nothing else, the Judge says. And somehow I feel rather silly in this rig. I saw the Judge a moment ago and he wasn't in evening clothes, but he's a 'brick' all right!"

"Montmorency! How can you use such dreadful expressions?"

"Easy as preaching, chere Maman!"

"I'm afraid your associates at Brentnor are not all of them as refined and exclusive as I had supposed. I've observed other phrases that I do not like. One of them was, I think, 'Shucks!'"

"Yes, I reckon you did. I didn't catch that from a Brentnor, though, but from Jim Barlow."

"Who is he, pray?"

"Blest if I can tell or he either. He hails from a poorhouse. He was 'bound out' to a woman truck farmer. He's been 'taken up' by Mrs. Cecil Somerset-Calvert, of Baltimore, and lots of other places. A lady that's so rich she has homes in ever so many different parts of the country. But better than that he's a 'trump,' a life-saver, a scholar, and—a gentleman! One of 'Nature's' you know. Would like to have you meet him because he's my present chum; that is, he would be if—if we lived in the same house and could be. But unfortunately, he has agreed to do 'chores' for a parson in payment for his instruction in Greek and all the 'ologies.' He's off on a tramp now, 'hoofing it,' as he elegantly expresses it, for a vacation. He's taken the parson and a couple of dogs along for company. The parson's a trotting tramper, too. Maybe you've read some of his delightful articles in the magazines. Eh? What? Too much for you, Mamma? Well, never mind. I'll quit now, for there goes the last bell for dinner. Allow me?"

Bowing and offering his arm Monty conducted his richly clad mother toward the dining-room, whither a crowd of tourists were hastening. These were garbed in any sort of comfortable traveling clothes, the women mostly in white shirt-waists such as Mrs. Stark would have disdained even for morning wear at home. The men looked as if they had just come from a dusty train, a too-fragrant fishing boat, or a rough camp in the woods; and at the foot of the stairs the fashionable Mrs. Stark paused in a sort of dismay.

For an instant, too, she had an odd feeling as if it were she who had made a mistake, not those groups of merry, hungry holiday-makers, who elbowed one another good naturedly, in order to find a seat at the crowded tables. Mrs. Stark wasn't used to elbowing or being elbowed, and she gathered her silken train in her hand to preserve it from contact with the oil-cloth covered floor of the lobby, while her face gathered an expression of real alarm.

"Why, my dear son! We can't stay here, you know! It is simply impossible to hobnob with such—such queer persons. We must seek another hotel at once. I'll step into that room yonder which is the 'parlor' probably, and you summon the proprietor. I—I am not accustomed to this want of courtesy and—indeed, dear, I am greatly displeased with you. You painted the trip in such glowing colors I—"

"But, Mamma, don't the colors glow? Did you ever see anything in your life lovelier than this glimpse of the Annapolis Basin, with the moonlight on it, the great peaks and cliffs beyond? I'm sorry if you're disappointed but you didn't seem to be up in your room, looking out. As for changing hotels we'd simply 'hop out of the frying pan into the fire,' since this is the best one in the town. Else Judge Breckenridge wouldn't have come here."

"Monty, dear! Such phrases again! Is that another lesson learned from the poorhouse boy?"

"No, indeedy! I caught that from Alfaretta Babcock. She of the retrousse nose and simple speech. A royal sort of girl, too, is Alfy; first of the alphabetical Babcock sisters. The second is—But come, Mamma. We're in for it and I don't want to go to bed hungry, even if you do. I'm afraid, Mother mine, that there's been too much 'de luxe' in your life and I shall have to reconstruct you."

His mirthful face provoked her to laughter despite her real vexation and fortunately, at that moment, Mrs. Hungerford entered the room and advanced to Mrs. Stark with extended hand and the warmest of greetings.

"This is Monty's mother, I'm sure. I am Molly's Auntie Lu. We exist I fancy, for our respective youngsters and mine discovered you through the doorway of the dining-room and commissioned me to fetch you. We've had seats reserved for you at our table in the corner and I apologize for not hunting you up earlier. The truth is we were out driving until the last moment and were greatly hurried ourselves. So, of course, we were none of us here when the train came in and I did not know you had arrived. Shall we go now? You will find that people grow desperately hungry when they first come into this bracing air, and with the best intentions in the world, the proprietor isn't always able to provide enough for such clamorous appetites. My brother says that explains the rather rude crowding to get 'first table,' and that our remedy lies in doing a bit of crowding ourselves. I rather enjoy it, already, though we only came here yesterday. Did you have a pleasant trip?"

"No, I did not. I was never on such a poor steamer before. Fortunately I wasn't ill and it's not a long sail from Boston across. Is it really true, as Montmorency tells me, that there is no better hotel than this?" returned the other, rising to follow Auntie Lu.



Since Monty had said that he was hungry, of course, she would stay for that one meal and let him get comfortable. Afterward—she would follow her own judgment.

But she, also, was gently bred and born, and despite a lack of plain common sense was an agreeable person in the main. She had responded to Mrs. Hungerford's greeting with a correct society manner; and now, as she followed toward the dining-room, she bestowed upon that lady's back a keenly critical survey. She saw that Aunt Lucretia was well but simply gowned in white. She was immaculately fresh, and fragrant from her bath with a faint odor of violets about her that pleased rather than offended nostrils which habitually objected to "perfumery" as something common and vulgar.

Her gown might have been expensive but did not look so and was eminently more fit for an evening dinner in a tourists' hotel than the elaborate costume of Mrs. Stark.

Though she had been but twenty-four hours in the place, Auntie Lu had already adapted herself to it completely, and smiled away the services of a rather frightened head-waitress new to her business, as she threaded her way toward that distant corner of the crowded room where her own table overlooked the water.

A little hush fell over the adjoining tables as Mrs. Stark's elegance bore down upon them in her majestic way. She was portly and heavy-motioned, as poor Monty was apt to be when he should arrive at her age; and chairs had to be drawn in closer, feet tucked under them, and heads bent forward as she passed by.

As for the youth in her train misery and mortification shone on his chubby countenance. For a boy he had been absurdly fond of dress, but he had also a keen sense of what was fit and he knew his present costume was not that. However, all this trivial unpleasantness passed, as the entering pair were greeted by the rest of the party. The Judge still wore a business suit but his manner, as he rose to be presented to Mrs. Stark was so polished and correct that her spirits revived, thinking:

"Well, the people are all right, if the place isn't."

She acknowledged Miss Isobel's greeting with a slight haughtiness, such as she felt was due a social inferior. Upon Molly she bestowed an admiring smile and glance; and upon Dorothy a rather perfunctory one. The girl might also be "poorhouse born" for aught anybody knew, and from contact with such her "precious lamb" was to be well protected. She intended to see to it that further intercourse between her son and that "tramp," Jim Barlow, should be prevented also; and while she marvelled that "the Breckenridges" should make much of the girl, as apparently they did, it wasn't necessary that she should do the same. Monty had told her all about each member of the party so that Dorothy's story was familiar to her. The lad had concluded his recital with the words:

"She's the bravest, sincerest girl in the world. She's braver than Molly Breckenridge, and I like her immensely. All the boys at Brentnor think she's fine, and we all hope some grand romance will come out of the facts of her parentage. She doesn't come of any illiterate, common stock, Mamma. You may be sure of that. So I hope you'll be nice and not—not too Stark-ish toward her, please!"

So this was the girl who had saved life. Of that grim teacher opposite and, later, of a farmer's son out of a tree where he was hanging. Very creditable, of course, though it couldn't affect herself, Mrs. Ebenezer Vavasour-Stark, and she fixed her attention elsewhere.

It was due to the Judge that she altered her opinion of her present quarters so far as to decide upon remaining in them; and to make the best of the whole trip, "which you know is but a prolonged picnic. As for air and health and strength, you could find nothing better the world over, my dear Madam," he had said.

After that first dinner also she had a talk with her son; which resulted in his displaying a common sense that did him credit.

"Look here, Mamma. Let's just pack all these over-fine togs in the trunks and leave them here to be sent to us when wanted. All we shall need, I fancy, is a suit-case a-piece with the plainest things we own. Even that 'fancy' hunter's suit I bought is ridiculous. The Judge uses the oldest sort of things—'regular rags,' Molly says; and I—I may be a fool but I don't like to look like one! Do it, Mamma, to please me. And let's put our 'society' manners into the trunks with the clothes. Let's live, for these few weeks, as if we were real poor—as poor as Dolly or Miss Greatorex. I don't believe even that lady has any money to speak of and as for Dorothy, she hasn't a cent. Not a cent."

"How do you know that, Montmorency? Are you on such intimate terms with that foundling that she confides the state of her finances to you? If so, she is probably hinting for presents."

"Umm. Might be. Didn't look like it though when I proposed just now to buy her one of those Indian baskets on sale in the lobby. She wouldn't take one, though Molly took all I wanted to give—and more. That girl hasn't any scruples about having a good time and letting anybody pay that wants to."

"That, son, is a proof of good birth and breeding, she has always been accustomed to having her wants supplied and takes it as a matter of course. But, Monty darling, you must be good to Mamma. She doesn't feel as if she had come to a 'Paradise of a place,' as you told me I would find it. Yet if it pleases you to see your mother dressed like a servant why, of course, for your sake I'll consent. But I warn you, no skylarking with underbred people or I shall take you straight home."

This little conversation shows that Mrs. Hungerford was right when she informed her brother on that same evening:

"We made a blunder when we allowed the Starks to join our personal party. They fit into it about as well as a round peg in a square hole. The woman—Well, she may be high-born and rich but I don't want our Molly to copy her notions. She's not nice, either, to poor Miss Isobel nor Dorothy. The result is that Miss Greatorex has grown more difficult and 'stiff' than she was in the beginning. Such a pity when she's just begun to get softer and more human!"

In his heart the Judge was not over-pleased by this untoward opening of the new association, but he wouldn't admit it to her. He merely said:

"I'm sorry if you're going to let the prejudices of silly women spoil your own vacation. Don't do it. Just remember what you often say, that human nature is the same everywhere. We have the pride of wealth to contend with on one hand and the pride of poverty on the other; but beneath each sort of pride lies an honest heart. I believe it, and that we shall yet see these two opposing elements merged in a warm friendship. Watch for it. It takes all sorts of people to make a world and another sort will be added, to-morrow, when Melvin joins us. Throw in the college Prex, the millionaire financier, and surgeon Mantler, and we shall have a miniature world of our own in our traveling mates."

"Schuyler, you haven't told me yet what part that lad Melvin is to play in this 'world.' Why did you ask him?"

"To test him, Lu, nothing else. His mother is anxious he should make a man of himself and isn't sure how best he can. She permitted him to take a bugler's place on the 'Prince' because he wanted to try a sea-faring life. Two seasons of it, even under the comfortable conditions of a passenger steamship, has sickened him of that. He fancied he could be a musician and has talent sufficient only to 'bugle.' Now he wants to see the world, though he didn't dream I was to offer him a chance. She thinks he would make a good lawyer, and so his uncle Ephraim thinks. Her pastor thinks he ought to be a minister; and the only point upon which all his friends and himself agree is that he should not spend all his days in 'Ya'mouth.' I'm going to take him to camp with me, to act as handy-man for all of us. That will give me a chance to see what stuff he's made of; and if he's worth it—if he's worth it—I'll take him down to Richmond and set him at the law.

"Molly, however, must let him alone. That girl can upset more plans than the wisest man can lay; and if she gets to teasing him on account of his strange bashfulness she'll scare him away from us and disappoint his mother's tender heart. She thinks that 'son' is a paragon of all the virtues. So does this other mother who's just joined us, think of her beloved Montmorency Vavasour-Stark. What a name! Between them and their 'laddies' I reckon I shall have less peace than from the wildest of tricksy Molly's capers."

"Schuyler, you mustn't be hard on her. She's exactly like what you were at her age! And she is the dearest child, you know it!"

"I must have been what you call 'a sweet thing,' then! But, of course, she's my own 'crow,' therefore she's pure white," laughed the adoring father, with more earnest than jest.

"Also, brother, in all your plans for others don't forget little Dorothy's. I know you're busy but I must find out who her own people are. I must. It's a sin and a heartless one to keep her young heart longer in suspense. I know she often ponders the thing, in spite of her cheerfulness, even gayety."

To which he returned:

"Don't attribute more pondering to her than belongs. Of the two I fancy you do the most of that. Nor think I've forgotten her interests. Her history is already being unravelled, thread by thread, and stitch by stitch. When the thread's wound clear up I trust it may make a goodly ball."

"Oh! my dear brother, what do you mean?" cried Aunt Lucretia, eagerly.

"I mean that I set old Ephraim Cook to the task. He's already down at Annapolis, fairly burrowing in archives and genealogies, and the skeleton closets of all our old Maryland families. It's the most congenial task he ever undertook in all his generally-useful life; for back here in 'Markland' he's long ago prepared a history of the peninsula that deserve publishing. He can trace every Bluenose household to its very beginning, and claims his own came to this side the sea in the Mayflower. That's one reason he wants Melvin, the last of his race, to make a name for it. Trust me he'll forage for our Dorothy better than I could myself; but he isn't to disturb us with letters of theories or 'maybes.' When he gets his facts—hurrah for the denoument! Now, dear, to your rest. The burdens of a peacemaker rest on your shoulders but—you'll make and keep the peace. Good night."

After all, when the sun rose on the following morning and this oddly assorted traveling party met to discuss the day's plans, each was so rested and refreshed that an abnormal amiability pervaded the whole group.

"What would you like to do best?" "Oh, no! You say!" "I'm sure whatever the rest propose will be agreeable to me in the way of sight-seeing." "Or even staying quietly at the hotel and just enjoying the outlook on the sea."

Such were the remarks exchanged and with such suavity of manner that Molly clapped her hands and cried:

"I declare, you're all too sweet to be wholesome! And it happens that I know what I want to do, even if you don't. Let's go away down to the end, I mean the beginning, of the town where they are curing fish. I saw them from the car window, and even then they were so interesting. I mean the fish were. Or—or the things where they fixed them. And, beg pardon, Mrs. Stark, even if you looked at that water all day long you couldn't make it into a 'sea.' It's only a Basin, the fag end of Annapolis Basin. Yonder, where there are so many sails and steamers, is the Bay of Fundy, and to get to the really truly sea you must go beyond that. The reason I'm so wise, if you want to know, is that I've been here twenty-four hours longer than you and I improved my time by asking questions."

With that the little maid swept her new acquaintance a courtesy and smiled so sweetly that any presumption on her girlish part was readily forgiven. Besides she was a Breckenridge; and though Mrs. Stark had now resolved to be as "democratic" as her new friends were it was easier resolved than practiced. If it had been Dorothy who ventured to plan for her elders her suggestions would have been coolly ignored.

The Judge drew near in time to hear the end of the talk and added:

"That is a sight we won't meet elsewhere in the same proportion as here. Also, the walk will do us good, and we shall pass the postoffice on our way. I like going for my own mail to the 'general delivery' better than having it sent to the hotel. I like the mingling with the eager crowd that waits before the little window to ask: 'Anything for me?' I like to watch the faces of the people when they open their letters. One can guess the 'home' ones by the expression of joy and the merely friendly by the indifference. I like—"

"Dear Schuyler, spare us! If there's anything upon earth you don't like that's even half-way interesting I can't guess it." Then turning to Mrs. Stark, Mrs. Hungerford added: "Brother is like a boy when he gets leave of absence, this way. Suppose you walk along with him and find out if there is anything he doesn't like along the way."

Her brother gave her an arch glance. Evidently she had begun her peaceful adjustment of "assorted" temperaments by assigning himself to Mrs. Stark's escort, though she knew all the time that he wanted to be with the youngsters. She placed herself along side Miss Isobel, smiling at that lady's inquiry if she were going into a public street without a hat.

"Surely. 'When in Rome do as the Romans do,' you remember. And see. Though most of the people have on some sort of wrap very few women are bonneted and even the men carry their hats in hand. Brother has snatched his off already."

The Judge was in front, attentively courteous and listening to Mrs. Stark's remarks, yet seemed to have eyes in the back of his head; for presently he asked:

"What are you youngsters lagging behind for? Dolly, take Melvin under your shelter and make him tell you everything you want to know about Digby. He's been here before many times, I've learned. And Molly, you and Monty walk ahead if you please. I like to keep my eye on my own and I fancy Mrs. Stark does too."

Separated from these two, who had been in the rear of the whole party, Melvin did exert himself to overcome his abnormal shyness and to talk; and when after proceeding a little way and his finding Dorothy eagerly observant of even the most trivial things that were new to her, he had an abrupt burst of courage—or was it a harmless spite against his tormentor of the day before, Molly? Whatever it was that emboldened him, he suddenly laid his hand on her arm and said:

"Wait just a minute! There comes a man I know. He's a transplanted Yarmouthian who's moved to Digby to 'haul' for his livelihood. He'll be glad to see me and hear the news from home; and won't want to waste time in doing it. I'll ask him to give us a ride. I don't believe either of you girls from the States ever did ride in such an equipage."

She had paused as he wished and was listening in surprise. As much because he talked so well and so easily as at the really joyous tone in which he hailed his uncouth acquaintance from "Home."

"Hello, Snackenberg! Here am I! Give me a ride?"

"Well, well, well! Son of all the Cooks! What you doin' here? Allowed you was sailin' the 'blue and boundless' just about now!" cried the teamster and leaning forward shook the lad so heartily by his own hard hand that Melvin squealed and protested:

"Well, we can't stand here, you know. I'll just help this young lady in—she's from the States—and you can jog on."

The team was of the sort that is always willing to stop, and the "equipage" was easily entered by merely stepping into its open rear. It swung low to the ground, after the fashion of Nova Scotian carts, and for seats it had a bundle of clean straw.

In another moment the animals had been goaded to fresh effort, their owner had turned about on the chain where he balanced himself for a seat and also turned a corner into a side street that climbed the hill behind the town. Then he ordered:

"Fire ahead! Tell everything you know; and I say, Sissy, did you ever see a purtier pair of creeturs than them be? I'm prouder of 'em than I could be of the finest team o' thoroughbreds ever stepped. Gee, there! Haw, I tell ye!"

Beyond, at the postoffice, the truants had been suddenly missed; and with varying degrees of anxiety their elders were asking one another:

"What do you suppose has become of Dorothy and that queer boy?"

But Molly was more vexed than anxious and she looked upon Monty with rising disfavor. She guessed that they were having some fun from which she was shut out and which Montmorency Vavasour-Stark would never have had the originality to suggest.

"Oh! I wish I knew! Maybe they're eating each other up! Yesterday she asked if he was a 'wildcat' and I told her 'yes.' Maybe, maybe—Oh! Why did you make us walk in front, namby-pamby so, Papa dear? If we'd been with them we'd know what they are doing and what has happened. Oh! dear! If I hadn't been in front I'd have been behind!" she complained. Nor was she greatly pleased by the laugh which her Irish-cism raised.



CHAPTER IX

AN OX-OMOBILE AND A SAILBOAT

Even Melvin had not expected that Dorothy and he would long be away from the rest of the party, though he did not realize that he was in any wise responsible to them, since his duties as camp-helper had not yet begun. But he enjoyed his freedom from the society of so many strangers and found Dorothy a pleasant companion. She might have been just another boy, for any "nonsense" there was about her; and she was so delighted with everything he pointed out that he, also, began to find new beauties in the familiar scenery, and to grow eager to show her all he could.

For the teamster prolonged his journey to the very crest of the hill behind the town, and made it slowly. He had so many questions to ask concerning his old neighbors that he delayed all he reasonably could and rather resented Melvin's attempts to entertain Dorothy.

"That's Point Prim lighthouse, yonder. See? Yes, Joel, Reuben Smith did paint his house bright blue, just as he vowed he would to spite his neighbor. That's Digby Gap, where the two hills come so near together in the water. The boats that sail from here have to pass through it and travelers say—No. I didn't hear what price that Company did get for its last 'catch.' Lobsters haven't been running so free this year, I hear; and there's another company started canning them. If Judge Breckenridge stays long enough I hope he'll take you sailing up Bear River. It's a nice drive there, too, but the sail is better. Up yonder is the Joggin—Why, Joel, I'm sure I don't know. I hadn't heard."

Such was a sample of the talk which went on and which provoked from the lad, at last, the comment:

"Learning under difficulties!" which he said with such an amused glance toward Dorothy that she laughed and felt that Molly had been right in her belief that "that boy has some fun in him." Thought of Molly made her also exclaim:

"Oh! I do wish she were here! She would have liked this so much! I don't believe she ever rode in an ox-cart either, any more than I did before. How funny it is! And how much longer shall we be? I'm afraid I ought to have asked Mrs. Hungerford or Miss Greatorex before I came. But I didn't think. I never do think till—afterward."

"Glad of it. Glad you didn't, else likely you'd have lost the ride. Joel doesn't call this an ox-cart, though. Not by any means. This, if you please, is an 'ox-omobile,' and very proud of it he is. Guess you needn't worry. Nobody can get lost in little Digby; and—Where now, Joel? How much longer will you be?"

"Oh! I reckon not long. Just a little minute or few. Depends on folks havin' their trunks ready to haul. Some towerists have been stopping up here to one these houses and engaged me to take their luggage down to the pier. They're goin' over to St. John, I reckon, only one of 'em. She's goin' to the dee-po. When we go down hill you two may set on the trunks—if you can!" and Mr. Snackenberg laughed at his own thoughts.

The trunks did happen to be ready. Indeed the "towerists" were even impatient to be gone and were just starting to walk to the pier when the carter arrived. They looked rather enviously at Dorothy and Melvin, so comfortably seated in the cart, but its owner did not extend an invitation to them to ride. Indeed, as he explained to his companions:

"If I was a mind I could have all Digby village a ridin' in my 'ox-omobile.' They seem to think it's powerful cunnin', as if they'd never seen a team of oxen before. Where've they lived at, I'd like to know, that they don't know an ox when they see it. There. Them trunks is in. Now, Sissy, you just set right down and—You'll find out the rest."

The trunks did fill the cart pretty well but there was plenty of room to put one's feet in the spaces between; and Dorothy fixed herself comfortably, wondering why Melvin disdained to ride but strode along beside the teamster who also walked. Throned in solitary state all went well for awhile, until a corner was turned and the steep descent into the town began. Then the trunks slid upon the slippery hay, resting their weight against the chain at the rear, which alone prevented their falling out; and after a few efforts to maintain her seat Dorothy also sprang to the ground and joined the others.

"Ha, ha, ha! Ridin' up-hill and ridin' down is two quite different things, ain't it, Sissy? Ever been to the pier to see the boat start across the Bay to St. John's, New Brunswick? No? First time you been to the Province? All right. You stick close to me and I'll p'int out all the 'lions' there is to see. Melvin, here, can talk as glib as the next one when he gets waked up, but I know more about Digby 'an he does. One the sights towerists rave the most over is the fish-grounds. They're right adj'ining the pier and you can kill them two 'lions' at once. Ha, ha!"

"But, sir, I'm afraid I ought to go back. I mean—to where my friends are. Is the pier on the road home?" asked Dorothy.

"All roads lead home—for somebody. The pier and the fish-curin' grounds amongst 'em. Don't you vex yourself, Sissy. If you was to go from one end to the other of this little town you couldn't never get fur from where you live."

The truth was that the old teamster wanted to keep the young folks with him as long as he could. There were still numberless questions he hadn't put to Melvin and he had taken a fancy to Dorothy. If she was simply a "towerist" she was, of course, an idler and it was of no consequence her wasting her time. He hadn't learned yet why Melvin was here and if he didn't find that out he felt he "couldn't bear it." So now he asked:

"Well, son of all the Cooks, what's fetched you here this time o' day? Lost your job?"

"Not exactly. I've given it up. I'm tired of sailing back and forth over the same old route and a friend of mine wanted to take my place. I'm going to help a gentleman I know in his camping out. Cook, maybe, or whatever he wants. Now—that's all. You needn't ask me how much I earn, or what's next, or anything. You just go ahead and tell this Miss Dorothy anything you fancy; since you know so much more of things than I do."

"H'ity-t'ity! Miffed, be ye? Never mind. You'd ought to rest your tongue, 'cause I 'low it's never wagged so fast afore in your whole life. But I'm ekal to it. I'm ekal. I've growed to be a regular 'Digby chicken,' I've tarried here so long already. Ever eat 'Digby chicken,' Sissy?"

Joel was affronted in his own turn now and determined to ignore that "Miss" which Melvin had pronounced so markedly. Joel wasn't used to "Miss"-ing any girl of Dorothy's size and he wasn't going to begin at his time of life. Not he!

Meanwhile, Melvin had relapsed into utter silence. He declined to answer any of the teamster's further questions, and if his knowledge of the locality had been quite as accurate as he had boasted he would have suggested to the girl that they take a short-cut back to the hotel. Yet, he had heard that teasing Molly say they were bound for the fish-grounds. Beyond these lay, also, that notable Battery Point, with its rusty old guns; its ancient, storm-bent trees; and the Indian encampment still further along. He had seen tourists so many times that he fancied they were all alike, full of curiosity, and with ample leisure to gratify it. So, in all probability, the Judge and his friends were still at that end of town and he had better stick to Joel till he conducted the girl and him to their presence. Then he would himself vanish until such time as the Judge might require his service.

They came to the pier and drove along its great length, the teamster pointing out all sorts of interesting things, so that Dolly forgot all else in her eager listening.

"Forty feet high the tide rises sometimes, right on this very p'int. That's why it's built so lofty. Look over the edge. See that sloping wharf clean down into the water? Well, sir, that's where folks land sometimes; and other times away up top here. My heart! The pretty creetur!"

Joel abruptly checked his team and stooped above something lying on the wide planking of the pier. Then he lifted the object and handed it to Dorothy, explaining:

"That's a poor little coddy-moddy! A little baby gull. Pity! Something's hurt it, but it's alive yet. Makes me feel bad to see any young creetur suffer; most of all to see a bird. Put it in the crook of your elbow, Sissy, and fetch it along. I'll take it home with me and see if I can't save its life."

After a moment he added, seeing her look wistful, as he thought:

"I'd give it to you, Sissy, but towering folks haven't no time nor chance to tend sick birds. It'll be better off in my house than jogglin' over railroads and steamboats."

There was sense in this as Dorothy rather reluctantly admitted, for she would have liked to keep the "coddy-moddy" and made a pet of it. With Joel, however, it would simply be cured and set free, or it would die in peace. Also she was touched by the real tenderness with which the rough-handed teamster made a nest in the straw of his cart and placed the bird upon it.

He had first deposited the trunks in the baggage-room and there was nothing to keep him longer; so with another whimsical glance at Melvin, who had sauntered behind them, he remarked:

"Right this way to the fishin'-grounds! 'Stinks a little but nothin' to hurt!'"

Then in the fatherly fashion which almost every man she met adopted toward her, he held out his hand to Dorothy C. and led her back over the pier and around to the broad field where numbers of men were salting and piling the haddock and cod they had caught. The fish were piled in circles or wheel-like heaps, after they were sufficiently dried; and the fresher ones were spread upon long frames to "cure." It was a great industry in that locality and one so interesting to Dorothy that she wanted to linger and watch the toilers despite the decidedly "fishy" odor which filled the air.

But Joel said that he must leave them then and, after pointing with his whip to a grassy plain beyond the fishing-grounds, advised:

"Best step right over to the Battery, Sissy, now you're so nigh it. I've learned in my life that things don't happen twice alike. Maybe you won't be just here again in such terr'ble agreeable company—" and he playfully touched Melvin on the shoulder—"and best improve it. And, Sissy, strikes me you're real likely. Sort of a common sense sort of little creetur without so many airs as some the girl-towerists put on. If so be 't you stop a spell in Digby just tip me the wink and I'll haul you with any load I happen to have on my 'Mobile.' Or, if so be we never meet again on earth, be sure, little Sissy, 't you meet me in Heaven. Good-by, till then."

Off he went and left Dorothy standing looking after him with something very like tears in her brown eyes. Such a quaint figure he looked in his long blue smock, his worn hat pushed to the back of his head, his sandy beard sweeping his breast; jogging beside his beloved team, doing his duty simply as he found it "in that state of life to which it had pleased God to call him."

"He's a very religious man, Joel Snackenberg, and never loses a chance to 'pass the word.' My mother sets great store by him and I must write her about our meeting him. Shall we go to the Battery or back to the hotel? Your friends don't—aren't anywhere in sight, so I suppose they've gone there," remarked Melvin.

"Then we ought. Indeed, I feel afraid we've stayed too long; and yet I can't be sorry, since we've met that dear old man."

Melvin had promptly recovered his "glibness" upon the departure of the teamster; and though he looked at her in some surprise he answered:

"I don't believe many girls would call him 'dear.' I shouldn't have thought of doing so myself. That Molly wouldn't, I know; but you have a way of making folks—folks forget themselves and show their best sides to you, so I guess. Anyhow, I never talked so much to any girl before, and you're the only one in all that crowd I don't feel shy of. Even that boy—Hmm."

"Thank you. That's the nicest thing I ever had said to me. And don't you think that life—just the mere living—is perfectly grand? All the time meeting new people and finding out new, beautiful things about them? Like Mr. Snackenberg asking me to meet him in Heaven. It was certainly an odd thing to say, it startled me, but it was beautiful—beautiful. Now—do you know the road home?"

"Sure. We'll be there in five minutes."

"All right. Lead the way. And say, Melvin Cook, do one more nice thing, please. Forgive my darling Molly for the prank she played on you and be the same friendly way to her you've been to me."

"Well, I'll try. But I don't promise I'll succeed."

They hurried back over the main street of the town to their inn, past the postoffice where a throng of tourists were still waiting for possible mail, past the little shops with their tempting display of "notions" representative of the locality, until they reached one window in which some silverware was exposed for sale.

Something within caught Melvin's eye, and he laughed:

"Look there, miss."

"Dorothy, please!"

"Look there, Dorothy! There's your 'Digby chicken' with a vengeance!" and he pointed toward some trinkets the dealer was exhibiting to customers within. Among the articles a lot of tiny silver fish, labeled as he had said, and made in some way with a spring so that they wriggled from the tip of a pin, or guard, in typical fish-fashion.

"Oh! aren't they cute! How I would like to buy one! Do you suppose they cost very much?" cried Dorothy, delighted.

"I'll ask," he said and did; and returning from the interior announced: "Fifty cents for the smallest one, seventy-five for the others."

She sighed and her face fell. "Might as well be seventy-five dollars, so far as I'm concerned. I have exactly five cents, and I shouldn't have had that only I found it left over in my jacket pocket. You see, once I had five dollars. How much is that in Nova Scotia money?"