CHAPTER XXIV.

The same comfortable carriage that carried them to Montague Bridge was now travelling in an opposite direction, and the young strangers viewed with pleasure the luxuriant fields that surrounded the many farmhouses, and which promise such abundant harvest to their owners. The drive proved a very delightful one indeed. In consequence of the many stoppings they made to regale themselves with the sweet wild berries that grew in abundance by the roadside, the afternoon was drawing to a close when the little party reached the McDonald farmhouse.

The hardy pioneer who had first settled on the land that was owned and tilled by his descendants, must have selected the site on which he built his first log-house with an eye to the picturesque and beautiful, for no other spot for miles around had such a far reaching and delightful prospect. As time went by, and the land gave forth its increase, the log-house was supplemented by a more pretentious structure, that was "built on," the original apartments serving for kitchens, outhouses and other necessary buildings; and as this process of erection went on at later periods, the farmhouse was large and many sided, and possessed many conveniences that farmers are apt to consider unnecessary. But the honest pride that the present owner had in the well-tilled acres extended to the buildings upon it, and neatness and thrift were everywhere present. No hingeless gates propped with sticks met the eye; no broken-down doors were to be seen on his barns; a master hand ruled the land, and his rule brought prosperity and happiness.

The inmates of the farmhouse were such as you would expect to find amidst such surroundings—active and intelligent, and not wholly given up to the pursuit of the things which perish with the using, for the young people, at least, found time for intellectual pleasures that would have been considered in some farmhouses a wilful waste of time and means.

The family consisted of two young girls well up in their teens; Tom, a lively boy of twelve, and Dora, a plump little miss of six; and coming after these, in her own estimation, was the mother, a model of neatness and good-nature, a fine dairy woman, whose interests were, of course, centred in her cows and poultry yard, and she was generally found somewhere near the vicinity of her particular treasures.

Then there was Phebe, the strong-armed. A very important member of the family was she, as you would soon learn if you made any stay in the farmhouse. She it was who solved problems by the aid of washboard and scrubbing-brush, and the tempting meals she sent out of the kitchen would have delighted the heart of an epicure. But to see Phebe at her best, one should be at the farm during the busy haying season. It was her pride and delight to be considered "as good as any man," and she could "pitch a load" with a dexterity that even the two farm hands could not equal. These latter were brothers, and lived in a snug cottage a few rods away, said cottage being kept, like everything else on the farm, as "neat as a new pin," by Joe's wife, a brisk little woman, whose head scarcely reached to her husband's shoulder.

Another inmate of the farmhouse should have a paragraph all to herself, for "the grandmother" cannot be described in one brief line. Although she had long since passed the allotted span of life, yet age had not dimmed the lustre of her keen grey eyes nor dulled her faculties; and though she could no longer take an active part in the management of the household, yet from her corner in the pleasant room a potent spell reached out and overshadowed the members of the household. No crowned monarch on his throne ever ruled over such deferential and loyal subjects as those that here yielded to her benign sway. Not that she required it of them—it was graciously accorded her as to the patriarchs of old, and she seemed to belong to a holier age. Her soft white hair fell over her brow, and was drawn back under a large white frilled cap that surrounded her head like a halo, and the placid countenance that beamed beneath it inspired a feeling of reverence. She was called by all the household "the grandmother," and was dearly loved by them all; but the filial love of her son was far above that usually accorded to aged mothers, and it was easy to see how it warmed her heart.

Such was the household into which our young travellers were ushered about five o'clock on a beautiful summer day.

Mr. McDonald had been watching for their appearance for some hours, and his hearty greetings were repeated by the rest of the family. The farmer's daughters, Maggie and Lizzie, received Gertrude with the cordiality of an old friend, and though at first they seemed a little shy with the strangers from "abroad" this soon wore away, and they found their visitors quite as amiable as if they had been born on the same soil as themselves.

As soon as they had been refreshed, outwardly and inwardly, they were taken into the room where "the grandmother" sat in her large, comfortable chair, and were introduced to her with much solemnity; but they only waited for the few words of welcome to each, and then passed into the pleasant sitting-room adjoining.

"You must go in to-morrow and see the grandmother, one at a time," said Lizzie, as she drew a chair near the rest. "She does not see many strangers, and more than one confuses her. It seemed necessary to introduce you in a body, but she will be better pleased to become acquainted with you separately."

"I have something for her," said Gertrude. "She seems to remember me as well as if I were here only last week."

"I have something for her, too," said Dexie, smiling, "but it is only a soft foot-rest, and I see she has one now."

"That is kind of you to think of her," said Maggie. "Let me know when you are going to give it to her, and I will slip in beforehand and pull away her old one. She will be so delighted to think that you remembered her."

But the beautiful prospect from the windows claimed a closer inspection, and they went for their hats and started for the beach.

Lancy followed Mr. McDonald to inspect the premises with the happy owner, promising to join the rest later on. The girls walked along the path that led across a waving field of grain, and then stood for a few minutes looking off at the white-topped waves that extended as far as the eye could reach. The high sandbanks here raised their barriers against the waters of the Gulf, and shrill screams of laughter, such as only come from girlish throats, accompanied their descent through the dry, yielding sand to the beach below. The little white-washed building that served the double purpose of bathing and boat-house was duly inspected; and when Dexie admitted her ability to handle an oar, it raised her very much in the estimation of the bright country lasses, as they were under the impression that her soft hands were not put to much energetic labor, but one who had sufficient muscle to handle an oar could surely do other things as well. While they were on the beach Lancy joined them, and after he had inspected the boat-house, under Dexie's enthusiastic guidance, they agreed that on the morrow they would sail across to the distant point, and view the prospect from that quarter.

"We will take a lunch and have a private picnic," said Lizzie. "I hope the day will be fine. You have no idea how rough it is here when the wind is high; the breakers come rolling in so high and grand that it is quite fascinating to watch them, but dangerous in the extreme to be on the shore. Vessels have to keep out to sea when there is a storm, for this is considered a dangerous coast, but there have not been any wrecks along here for some years."

They returned by a different route, entering the house by a side-door, and the visitors were surprised to see the display of flowers that bloomed in the outer porch, making it, indeed, a bower of beauty.

"Why! you have made quite an addition to the house since I was here last," said Gertrude, as she stood to admire the blossoms.

"No, not an addition, only a little alteration," said Maggie. "Don't you remember this old porch where father used to smoke his pipe of an evening? Well, in the spring, when Joe was making the glass frames to force the early vegetables for market, we got him to put a glass frame on each side of the porch. They are not very neatly done, I admit, but they answer the purpose very well. Then these few shelves were easily fitted up, and this is the result," she added.

"I missed your flowers, from the window seats, and wondered if you had found them too much trouble," said Gertrude, fingering some sweet-smelling leaves near her. "Well, you see, there were so many of them that it was quite a task to look after them when they were spread over the house. In the winter we don't mind the trouble so much, as there is so little left of 'green things growing' to rest the eyes upon that we find them quite a pleasure. In the bright days of spring there is so much to see and do out-of doors that we thought we would collect them here. Of course, we still keep the grandmother's window full of blossoms, for she loves them so dearly."

"It is a pity that the porch is not on the south side of the house," said Dexie. "I should think it would be quite chilly here when the wind blows."

"So it is," said Lizzie, with a smile, "and I suppose you think we might have chosen a better situation for our little conservatory when this many-sided house has better spots to select from, but it was not the flowers alone we were thinking of."

"Well, what else were you thinking of, if I may ask?" said Gertrude.

Lizzie blushed slightly as she replied:

"This is the door that mother uses to go in and out when about her dairy work—that is the dairy under the trees at the end of the path—and father likes to sit here and watch her about her work of an evening while he smokes his pipe; and when she has done her work she will often sit here and rest a few minutes with him; but there is not much of a prospect from this door, except the waters of the Gulf, so we thought we would put our flowers here and she could see and smell them when she went in and out. She might be too busy to stop and notice them particularly, but they are something pleasant to rest her eyes on when she is through with the milk. I always thought that the restless waves made her think of my brother who was lost at sea, but now I fancy that the flowers rest her, though perhaps it is only fancy, after all."

Dexie's thoughts flew back to her own mother lying listlessly on her sofa so much of the time. How much had she ever done to change the current of her mother's thought? She made a mental memorandum to try the effect of a few bright blooms in her mother's window as soon as she returned home.

As they talked, Maggie had taken up her father's pipe that had lain on a shelf near, and emptying its contents she took from a pouch hanging on the wall a piece of tobacco and a jack-knife, and, with a practised hand, she refilled the pipe afresh, then laid it gently on a little shelf within easy reach of the cosy seat that her father occupied during the warm summer evenings. It was done so quietly that it was almost unnoticed, but Dexie saw it and understood the kindly act. She wondered if she loved her own father enough to perform such an act for him. She felt glad that her father did not use tobacco, for she would not care to be outdone by these Prince Edward Island girls; yet in her case she felt that even lovingkindness had its limit, and that she would have to draw the line this side of the tobacco pipe.

Maggie felt, rather than saw, that Dexie was watching her, and as she laid the pipe in readiness for her father's evening smoke she looked up and said with a smile:

"You never saw a girl do that before, confess now? Well, I don't care for it, but father likes to find his pipe all ready for him, so I try to overcome my dislike, and his tobacco-smoke helps to keep my flowers free from vermin, you know."

As twilight deepened into evening the members of the family all assembled in the grandmother's room, and a home-like feeling came over Elsie as she saw Mr. McDonald open the big Bible that rested on a small table near the grandmother's chair, and read, in his rich Scotch accents, the evening psalms. Then they quietly knelt, all except the grandmother, who, rising slowly to her feet and leaning on her staff, offered up the evening prayer. It made Dexie think of the patriarchs of old, who blessed their families "leaning on their staffs for very age." Then the family said good-night to the grandmother, and the polished candlesticks that decorated the mantle shelf were taken down by the farmer's wife and a lighted candle set in each; these were then handed to the different members of the family, who passed out of the room in single file, very much after the manner of a diminutive torch-light procession.

The family were supposed to retire to their own rooms at once, as "early to bed" was the rule of the farmhouse, but the laughing group of girls all assembled in one room for a friendly chat before retiring.

As Lancy sat by his open window enjoying the quiet scene without, the sound of their voices reached his ears. He would have preferred a walk, or a short tete-a-tete with Dexie, instead of this early-to-bed arrangement, but he respected the rule of the house and blew out his candle at an early hour. He was rewarded for his good behavior by a long refreshing sleep, and Dexie appearing to him in his dreams was more gracious than ever she had been during his waking hours.

But, as everyone knows, when young ladies get talking together of an evening, sleep "comes slowly up that way," and the shortness of their candles alone warned them that it was time they sought the pillow. But the short candles were unheeded, for Gertrude was relating reminiscences of a former visit, and the fun and frolic that prevailed at the farm during their stay. At last, when one of the candles flared up, then subsided in smoke, the girls rose to leave the room, but Gertrude turned at the door, saying:

"Take good care, girls, and sleep well over to the back of the bed, or you may repeat the performance that took place the first night that Beatrice and I slept in the house."

"Oh, do tell them about it, Gertrude," said Maggie, laughing. "Our candles will hold out that long, I think."

Gertrude seated herself on the foot of the bed, while the rest waited for the story.

"Well, we slept that night in the room that Lancy occupies, at the head of the stairs, and, do you know, I never enter it but I feel cold shivers running up my back as I think of that night. You see, Mrs. McDonald's feather-beds are wonderful for size; they are her pride and joy; but we were not used to them, so, during the night, we rolled over too near the front of the bed, when suddenly out we both went, and the feather-bed fell out on top of us! I thought there had been an earthquake, and so laid quiet for the next shock. By and by Beatrice crawled out from under the ruins and tried to lift the feather-bed back on the mattress, but instead of doing so she fell back on the floor with it in her arms. Over went the table, and this upset the whole contents of the water-pitcher over my back. Good gracious! how it scared me! It was pitch dark and I could not tell what had happened, so I screamed—screamed as if I was being murdered. Imagine our feelings when the door opened, and in walked Mr. and Mrs. McDonald, carrying a candle and a poker. Oh! I thought I should die with shame. They thought that robbers had broken into the house and were carrying us off, so they ran with the poker to our rescue. It took them some time to comprehend the true state of affairs, then Mr. McDonald disappeared in a twinkling. The girls here came running up to see what was the matter, and they soon tossed the bed and bed-clothes out of the way, and got some dry garments for poor shivering me. Beatrice escaped with a lump on her head as big as an egg. I had no outward bruises to speak of, but I felt bad enough without any; but the water-pitcher had the handle broken off, and the bed-clothes and feather-bed had to be dried out-of-doors for days after. Oh, dear! I did feel so ashamed; such a scrape I never got into before or since. So take my story to heart, and do not lose your senses if you do fall out of bed," and Gertrude laughed as she took up her candle and followed the rest from the room, leaving Dexie and Elsie to the mercy or comfort of their big feather-bed.



CHAPTER XXV.

There was a full breakfast table the next morning, for the young visitors determined to fall into the ways of the family as much as possible, so decided to be "early birds" along with the rest.

During the meal, Mr. McDonald suggested the various ways they might pass the day enjoyably; but when he had exhausted the resources of pleasure that occurred to his mind, Dexie smilingly said,

"You are very kind, Mr. McDonald, to place so many pleasures within our reach, but it would not be right to spend the whole day in that way."

"What way would you prefer to pass the day?" said Lizzie, with a smile.

"Well, first, I should like to help wash the dishes, then I should like to be set to work at anything else that I can do in a passable manner."

"Dear me! is that what you call enjoying yourself, Miss Dexie?" said Maggie. "I fancy you would not like dish-washing, if you had to do it all the time."

"Well, perhaps a full day's task of dish-washing would be rather tedious," said Dexie, laughing; "but I was only bidding for the breakfast dishes, you know."

"But there is no need to trouble yourselves about anything," said Mrs. McDonald. "Enjoy yourselves all you can while you are here; Phebe can manage the work nicely. Put on your hats, and have a walk through the fields; it will give you a fine appetite for your dinner."

"But I have a remarkable appetite already, Mrs. McDonald; I shall be alarmed if it increases much more," was the smiling reply, "and you know the Bible says, 'If one will not work, neither should he eat,' or words to that effect, so you must have pity on me, and not keep me idle. Lancy, your appetite is wonderful too, for that is your second cup of coffee; you had better hunt up some work also," she laughingly added.

"I will give him some now," said Lizzie. "Before the tide comes in he can go down to the boat-house and get out the boat. We want to be off by ten o'clock; the tide will be about right then, and since you are so anxious for work, Miss Dexie, you may help Maggie pack the baskets. I hope, Gertrude, you won't ask for something to do, for I want you to take Miss Gurney around, and show her the poultry yard. Mother will be too busy to protect her from our feathered enemies."

"Enemies! are they very savage?" Elsie asked in alarm.

"No; the trouble is in the opposite direction," said Maggie. "The creatures are that tame they are quite a nuisance; you can scarcely step for them. The greedy things look for something to eat from everybody who ventures inside the yard, and will fly on your shoulders for the first chance at the pan. Gertrude knows how to protect herself, so you can put yourself under her care with safety."

How pleasant it is when one goes visiting to feel as if you are one of the family; but the expression "Making yourself at home" is more often made than really experienced. While at the farmhouse our young people did truly realize the feeling.

It would take too long to tell of the many excursions by water, and drives by land, that were enjoyed daily, but the vicinity for miles around was thoroughly explored. Every night Gertrude would say she ought to return home, but the next day would seem so full of pleasure that it seemed a pity to miss it.

One evening, when they were seated and idly swinging among the boughs of a low-limbed tree that stood near the house—a favorite spot with the girls—Dexie suddenly remarked,

"Lancy, I am just hungry for a 'sing;' do start up something."

"Bless you for the thought," Lancy replied, from a distant limb. "I have been wondering these few days back what it was I was missing. Take the first choice yourself, and start away."

But they found it was easier to start the singing than it was to end it, for they soon had all the household within hearing distance, and "just one more" was asked for from so many different quarters that their song-hunger was fully satisfied before they were allowed to stop.

They seemed to sing like the birds, from "lightness of heart, and very joy of living." After a few moments' silence, a bird-song was whistled by the "mates in the tree," eliciting strong words of praise, as well as surprise, from the delighted listeners.

"Oh, that's nothing to what we have to endure at home," said Elsie. "Those two are always hooting away like a pair of owls. It is a wonder their throats are not split before this. I almost hope that the piano at home will be mouldy when we get back."

"We will soon knock the mould out of it, hey, Dexie?" Lancy laughingly replied, as he lifted his mate down from her perch.

"Oh, how I should love to have a piano, and be able to play on it," said Maggie, with a long-drawn sigh. "Perhaps we will have one sometime."

"Why, Maggie, how can you say such a thing? A deep sorrow comes before that joy; and how can you wish for it?" was the stern reproof of her sister.

"Oh, dear! what have I said! I forgot that for the moment!" and there was such a tone of regret in her words that Dexie's eyes asked an explanation.

"We can't have a piano while the grandmother is alive. She thinks that all music, except the bagpipes, perhaps, is positively wicked; so we try not to think about it. We spoke about it to father once, and he felt so badly that he could not please us and the grandmother too. Of course she comes first; but he has put the money in the bank to buy an instrument—sometime. I hate to think about it, though I long for it more than I can tell. It makes me feel as if I was such a wicked creature; for just think of wishing for a thing that can only be had over the grandmother's coffin! Oh, dear! I wish I had never heard the sound of music!" and to the surprise and dismay of the little group she burst into tears.

"Oh, do forgive me! I am to blame for this, I fear," said Dexie, her face showing her distress. "I did not know—"

"Don't think of such a thing, Miss Dexie," said Lizzie, putting her arm around her. "It was not your fault; Maggie has her cry over this same thing every few weeks, and feels the better for it, too, I believe. We have many pleasures that few girls on a farm ever think of, and we ought to be content. But I really do believe that if the grandmother could walk around the house, and should come across the books and other things that we girls have brought into it since she was confined to her room, she would die with the shock. She thinks that everything remains about the same as it was in her day, and we are careful not to disturb her opinion; for in this case a little deceit seems wise, or, at least, necessary."

In a few minutes the sunshine again appeared on Maggie's face; but the feeling that was brought out by the sudden tears seemed to draw Dexie nearer to this young girl who had such a love of music, yet could not give it expression until the shadow of death had first walked before her.

The next morning brought a letter from home, and by its tone Lancy felt he must be needed; so it was decided they should return to Charlottetown, finish their visit at Mrs. Fremont's, and then return home.

When Mr. McDonald learned that the young people were preparing to leave for the city, he called Dexie to his side, and turning to a small cupboard brought out a tin box, saying:

"Someane left this box in ma kairt that day I saw ye in the toon. I jaloose the owner was buyin' somethin' an' laid it there an' forgot aboot it, but I never saw it till I got hame. I opened it to see if I could fin' the name o' the owner, an' I found some papers wi' yer faither's name on them. Can ye mak' oot whit it means, ma lassie? Somethin' is no richt, I tak' it."

Dexie sat down beside him and read several of the letters and papers, and their contents filled her with surprise. She was well acquainted with her father's business, as she wrote many of his letters, and she saw at once that something was indeed wrong.

"How strange that I should come across this!" she said. "This letter is written by a man named Plaisted; he does business with papa. He has been on the Island with him, and knows the people that have had dealings with papa, before he joined him. What are you going to do with the box, Mr. McDonald?"

"I was gaun to ask Mr. Gurney to return it to the lawyer whase name is on the inside o' the cover. He's considered an honest man, though he is a lawyer. Maybe if ye wad tell him aboot this man Plaisted, it micht keep him frae daein' yer faither ony mischief. It wad dae nae harm, ony way."

"May I copy this letter written by Plaisted? I would like to show papa what kind of a man this Plaisted is, for I think he trusts him too much."

"Weel, it canna be ony harm, shurely, jist to copy the letter, but ye needna mention the maitter to onyane; there's nae kennin' whit they wad mak' o't."

Dexie soon had a copy of the letter and a general knowledge of a few others in Plaisted's peculiar handwriting, and this proved of much value in establishing certain facts that came up at a future time, the copied letter proving the missing link in a chain of evidence that brought Plaisted's misdoings to judgment.

Lancy was consulted about the box, and promised to see it safe into the hands of the owner. Soon after they learned that this was the very box that they had heard the town-crier proclaim as lost when driving home from the market-house.

With many regrets at leave-taking, both on the part of visitors and entertainers, the little party drove away, unconscious of the fact that under the seat of the carriage there were several substantial tokens of regard, which were, however, discovered, when they arrived at Mrs. Fremont's.

Mrs. Fremont congratulated them all on the benefit they had undoubtedly received from their visit, particularly Elsie, who seemed to be a new creature. Her pale cheeks had been painted by the sun a warm brown, and the pure sea-air had created an appetite that told its story in rounded limbs and wide-awake appearance that contrasted greatly with the languid movements she had brought with her from Halifax.

Lancy sent word to his parents that they would return the following week, and promised to telegraph the day of starting.

This was glad news to Hugh, who was present when the letter was read, and heard its contents discussed.

Ever since Hugh had come into possession of his fortune he had looked forward to the return of the party with much impatience. There were times when he felt almost tempted to seek Dexie's presence, and try again to win a word that would give him some hope. All his future plans seemed to depend on the way Dexie treated him, and he waited her coming, uplifted sometimes by hope, but more often depressed by fear, and with a restlessness that made him almost irritable at times. He insisted on filling his usual place in the store, glad enough to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts away from himself.

At last one morning the telegraph messenger knocked at the door, and brought the welcome message.

A broad smile passed over Mr. Gurney's face as he read the telegram, and he handed it to his wife, saying:

"Dexie sent that telegram or wrote it, or I'm very much mistaken."

Whereupon Hugh was very anxious to read it, and to his great delight Mrs. Gurney passed it over to him, and this is what he read:

"Kill the prodigal; the fatted calves are on the way."

For the first time in many weeks, Hugh burst into a hearty laugh, and he read the words over until he could almost fancy he heard Dexie's laughing voice beside him.

"Well, that message may have seemed incomprehensible to the transmitter of it, but it tells us a long story," said Mrs. Gurney, a smile lighting up her face. "It says they are well and in good spirits, that they are glad to be coming home again, but will be very hungry when they get here, so I had better bestir myself and 'kill the prodigal,'" and she rose to visit the kitchen.

"Well, she has told the story within the limit of ten words, too," said Hugh, making some excuse for keeping the bit of paper so long before him.

"What prodigal are you going to kill, mamma?" said Gracie, following her mother into the kitchen.

"Oh! that is what we will call the big fat chicken that eats so much oats, and picks the little ones on the back when they try to get a mouthful. He will do for a prodigal, so we will have him cooked for Elsie's supper."

Gracie sat down on a low stool, her face wearing a puzzled expression, and she began to repeat to herself the parable of the prodigal son. Suddenly a bright look came over her face, for she had solved the troublesome riddle, and she joyfully exclaimed:

"Oh, mamma! Dexie didn't learn it right; they didn't kill the prodigal, it was the fatted calf that was cooked! Oh, dear! how funny to make such a mistake, and she such a big girl! Say, Hugh," as he passed through the room, "Dexie is the prodigal, and not the fatted calf, isn't she?"

And with more earnestness than the subject demanded he replied: "I hope so."

It was Mr. Gurney who drove to the depot in the evening to meet the travellers, much to the disappointment of Hugh, who hoped to be the first to receive Dexie's greetings; but the excitement of their arrival had somewhat subsided by the time he made his appearance in the house.

It is needless to say there was great rejoicing in the Gurney household that evening. Elsie was petted and caressed to her heart's content, and she listened with a smiling face to the oft-repeated remark that she "looked so much better."

Hugh's unexpected good fortune came in for a share of the discussion which took place round the tea-table, and the well-cooked prodigal was the butt of many jokes. Dexie was asked to come in and get her share of the "fatted calf," as Gracie persisted in calling it, but she begged to be excused, feeling that she would prefer to spend her first evening at home.

Gussie lost no time in telling Dexie all her hopes and plans, and she gave the impression that everything was settled. She could talk of nothing but the splendid time she expected to have in the future.

"Hugh does not say much to me, but I know I can do just as I like with him after we are married, so I don't mind if he is rather cool and short occasionally. Of course he means to marry me, or why did he talk so long to papa about it?" said Gussie, as she followed Dexie downstairs.

"Did papa tell you about it?" a suspicion of the true state of affairs entering her mind for a moment.

"No—but—well, to tell the truth, I was listening at the door, but I heard enough to let me know the nature of the interview, for I heard papa say quite distinctly, 'I don't think she cares enough for you, and she must marry to suit herself,' so what else could he have meant? Now, I do not care so very much about Hugh, I must confess—or I did not, I mean, when he was merely Mr. Gurney's clerk, but with a fortune in his pocket who could refuse such a fine-looking man?"

"Well, I could, for one," said Dexie, trying to hide a laugh. "He would need something more than riches to be attractive to me, for all his fine looks; but I congratulate you, Gussie. I hope you will be happy."

"Of course I will be happy, so long as the money holds out, anyway," said she, with a laugh that grated harshly on her sister's ears. "Did you see any brides when you were away, Dexie, and how were they dressed?"

"I wasn't searching for brides, Gussie. I confined my attention to pollywogs, crabs, and things of that ilk."

Gussie's remarks jarred on her feelings, in spite of her efforts to seem careless, but she smiled, as Gussie scornfully replied:

"Well, did I ever! I guess if you searched for a sunburnt face and a blistered nose, you found them fast enough."

"Yes, unfortunately, one can find those sort of things without searching for them; they are thrown in with the pollywogs for good measure; but my nose is not half so ornamental as Lancy's. Don't be cross, Gussie. Let us go into the parlor and wait for the trunks. I have a lot of nice new patterns in fancywork for you."

They entered the parlor together, where Aunt Jennie followed them, and they talked about the many events that had transpired during Dexie's absence. The room was almost dark. It seemed pleasanter to talk in the twilight, but a bar of light shone from the sitting-room door, and relieved it from any sombre appearance. Dexie kept wondering why the expressman did not appear; she was anxious to see if the little treasures she had collected for distribution had borne the journey safely. She rose at last and went to the window to see if there was anyone in sight, but she was disappointed. Not so Hugh, who was just entering the house, and caught sight of her outline against the window-pane, and, thinking the unlighted parlor vacant but for Dexie's presence, he softly opened the door and stepped to her side. All her cold repulses were forgotten, her curt words of dismissal faded from his memory, his heart was yearning for her presence, she was there before him, and in a moment he had her in his arms.

"My darling! my love! do I see you at last. How I have longed for this moment!"

It was so sudden that for a moment Dexie was powerless to move, but she freed herself quickly, saying, as she stepped back:

"How dare you! How dare you touch me! It is I; not Gussie," she added, thinking he might have mistaken the person, though his words belied the thought. "I was watching for the expressman, and did not notice you had come in; you made a mistake," came the quick-spoken words.

"Well, I should say it was a mistake, and an odd one too," said Gussie, coming forward. "How could you mistake that mop of a head for mine, Hugh?"

She had seen the embrace, but the whispered words had not reached her. Naturally, Hugh was much taken back when he realized that Dexie was not alone, but he anathematized Gussie in his heart, and bit his lips to keep back the words that sprang up in reply. If Gussie had known how precious that "mop of a head" was to her quondam lover, she would not have been so ready to "give herself away," as the trite saying has it.



CHAPTER XXVI.

The embarrassing silence that followed Hugh's entrance was broken at last by Aunt Jennie, who made some commonplace remark that allowed free speech to resume itself again. She saw at once the position of affairs; the reason of Hugh's coolness when in Gussie's society was no longer any secret. She thought he had lacked the lover-like eagerness that one might expect, judging the matter from the standpoint of Gussie's frequent remarks.

But believing that Lancy Gurney had more than a friendly feeling for Dexie, she felt uneasy for the result of the struggle between the rivals. Dexie would surely suffer between them.

It was impossible for Dexie to feel at ease after Hugh's extraordinary greeting. She felt vexed at the thought of the spectacle she must have presented to those who had witnessed it. Did Hugh really know her, or were his words meant for Gussie alone? The hope that it was the latter made her decide that it must be; but if she had noticed how carelessly he replied to Gussie's entertaining chatter, or observed his eager looks in her own direction, she might have guessed that his heart was not in Gussie's keeping.

The arrival of the trunks brought a grateful respite to all, and Dexie disappeared the moment the expressman arrived, but with the excuse of helping to lift the trunks into the hall, Hugh followed her. Gussie, however, was close behind; not for a moment would she leave those two together. After what she had seen in the parlor there should be no chance of further mistakes, if her vigilance could prevent it.

Dexie was so anxious to show her treasures that she opened her trunk as soon as Hugh deposited it in the hall.

"Here, Georgie," as her brother came running down the stairs, "take this parcel to mamma, carefully, mind, and ask her if she is too tired to see me again to-night. When you come back I will give you the box of something that I heard you wishing for," and looking up to her sister, who was bending over to watch her, she added, "Here is your parcel, Gussie, and this is for auntie. Where is she, I wonder?"

"Oh! do let me see what you brought for auntie?" and Gussie caught the parcel from Dexie's hands and began to inspect the contents.

Hugh was for the moment forgotten, but he still lingered near the door, hoping that some chance would favor him. He had so much to say, so much that had been crowded back into his heart during her long absence, that he felt he must seize the first opportunity to speak of his hopes, and he wished to assure her that there had been no mistake on his part when he met her in the parlor. Just then Gussie stepped over to the lamp for a closer inspection of some fancy patterns, and Hugh turned to Dexie, saying:

"You seem to have remembered everyone but me, Dexie. You have not even a kind word to give me."

"Well, I have not an unkind word either, Mr. McNeil, so that ought to count for something, I think," and she stooped to pick up some paper from the floor, "but I think you deserve a good many for the ridiculous mistake you made when you came in."

"I made no mistake, except that of thinking the room held no one but yourself. Give me a chance to prove it, Dexie."

Dexie pretended not to hear, but turned the conversation by saying:

"I have not congratulated you on the good fortune you have met while we were away."

"Well! I think it is time you did," Gussie answered, awake to the fact that a low conversation was being held near her. "I am sure it is no everyday affair to fall heir to a fortune. Weren't you surprised when I wrote to you about it?"

"Yes, very," and the memory of the letter brought a smile with it. "And if the possession of money means happiness, I presume Mr. McNeil feels raised to the seventh heaven of bliss."

"Not yet, Dexie, but I am looking forward to the 'seventh heaven' you speak of."

"Mrs. Gurney mentioned that you thought of going abroad. I hope Lancy's absence has not interfered with your plans, Mr. McNeil?" and she made a move to ascend the stairs.

"Would you like to go abroad, Dexie?"

There was an eagerness in his tone that Dexie did not understand, so she answered:

"Well, if going abroad means a visit to Great Britain, I say no, most decidedly! What do I care for the English, Scotch or Irish—as a race, I mean? My definition of the term abroad is, a tour through Europe, ending with Egypt and the Holy Land, and farther still if the pocket-book held out."

"Dexie, will you go abroad with me?"

Gussie looked from Hugh to Dexie in open-eyed surprise. This invitation might mean much or little.

"Why, Hugh, it would be improper for Dexie to accept such an invitation," she hastily said.

"There would be nothing improper about it, if she went as my wife."

"You are carrying your jokes too far, Mr. McNeil," said Dexie, coldly. "If you want to turn Mormon you had better 'go West, young man,' for when I go on my wedding tour I want a husband who will be content with one wife, and, when he and I go abroad, we will go alone. No offence meant; but two is company, while three is a crowd. So good-night to you both," and she turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Hugh looking after her with a beating heart.

"Well, I hope I have been plain enough this time," was her inward comment. "Can he really care for Gussie and expect to marry her, as she thinks, or does he want to turn Mormon and marry the both of us? But whatever he has said to Gussie don't count, so long as he makes eyes at me. I'm willing to be pleasant and agreeable, if he is to be my brother-in-law; but he shall not call me 'his darling' and 'his love,' as if it were me he was engaged to. I wish I had slapped his face for him."

But, figuratively speaking, she had just done so, and if she had seen the grieved look on Hugh's face as he groped his way out the front door, she would have realized that her slap had struck home.

Gussie felt indignant, as she stood in the hall recalling the scene just passed. Hugh had left her without a word, but she could plainly see that the blame was not on Dexie's shoulders this time.

"I do believe he cares for Dexie, after all; what else could his words imply? But she does not care for him, that is plain; and it will be a strange thing if I cannot arrange matters so that he cannot help but offer himself. After what he said to papa, I know he wants to marry one of us, and I will see that it shall be myself."

The next day Dexie had a long talk with her father. She had called him aside to give him the letter she had copied from the one in Plaisted's handwriting, and when she had explained the circumstances Mr. Sherwood was much astonished, and praised her for her thoughtfulness in securing an exact copy.

"I will write to the parties in question and forbid the payment of any money to him, but I will say nothing to Plaisted about the matter at present. I will keep a sharp lookout, and directly he tries to put his plans into execution I will bring him up short. Thank you, my little woman, you have done a lucky stroke of business for me; but stay a minute," as Dexie rose to leave the room, "I want to ask you something. How much do you care for Hugh McNeil?" said he, as she came over to his side.

"Why, papa, what makes you ask such a question? Didn't you make a mistake in the name?" she said, archly. "Didn't you mean to say—Lancy Gurney?"

"No; I have a guess that way. But how about Hugh? Come, I have a reason for asking," and he drew her down to his knee. "Think a minute, and tell me."

"But, papa, I don't need to think a moment in order to answer that question. I don't like him at all. You should ask Gussie that question."

"I need not, for I think I know what her answer would be; but I have a little story to tell you, and I want you to give it serious consideration. As soon as Hugh McNeil knew about the money coming to him, he asked me for a private interview. From what Gussie said, I expected that he intended to ask for her. But Hugh was very straightforward, and made the whole matter plain, and, Dexie, he asked for the liberty of making you his wife. He said he was willing to wait any reasonable time for you, if only he had the promise of your hand in the end."

"Papa! you never told him yes! say you did not!" cried Dexie, springing to her feet and regarding him with beseeching eyes. "My dear, I could not; so do not look so frightened about it," and he drew her back to his side again. "I am not willing to give my little girl to anyone yet, but I am not insensible to the fact that a man who loves my daughter as Hugh professes to love you, and can provide for her so handsomely, is worthy of some consideration."

"Why couldn't he take Gussie? She wants him and I don't," she answered with a frown. "I am sure Gussie told me she was all but engaged to him. He doesn't want the both of us, I hope."

"Dexie, I am sorry to say that Gussie has not acted so well about this matter as I could wish. She makes no secret of the fact that she would gladly accept the position he offers you, and it annoys him. Hugh confessed to me that at one time he did think he cared for Gussie, but found his mistake, and he has been so open with me about it that I cannot blame him for the change. Think it well over, Dexie, before he talks to you himself. A handsome man like Hugh, with a good bank account, will not come in your way very often. He offered to make a handsome settlement on you, directly you promised him your hand."

"Dear papa, would you like your poor Dexie to be unhappy for life?" throwing her arms around his neck. "I am sure you would not," as he drew her closer to him. "I could never marry Hugh; his very presence makes me feel pugnacious, and I feel like picking a quarrel with him every time I speak to him, and I enjoy doing it, too."

"Well, in that case it would not be pleasant to live your life with him, would it? but still it seems a pity to lose the money when he seems so anxious to put it into your hands. Your life would be so different with money at your command. If it were only Gussie, now."

"Yes, if it were only Gussie everything would go smoothly while the money lasted; but you did not tell me the result of the interview, papa."

"I told him I would leave the matter for you to settle, but I gave my consent, if he gained yours. I think he would be good to you, Dexie."

"Well! I guess he would have to, if he once got me, or I would know the reason why! What does mamma say about it, for I suppose she knows?"

"She seems much put out that it is not Gussie he asks for, but she hopes you will not be so foolish as to throw the chance away. That is the opinion of the both of us, you see, so do not decide hastily, Dexie."

"Dear me, how provoking it is! Mamma will be vexed, and I cannot help it, for I really cannot say I consent when I feel such a dislike to the man. Some young ladies would see nothing but his fortune; but think, papa, we might live for fifty years! and I can't look forward to fifty years of life spent with Hugh McNeil. So tell him for me, papa, that it cannot be."

"Take time to think it over, Dexie, before he gets any answer, for Hugh will be much disappointed if you refuse him. I promised to plead his cause for him, but I cannot do so against your inclinations, since it will be you alone who must live your life with him. But, Dexie, many people live happily together without loving each other overmuch, so do not think it impossible for you to do the same. Do you care so very much for Lancy Gurney?" he asked, after a pause.

Dexie did not feel so embarrassed over this question as her father expected. She was pleased to have her father take such an interest in her little affairs of the heart, and show his sympathy in things that are usually left to the mother and daughter to talk over together.

"I do not know if I can explain it to you, papa," she replied with a smile. "I don't think I should care to marry Lancy—indeed, I am quite sure I never shall, but I like him very much for all that; but you need not tell anyone I said so, will you, papa?" she added, seeing a smile in her father's eyes. "Lancy has been very kind to me ever since we came to Halifax. You know yourself he has added very much to my pleasure by his thoughtful attentions, but I do not think it will end as Lancy expects," and a pretty blush spread over her face.

"Then you have not given him any promise!" smiling at her red cheeks.

"No, but he seems to think everything will be as he hopes, and is so pleasant over it that it is a pity to undeceive him. I'll promise not to allow any love-making, for he knows very well it is useless to become sentimental with me. Please don't tell my little secrets, not even to mamma, for she is sure to tell Gussie."

"Do not be afraid to trust me with your little affairs, Dexie," he said, kissing her cheek. "I am only too glad to be your confidant and adviser. I am sorry that your mother feels so little inclined to take the same interest in your affairs; you need her more now than when you were a child."

Mr. Sherwood watched his daughter with loving eyes as she tripped away from his side, and he wished for the power to look into the future and see how matters would end. He sighed as he realized how much depended on her own judgment; but his daughters must each settle for herself the question that would make or mar their future lives.

A change took place in the Sherwood household a few weeks later, for Aunt Jennie was obliged to return to her old home in Vermont, which was such an unlooked for event to Mrs. Sherwood that it quite upset her. They had all become so used to looking to Aunt Jennie for everything, that the house would seem to be without its head if she were gone.

When Dexie told her aunt how the Fremont girls managed the household expenditure and took the oversight of much of the housekeeping arrangements, Aunt Jennie replied that she thought her niece quite as capable as the Fremont girls, and asked Dexie if she could not undertake to fill her place after she was gone, as she knew Mrs. Sherwood would be glad to be relieved of the charge. When Dexie broached the matter to her mother, she found her quite willing to let anyone step into the gap, so Dexie determined to learn as much as she could while her aunt was present to advise her.

The little account books were brought out and studied, until Dexie felt sure she understood what ought to be done, though she doubted her ability to put the knowledge into practice. But her doubts soon gave way to a feeling of confidence in herself as, day by day, she mastered new difficulties.

"I think I will make a wonderful housekeeper, by and by, mamma," Dexie said, as they were all seated in her mother's room, and Mrs. Sherwood was regretting Aunt Jennie's approaching departure. "I am learning fast. Even Nancy gives me encouragement. The only thing that troubles me is the fact that Nancy thinks I am playing at housekeeping, and I am afraid she will resent my authority after auntie goes away. I shall have to wear a cap and spectacles to add dignity to my new position," she laughingly added.

"How absurd you are, Dexie," said her mother, with a frown. "If you intend to act as housekeeper I hope you will try and be less childish; and to go through the house whistling like a boy, as you did to-day, is far from lady-like. Will you ever learn to be genteel like your sister Gussie?"

"I think Dexie should be given her full name in the future," Gussie added, "if she intends to rush through the house like her namesake round the race course."

"But I will not be called after Bonner's trotting-horse! I will not!" said Dexie, angrily. "I fancy this would soon be a queer house if there was no one in it with more energy about them than you possess! However, let us return to the matter under discussion," said she, more mildly. "I want to know, in case I make any savings from the month's allowance, if I can pocket the remainder."

"I am afraid, Dexie, that you will not find much left over, for the first few months," her aunt said smilingly. "You must allow something for your inexperience, you know."

"Oh! I know that, auntie. But can I have it, mamma, much or little? Make the bargain with me, mamma."

"Certainly, Dexie; but you cannot expect to save much out of the usual month's allowance unless you scrimp us."

"Oh, I'll promise not to scrimp," was the laughing reply. "But I am going to begin my reign while auntie is here; then my inexperience will not cost me so much. I kept my eyes and ears open when I was at Mrs. Fremont's, and I didn't peep and listen either; but I learned a few things that I think will be a great help to me in my future sphere."

"I think Gussie had better join you in this branch of study," said Mr. Sherwood, laying down his paper. "It will be as much benefit to her as to you."

"Thanks, papa. I beg to decline the honor! I have no wish to shine as a domestic; it is not in my line," said Gussie, in a lofty tone.

"Well, I do not expect to run the house as smoothly as Aunt Jennie—I am sure you will not expect it of me, mamma—but I will do my best, and it will be nice to learn just how to do things."

"That is right, Dexie. Every girl should learn how, even though she may never have to put her own hands to the work itself. But do not be too particular about keeping within the monthly allowance; I am quite as willing to pay for housekeeping lessons as for music lessons."

How Dexie prized the weeks that followed! In after years she looked back to them with a thankful heart, for Aunt Jennie did not confine her teaching to the art of housekeeping alone. The inward culture of the heart was not forgotten. The good seed was sown with no sparing hand, and though some lay weeks, months and even years without bearing fruit, yet few were altogether lost.

What a blank her absence caused in the household! She had filled a mother's place among them, for the loving tact that bridged over the little jars that are apt to occur in every household was not one of Mrs. Sherwood's accomplishments.

The first few weeks after her aunt's departure were very trying ones to Dexie. There seemed much fault-finding that was really unnecessary, but Dexie honestly tried to do her best. She could see her own failures as well as her successes, and when she found that much of Nancy's ill-temper was due to Gussie's interference in the kitchen, she laid the matter before her father, and that put an end to many petty annoyances.

Dexie had much to bear from her mother also, for Mrs. Sherwood felt aggrieved that Dexie did not appreciate Hugh McNeil's attentions as she thought they deserved. His visits were a daily occurrence, and it was vexing to see Dexie refuse what would have been so acceptable to Gussie.

"If you do not intend to marry him, why do you not tell him so plainly?" she said one day, when Dexie had shut herself up in her room to avoid meeting Hugh. "What is the use of keeping out of his way, when you know what he wants to see you for?"

"Why should I put myself in his way, when I do not want what he has to offer? He shall not talk to me about it, either, unless he does so before a third party. I will not see him alone! I sent him a decided answer through papa, so why can he not be satisfied with that? I declare, I almost hate the man!"

"Tell him so, plainly; then, and give Gussie a chance. She is not so foolish as to allow any sentimentality to come between her and a fortune."

"I have already told him so, as plainly as I can, mamma. But if you think I am standing in Gussie's way, just give Hugh McNeil this message from me. Tell him that I will never marry him; that I hate the very sound of his footsteps; that if his fortune were four times multiplied, I would not have him; that I want him to cease persecuting me with his hateful attentions, and leave me alone! Now, is that plain enough for any sensible man to understand, do you think?"

"Dexie! take care! See that you do not repent those words, for I shall see that they are repeated to him, word for word."

"Thank you, mamma, and if you can make the words sound any stronger, I hope you will do so. I will be well pleased to see Gussie occupy the position she craves. When she does, my congratulations will be most sincere and you will not know me—it will make me so wonderfully good-tempered," and she put her arm across her mother's shoulder and kissed her cheek. "Dear mamma, do not be vexed with me; but if I cannot endure Hugh for one hour, how can I think of spending my whole life with him?"

Mrs. Sherwood gave Hugh the message at her earliest opportunity, but it did not have the same effect on Hugh as she expected.

Hugh had no intention of accepting Dexie's refusal at second-hand; he would hear it from her own lips before he would give up hope. It might be an easy matter to remove the cause of her dislike, if he once found out what it was.

But Dexie knew her message had been delivered, and so felt herself free; and as Gussie was in excellent spirits, there seemed no reason why she should be glum when Hugh was near. She no longer slipped out of the room as Hugh appeared, though she was just as careful not to allow him to find her alone; but as Lancy's visits were as frequent as ever, Hugh was supposed to have given up the fight.

But Hugh had discovered that there was one way left him in which he could win a smile from Dexie, and he did not scruple to use it, though he was well aware that by doing so he was giving Gussie a false hope.

He had only to take a seat by Gussie's side, and say a few words to her, even the most commonplace, and Dexie's reserve would melt at once, so he spent many pleasant evenings in the parlor by this little scheme. He knew very well that Gussie was spreading her net, but if he found Dexie entangled in the meshes instead, Gussie's injured feelings would not trouble him. All stratagems are fair in love and war, so he smiled to himself and took courage.

Good fortune did not spoil Hugh. It made his good qualities shine out all the more brightly, and his friends admired as well as envied him. Dexie heard his praises sung from so many different quarters that her dislike to him was fast melting away, and seated by Gussie's side she could look on him with favor. But Hugh was merely biding his time, and was constantly on the watch for a favorable opportunity to press his suit personally and alone, in spite of the fact that Dexie considered the matter forever settled between them.



CHAPTER XXVII.

The auction rooms on Barrington Street were full to overflowing. A stock of goods was going under the hammer at ridiculously low prices, and among the bidders Hugh McNeil was conspicuous. As he turned to speak to a friend, he was much surprised to see Dexie Sherwood among the crowd. She was alone and not a little frightened at finding herself jostled about, and she welcomed Hugh with a smile as he made his way to her side.

"I am so glad to see you, Mr. McNeil. I was just wondering if I should be able to get out of this alive."

"How did you happen to come here at all; curiosity, I suppose?" and he smiled down into her face.

"Oh, no, indeed; I came on business, but I did not know what a hard time I was going to have of it. I heard Mr. Gurney talking about this sale last night, so I thought I might take advantage of it as well as the rest. I am Commissary-General now, you know, so I am on the lookout for bargains in my line," and she laughed softly.

"You want to bid for something, then; come and show me. Take my arm, so we will not get separated in the crowd," and for the first time in her life she placed her hand on Hugh's arm and followed his leading, and this thought came to Dexie with added force as Hugh pressed the hand in token of the pleasure granted him.

More than one person noted the bright young face that eagerly watched the several assortments fall under the hammer, and the light that shone in Hugh's dark eyes was not all caused by the excitement of the sale.

"I feel quite proud of my bargains," said Dexie, as they left the building and turned towards home. "I am ever so much obliged for your help; it will make such a difference in my accounts. Oh, you can't think how economical I am getting to be," said she, with a rippling laugh.

Then Dexie found herself telling her companion how she had gone with the Fremont girls to purchase household supplies, how they all enjoyed the excitement of the sales, and how sometimes no one would bid against them, much to the auctioneer's chagrin; how she was profiting by the Fremont girls' experience, and was accumulating such a nice little sum, to buy something very nice for her mother by and by.

Hugh listened with a beating heart. He had known for a long time what a busy life she led. It had formed the foundation of many excuses when he had asked her to accompany him to places of amusement; but just now all her former coolness was forgotten in her present kindness. She had never talked to him so freely before, and Hugh was lifted up with hope at this unexpected friendliness.

When they reached home, Hugh detained her at the door.

"Will you grant me a favor, Dexie?" he asked. "Do not go into an auction room alone again; without me, I mean. You know I am always at your service, and will only be too happy to help you at any time. You will grant me this, Dexie?" and he looked earnestly into her face for an answer.

A number of expressions passed over Dexie's face as he spoke. Had she done a bold, imprudent thing in attending the sale without an escort? She had not given it a thought. Surely one might go about a matter of business without a gentleman's escort? The Fremont girls did so. That it might be improper had not occurred to her, and it vexed her to be reminded of it by Hugh, so his well-meant offer failed to soften her.

"Yes, and no," Dexie coldly replied. "I will promise not to go again alone, but I won't promise to go in your company again," and she turned and entered the house.

Why had he spoken and lifted again the barrier of reserve that had broken down during their morning's intercourse? was Hugh's thought as he entered his own door. Might he not have brought about his wishes without exacting a promise?

The next evening, several young ladies, with their gentlemen friends, met in the Sherwood parlor to discuss a proposed family picnic, and Hugh came in during the discussion, and was pressed to join them.

"Where is the picnic to be?" he asked.

"Oh, down the coast towards Cow Bay; we'll pick out a place when we come to it. The trouble is, to find out how many teams we can get up," said George Desbrasy.

"Well, the Gurneys are all going, but they cannot take any but their own crowd, and there are several ladies we must find room for amongst us somehow," said Fred Beverly.

"Well, I have to drive mother and sis, but I have one spare seat. Will you accept the seat beside me, Miss Gussie?" said young Desbrasy.

Gussie wished he had not made the offer, as she hoped Hugh would ask her to drive with him, for Hugh had a fine team of his own now.

But as Gussie hesitated about accepting, she saw Hugh turn to Dexie, and with the air of a Chesterfield ask, "May I have the pleasure of your company for the drive down, Miss Dexie?"

"Thank you, Mr. McNeil, but I daresay I am already engaged."

"No chance for you there, McNeil," said Fred Beverly, with a laugh; "Miss Dexie is spoken for already."

"Did I understand you to say that you were already engaged for the drive, Miss Dexie?" said Hugh, persistently.

"Well, Lancy has not asked me yet, but since he has promised to go, my invitation will come all in good time."

"But his team will be full. You had better take your chance with Hugh," said Fred.

"There will be room enough for me, never fear," said Dexie, smiling, "so Mr. McNeil is free to offer his services to some other forlorn damsel."

"First come, first served, Miss Dexie," said Hugh. "I asked you first; come with me," he added, bending over her chair.

"Couldn't think of it. We would be sure to quarrel all the way, and when I go to a picnic I want to enjoy every minute."

"It takes two to make a quarrel, and I'll not be one of the pair," persisted Hugh. "Come with me, and let me prove to you how much I can add to your pleasure, when you will let me."

"Prove it now by asking Fanny Beverly or Maud Seeton to drive with you, for I decline the honor."

"Are you so wrapped up, heart and soul, in Lancy Gurney, that you cannot spare a moment to anybody else?" said Hugh, angrily.

"Certainly!" Dexie replied, with flashing eyes, "and since you are going to be so disagreeable, Mr. McNeil, I guess I will leave you," and she joined a group near the table.

"Where is Lancy, that he is not here to arrange about this picnic, said Fred Beverly to Cora Gurney, who was sitting by the table.

"Couldn't say. He promised to come in to-night."

"Listen! isn't that Lancy at the piano?" said Maud Harrington, as a sound of music in staccato style reached their ears. "How plainly you can hear it through the walls!"

There was a hush for a minute, when Dexie said as naturally as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world,

"Yes, that is Lancy's call; he wants me for something. Will you excuse me, friends, for a little while, till I see what is wanted?"

Looks were interchanged amongst some of the young people, and, hoping to make Dexie feel vexed, Gussie said, "Lancy Gurney has only to whistle, and Dexie will run like a dog at a call."

But Dexie took it all in good part, saying, with a smile: "Well, even a faithful dog is not a despised creature, you know, and it is something to know that Lancy will not whistle for anyone else while I am around," and turning at the door she added, "In case I do not come back, let me say you can count on me for anything I can do towards the success of the picnic. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," and, as Hugh lifted his eyes, she swept him an elaborate courtesy.

Hugh was too vexed to take any further part in the discussion, and he soon withdrew, intending to find out what it was that drew Dexie away from the pleasant gathering.

When Dexie entered the parlor next door, she found Lancy seated at the piano, looking quite unlike himself.

"What is it, Lancy?" going over to his side. "Why did you not come into our house to-night?"

"I have come across something unusual, Dexie, and I could not leave the piano until I mastered it. Sit here and listen."

Lancy's hands moved across the keys, drawing forth such thrilling chords that her heart was stirred to its lowest depths.

"Stop, Lancy, I cannot bear it," said she at last, laying her hand on Lancy's arm before he had finished a page.

Lancy looked up into the agitated face so near him, saying in a tremulous voice:

"Then I am not mistaken about it, since it affects you the same as myself. What is there about those chords that thrills our hearts so painfully? It is the only piece of music that has ever so affected me. I have not been able to play it through yet without a break. Sit down and try how far you can play, Dexie."

Dexie took the offered seat, and her hands swept the keys; but her firm touch seemed wanting. Wherein was that peculiar power that thrilled her with such exquisite pain; her hands fluttered, tears rose unbidden to her eyes, then, with a sudden break in the chords, she bowed her face in her hands.

Lancy was bending over her in a moment, and drawing her hands gently down, held them in a firm clasp.

"What is the matter with that music?" she said, at last, in a low tone. "I do not think I am nervous, but it sets my heart throbbing so that I cannot bear it."

"I think it is the keynote of our hearts that is struck by those chords, and gives back such answering thrills. I never came across anything before that affected me like it."

"Well, whatever it is, it is painfully sweet. I will try it again, but don't stand looking at me, there's a good fellow, but go away by the window and look out at—nothing."

Again those wondrous chords filled the room, but the masterful touch that usually accompanied Dexie's fingering was now wanting, for it was a trembling hand that followed the printed notes. More the once she faltered, but after a period of waiting she would repeat the passage and go on. But presently a longer silence occurred, and Lancy turned from the window to look at her. Tears were standing in her eyes, and she sat with her hands clasped tightly before her. Drawing her away from the piano, he led her to the sofa, and the silent sympathy in his manner was more eloquent than any flow of words could have been.

"It seems foolish, does it not, Lancy?" she said at last, "but it is no common piece of music, and I shall never be able to play it before strangers."

"No; neither shall I, Dexie. That music speaks to your heart and mine alike. Let it be for ourselves alone, will you, Dexie?" and the grey eyes looked very dark in their earnestness.

"Well, have it so, Lancy. I will be able to play it properly by and by, I expect. But I never noticed the name of it."

"It is simply called 'A Song Without Words.' Let us name it again to suit ourselves."

"Very well. I came in to ask you into our side of the house. The picnic is being discussed; but I don't feel a bit like going back myself now—that music has almost upset me."

"Well, stay with me and let us have a quiet 'sing' by ourselves here; that will be pleasanter than discussing a picnic—shall we?"

When Hugh looked into the door a short time afterwards, he saw nothing that need have caused such a frown to wrinkle up his manly brow, for Lancy was only playing a simple ballad, and Dexie was seated in a low rocker some distance from the piano, her hands clasped behind her head, singing softly, her whole appearance seeming to suggest rest and contentment. Perhaps that very suggestion goaded him to bitterness, for why couldn't Dexie be as contented and happy in his society as in Lancy's?

The picnic came off as planned, and was enjoyed by all excepting Hugh, who, finding he could not have the companion of his choice, coaxed little Gracie and Ruth Gurney to go with him, and they willingly consented. But Gussie looked with angry eyes on the fine turnout, "just wasted on those little torments," as the light buggy flew past the more sober-going horses that were bringing up the rear.

She forgot her anger, however, when she returned home and found that Mr. Plaisted had arrived during their absence.

Bless us! how very amiable we can be when we want to make a deep impression on someone's soft heart!

Gussie's face was now all smiles. Her words were all sweet when Mr. Plaisted was by anyway, and as it is an ill wind that blows nobody good, Dexie felt grateful enough for anything that would cause Gussie to be a little better-natured than she had been during the last few weeks, and Gussie's very unexpected offer, to "keep the parlor dusted while Plaisted is here," touched Dexie to the heart.

But his presence made Dexie's task much harder than usual. Such a "lie-a-bed" as he was in the mornings, and he expected to be served with a hot breakfast whatever might be the hour of his appearance.

Nancy remembered him of old, and resented the added work, and Dexie tried almost in vain to pour oil on the troubled waters.

One evening, when Plaisted was about to retire, Dexie handed him his lamp, saying:

"Our breakfast hour is eight o'clock, Mr. Plaisted, and if you will rise at the first bell you will have plenty of time to curl your hair before the breakfast bell rings."

"Dexie, don't let your tongue run away with you," her father said, reprovingly. "Plaisted will surely be up in good time to-morrow, as we have much work ahead of us if we intend to catch the train."

"Yes, I'll be up to-morrow morning without fail," he replied. "I don't see how it is that I oversleep myself so often when I am here; I fully intended to get up to breakfast this morning, but missed it. However, you will see me to-morrow morning at the breakfast table, Miss Dexie, if I am alive," he added jokingly, as he waved a good-night to Gussie.

"Very well; but if you are not up in time we shan't wait for you," said Dexie, smiling, "for dead men need no breakfast."

"Oh! you'll see, Miss Dexie, I'll be up to-morrow in time, without fail," and he laughed as he disappeared up the stairs.

But when eight o'clock came next morning, it brought no Plaisted with it, and Dexie horrified them by asking if they had better go up and view the remains.

Breakfast was eaten in silence. Mr. Sherwood was vexed at Plaisted's laziness when there was so much need of energetic work to make up for time lost and wasted.

"Perhaps he did not hear the bell," said Gussie, as the clock struck nine. "I'll ring it again," which she did, vigorously.

But another hour slipped by, and still he did not appear, much to Dexie's disgust and annoyance.

While standing by the window waiting his appearance, she became aware of a great event that was taking place in the backyard. It happened that a pet cat had met with some accident that had deprived it of life, and the children were indulging in a funeral. A grave had been dug at the back corner of the yard, and the procession of mourners was marching back and forth across the yard with many twists and turns, to make it last longer, until it at last reached the open grave. Georgie Sherwood, who marched in the front of the procession, with the remains in a raisin-box, now deposited it in its last resting-place, while the little Gurneys, who were sedately following, wailed aloud.

When the grave was covered to their satisfaction, Frankie Gurney came into the house with Georgie, holding a piece of smooth, white marble, and asked Dexie if she would write something on it, for it was to be the cat's tombstone.

"Say that she was the prettiest and best-behaved cat in Halifax, and that she left a large family of sorrowing kittens behind her."

"Yes, and children, too. Be sure and say that, Dexie," added Georgie.

The inscription was soon written in Dexie's largest and clearest hand, and it delighted the eyes of the little ones, who could easily read every word.

"Where did you get such a nice stone, Frankie?" she asked.

"Oh, down in the grave-stone shop. The man told me I could have it."

A sudden thought came into her mind, and she smiled as she asked:

"Could you get another piece as big as that, do you think?"

"Oh, yes; there is another piece like this. Someone broke a foot-stone, and it is no good, the man said. I'll go and get it, if you want it."

"Oh, will you? then run quickly. I'll make you a new kite, if you will hurry."

In a very short time Frankie was back with the stone, Georgie, meanwhile, being engaged in setting up the cat's monument.

"What do you want with the stone, Dexie?" he asked, as he regarded her attentively.

"Come with me, Frankie, and I will show you," and she led him upstairs to the upper hall.

"I want to play a trick on Mr. Plaisted; but I can't, unless you will help me."

"Oh, I'll do anything you tell me," his eyes eager for any fun.

"You see, he is a fearful hand to sleep in the mornings. He is not up yet, and the morning is half gone. He said last night that he would be up in time for breakfast, if he was alive. Well, you can hear him snoring in the next room; but, since he is not up, I am going to consider him dead, and I want you to put up his tombstone. Now, do you think that you can go carefully and put this at the head of his bed without waking him?"

Laying the stone on her knee, she soon had it written over in large, plain letters, and hoping that Plaisted might sleep till noon, as he often did, she slipped downstairs to await results.

It is not often that a man is roused from sleep by his own tombstone falling on him, but that is how was at last awakened. Quite likely Frankie, fearing to awaken him, did not place it very securely. However, as Plaisted was about to turn over for another snooze, down came the marble slab on his papered head! It almost stunned him for a moment, but curiosity roused him enough to find out what had struck him.

Lifting his arms above his head, he grasped the object, but not calculating on its weight, it slipped out of his hands and bruised his head in another spot. Raising on his elbow, he gazed in bewilderment on the thing, but turning it over he quickly grasped its meaning, for the words thereon were plain enough for the dullest man to understand, and read as follows:

"Sacred to the memory of D.S. PLAISTED, who departed this life while in full health and curl papers. His death was sudden, but quite expected. This monument was erected by one who fully realized his WORTH-LESS-NESS. Peace to his ashes."

A few moments of awful silence followed the reading of this inscription, then curses both loud and deep were heard in the room. With a bound he was out of bed, and opening the door he flung his tombstone over the baluster to the bottom of the stairs, with a crash that startled the family from their seats as if a thunderbolt had shaken the house.

Dexie disappeared instantly, knowing what the noise meant, but feeling thankful that there was no one near the stairs when the crash came, or she would have had to seriously repent her joke. As it was, the stairs were dinged and marred, and the fragments of the tombstone were strewn over the hall.

It did not take Plaisted long to dress that morning, and he soon appeared before the assembled family, his brow dark and his eyes flashing.

"Who did that?" he demanded as he made his appearance.

"That is just what we have been trying to find out," replied Mr. Sherwood, who thought he was referring to the noise.

"I mean, who put that stone in my room?"

"What stone? I hardly think you are awake yet, Plaisted," and he regarded him severely. "Do you know what time it is?"

Plaisted glanced at the clock, and his angry feelings were swallowed up in the feeling of shame that spread a flush over his face.

"Heavens! I never thought it was so late as that! So we have lost the train again by my carelessness. Too bad, Sherwood. But that joke was no light one. Did you put up that stone?"

"What stone? I don't understand," replied Sherwood, angrily.

Plaisted turned back into the hall, and gathered up the pieces he had flung down in his anger, then piecing it together on the table pointed to the inscription.

A roar of laughter came from Mr. Sherwood's throat, as he took in the joke. Dexie, hearing the laughter and knowing its cause, came boldly into the room, ready enough to confess her share of it, now that she knew her father would not scold very much about it.

"Dexie, did you do that?" he asked, as she appeared. "That writing looks very familiar."

"Well, I wrote the inscription," her face never changing expression, "but I hired another person to set the stone up. Has there been a miracle that you have come to life again?" she added, turning to Plaisted.

"Well, I'll have to own that you have got the best of me this time, Miss Dexie; but I'll pay you for that tombstone yet, see if I don't," and he seated himself to his late breakfast.

There was no need to set up a monument to Plaisted's memory the next morning, as he was down before the breakfast bell rang, and as Mr. Sherwood kept him confined to the business they had before them, he found no time to pay Dexie back for the trick she had played him.

During the day something occurred that referred to business matters in Prince Edward Island; and becoming annoyed at Plaisted's equivocal answers, Mr. Sherwood took the copy of the letter Dexie had brought home with her, and laid it before his eyes. Plaisted read it with a puzzled brow and shamefaced cheeks.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, in embarrassment.

"No matter; but can you deny it is yours?"

"By thunder! I guess I can! that is not my handwriting," he replied, trying to bluff it off.

"No, the handwriting is not yours, I know. But dare you say that that is not an exact copy of a letter that was written by your hand?"

"Well, you have me there, Sherwood, so I may as well own up. I was going to do a bit of shrewd business for myself, but someone seems to have got ahead of me. Now I look at this writing, it is singularly like the writing on my tombstone," he added, as he studied the letter before him; "but, of course, it isn't possible."

Receiving no answer, he looked up at Mr. Sherwood and seemed to read the truth in his face.

"You don't mean to say that my conjecture is right?"

"Yes, Dexie's thoughtfulness and quick perception have saved me a good thousand. Your doings on Prince Edward Island were made known to her in a singular manner, and she was sharp enough to see the advantage that an exact copy of your letter would be to me; and as your letter was placed in her hands quite unexpectedly, she copied it. You and I must part. I'll have no schemer like you for a partner any longer. I'll not have my name mixed up with such doubtful dealings."

High words followed, but as Mr. Sherwood had the upper hand, Plaisted was obliged to submit to his decision, and he soon left the room to collect his belongings, having received a peremptory dismissal.

"There is one satisfaction that I wish you would grant me, Sherwood," he said, turning as he reached the door, "Tell me how your daughter chanced upon that letter." "No, that you need not know; but it was by the merest accident, and was as great a surprise to her as it has been to me. But she was sharp enough to see how important her information was, and knew that a copy of your letter was the best guarantee she could bring me of your craftiness."

"Sharp! yes, that is just the word for her. She is like a bunch of nettles, stinging you if you but touch her. She has contrived to give me an unpleasant memory of her every time I have been here. And so it is to her I owe this break in our business intercourse;" and with flushed face and flashing eyes he left the room, and before night he was journeying toward the "land of the free," a sadder, and, let us hope, a wiser man.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

"Hope long deferred maketh the heart sick," and Hugh became dull and morose; the happiness he hoped for seemed as far off as ever, and the continued disappointment was making his life bitter. Mrs. Gurney saw the change, and tried to persuade Hugh to go abroad. This he longed to do, but waited; he might yet go abroad with Dexie as his travelling companion. He would not take the message sent him as final; surely if he could see her alone, face to face, he would compel her to give her reasons for refusing him, and he might explain away her objections.

But Dexie considered the matter settled, and feeling herself free she thought it right to drop her stiff, reserved manner, and be once more friendly. This change made Hugh think that there was still hope for him, and he determined to take a lover's privilege, and press his suit face to face.

With this end in view, he called on the Sherwoods one afternoon, and finding Mr. Sherwood alone, he asked permission to take Dexie out for a sail, adding that there seemed no other way of seeing her alone.

"I doubt if she will go with you, Mr. McNeil," said Mr. Sherwood. "Why not let the matter rest as it is? I don't think you are making much headway; better not press it any further."

"She has not given me fair play," was the reply. "If I am to be refused, why must I take it from another's lips? Give me the chance to open my heart to her, and I will be satisfied."

"Well, Mr. McNeil, I wish you well; but she must choose as she likes. What is the water like to-day?"

"Smooth as a mill-pond; scarcely a ripple," was the reply, as he followed Mr. Sherwood into the next room.

"I have called to see if you will go for a sail, Miss Dexie," said Mr. McNeil, as he entered the room and seated himself beside her. "You have not been on the water for some time; it is a pity to miss this fine afternoon."

Gussie knew very well that she was not included in the invitation; but she had no intention of being left out, so she eagerly answered:

"Oh, yes, of course we will go; it will be lovely and cool on the water this hot afternoon."

Hugh knew it would be useless to hint that it was Dexie alone he wanted, but he meant to get rid of her society somehow.

"You have not said if you would go, Dexie," said Hugh, looking intently into her face.

"Oh, yes! certainly. I shall be delighted to go, if Gussie thinks she will not get sick."

"I don't think Gussie was included in the invitation," said Mr. Sherwood, looking up from his paper as he became aware of the situation.

"But of course it was understood; I would not go without her," said Dexie. "What time shall we be ready?"

"I will call in half an hour," and Hugh left the room with his heavy brow drawn into a decided frown.

During the walk to the wharf Hugh was so silent that Gussie began to banter him on his gloomy countenance.

"You don't look as if you enjoyed the prospect of an afternoon on the water, after all!" she said, laughing.

Hugh took no notice of her remarks, but handed the girls into the boat, threw the shawls on a seat, and shoved off.

"I hope the wind will rise a little," said Dexie, as they seated themselves. "You will find it rather tiresome to row all the time."

"We will catch a slight breeze after we get out a bit," replied Hugh.

But Gussie no sooner felt the motion of the boat than she repented her decision in coming. She was a veritable coward on the water; the least ripple made her shrink with fear, and nothing but her anxiety to keep Hugh and Dexie apart would have allowed her to overcome her dread. But once on the water, fear and sickness overmastered all else.

"Oh! do be careful!" she cried in alarm, as Hugh stepped forward to adjust the sail, causing the little craft to dip slightly on one side.

"No danger, Gussie," said Dexie; "the boat will not tip as easily as you suppose."

"But do you not think it is getting rough?" she asked, as a slight ripple came towards them. "Oh! I wish I had not come. Do let us go back."

"The idea! Why, we have not been out ten minutes," said Dexie, who thoroughly enjoyed the motion that sent the color from Gussie's face. "Gussie, are you frightened, or sick?" she added, looking into her sister's face.

"Both. Do ask Hugh to return; I am in misery."

Hugh lost no time in doing as he was requested, and they soon reached the wharf. Gussie stepped ashore at once, glad to reach terra firma again; but as Dexie stepped forward to join her, Hugh turned sharply:

"Are you frightened, too? I thought you were made of something better."

The taunt aroused Dexie, and she replied:

"No, I'm not afraid. It was not I that asked to return."

Instantly Hugh stepped into the boat and, gave it a shove that sent it several rods, saying:

"Then we'll not lose our sail on Gussie's account," and he bent to the oars, sending the little boat far out into the stream.

Gussie stood on the wharf until she saw that they really meant to leave her there, and then walked thoughtfully home.

"I wonder what this means?" was Dexie's inward comment when she found herself alone with Hugh. "There is some method in this madness, for I see it in his eyes."

She did not offer to begin the conversation until she saw Hugh hoist the sail and turn towards Point Pleasant.

"Where are you going, Mr. McNeil? I thought we were going up the Basin."

"I think we will try the Arm; there will not be so many crafts about."

"Why this wish for seclusion?" said Dexie, forcing a smile. "Surely there will be room for us as well."

Hugh paid no attention to this remark until they had turned up the Arm; then dropping the sail and changing his seat to one opposite Dexie, he let the boat drift with the tide.

Looking at her earnestly he said,

"It was a lucky thought that made me bring you out on the water. I thought Gussie would soon get enough of it. We are not likely to be interrupted here, and you cannot run away from me. Now, do you want me to tell you why I have brought you here?"

"No; I have not the least curiosity about it," was the seemingly indifferent reply.

"You know what I wish to say, Dexie, though you do not care to acknowledge it," he said, in a low tone. "Believe me, Dexie, I have not been playing at love-making all this time. I never was more in earnest in anything than I am in this. Tell me, what is it that you have against me?"

"Mr. McNeil, I thought this matter was settled. You received the message I sent you. Why bring up the subject again? I do not wish to hear another word."

"You cannot help yourself, Dexie. You have had your own way in this all along, and have not allowed me to say a word. Now it is my turn, and I will not be put off. Remember all is fair in love and war."

Dexie was silent. She was a little afraid of Hugh in this mood, but no sign of her fear appeared outwardly.

"I have reached the limit of torture that I can bear," said Hugh, after a pause. "I have had harsh words and cold looks for a long time, and you have slighted me on every possible occasion; but it has made no difference in my love for you. It has grown until it has taken possession of me, and my life seems to hold nothing worth living for with you left out of my future. Dexie, have pity! Is my life of no account to you that you can toss it aside without a thought?"

Dexie raised her eyes to the earnest face before her as she replied:

"I must think of my own self. Why should I make my life unhappy to please a passing fancy of yours?"

"A passing fancy! I understand that remark; you mean it as a sneer. It was a passing fancy with Gussie, I will admit. But, Dexie, it is a strong man's love that now burns in my heart. Think of all that it is in my power to give you, if you will only receive it. But the fact that I possess a fortune gives me no pleasure unless I can share it with you. Say the word, Dexie, and your every wish shall be gratified, if it is in the power of a man or money to do so, and my whole life shall be spent in making you happy. You need never have a care. What more could you ask of me, Dexie?" His eager eyes seemed to burn into her very soul as he waited her reply.

"I ask you for nothing; but if you will take all this and lay it before someone who could and would gladly accept it, you would be far happier in the end. It is a waste of time to try and persuade me to do what my whole soul refuses to consider, even for a moment."

"But why? Tell me why, Dexie? What have you against me? Is it on Gussie's account, or is it Lancy Gurney that comes between us?"

"What matters the reason? Call it what you like, it stands between us, and always will," she answered with rising color.

"You will not say! Can it be possible that you are so much in love with Lancy Gurney that there is no room for a thought of me? He will never make you happy; he knows nothing of love as I feel it—a schoolboy attachment, that will soon be forgotten!"

"Be kind enough to leave Lancy's name out of this discussion altogether," said Dexie coldly, "and as there is nothing to be gained by prolonging this unpleasant interview, we had better return home."

"You are mistaken if you think I am going to end this little excursion without gaining my end. Do you remember the time Lancy took you to drive, on purpose to gain your consent to whistle at the concert? Well, he kept you out until you gave him your promise, and I intend to profit by that idea of his, and keep you here until you give me a promise also."

"Why! Mr. McNeil, are you crazy?" said Dexie, in alarm. "What parallel do you see in the case? What good would a promise do you which you know I would break the moment I reached the shore?"

"You will not break any promise you make. I am not afraid of that. I think I know you better than you do yourself, Dexie."

Dexie flushed angrily, and turned her eyes to see the position of their boat. They had been drifting at the will of the tide, and she had given little thought to it in her excitement. But now, understanding what might be in store for her, it was necessary to think of some way of escape.

Could she keep Hugh from regarding her movements, and draw his attention from their boat's course?

After a few minutes' silence she asked, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth:

"I suppose there is not a piece of paper anywhere about," and she looked into her pocket and beneath the seat in a vain search; and there was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as she added: "I suppose you could not accommodate me with a piece of paper, could you, Mr. McNeil? Oh, thanks. And a pencil? Much obliged. Now, if there is only an empty bottle around some place, with a tight cork, I'll not despise the shipwrecked mariner's post office." "What are you going to do?" said Hugh, looking at her in surprise.

"Well, if I am to be detained here indefinitely, I would like to send a few parting words to Lancy. I am sure it would be such a comfort to him, in case the letter ever reached him, to know that I cared enough for him to remain true under such trying circumstances."

Was she making fun of him or not? Hugh could not tell, but he snatched the piece of paper from her hand and flung it over the side of the boat.

"Poor Lancy! how he will grieve for me!" she added in a commiserating tone, as she watched the receding scrap of paper. "You might have allowed me that one bit of consolation, I am sure, Mr. McNeil."

"Do you really love Lancy so much? I cannot believe it, Dexie."

"You might, nevertheless; for believe me, Mr. McNeil, if I had but one last wish granted me, it would be that I might be transported to his side. Ah me! I do not think I ever cared for him so much as I do at this present moment," and Dexie began to sing in a minor tone and in the high, cracked voice of an old woman:

"Why—do—we—mourn—departed—friends Or—"

"Dexie, stop that!" and Hugh's' voice was sharp with pain and annoyance. "I do believe you are the most vexatious creature that ever lived."