"Well, of all the mean things not even telling a decent woman like myself one bit of what's going on there! I'll find out, though, some way. To-morrow is my afternoon off, and I'll go from one end of this town to the other to see what I can hear."

Even little Rose Atherton was pledged to keep the secret.

"We're to have a lovely time at our house," she said to Polly and Sprite, one morning. "We're to have a perfectly lovely time, and you'll be there to enjoy it, but that is all I can tell. Uncle John said I could say that if I wished to but that I musn't tell any more just now."

"Well, we won't mind waiting to hear just what it is," Polly said, "because we know it will be nice, whatever sort of party it is. We always have a nice time at your house."

"And we'll like it all the better because there's to be a surprise of some sort," said Sprite.

"We can wonder and wonder, and then when the day comes we'll have the fun of not guessing what it is, but just knowing what it is and enjoying it."

Rose looked very wise.

"It's to be lovely, I told you that, and there's one thing more I can tell, and that is that it will be different from any party we ever went to, or any party any of us ever had."

"Won't we be glad when we haven't to wait any longer to know just what kind of a party it is?" said Sprite.

"Oh, yes," agreed Princess Polly, "and so will ever so many other people, for I've heard people talking about it, and saying that they were tired of guessing, and that they wished they knew now, instead of having to wait still longer to know."

"It won't be very long now before they know," Rose said, laughing gaily.

* * * * *

The secret was out, because the invitations were out.

Captain John Atherton, the genial master of the beautiful home at Cliffmore, known as "The Cliffs," and of an equally beautiful estate at Avondale, was to marry the girl whom he had always faithfully loved.

The misunderstanding that had parted them had come about because of the loss of a miniature of the girl, Iris Vandmere.

Its loss had grieved John Atherton.

He could not imagine how it could have so completely vanished. In truth, it had been stolen, but Iris thought that her lover must have valued it lightly, believing if he had properly guarded it, it could not have been taken from him. One word had led to another, and she had sent him away, grieving and wretched.

Her own heart was not less sad, but she had endeavored to hide that. Then, on that lucky day of the Summer before, Princess Polly had found the exquisite miniature lying in the middle of the sandy road.

How it came to be there, no one could say. Evidently someone, perhaps, the one who had stolen it, had dropped it, and travelled on, unaware that the famous miniature lay waiting a claimant, on the main road of Cliffmore.

The Summer colony was excited, but of all those who were invited to be present, none were more lovingly interested than the children.

John Atherton loved the children, and they dearly loved him.

One would have thought that the grand old house of the Vandmere's would have been chosen for the wedding, but Iris was quite alone there, save for her servants.

Both parents had but recently passed away, and the lonely girl felt that the home with its sad memories was not at all the place for the happy event.

"Let it be at Cliffmore," she had said, and at Cliffmore it was to be.

"Only think of it," Princess Polly said one morning, "Rose is to be maid of honor, and Sprite and I are to be bridesmaids. Rose is to wear pink, with pink roses, and we shall wear white with pink roses. Miss Iris will wear white, because brides always wear white. Mamma, why can't brides sometimes wear something else?"

Mrs. Sherwood laughed.

"This time the bride will wear 'something else.' Miss Vandmere's gown will be of the palest blue satin, and beautiful lace," she said.

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Princess Polly.

At last the great day arrived, just as the children felt that they could not wait much longer.

It was like a dream of Fairyland, for the great gardens at "The Cliffs" had never looked finer, the rooms were bowers of flowers and foliage, soft music floated through the halls, and then, Iris in shimmering blue satin, attended by her dainty little maids, came forward to the floral arch, where handsome Captain Atherton stood waiting.

After the ceremony, the guests moved forward to kiss the lovely bride, and Iris, bent to give her first kiss to her little maid of honor.

"You are my little Rose, now," she whispered, and Rose, happy Rose, clasped her arms about her soft, white neck.

And quite as the weddings in the old fairy tales it was, for the banquet was like an old time feast, and dancing, in which the Captain and his bride took part, followed.

When, after a gay, brilliant evening, the happy pair said "good-bye," their friends gathered about them, wishing them a pleasant voyage on the Dolphin, a safe return, and all good fortune.

Never a thought of loneliness had little Rose. During Uncle John's absence, she was to be with her dear Princess Polly, and what could be better than that?

For a few more weeks they would be at the shore, and Rose would be at the Sherwood's cottage, at play all day with Princess Polly and Sprite.

Then she would leave Cliffmore with the Sherwoods, and go with them to Avondale, there to remain until, upon his return, Uncle John, and the lovely, new Aunt Iris, should come for her. Rose was delighted to stay with Princess Polly, and she looked forward to her home with Uncle John, now to be even pleasanter than before, because of the sweet, new relative, whom she already loved.

The day after the wedding, Gwen decided to go over to "The Cliffs" to learn if Rose were there, and if she were so lucky as to find her, to remain and play with her. It would be a fine way to spend the morning.

She had quarreled with Max.

She was always either vexed with him or just making up, and no one could ever guess which had happened, because Gwen looked quite as cheerful after a disagreement, as when the friendship had been renewed.

She hurried along the beach, rushing past a group of small girls whom she often played with, because she meant surely to find Rose before she might leave "The Cliffs" to go over to Princess Polly's house.

She knew that the walk would be a long one, yet it seemed farther than she thought.

The sun was hot, and the sand seemed burning under the thin soles of her dainty shoes.

"How long it takes me to get there!" she said impatiently. "I couldn't run all the way."

She reached the low gate a few minutes later, however, and opening it, swung it wide between the two stone posts, and ran up the path, laughing when the gate swung to with a clang of its iron latch.

Mrs. Wilton, the housekeeper, opened the door, believing that some important person had arrived, for the bell had rung as if the opening of the door were imperative.

She was not pleased to see the small girl standing there.

"No, Rose is not here," she said in answer to Gwen's question. "She is to stay with Polly while her Uncle John is away. She went over there this morning."

"Why this is 'this morning'," Gwen said, pertly.

"It is ten o'clock, and Rose went over to the Sherwood house at eight," the housekeeper said, at the same time stepping back, as if she intended to close the door.

She was free to close it as soon as she chose, for Gwen had turned, and without a word or a glance, raced down the path, out of the gateway and up the beach to join Rose and Polly whom she now saw standing and talking.

"Hello!" she cried, as she drew nearer. "I've been over to 'The Cliffs' to find you, Rose, and then I came here. What you two talking about?"

"Trying to choose what to play," Rose said.

Both wished that Gwen had remained away, but they could not be rude, so she of course would join in the game, whatever it might be. It was a warm morning, and Princess Polly was just thinking that it would be fine to choose a shady spot, and sit there telling fairy tales, but Gwen's arrival made that impossible.

She never cared to listen while someone told a story. To be happy she must be the story teller, and as her stories were always wildly improbable, and always about her silly little self, they were never at all interesting.

For that matter, she was never willing to join in any game unless it was very exciting.

Several games were suggested by Rose and Polly, but to all Gwen shook her head, and refused to play either one of them.

One she thought too stupid, another she declared that she had never liked, and, yet another was "awfully dull" she said.

At last Rose lost patience.

"What will you play?" she asked sharply, her cheeks flushing.

"Oh, I don't know," Gwen replied carelessly. "I guess I won't play at all, anyway not with you two. I'll run back and find Max Deland. He's good fun, and he'll surely be able to think of something I'll like to play. He most always does, and I like him because he is wide awake. Good-bye!" and she was off like a flash down the beach.



CHAPTER VIII

AUNT ROSE CALLS

There had been many sunny days with blue skies, and never a cloud in sight, when one day, to the surprise of everyone, the sky appeared to be a solid mass of dark, leaden clouds, and the sea that for such a long time had been glistening and sparkling, now showed only a dark sullen surface, with here and there a whitecap to break its monotony.

Rose and Polly had decided to remain indoors, and all the afternoon they had been busy sorting the shells that they had been collecting.

"I wish I had more of these," said Polly, pointing to a little heap of oddly shaped shells, white in color, with here and there markings of soft brown.

"I wish so too," Rose said. "We've less of that kind than we have of any of the others. I wonder how it happened that we didn't get more of those?"

"I don't know, but if it is pleasant to-morrow, let's hunt for some," said Polly.

Mrs. Sherwood called, and Polly putting the tray full of shells upon the table, went out across the hall to reply.

Rose hurried down stairs to the hall, out onto the piazza, along the flower bordered path to the gate, then out and off down the beach.

Polly never liked to be out when the sky was cloudy and the wind raw, but Rose cared not a bit, and she had gone out thinking to give Polly a surprise.

She meant to find some of the coveted shells, and run home with them before Polly should have missed her.

She looked back at the Sherwood cottage. How pretty it was, and quite like a country house with its well kept lawn, its flowers in the gardens, and even at the gate, a rose vine clambering over.

Swiftly she ran along the beach to a spot where usually they had found the most shells.

A few there were, but none like those that Polly wanted, and she trudged along, looking sharply at every shell that lay imbedded in the hard, wet sand, from which the tide had receded.

She had been gone nearly an hour although she did not dream that it was so long since she had left the house.

She had known that Polly would not follow her, because of the cold wind that was blowing so briskly. A rift in the clouds had let the sunlight through, and when she reached the gate, the garden was bathed in sunlight.

Rose paused for a moment to look at the flowers, now gay in the bright sunshine, when the sound of voices came toward her, and while one was the pleasant voice of Mrs. Sherwood, the other was surely the voice of—Great Aunt Rose!

"Captain Atherton asked that Rose might remain with us while he is away," Rose heard Mrs. Sherwood say to which the cold voice of Great Aunt Rose replied sternly:

"Well, and if he did, I see no reason why she can not spend a part of the time with me at the old Atherton house which I have always felt was her proper home."

Little Rose Atherton's heart beat faster. She still stood at the gate, and she wondered that, for a moment, neither spoke.

Then Great Aunt Rose broke the silence.

"I was away at the time of the wedding, but had I been present, I should have at that time insisted that the Captain leave her with me, not only during his cruise on the Dolphin, but after his return.

"The young woman whom he has married is a beauty, and so of course, will be too full of dress and society to have any interest in little Rose. If John has chosen to wed a flighty beauty, he should at least give Rose to me."

"Miss Vandmere is indeed beautiful to look at, but she is lovely in character as well, and I know that she loves Rose," Mrs. Sherwood said quietly.

She would not argue, but she felt that, in justice she must give utterance to the fine regard in which she held Iris Vandmere.



"There are, I suppose, some beauties who are neither vain nor foolish, but however that may be, I am determined to see Rose to-day, and to ask her if she does not wish to return with me."

At these words uttered in a shrill, angry voice, Rose turned and raced down the beach.

She dropped the shells that she had been tightly holding, and without a thought of recovering them, she ran at top speed, as if, at that very moment stately Great Aunt Rose had been actually chasing her.

She had no idea how far she had run, she had not paused for even a second, nor had she once looked back. Now as she looked up, she saw a narrow side street that commenced at the shore, but well up from the water, and ran toward the center of the little village.

She was almost breathless as she turned into the little street, but she dared not stop running.

The very thought of ever returning to the stately old Atherton house, with its great dark halls, its formal drawing-room, and for companion, gentle Aunt Lois, kind but so deaf that it was almost impossible to talk with her, and cold, dignified, haughty Great Aunt Rose, filled little Rose with terror.

She was now completely tired out, and as she turned the corner of the next street, she stumbled, and would have fallen but for two strong arms that caught her. She looked up.

"Why little Rose!"

"Oh, Aunt Judith! Dear Aunt Judith, take me home with you now, right off, this very minute!" cried Rose. "Don't stop to ask why! Just take me now! Come! They may be here any minute! Come!"

"Why, Rose! What does this mean?" cried Aunt Judith.

"I was on my way to call upon Mrs. Sherwood, and ask you and Polly to come up to my little cottage and spend to-morrow with me, and here you are, looking for all the world as if you were running away. I musn't run off with you like this."

"Oh, but do, Aunt Judith. Please do! It isn't safe to wait a minute. I'll tell you everything when we're safe at your cottage. Come!"

The fear in Rose's brown eyes was so evident, that although it seemed a strange thing to do, Aunt Judith turned about, and with Rose clinging to her arm, started in the direction of the station. A train was already made up, and about to start for Avondale.

They were soon seated, and Rose drew a sigh of relief when the train started.

"Now, I'm safe," she said, leaning against Aunt Judith.

It was not until they were inside the cottage at Avondale, at twilight, the shades drawn and the lamps lighted that Rose told what had frightened her, and why she had run away.

"I don't wonder that you were frightened," Aunt Judith said. "If John had been at home you would have been brave, but gentle Mrs. Sherwood seemed to you to be no match for Great Aunt Rose. I do not think as you do. For all her gentleness Mrs. Sherwood is a fine character, and I do not think she would permit anyone to take you from her home when you had been left in her care by your Uncle John.

"There is another thing to be thought of. Great Aunt Rose has left the Sherwood cottage long before this, and Mrs. Sherwood and Princess Polly I believe are greatly frightened by your absence. Don't you know that they must have been searching for you now for at least two hours, and not finding you, they will fear that you have come to harm.

"If only you had told me what it was that had so frightened you, I would have returned with you to Mrs. Sherwood, and have helped convince your aunt that you could not go home with her.

"Great Aunt Rose would not actually take you by force."

"Oh, she would!" cried Rose, "and I'm glad we're here, but we can let them know that I am safe, and that I am here with you, and why I came. I'd go back to them to-morrow if I knew Great Aunt Rose wouldn't go there again, and try to get me.

"Oh, the great old Atherton house is so grand, and yet so lonely, and she doesn't love me. She was always telling me while I was there that the reason she wanted me to live there was because I was an Atherton, and she said the proper place for me to live was in the old Atherton house.

"She said there had always been a 'Rose Atherton' in the family even 'way, 'way back, and that every 'Rose Atherton' had lived in that house, and when I said I pitied them, she was angry, and she said I'd no reason to. She said the others were proud of this family, and glad to live there, and that I was the odd one. She said it was strange I'd rather live with Uncle John, and I said it wasn't strange because he was so loving.

"Oh, I can't bear to think of the time that I lived there, and I'm glad I ran away from Polly's house before Great Aunt Rose saw me. I know she would have snatched me away from the Sherwood's.

"I was peeping in at the gate when I heard her voice.

"She was telling Mrs. Sherwood that I ought to go home and stay with her while Uncle John is away.

"I didn't wait a minute, but raced down the beach just as fast as I could. Then I thought if she came out, she might see me on the beach even at a distance, so I turned into a side street, and the next corner I turned brought me straight to you."

There was indeed consternation in the Sherwood cottage when, after the unpleasant caller had left the house, Polly commenced to look for Rose, and no Rose could be found, though thorough search was made, the servants gladly assisting, and just as Polly was crying, and declaring that she could not taste the least bit of food until Rose was found, the telephone rang.

Glad news it was that Rose was safe with Aunt Judith, and Mrs. Sherwood and Polly accepted Aunt Judith's invitation to come and spend the next day at her cottage.

Aunt Judith had gone a short distance to Mrs. Grafton's house, and she had sent her message from there.

"Hurrah!" cried Harry, as Aunt Judith turned from the telephone. "I'm glad it happened that Rose had to run away, for we've missed her all these weeks that she's been spending at the shore. We'll be over to-morrow to see her, won't we, Leslie?" and he gave one of Leslie's long curls a sly twitch.

"We surely will, unless you pull all my hair out when I'd want to hide my head," Leslie said, laughing.

"Oh, pshaw! The way I pull your curls amounts to just love pats," Harry cried.

"You wouldn't say so if I twitched your hair like that," Leslie responded.

"I guess I'll go down and get my hair shingled so you won't be able to get hold of it," he said. "Lend me a quarter, Leslie? I spent all I had to-day on candy and a new bat."

Leslie refused and Harry chased her, the two laughing as they ran.

"I never saw a brother and sister who played together so prettily," Aunt Judith said.

"They are great chums," Mrs. Grafton said. "Of course Harry has his boy friends, and Leslie is very fond of Lena Lindsey, but for all that my boy and girl are fast friends, and they love each other dearly."

"I like to see it," Aunt Judith said.

She hurried back to the cottage where Rose at the window was eagerly watching for her.

"Mrs. Sherwood's voice sounded very anxious when she replied to my call at the telephone, and the tone of quick relief when I told her that you were safe here at the cottage with me was very evident.

"Polly had cried until she was about sick, but of course, she will be all right now, and they will both be with us here to-morrow, for the day."

"That will be fine," cried Rose, "and you'll set the larger table to-morrow, and make it look fine, but to-night, Aunt Judith, just to-night let's have the little tea table, just as we used to when I lived here with you, with the pretty pale green dishes, and the dear little sugar and cream set with the pink moss-rose buds on it. May we, Aunt Judith?"

Aunt Judith came and took the pretty face between her two hands, and looked into the eager brown eyes for a moment.

"We'll have our little tea just as we used to, because it will please you, and because I'd like nothing better," she said.

"And let me help at the table, just as I used to," Rose said, and together they worked, Rose bringing the rosebud china, while Aunt Judith brought the pale green plates, and cups and saucers from the little china closet, and placed them upon the dainty, spindle-legged table. There were tiny, fresh rolls, chocolate with cream, a dish of raspberry jam of which Rose was very fond, and even the little round pound cakes that Rose so well remembered. Aunt Judith had sent a small boy to purchase them for her while she was telephoning at Mrs. Grafton's.

When all was ready, they took their places, Aunt Judith pouring the chocolate, while Rose served the cream from the dainty jug, and dropped the cubes of sugar from the quaint little silver tongs.

"Aunt Judith, I'm so happy with Uncle John, that everything I have at his home seems perfect, but there's one queer thing that I don't understand. No raspberry jam ever seems just like the jam I always had at this cottage."

Aunt Judith was delighted.

"To think that you would always remember the jam, and think it a bit nicer than any other!" she said.

"Perhaps it was because we were choice of it, and served it on Sundays and holidays that made you think it extra nice."

Rose leaned toward her and laid her hand upon her arm. "And perhaps it was because you always kept the jam in that lovely cream colored crock that has the butterflies upon it. I do believe things taste nicer for being kept in pretty jars like that."

"I think so, too," Aunt Judith said, "but your Uncle John has beautiful china, so doubtless his housekeeper could find plenty of pretty dishes for serving."

"Oh, she does," Rose replied, "but in the closet, the jam is kept in a stone crock, while yours was always in the butterfly jar that I always thought so lovely."

"The dearest thing about this cosy little tea is the fact——" Aunt Judith bent to kiss her cheek, "that I have you for my guest, little Rose."



CHAPTER IX

AT AVONDALE

Harry was ready to go over to the cottage at eight the next morning, but Leslie declared it a ridiculous hour to call.

"Call!" cried Harry. "Who's going to make a prim old call, I'd like to know? S'pose a fellow is going to lug a card case just to go and play with Rose?"

"Of course not," said Leslie, "but even if we are just going over to the cottage to play, we'd not care to get there when she's eating breakfast."

"Well, I guess there's no chance of doing that, Leslie. Look at the clock. It is after eight now, and we're still at table."

"I'll go over with you at nine," Leslie said, and when the clock struck nine, she found him just outside the door, his shrill whistle having told her where to find him.

"Come on!" he cried. "It's nine, and if you won't come with me now I'll go over to see Rose without you."

"Well, I'll have to go back now," Leslie said, and turning, she ran across the hall, and up the stairway, laughing as she went.

"Good-bye!" shouted Harry, and off he sped, thinking it a great joke on Leslie that he should keep his word, and because she was causing the delay, run off to the cottage instead of waiting for her.

Leslie, never dreaming but that he was waiting on the walk just outside the door, wondered that he did not whistle or call to her to hurry.

She had gone back for a book that she intended to give Rose, and in her haste she could not at once find it.

At last she saw a bit of its cover beneath a mass of lace and ribbon, in the corner of the drawer where she had placed it for safe keeping, and catching it up, flew down the stairway and out upon the porch.

For a moment she paused, wondering where Harry might be, when a merry shout made her look up.

Away up the avenue, just opening the cottage gate, was Harry, and even as she looked, he disappeared behind the tall shrubbery in the garden.

"Well, isn't he great?" Leslie said, as she started to run.

Rose and Harry were just behind a tall shrub that overhung the gateway, and as Leslie pushed the gate open they sprang forward in a fine attempt to startle her, but she only laughed.

"You couldn't make me jump," she said, "because I saw a bit of Rose's pink dress between the branches, and Harry moved his head so that I saw his yellow hair."

"Why didn't you speak, and tell us you knew where we were hiding?" Harry asked, a nice bit vexed that Leslie had not "jumped."

"I thought you ought to have the fun of springing out at me, after you'd hidden so nicely," Leslie said.

"Better luck next time," said Rose, and together they ran around behind the cottage to learn if the little brook was as clear, and as rippling as when Rose, in the early Summer, had sailed her little boat upon it.

"The brook is here!" cried Harry. "It hasn't run away yet."

A ragged little chap now approached them, but they did not see him. They were kneeling on the bank and looking at the reflections in a little pool where no ripple stirred the surface.

The comical little fellow might have kept away from them had they been facing him, but as their backs were toward him, he felt quite brave.

He was a droll looking urchin. His trousers evidently belonged to an older brother, as the legs had been rolled over and over in an effort to make them short enough so that he might walk without treading upon them. His blouse must have been the property of the same person, for the sleeves had received the same treatment as the trouser legs, that he might be able to use his hands. Upon his head rested an old straw hat. A big hole in the crown permitted a sprout of red hair to pop out, and a pair of shoes, not mates, completed his odd costume. He continued to approach until he stood within a few feet of Harry Grafton, and then he paused, as if wishing that one of the group might turn, and greet him.

With chubby hands clasped behind his back he waited. He was evidently in no hurry, but after a time he became impatient.

"Hello!" he said, and Harry turned.

"Hello, little chap! Who are you?" Harry asked.

Ignoring the question, the small boy eyed Harry for a second, then he lisped:

"Where'th Gyp? Ma thaid: 'Find Gyp.'"

"Are you Gyp's little brother?" Harry asked.

The small head in the big hat nodded.

"What's your name?" inquired Harry.

"Motheth," said the child.

"Moses!" cried Harry. "You must be wise. Are you?"

"I do' no', but I got to find Gyp, for Ma thaid I wouldn't have no dinner unleth I found him, an' I want my dinner now."

"And yet you haven't found Gyp," Harry said. "Well, I saw him a little while ago at work on the lawn over at Captain Atherton's house. Run over there and look for him. Scoot! He may go off while you're waiting to think about it."

Wee Moses waited for no urging, but raced across Aunt Judith's lawn, out of the gate, and down the avenue, the tuft of red hair waving like a flaming feather on the crown of his hat.

"Just notice his speed," cried Harry, and Rose and Leslie laughed as the comical figure turned, and bolted up the driveway of the Atherton place.

"That is only one of Gyp's small brothers," Leslie said.

"I never knew that he had one named Moses," said Rose.

"I've heard you tell their names, Harry," Leslie said, "but I never remember them all. I know there is a Mike, and a Pete, and isn't one named Hank?"

"Yes, and there's Luke and a little fellow that they call Sonny while they're trying to decide what to name him," said Harry, "and really he's such a funny looking little fellow that it would be hard work to think of a name that would fit him."

"There is a girl over on the other part of the town whose name is Tulip Rose Lillian Buttrick, and she told the girls that her parents gave her all those names because they couldn't decide which they liked best."

"What an idea!" cried Rose. "Well, I'm glad I haven't Tulip and Lillian added to my name."

"I don't see why those people stopped at all," Harry said, "for there's dandelion, and phlox and marigold, and a whole lot of other flower names. Seems sort of stingy to give her only three."

"Oh, Harry! Nobody would name a girl 'Phlox,' think how it would look written," Leslie said.

"I guess they don't worry about how it would look written," Harry said.

* * * * *

It was when Rose and Leslie and Harry were resting after an exciting game, that Mrs. Sherwood and Princess Polly arrived.

Then the fun began.

Mrs. Sherwood went in to talk with Aunt Judith, and the four playmates ran over to the Grafton's for a game of tennis. And while they were playing, eagerly hoping to win, each trying to outdo the other, little Sprite Seaford sat in the odd little living room of her home, sorting her treasures, and at the same time thinking what a fine time Princess Polly must be having at Aunt Judith's cottage with Rose and her other playmates.

The pretty shells, the coral, and the star fish, each had places of their own, but they had been taken out to show to some callers the afternoon before, and Sprite was now engaged in replacing them, each in its own especial place.

Captain Seaford was out fishing and Mrs. Seaford had gone to the village to do a few errands so Sprite was free to take her time about the task.

Softly she sang as she placed the white shells in one row, and the pink shells in another.

A smart tap at the door made her start, then she called:

"Come in," and Gwen entered.

Sprite wished that she had not answered the rap.

"Goodness! What a heap of shells. What are you going to do with them? Going to keep them?" Gwen asked, in a manner that implied that she thought he lovely sea treasures simply rubbish.

"Keep them!" echoed Sprite. "Why of course I'm going to keep them."

"They're pretty of course," Gwen admitted, "but it must be a horrid job to keep them in order. Leave them where they are and come out on the beach."

"Oh, I can't," said Sprite, and she was about to say that she must place her shells and coral in safe positions before going out, but Gwen did not wait to hear what she had intended to say.

Instead, she hurried out, banging the door behind her.

"I'll find someone who'll do as I want to," she declared, and she ran up the beach to find Princess Polly, but Princess Polly and Rose were both at Avondale, and Gwen ran on to the center of the little coast village.

"I'll find someone to play with, I don't care who it is," she said, as she raced along.

When the sea trophies were all in their places, Sprite stepped back to view her work.

A smile curved her lips, and her eyes grew brighter.

"They look finer than they ever did before," she said softly, "and now I'll try to keep them just as they are arranged."

Sprite Seaford was often called a little "Water Witch," from the fact that she was so much at home on the water.

She could swim wonderfully well for so small a girl, and she managed her boat with skill.

After another approving glance at the rows of softly tinted shells, she ran out onto the beach, and soon in her boat she was gliding along on the shallow water near the shore, her oars moving with slow precision, keeping time to the song that she was singing, or rather to the songs that she was singing, for she was making a gay little medley of many familiar tunes.

The light breeze lifted her long, waving hair, and let it flutter back from her face, it kissed her cheeks, and made them pink like the shells that she valued most.

The great gulls hovered overhead, flapping their wings, and circling about as if trying to determine what sort of little being it was that boasted such long tresses.

Skimming over a bit of shallow water, she chanced to look down and there, on the sandy bottom, was a shell, different in shape from any in her collection.

"I must have it," she cried, and in a second she had drawn the oars into the boat, had slipped into the shallow water, and having pushed the light boat toward the shore, swam along under water until she came to the spot where the shell lay.

She came up to the surface to get the air, laughed, and swam downward again, snatched the coveted shell, and then made her way to where the little boat rocked on the waves.

She was in it in a moment, and again plying the oars, her shell on the seat opposite that on which she was sitting.

She had dressed herself in her little bathing suit, and she laughed as she saw that the warm breeze playing with her hair, was drying it, while her blouse and skirt were dripping and would continue to drip until hung up where the wind could blow through them.

Rarely a day passed that Sprite did not spend with Polly and Rose, but to-day they were away, and she must amuse herself. They were her two dearest playmates, but the dancing waves were the next best.

"I love to play with Princess Polly, and with Rose Atherton, and when I'm not playing with them, I like my boat," she said softly. "I would have asked Gwen to stay but I didn't want to her to.

"Gwen so often says unpleasant things. Polly and Rose never do, and surely the boat doesn't. It never even answers back," she added with a laugh. Then for a time she plied the oars in silence, rowing always close along the shore, out from one little bay, and into another.

Then someone hailed her.

"Hi! Sprite! Sprite Seaford!"

She turned on her seat, and there, on the beach, close to the water, was Max Deland.

"Say! Have you seen Gwen Harcourt?" he asked, his hands held trumpet-wise, to carry his voice to her.

"I saw her, oh, much as an hour ago, it may be longer," Sprite answered.

"Oh, pshaw! I mean have you seen her within a short time?" cried Max, impatiently.

"I said I saw her an hour ago, and maybe longer," Sprite said.

"I wonder it wasn't a week!" cried Max. "I want her now."

With that he ran off down the beach, and Sprite wondered why he was in such evident haste.

She turned the boat about, and rowed along in the direction that Max was going.

She saw him run along the beach, then stop and take something, a small book she thought, from his pocket, look steadfastly at it for a few moments, and then, after thrusting it back into his pocket, run on again.

She wondered what sort of book it was, and why Max seemed so very impatient in regard to seeing Gwen. He seemed bent upon running the entire length of the beach, and she watched him until he either entered, or ran behind the little shanty that some workmen were using as a tool house.

"I believe Max is as queer in some ways as Gwen is," mused Sprite.

"I wonder what that little book was, and why he had to stop to read it?"

A moment later she laughed, as she said: "There's one thing everyone knows, and that is that when Max and Gwen are together, they're sure to get into mischief. No one ever spends a minute wondering about that, because they know."

She ran the boat into shallow water, made it fast to a pile that had been placed there for the purpose, tying the rope through the iron ring on the post. Then she stepped over the side of the boat into the water, and waded ashore. She wrung the water from her skirt, took off her shoes and emptied the water from them, and then ran up the beach toward home.

She opened the door and ran in.

The Captain would be out on the fishing trip all day, and it was evident that Mrs. Seaford had not yet returned from her trip to the store.

Sprite changed her drenched bathing suit for dry clothing, and hung the skirt and blouse up to dry.

She wondered why it was that she kept thinking of Max and his little book.



CHAPTER X

THE SHIP COMES IN

It had been a warm, sunny day, the little waves had danced gaily, and the beach had been dazzling in the full glare of noonday, but the afternoon had been cooler, and at twilight the wind had changed from its warm quarter, to Northeast.

Snug and warm in the "Syren's Cave," they heard the wind rising until it became an actual gale.

The Captain had built a fire of drift wood, the squatty lamp on the table gave out a yellow glare, and around the table sat the three members of the family, the cat occupying the tiny rug in front of the fire. Puss purred contentedly, blinking when the sparks snapped and twinkled.

Sprite bent over a fascinating book of fairy tales. The pictures were charming, the stories held her captive.

Usually she enjoyed playing with puss in front of the fire, saving her book for stormy days, but she had opened the book to look at the softly tinted pictures, and the first story that held her attention was the "Tale of the Gold Children," and she became so interested in their travels in search of their fortunes and of each other, that she could not put the book aside.

Her waving hair fell about her shoulders as she read, and the light from the big lamp shimmered upon it.

Mrs. Seaford, busy with her sewing, paused at times to look at the child absorbed in her book.

Captain Seaford, in a big arm chair, reading the "Cliffmore News," looked exceedingly comfortable, but his wife knew that while he held the paper before him, he was merely glancing at the reading matter, while his mind was elsewhere.

Often he put the paper down, laying it across his knees as if he were done reading. For a few moments he would sit thus, then again he would lift the paper as if he were endeavoring to keep his mind upon it, but finding it a difficult task.

A heavy gust of wind made the windows rattle, and shook the door as if clamoring for admittance. A second later, something was hurled against the side of the house, as if the gale were using small pieces of driftwood for missiles.

The Captain arose, dropped his paper in his chair, and strode to the door.

He seemed to be trying to scan the horizon, as if looking for a sail, but no object, far or near could possibly be distinguished in the utter darkness that hung over land and sea.

He turned about, closed the door, and picking up the paper, seated himself once more before the fire, but he did not read, allowing the paper to lie idly on his knees.

"What is worrying you?" his wife asked gently, laying her hand upon his arm, and looking intently at him. "Is it anything new?"

"It's the same thing, dear, that has kept me fretting for the last three weeks," he said slowly.

"When the vessel was two weeks overdue I was more anxious than I cared to admit, but now that the third week is nearly gone, I find myself unable to keep my mind upon the paper that I try to read, or for that matter upon anything else."

"If any vessels intended coming in to-night, they would be obliged to get into some harbor where they would be safe until the sea is calm," said Mrs. Seaford, "and that would make them a few days later, so we'll still hope to see the one we're looking for come sailing in with flying colors."

Sprite, listening, while they thought that she was reading, now came around the table, and leaned against the Captain's sturdy shoulder.

"Pa, I wish you wouldn't worry, for some way I'm sure she's coming in all safe, I'll tell you why. Now don't you laugh. I dreamed last night that she came sailing in with flags flying, and oh, her hull and her masts were of shining gold, so let's think that means good luck. Will you, Pa?" she coaxed, winding her little arms around his neck.

She could not bear to see him so worried.

"You're a comfort, little Sprite, and your Ma is another. Don't seem reasonable for a man to fret with two such blessings in his possession, but the truth is I wanted the luck that I believed the vessel would bring, for you two dear ones, far more than I wanted it for myself."

"Then don't say you wanted it, for that does not sound hopeful," Mrs. Seaford said.

"No, say you want it for us, for that sounds as if it were coming," Sprite said, "and I'm sure it will come, only it's delayed."

He summoned up a smile for the child who was endeavoring to cheer him.

"I surely can truthfully say, 'I want it for you'," he said.

"I have ventured all that I had on that ship's cargo, because I believed it was sure to bring back a little fortune that would enable me to give greater comfort to your mother, Sprite, and you."

"Well, it's coming! It's coming! I know it is. I saw the golden ship last night in my dreams, and I sprang up and looked from the window, and the moonlight was making a bright, glittering path on the waves, just where, in my dream, the ship had been."

She had left the Captain's side to skip and dance about in her excitement, but now she came softly back to lean against him, as he sat in his big chair.

She laid her cheek against his a second, then looking into his kindly eyes, she said:

"It is stormy to-night, and it may storm to-morrow, but when it clears, I know, oh, I just know the ship will come in."

It was later than Sprite usually sat up, and the Captain pointed to the clock.

"It's late even for a cheerful little prophet to be up," he said, and Sprite danced away to her tiny chamber, happy in the thought that she had really cheered them. The next day the storm continued, but at night the gale diminished, and on the following day the sun rose bright, and golden, giving promise of a fine day.

Sprite ran out onto the beach.

She looked far out across the dancing waves, to the horizon, where plainly she could see the sails of incoming vessels.

Was either one of these distant vessels the one for which the Captain was so eagerly looking?

"They all look alike 'way off there!" she murmured, but a moment later she whispered in disgust:

"What a goosie I am! Those vessels have only one sail! They're neither of them ships. Who'd think I was a Captain's daughter?"

Still she stood scanning the line where the sky and ocean met. At any moment a big ship might come in sight, and she thought how quickly she would run to tell the news. Then she hesitated.

No, she would not hasten to tell it, for it might indeed be a ship, and yet not the one for which the Captain had long been looking, or it might be one that was not bound for Cliffmore, but instead would go farther out to sea.

There was one sail on which the bright sunlight lingered, making it whiter than those of the other vessels, so that it was easier for her to watch that one than either of the others.

"Why! It has turned about!" she cried, "and now, oh now, I see other masts and other sails! It's a ship! It's a ship! Oh, is it the one that Pa longs to see?"

She would gladly have stood watching until that vessel sailed into Cliffmore, but a long, silvery note from the horn called her in to breakfast.

Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks pink with excitement, and the Captain looking across the table, sighed as he thought of all that he had planned to do with the money that he had so confidently expected. He had built rosy air castles, had dreamed of comforts, and pleasures for the two dear ones who now sat opposite him at the table, the one full of hope, and cheer, the other trying to summon cheer that she did not feel, in order to comfort him. The forenoon passed swiftly, because the three were busy.

Captain Seaford was making some repairs that the gale had made necessary. Indoors Mrs. Seaford had needed the help of little Sprite in some work that she was doing, and when the noon hour came they could hardly believe the clock.

Sprite, usually eager to be out of doors, kept close at her mother's side, pulling bastings from the garments that she was making.

Sometimes she paused to look from the window, then again she would busy herself with the bastings, and after a time, Mrs. Seaford, looking up, noticed with what rapt attention Sprite was gazing out at the ocean.

"What is it, Sprite?" she asked. "Are you thinking of the dream vessel that you told us about last evening?"

"I can't help thinking of it," Sprite answered, "and truly I do believe the dream meant good luck." "I'd not wish you to believe very strongly in dreams," Mrs. Seaford said, "but I'll confess that ever since you told us that dream, I've been thinking of it, and, in some way, it has given me hope."

The afternoon was spent much as the forenoon had been, save that the bastings were all out of the new garments, and while Mrs. Seaford still plied her needle, Sprite picked up the book of fairy tales, and tried to read.

There was one story that attracted her attention because its illustration showed a great ship, of ancient design. The name of the story was "The Gift Ship," and Sprite began to read. Riches formed its cargo, jewels studded its masts, and its figure head, representing a mermaid, was of solid gold.

"Oh, that is grander than our ship was to be," thought Sprite, and she allowed the book to lie idly in her lap, while she looked out at the floating clouds, and wondered where the white-sailed ship had gone that, at early morning, had floated along that distant point where sky and water met.

The captain looked in at the open door, and for a moment seemed to be studying the two who sat near the window. Then he spoke.

"I'm going down to the wharf to see Jack Windom. He wants my opinion of a fishing smack he's thinking of buying. I'll not be gone long."

He started off at a quick pace, but a few minutes later, Sprite saw, from her window, that the captain had met his friend when but halfway to the wharf.

"Oh, Ma, Jack has come up halfway to meet Pa. I guess he was coming up to see if Pa had forgotten about going down to look at the new fishing smack.

"Why, Ma, they're shaking hands. They never do that. Why, they are both coming back!"

Mrs. Seaford knew that something more than usual had happened. She hurried to the door, just as the two men reached it, and then, the captain grasped both her hands, crying out in his excitement:

"It has come in, dear! It has come in! The vessel that I've been looking for, longing for, worrying for is in safe and sound, and the cargo, if my friend Jack isn't wild, is even more valuable than I had dreamed!

"Sprite! Sprite! Little girl, your dream has come true!"

What a day of rejoicing it was!

"The dream came true! The dream came true! The golden ship has come in!" cried Sprite, dancing about like a little wild thing, while Mrs. Seaford laid her slender hands on the captain's shoulders, her eyes filled with happy tears as she quietly said:

"For your sake, dear, I am so glad."

Jack Windom, hardy sailor, and bluff, kindly friend, was more moved than he cared to admit. He drew the back of his hand across his eyes, remarking that the sun was "tur'ble glarin'," but his friends knew that he was fully in sympathy with them, and that his honest eyes had filled with tears, as happy as their own, because of the good luck that had come to them.

"I'm glad for ye, all three of ye, and I wish I could hev lent a hand ter hurried her in, but she's here now, and I'm as glad as you be that she's in safe an' sound. It's a great day fer ye, Cap'n, an' I'm glad, I declare I am."

Captain Seaford again started for the wharf, this time to see not only the new fishing smack, but the vessel that had brought such great cheer to the little home, and with his arm locked in Jack Windom's he hurried down the beach.

Mrs. Seaford and Sprite sat down to talk of their good fortune, and after a time little Sprite said:

"I know I'm not to believe in signs or dreams, but truly I did see the new moon over my right shoulder, and I did dream of a golden ship."

"So you did, dear," Mrs. Seaford said, "and you cheered me wonderfully last evening just by your telling of your lovely dream."

"That's why I told it," Sprite said.

"I thought while I was telling that, you'd not hear the gale, and by to-day the storm would have cleared away, and maybe the ship would come in, and it did."

For a few moments the two sat thinking, then Sprite spoke again of the thoughts that filled her mind.

"Yesterday I tried to read a story in my fairy book, called 'The Gift Ship,' but the ship's masts were studded with jewels, and its figurehead was of pure gold, and some way it seemed too grand, too fine, while Pa was longing for just a plain ship like the other ships that we see every day. I knew it was its cargo that he was anxious about, but the story seemed too good to be true, and I didn't care to read it.

"Now, oh, now I can read it, and enjoy it, too, for no matter how grand the story ship is, Pa has seen the one that he has been looking for, and now we are happy."

"Indeed we are," Mrs. Seaford said; "we are thankful, too, Sprite. Think how different would be our thoughts to-night if Jack Windom's news had been that the vessel that your father had been looking for had foundered!

"We are thankful indeed, we are grateful, Sprite. Oh, we are blessed with the best news that could have been brought to us," said Mrs. Seaford.

"I wish we could celebrate in some way when Pa comes back," Sprite said.

"We shall have to be thinking of supper now. Suppose we go out together to set the table, and you shall help me to make it attractive.

"Come! We'll use our prettiest dishes, and we'll set the rose-pink geranium in the center, and then we'll see what we can do toward providing a treat."



CHAPTER XI

LITTLE PITCHERS

The day spent at Aunt Judith's cottage had been delightful, and Harry and Leslie had been such fine playmates that Rose and Polly wished that they, too, were staying at Cliffmore.

A few days had passed since the visit, and Princess Polly, still thinking of the day at Avondale, sat stringing shells on a long rose-colored cord.

She was sitting on a low seat in the garden, her box of shells beside her. The shells were for Leslie, and Polly was selecting them with much care, that they might be of nearly the same size.

The garden was charming with its fine wall, and the lovely flowers that blossomed within its enclosure.

The house set well up on the beach, and its broad lawn and flower beds were surely safe from any encroachment by the sea, yet as a precaution, the massive wall had been built, and if by any chance a storm should drive the waves a bit too far, they would break against the wall, and then recede, leaving the garden unharmed.

The string of shells was now nearly a half yard in length, and Polly held it up for the admiration of Rose and Sprite, who had just arrived, and were running along the path.

"Oh, isn't it lovely?" said Rose, "and the colors, how nice they look, first bluish white and then cream white."

"Leslie will like that," said Sprite.

"Anyone would, they're strung so prettily."

"I've ten more shells to add to the string and then it will be all ready for Leslie. Everybody keep still until I have the ten shells in place," said Princess Polly, "and then I'll talk with you."

Rose and Sprite pretended to be making a great effort to keep still, but the task was evidently too much for them, and after a few seconds of silence, Rose laughed, Sprite echoed, and then Polly laughed because they did.

"Oh, you two can't keep from talking," she said, "and neither can I, that is, not for very long, but I did keep still until I put the tenth shell on the string, and I'll put it in this little box. There, now I'll listen, for I know you've something to tell."

The three little friends were now sitting on the long garden seat, the tall shrubs behind them making a cool shade.

Mr. Sherwood had had the space inside the fine wall filled with rich loam, so that inside the garden gate was a genuine country garden, while outside the wall lay the sandy beach, and the surf, and spray.

The flowers in the garden seemed to like the breezes from the sea, for their colors were glowing, and their perfume sweet.

"There's such queer news this morning," Sprite said. "First, a sailor that Pa knows came up from the wharf, and he said a vessel got 'way out to sea, when they found a boy had hidden himself on board, a regular stowaway, and the first fishing smack they met, that was heading for Cliffmore, took him aboard and brought him back, and who do you think that was?"

"Why, how could we ever guess?" Polly asked in surprise.

"Well, that was John Selby, the grocer's boy. You know the store over at the Center," said Sprite, "and I guess you've seen the boy. He's 'bout fourteen, and has red hair, and he's the one that helps deliver goods from his father's store."

Yes, they remembered him.

Good-tempered, happy-go-lucky John Selby. What could have tempted him to leave home, and become a stowaway? Sprite knew why he had done it.

"He said he didn't want to be a grocer when he grew up," she said. "He said he loved the sea, and would rather be a sailor, so now his father says if he'll stay at home and help in the store until he's a bit older, he'll consent to his becoming a sailor, if he still thinks he'd like a sailor's life."

The pronouns were a bit confused, but Rose and Polly understood.

They hardly knew whether to be sorry for John or his father.

"It seems hard for John to want to go and leave his father," Polly said, "and it's hard that John can't be a sailor boy if he wants to."

"And you can't know which is the harder," said Sprite.

"Well, I wouldn't think any boy would run away from home when he knew that his father and mother would grieve for him," Rose said.

"I'd think any boy would if he wanted to!" said a sharp voice.

It was Max Deland who had entered the garden, and now, with a defiant air, stood staring at the group of playmates, as if daring them to disagree with him.

His cap was tilted at a saucy angle, his hands were thrust into his pockets, and his feet, wide apart, were firmly braced.

He looked as if ready to quarrel with anyone who chanced to differ with him.

"Do you mean to say, Max, that you'd do such a thing?" Sprite asked.

"I don't say I would, and I don't say I wouldn't," Max said in a sullen voice.

"Well, would you?" Princess Polly asked, but Max looked disagreeable, and in a few moments had turned and left them, as abruptly as he had come.

For a moment Polly, Rose and Sprite sat very still, each looking into the faces of the others.

"What made him so cross?" Sprite asked, "and if he did feel cross, and couldn't help it, then I should have thought he would have stayed away."

"So should I," said Polly and Rose, and "so should I," echoed Sprite.

Outside the garden wall eager ears were listening, and the ears belonged to a little figure that crouched close by the gateway, just out of sight of the three playmates, yet quite near enough to hear all that had been said.

It was Gwen Harcourt.

She had been a bit too saucy to Max Deland, had called him a "sissy," and what boy would bear that? Max had returned the favor by calling her a "Tom-boy," and then he had made a horrid face, and raced off up the beach.

Then Gwen was sorry. She liked to play with Max, and while he could run away, and laugh as he went, Gwen was ready to cry.

He was quite as fond of Gwen as she was of him, but he was a great tease, and beside that, he liked to hear her calling to him to return.

It flattered his vanity.

"Come back, Max! Come back!" she had shouted.

"Max dear, I take it back. You're not a sissy. Max! Oh, Max, I'm sorry!"

Max heard, but he chose to keep right on, and at last he reached the Sherwood house, and pausing for breath near the gate, had overheard the three friends talking about the boy who had run away from his home at Cliffmore.

A few moments later he had chosen to enter, especially because he was feeling rather cross with Gwen, and as Gwen was not at hand to quarrel with, he entered the garden to sneer at what his playmates were saying.

Gwen had followed him, and the time that he had spent in the garden had given her the chance to catch up. Six little stone steps led down from the garden to the beach, and Max ran down, pushed the gate wide, and sprang out onto the hard white sand.

Gwen crouched at his left, but he shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked to the right down the beach. She was pert and willful with all the others, but with Max she was humble indeed.

"Max, here I am, and I'm sorry I teased you. Do be nice to me now, won't you? I won't ever call you 'sissy' again."

"Guess you won't!" Max said, in anything but a pleasant tone. "I wouldn't let you say it if I was here, but I've 'bout decided to run away to sea!"

"Oh, Max, Max! I don't want you to, and just think! What would your mother say?"

Gwen meant it rightly, but it did not please Max.

"There you go!" he cried. "That's the same as saying 'sissy' again. I guess I can go where I want to. A man can do as he likes without asking."

Again Gwen blundered.

"Oh, but Max, you're not a man. You're just a boy, and I wish you wouldn't talk as if you meant to go 'way off somewhere."

Just a boy! That was aggravating. Max felt sure that in a moment more she would call him a little boy, and that would indeed be too much for any boy to ever overlook.

Gwen laid her hand on his arm, intending to coax him to stay, but Max was too angry to be easily pacified.

"See here!" he cried, roughly brushing her hand from his arm. "You heard me say I'd 'bout decided to run away to sea, but you don't know whether I will or not, so look out and not be a tell-tale, for if I do go, and ever come back, and find out you told, I'd never speak to you!"

Before Gwen could get over her surprise, and grasp the meaning of what he had said, he was off at top speed down the beach.

She started to follow, but he turned and shouted: "Don't you dare to tag on!"

Poor Gwen! Max was the only playmate with whom she had ever been gentle. She had treated him far better than she had ever treated the girls at Avondale, or the new acquaintances at Cliffmore, and now he was going to run away, and she was not to ever mention it!

She reached home very tired, and also very unhappy.

At lunch she refused to eat, but that was not unusual. She often did that to attract the attention of the other boarders.

As usual Mrs. Harcourt commenced to fuss, and to question her.

"What is it, dear?" she asked.

"Is there nothing that looks tempting?"

Then glancing at those who sat opposite, she said: "Gwen's appetite is so very dainty and capricious, she rarely cares for what is served here."

The guests were a bit tired of that speech, as they had heard it at every meal during the Summer.

"You're too tired to eat, darling," Mrs. Harcourt said. "Did you play too hard with Max this morning?"

At the mention of Max, Gwen burst into tears, and ran from the table, dropping her napkin on the floor, and walking upon it in her flight.

Mrs. Harcourt was really alarmed. She wondered what Max had done to so upset Gwen. Perhaps he had struck her. He had a terrible disposition, while Gwen had the temperament of an angel. So thought Mrs. Harcourt as she left the dining room, her own lunch untasted, to follow Gwen, and coax from her the reason for her distress.

The cause of any disturbance that led Gwen to shed tears was attributed to the outrageous temper of the other child, or children, as the case happened to be, and Mrs. Harcourt never dreamed that sometimes Gwen showed a temper that was rather far from angelic.

Max was not at lunch, but that caused no surprise, because he often was absent at one o'clock, returning at six for dinner with an appetite that seemed more befitting a brawny tramp than a boy who was always well fed.

On this day, however, he did not appear at dinner, and when seven, and eight, chimed forth from the hall clock, and still no Max in sight, Mrs. Deland was frightened.

"Do keep up your courage, Mrs. Deland," said a man who happened to stand near her.

"Your small boy will come prancing in before long, just as he always does. He usually remains out until you are nearly wild, and then he comes crawling in by the back door, and wonders why the chef isn't on hand to cook a separate dinner for him."

It was the truth, but Mrs. Deland thought the speaker exceedingly hard-hearted. She had telephoned to everyone whom she thought might have seen Max, but all replied that he had not been noticed, and that proved that he had not been near them, for the boy was so saucy, so noisy, and so desperately active, that he must have been noticed if he was anywhere within sight.

"Nine!" chimed the clock, and a few of the guests of the house organized a searching party, and started out to hunt for Max.

They felt little interest in the matter, from the fact that the same thing had happened so many times that they seemed always to be searching for Max.

The boy had made himself a nuisance in countless ways, and while neither member wished any harm to come to Max, they felt that it would be a great relief if he and his mother would leave Cliffmore, and never think of returning.

Once outside the house, however, they made thorough work of their search, but although they looked in every place that a small boy might get into, and in many that seemed impossible, they did not find him.

One man, tired and disgusted, grumbled as he tramped along, and several others who did not utter the thoughts that filled their minds, felt every bit as disgusted as he did.

"It's nonsense, clear nonsense, tramping all over the place, hunting for a little run-away rascal, who, at this moment, is doubtless eating a comfortable meal, after having returned when he felt like it."

When they reached the house, they were surprised to find that Max was not there.

It was the first time that a party searching for the boy had returned to learn that he was still missing.

Mrs. Deland had become quite used to having Max away sometimes all day, and often until after eight in the evening, and, as a rule, she was reasonably calm, but that nine o'clock should have passed without hearing from him seemed beyond belief.

With the return of the searching party her courage gave way, and she sank onto a low seat, her cheeks white, and her hands tightly clenched.

The women gathered about her, trying to comfort her, but she seemed not to hear what they said.

How still she sat, her hands still tightly clasped, her eyes looking from one face to another.

Then her eyes closed. She had fainted, and gently they carried her to her room, one woman promising to remain with her, after the doctor should have gone.

Gwen had acted so strangely that Mrs. Harcourt had ordered a light lunch sent up to their room, saying that Gwen was too ill to go down to dinner, and that she would remain with her. No sound of the excitement reached them. It was in vain that she questioned Gwen. Gwen only replied that she and Max had quarreled, and that he had been "just perfectly horrid."

When morning came, Gwen awoke feeling a bit better.

Having remained in their room all the afternoon and evening, they had heard nothing of the search for Max, nor did they know that he had not, as usual, returned.



CHAPTER XII

MAX A STOWAWAY

Soon after breakfast, Gwen, looking for someone to play with, ran across the broad piazza to where, pale and weary, Mrs. Deland sat.

"I want Max," cried Gwen, in her usual pert manner.

"Where is he? When is he coming out?"

Mrs. Deland uttered a low cry.

"He's lost, little Gwen! Haven't you heard? They are searching everywhere for him, and they force me, his mother, to remain here, and wait with what patience I may."

With a sudden impulse she threw her arms about Gwen, and held her close, then more gently lifted her face so that their eyes met.

"You loved my little Max," she said. "Are you sorry that he is not yet found? Stop a moment; you played with him yesterday. When did you last see him? When were you two children last together?"

"Oh, you're hurting me, holding me so tight. Let go, and I'll tell where I saw him," cried Gwen.

"Why, child, I didn't dream I was really hurting you. Now tell me."

"I saw him 'way over to Princess Polly's house," Gwen said slowly, "and we,—we, oh, we quarreled some, and Max didn't stay with me."

"Well, where did he go when he left you?" Mrs. Deland asked eagerly.

A crowd had gathered about the two, and stood listening.

"He told me not to tell," said Gwen, shutting her lips firmly together.

"What? You know where he is, and will not tell me, his own mother? Why, child, I am sick with worrying. Tell me, this moment!"

Gwen made no reply.

She loved Max, but she had never liked his mother, and that she should command her to tell made the little girl more stubborn than she had ever been before.

"I wouldn't tell now even if Mrs. Deland and all those other women stuck pins into me," thought Gwen.

It was in vain that they questioned her. Pleading, threatening, coaxing were equally unavailing, and when Mrs. Harcourt, seeing the group, came out upon the piazza, Gwen flew to her, saying that everyone was teasing her.

"It is an outrage!" cried Mrs. Harcourt, her voice shrill with anger.

"I wonder what you can be thinking of? A half dozen grown people tormenting one small girl."

"My dear Mrs. Harcourt, you don't at all understand," said a tall, haughty-looking woman. "Your little daughter knows where the lost boy, Max Deland, is, and, although his mother is nearly wild with anxiety, she will not tell, that we may know where to find him."

Mrs. Harcourt hesitated. Then she looked at Gwen's flushed cheeks and downcast eyes.

"Do you know where Max is?" she asked.

"No, I don't!" snapped Gwen.

Mrs. Harcourt turned and faced them. She extended her hands.

"There!" she cried. "You see, do you not, that it was idle to tease Gwen? She does not know where he is."

"She certainly said that she knew where he went," said a stout lady. "I do know where he went!" shouted Gwen, "but how do I know where he is now?"

"Where did he go?" questioned Mrs. Harcourt.

"I promised him I wouldn't tell," said Gwen, "and I won't!"

She wriggled from her mother's grasp, and racing across the piazza, fled up the stairway to her room.

"Gwen is too honorable to break a promise," sighed Mrs. Harcourt, as she left the group of disgusted ladies, to follow her small girl to her apartment.

"Too stubborn would be nearer the truth," muttered the stout lady.

"That child should be made to tell," said another.

"She shall be made to tell," Mrs. Deland said as she turned toward the small room that served as an office.

Gwen, as stubborn as a little mule, refused to tell the proprietor of the house, when he called her into his office, and after talking for a half hour on the naughtiness of being stubborn, and the especial naughtiness of not telling where Max went, and thus helping the searchers to find him, she again flatly refused.

If it had been true honor in being determined to keep her promise that made Gwen refuse, one could not but praise her courage, but her impulse was wholly selfish.

Max had said that if he ever returned and found that she had told, he would never speak to her again.

She valued Max's friendship above that of any of her playmates, and she refused to tell where he went, because he had insisted.

* * * * *

There was great rejoicing at "The Syren's Cave."

The "coming in" of the ship that Captain Seaford had long been looking for proved to be even more fortunate than he had dreamed.

Its cargo was indeed valuable, and as he obtained a much higher price for it than he had expected, his kindly heart was filled with gratefulness, and his eyes grew brighter, and he walked with a lighter step.

Mrs. Seaford went about the little house, singing at her work, and Sprite, happy, laughing Sprite, danced upon the beach, played in the surf, or rocked in her boat, singing, always singing of the water sprites, the mermen and mermaids of whom she never tired of hearing.

Princess Polly and Rose were both delighted when they heard of the Seafords' good fortune, but of the disappearance of Max they had not heard, because they had been away on a little ocean trip.

It happened, on the day that Max decided to run away, that no steamer lay at the wharf, nor was there so much as a ship in sight.

There was, however, a coal barge, and Max, determined to go on that very day, watched his chance, and at the first opportunity slipped aboard, where in frantic haste he looked for a hiding place.

Steps approaching set him into panic, and an empty barrel standing in a shadowy corner of the little cabin seemed his only refuge.

"There's only a few er these ol' pertaters, so I'll chuck 'em inter this barrel in the cabin," shouted a gruff voice, and in they went onto Max's head and shoulders. Not a sound did he make, although the potatoes felt decidedly hard, and evidently had been thrown in with none too gentle a hand.

It seemed to the boy in his cramped position as if the coal barge would never start.

At twilight, however, he felt the motion, and knew that he was sailing away from Cliffmore, the empty barge to return with another load of coal, but he, Max Deland, to keep straight on in search of a land where a fellow didn't have to mind his mother, but could seek and easily find a fortune, and then return sufficiently independent to have his own way.

It happened that Max had been seen sneaking aboard the vessel, and a bit later jumping into the empty barrel to hide, and the sailors had first thought of putting him ashore with a sharp warning to keep away from the barge in the future.

Then it occurred to them that a better lesson could be given him by letting him remain on board for a few days, and then placing him aboard of the first fishing smack that they met, bound for Cliffmore.

The potatoes had not been carelessly thrown in upon him. It had been done intentionally, to act as a part of his punishment.

Long before anyone on board was asleep, Max was wishing that he had never thought of running away.

He thought of the fine dinner that had been served at Cliffmore hours before, and here was he, Max Deland, in an old and dirty barrel that vegetables had been stored in, very hungry, and with no way of obtaining anything to eat.

After a time, his cramped position became unbearable, and slowly but surely he crept out of the barrel, and upon the cabin floor, where, because he was so weary, he fell into sound sleep.

At daylight a group of sailors were looking down at the sleeping boy.

The captain of the barge spoke.

"Good-looking little chap, but he must learn not to try this trick again. Let him lie there until he wakes. Then give him some breakfast, hard tack and water, remember, and then give him the task I set for him. When the first fishing smack, bound for Eastville appears, start him for home."

"Aye, aye, sir!" was the prompt reply, and the boy stirred as if he had heard it.

"Come now! Step lively!" cried the mate. "No loitering on shipboard."

Max, hardly awake, barely grasped the meaning of the words, and scrambled to his feet.

"Now, then, forward march if you want something to eat."

Max marched. He dared not refuse, but he did rebel when he saw what was offered for his breakfast.

"I can't eat that!" he said angrily.

"All right! Forward, march! We'll let ye work on an empty stomach if ye really hanker to."

All sorts of tasks were set for him, and for the next few days he was kept exceedingly busy.

He learned to do as he was told, and to do it promptly; to eat what was given him without grumbling, and there was something else that he learned by his hard experience. He learned what a fortunate boy he had always been; to appreciate all the good things that had always been so freely given him, and above all these, he longed for his mother's love.

He thought what a good boy he'd be if ever he reached the shore, and he resolved never to run away, whatever happened that displeased him.

A happy boy was Max when a passing smack stopped long enough so that he could be taken on board, and then headed straight for Cliffmore.

Max thought nothing had ever looked so beautiful as the cliffs from which Cliffmore took its name, when in the early morning they sailed into the bay, and saw the warm sunlight kissing land and sea.

Ah, he would never run away again, for now he knew the value of home and love.

He ran all the way from the wharf, and up the beach and climbed the great ledge on which sat the house where with his mother he had been staying. He rushed up the steps to the piazza, wildly crying:

"Where are you? Where is everybody? I've come home! I've come home!"

They came at once, and from every direction, like ants from an ant hill, and swarmed around him, asking more questions than he could answer.

A tall, handsome woman rushed across the piazza, her eyes bright with hope.

"Stand aside!" she cried. "It is Max! My little Max! I know his voice! Oh, let me reach him!"

The crowd parted, and the boy was instantly clasped in his mother's arms.

"My own! My darling!" she sobbed.

"I won't ever run away again!" he responded, his arms about her neck.

"Come!" said one of the crowd that had gathered. "Let them be alone together for a while," and as with one accord the group melted, the guests going far from the two who, for the time being, needed no other company than each other.

Of course, a bit later Max told his story to eager listeners, and when he had finished the little tale, he said: "And you folks ought to know that Gwen was a regular brick, to keep the secret I told her not to let out. Any girl but Gwen would have told it first thing, but Gwen is a brick. Don't all of you think so?"

A gentleman on the outskirts of the little crowd proposed cheers.

"Three cheers for Max and his brick!" he shouted, and they gave them with a will.

On the same morning that the little fishing smack brought Max home to Cliffmore, the beautiful steam yacht, Dolphin, sailed into the bay, with its owner, Captain John Atherton, and his beautiful bride standing together on the deck, and returning the salutes of the host of friends who awaited them on the wharf.

Handkerchiefs were waved by the ladies, hats were swung by the men, and foremost in the waiting crowd stood little Rose Atherton, a basket of roses to offer them, and the housekeeper close beside her, lest in her excitement she might actually be swept off the pier.

"Oh, I'm so glad, so glad!" cried Rose. "Dear Uncle John, and dear——" she paused.

What should she call this lovely young woman?

Iris laughed.

"You must learn to call me 'Aunt Iris,'" she said, stooping to kiss the little blushing face.

"I'll love to," Rose said, "and I won't have to learn, same's I won't have to learn to love you, for I love you now, you are so sweet, so lovely."

"Oh, John, was there ever a sweeter welcome? I am so happy."

At the reception a week later, Rose stood beside the dear, new aunt, and felt very proud and happy "helping to receive."

Princess Polly and Sprite were delighted that Rose was now to be so happy.

"Of course it is dearest to have one's own mamma," Polly said, "but Rose had neither papa nor mamma, so lovely Mrs. Iris is next best, and I do truly think she is dear."

"So do I," agreed Sprite, "and of course if Rose was happy with her Uncle John she'll be just so much happier with her new aunt, but who told you to call her 'Mrs. Iris'?"

"No one," said Polly, "but for that minute I couldn't think of Atherton, and I couldn't call her Mrs. Captain John. Of course she is Mrs. Atherton now."

"Oh, yes," agreed Sprite, "and my mamma says she's almost an angel. She did truly say that this morning, and Pa said:

"That's just what she is, and Captain John Atherton is a lucky man and I'm glad for him."

Already, plans were being made for the return to Avondale, and Rose, Princess Polly and Sprite were looking forward to the opening of school when, with Harry and Leslie, Lena and Rob, Vivian, and all the other playmates, they would be having the pleasant school days, and the good times that were always enjoyed at Avondale.

Gyp was to be "indoor man" on Captain Atherton's place, and study in evening classes, taking a business course that would fit him for a better position that the captain assured him should surely be his, if he excelled in his class work.

Sprite was indeed to be happy. The year before she had spent at the Avondale school, making her home with Princess Polly and Rose. She had been happy with them, but of course, at times, she was somewhat homesick.

This year would be so different. Captain Seaford's good fortune enabled him to rent a small apartment for the Winter at Avondale, and there Sprite could enjoy her school, and merry playmates, and yet be with her parents.

Gwen Harcourt was telling all whom she met at Cliffmore that she was very tired of living at Avondale, and that she did not think she should live there much longer. She said that if she fussed enough about it, her mamma would take her somewhere else. All who knew Gwen felt reasonably sure that she would "fuss."

Rose knew that her home at Avondale would now be perfect. Uncle John would love her as he always had loved her, and of her new aunt she was already very fond.

Surely it promised to be a bright and happy Winter for Princess Polly and her friends, the merry playmates at Avondale, where good times and gay spirits prevailed and kind and happy hearts worked with equal zeal at study and at merry-making.



THE END



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* * * * *

- Typographical errors corrected in text: Page 156: 'left he house' replaced with 'left the house' Page 214: 'left he dining room' replaced with 'left the dining room' -

* * * * *

THE END