But the latter had risen to his feet, as if suddenly aroused by some pressing engagement.

"Come," he ordered, "let's get back. It's time for the Review to begin. The scouts will be getting impatient."

It took them but a few minutes to return to the grand-stand where Parson Dan was waiting to receive them. He and the Governor were old friends, and hearty was the greeting between the two. Then the call was sounded, summoning the scouts. Soon they were lined up according to troops before the stand, where the officials were already seated, with the clergyman by their side. They invited Captain Josh to a seat on the platform, but he refused, saying that he preferred to remain with his boys.

After the band had played a couple of inspiring national airs, the speeches began. They were not long, but full of interest, dealing with the scout movement. The Senator spoke first, and was followed by the Judge. Parson Dan was asked to say a few words, but he declined, saying that the boys wanted to hear the Governor, and not a prosy old parson.

When the Governor at last arose, he was greeted with great cheers. All the people had crowded as close as possible, so as not to miss a word of the address of the prominent man who had come into their midst. Near the platform stood Anna Royanna. The speeches mattered very little to her, for it was Rod's face she was watching. She noted the eager interested look in his eyes, and his erect bearing as he stood at attention at the head of his patrol. How few the Hillcrest scouts were compared with the others, and a slight smile lightened the woman's face as she thought of the surprise which perhaps was in store for them.

The Governor at first complimented the scouts upon their neat smart appearance, and what an excellent thing the movement was. He then referred to the prize which had been offered a year before, and that the time had at last arrived when it was to be awarded. At these words the assembled troops stood straighter than ever, eager and intense to hear the name of the successful troop.

"I have the list before me," the Governor continued, as he arranged his eye-glasses, "and I consider it a very creditable one indeed, showing most plainly how active the scouts have been. The committee has gone most carefully over the reports received, and has examined the bank-books accompanying them. I wish that I had time to read to you the many and ingenious ways in which the different troops have raised their money, and I sincerely wish that all could win the prize. According to this list there is one troop which leads all the others, having earned the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars. The account of how this was raised is splendid, and by the rules laid down, that troop has won the prize."

Here the Governor paused, and a breathless stillness reigned as all waited to hear the name of the fortunate troop.

"I understand, however," the speaker slowly continued, "that there is only one troop present which did not send in a report of its doings during the last year. This, perhaps, seems strange to you, and I have good reason to ask the scout-master of that troop to step forward and give some explanation. I would really do so if I did not have the full information myself, and before presenting the prize, I am going to tell you something about that troop."

Then in a few words he told what the delinquent troop had done; how they had raised almost four hundred dollars, and how they had done it. He next told about the sick girl, and that the scouts of this troop had freely given every cent of the money they had earned to send her to a specialist in New York. There was a strong note of pathos in the Governor's voice as he mentioned the sick girl and the act of loving sacrifice on the part of the troop. He was a master of speech, and his words thrilled the hearts of his listeners.

"You now know," he said in conclusion, "why that troop has made no report. The prize was within their grasp. They had to decide between it and the life of a sick girl. They chose the nobler course, and so they are not the winners to-day. I wanted you to know this before we go any further. I shall now proceed to present the flag, and I ask troop number seven to step forward."

At once thirty scouts advanced, gave the full salute, and stood at attention. When the Governor stepped to the front of the platform and held forth the written order for the bugle band, the scoutmaster refused to take it.

"We cannot accept it, sir," he simply said. "It doesn't belong to us, but to that troop which did so much for the sick girl."

The Governor was about to reply, when he was checked by an outburst of wild enthusiastic cheers. The scouts could restrain themselves no longer. With the greatest difficulty they had remained silent as the Governor told about what had been done for an invalid girl. But now this generous act on the part of troop seven following immediately after, was more than they could stand. They cheered at the top of their voices, and threw their hats high into the air. It was some time before order could be restored, for all were talking at once, notwithstanding the frantic efforts of the scoutmasters to restrain them.

"Do you really wish to give up all claim to the prize?" the Governor asked troop seven, as soon as he could get a hearing.

"We do," came as one from the thirty boys. "We cannot accept it."

"Is that the wish of the other troops?" the Governor asked.

The only answer was another outburst of cheering, if anything, more vehement than before. Scarcely had they finished, when Captain Josh strode rapidly forward, and confronted the Governor.

"We can't allow it," he shouted. "It's not right." He could say no more, for another deafening uproar forbade further speech.

"It is no use for you to refuse, captain," the Governor told him, when peace was once more restored. "The troops won't let you speak. Bring your scouts up here."

For a few seconds the captain hesitated. Then he wheeled, and ordered his troop to advance. Reaching the platform, the men there shook hands with each one of them. No one could say a word, for again the troops had let loose. The band struck up the air of "For They Are Jolly Good Fellows," and soon the assembled troops were singing the words for all they were worth.

To Rod the whole thing seemed like some wonderful dream. He could not remember anything the Governor said after that. He only heard the captain giving the order for them to leave the stand. When they were dismissed, they were surrounded by such a crowd anxious to shake hands with them that the boys, and even the captain, were more bewildered than ever. Rod was finally rescued by Anna Royanna, who placed her arm about his shoulder and led him away. This loving act, and the look of pride in her eyes, spoke louder than many words. That she was pleased was to him a greater reward than all the wild cheering of the scouts.



CHAPTER XXX

THE NIGHT RUN

It took the Hillcrest troop a long time to get settled down after the excitement of the Review. Whenever they met at Headquarters they could do nothing but discuss everything that had taken place. For awhile they were greatly puzzled as to how the Lieutenant-Governor had learned so much about them. At last it leaked out that Anna Royanna had supplied the information.

"I hope you do not mind," she said to the captain, when he asked her point blank if the rumour was true.

"No, not at all," was the reply. "But I wish to goodness ye'd given us a little warnin'. It was as great a surprise as when that bear charged me up the brook. I wasn't expectin' it."

"Oh, I hope it was not as bad as that," was the laughing response, for the singer had heard all about the adventure with the bear.

"Not hardly as bad, Miss. But the scouts are all upset. When not playin' baseball, they are talkin' about what happened at the Review, till I'm almost discouraged."

"It's only natural, captain. They'll get over their excitement in time. I could not resist the temptation of writing to the Lieutenant-Governor. It would have been a shame for your boys not to have received credit for what they did, and I feel sure that all the other scouts present at the Review were helped by the story of their noble deed. I have just had a nice long letter from Whyn, and she is delighted with what the scouts have accomplished. She sends her good wishes to the boys, and thanks them over and over again for their kindness to her."

"How's she gittin' along?" the captain enquired. "It's been a week since we've had a letter from her."

"She is doing nicely, so she says, and the doctor thinks she will be able to come home for Christmas."

"Will she be well then?"

"It seems so. The operation was pronounced a decided success, though it will take some time yet for her to get strong."

"She's the finest girl that ever drew breath," and the captain turned away his face so as not to show the mistiness which had suddenly dimmed his eyes. "She's a plucky one, sure."

Three weeks after the Review Anna Royanna left Hillcrest. This was a great grief not only to the scouts but to the Royals as well. But the promise that she would visit them at Christmas if she could possibly arrange it, gave them some comfort. This bright sympathetic woman had entered so much into their lives, and had shared their joys and sorrows as one of themselves, that when she was gone they felt depressed for days.

With the passing of summer came the fall, with long cold nights, and heavy winds. The scouts found it pleasant to meet in their snug room around the genial fire. Gradually they began to settle down to the work for the first-class tests, and also to review what they had already learned.

"Yez must never imagine that ye know a thing thoroughly," the captain reminded them. "Fer instance, there is yer signallin'. Ye should be able to make each letter without thinkin' how it is to be made. And I want yez to practise up the Morse system, as well as the Semaphore. It'll come in mighty handy at night, when ye can't use the flags. Yez kin never know too much."

The scouts found great pleasure in carrying out the captain's suggestion. By means of bull's-eye lanterns they were soon able to send and receive messages at night in a most creditable manner. For a while the neighbours were startled by this performance until they learned the cause of the flashes through the darkness.

The scouts had been at their room one bleak raw night, and had just left, except Rod, who had gone with the captain into the Anchorage for a parcel Mrs. Britt wished to send to the rectory. He had been there only a few minutes when several loud thumps sounded upon the door. Quickly opening it, the captain was surprised to see Tom Dunker standing before him. This was something most unusual, for since his defeat several years ago Tom had shunned both the captain and the Anchorage as if they were plague-infested.

Stepping quickly into the kitchen, the visitor stood there with face white and haggard, and his whole body trembling.

"What's wrong, Tom?" the captain asked. "Ye look most scared to death."

"S-S-Sammy's hurt," was the gasping reply. "He f-fell and broke his l-leg, and I'm afraid his n-neck, too."

"Why don't ye go fer the doctor, then?" the captain queried.

"I c-can't. He's over the r-river, down at Marshal's. He was sent fer to-day. Oh, my poor Sammy!" and the distressed man gave a loud wail of despair.

"What d'ye want me to do, man?" the captain demanded.

"Go fer the doctor. I c-can't git anybody else."

"H'm, is that so? I thought it must be something pretty desperate which would send ye to me."

"So ye won't go?" and Tom raised his eyes appealingly to the captain's face. "Fer God's sake, do, or my Sammy'll die."

"Certainly I'll go, Tom, jist as soon as I git ready. You call at the rectory on yer way back, and tell the Royals that Rod won't be home to-night, fer I must have him with me. It'll take two to handle the Roarin' Bess. I know they won't mind so long's the boy's with me."

"It's good of ye, and I shan't soon——"

"There, keep that fer some other time, Tom Dunker," the captain interrupted. "I can't be bothered with sich nonsense now. Where's my oil-skins, Betsey?" and he turned to his wife. "Better let Rod have that old suit of mine; he might need it before we git back."

Rod was delighted with the idea of a run on the river on such a night. He had often imagined what it would be like to be out there in the Roaring Bess with a strong wind blowing. To him, fear was unknown when on the water, especially when the captain was along. And so as the yacht left her mooring, and headed down-stream, he sat in the cock-pit and peered ahead into the darkness, pleased that he was on watch to give warning of any approaching vessel.

A strong wind was racing in from the east, giving the captain a busy time in handling the boat. This was still more difficult when they reached the channel, and the Roaring Bess drove into the rougher water which is always found there. The white-caps leaped high, and drenched both man and boy.

"Lucky we brought our oil-skins," the captain remarked. "We'll have to beat back, and then there'll be some fun. I wonder if the doctor is a good sailor. My, that was a whopper!" he exclaimed, as a larger wave than usual struck the yacht. "Guess it'll be rougher before mornin'."

"This is great!" Rod cried, as another wave leaped upon them.

"Tut, that's nothin'," the captain replied. "If ye'd been with me aboard the Flyin' Queen when we struck a gale, ye'd know something about big seas then. Why, this is only a mill-pond."

"I'm going to see a gale some day, captain. I want to go out on the ocean in a storm."

"Ye do, eh? If ye go, I guess it'll be aboard a liner, where ye'll be penned up like a rat in a trap. That's the way people travel these days, 'in luxury,' they call it. But give me my old Flyin' Queen, a strong breeze abeam, and ye kin have all yer iron or steel tubs as fer as I'm concerned."

The Roaring Bess had made good time down the river, lifting and swinging forward with long plunging leaps as if glad of the freedom she was enjoying. Ere long the wharf was reached for which the captain had been heading, and in a few moments she was lying in smooth water on the lower side, safe from the wind.

"You stay here, lad," the captain ordered, as he sprang ashore, and made a line fast to the nearest post. "I'll run up fer the doctor."

It took him but a short time to cross the field to Marshall house. Here he found Doctor Travis, and briefly stated the object of his visit.

"It's a terrible night, isn't it?" the doctor enquired.

"Oh, no. Jist a gentle breeze."

"But look at your oil-skins. You've been drenched from head to foot."

"Well, what of it? A little water won't hurt anybody. The more the better, is my motto."

"Very well, then, I'll go," and the doctor reached for his big coat and hat. Then he seized his grip, and followed the captain down to the wharf.

"You sit there in the middle," the captain ordered, as they reached the boat, "and keep yer head low in case the boom should take a sudden yank over. Ye won't git so wet there, either."

The wind on the homeward run was almost dead ahead, and it was necessary to beat from side to side of the channel. But the captain knew every inch of the way, and he was almost as much at home here at night as in the day. Up and up they steadily crept, while the Roaring Bess raced from side to side, tossing volumes of water at every plunge. Rod was alert and active as a cat now, crouching close to the captain, ready to obey his slightest command. How the boy did enjoy it, and his whole body thrilled with the excitement of the wild run. The more the yacht reeled, the greater his pleasure. But the doctor had far different feelings. He liked the water, but not on such a night as this. He was sure that the boat was going over every time a furious gust struck her close-hauled sail, and he always gave a sigh of relief when she righted herself again, with no more damage than some extra water tossed on board.

They were opposite the head of the island now, and had just tacked for their "short-leg" run, when, without the slightest sign of warning, something struck the mast a terrific blow. The yacht reeled wildly, the mast snapped like a pipe-stem, and fell with a splash into the water, carrying sail and all with it.

The instant the blow came Rod sprang to his feet, and as he did so a part of the rigging caught him, and swept him overboard. With a wild cry for help, he tried to grasp something, but he could find nothing upon which to place his fingers. The cold waters closed around him. He tried to swim, to keep afloat, but the oil-skin suit hindered him. He battled with the desperation of despair. It was a terrible fight he made for life there in that inky blackness, with the water surging about him, and trying to win him for its victim. It seemed that he had been struggling for a long time, and could resist no longer. His strength was going, and he had little power for any further effort.

Just at this critical moment a firm strong hand clutched him like a vise, and he knew that the captain had come to his rescue. This roused him to new hope and energy.

"Keep cool, now," the captain cried. "I've got hold of the riggin' here."

All this had happened so suddenly that for a few seconds the doctor was dazed. He could see nothing, but he knew by the cry of the boy, and the startled roar from the captain, that something was seriously wrong. Then he heard the splash as the latter went over the side. In dismay, he waited, peering through the darkness in an effort to find out what had become of his companions. It seemed like an age that he stood there until he heard the captain's voice bidding him to give a hand, and pull him in. He sprang at once to the side of the yacht, leaned far over, and stretched out his right arm. But he could touch nothing.

"Where are you?" he shouted. "I can't reach you."

"Out here," was the reply. "Try ag'in."

Leaning farther out now upon the overturned mast, he tried once more, and had the satisfaction of feeling the sudden grip of the captain's fingers as they closed upon his own. Carefully and with much difficulty, for the strain was heavy, he was able to draw the submerged man toward him.

"Here, take the boy," the captain gasped. "Never mind me."

With his left hand the doctor clutched Rod's oil-skins, and was soon able to drag him into the yacht. This had scarcely been accomplished before the captain pulled himself aboard, and stood by his side. Forgotten was everything else as the old seaman bent over Rod as he lay in the bottom of the cock-pit.

"I believe he's unconscious, Doc," he cried. "Is there anything ye kin do fer him?"

"We must get his wet clothes off at once," was the reply. "I'll wrap him up in my great-coat."

"I've a couple of blankets in the locker there," and the captain turned around, and began to fumble with his hands for the latch of the little door. "Ye'd better strip him, Doc."

It took the latter only a few minutes to get the soaked clothes off the unconscious boy. He then wrapped him up securely in the two blankets, and laid him in a sheltered place in the cock-pit.

"Good Lord, what will the Royals say!" the captain groaned. "Here we are adrift and can't lift a hand to help ourselves. I wonder what struck us, anyway."

"It was something big," the doctor replied. "I heard the water striking against it as we drifted off. It is over in that direction," and he pointed to the right. "Listen, you can hear it now. It's adrift, and following us."

"I wonder what it kin be," the captain mused. "I can't imagine what would rip away the mast before strikin' the yacht. It is certainly very queer."

"Is there any chance of our drifting ashore, do you think?" the doctor asked. "It will be hard on that boy if we are forced to stay here all night."

"There's a strong current runnin'," the captain returned, "and it's likely to hold us in its clutch fer some time. The tide won't change fer over an hour, and it's hard to tell where we'll be by that time. Hello, what light's that up yonder?"

As the doctor looked he saw a bright glare in the distance, which was becoming brighter every minute.

"It's coming toward us, anyway," was his comment. "What can it be!"

The captain made no reply for awhile, but stood very still, with his eyes fixed upon the approaching light.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "It's that big tug which went up this afternoon. She's lost one of her scows in this gale, and is now lookin' fer it with her search-light out. It was the scow we struck. I understand it all now. We ran right in front of it, and its big flare of a bow caught our mast. Confound Bill Tobin! Why didn't he take care of his scow?"

Tide, wind, and steam soon brought the tug near. Her search-light swept the water in every direction, at times dazzling the eyes of the two men in the yacht. At last it remained fixed full upon them, showing that they were observed. In a few minutes the tug was alongside.

"Hello, what's wrong?" came a deep gruff voice from the wheel-house.

"What's wrong with you, Bill Tobin?" Captain Josh asked in reply. "Ye've got us in a nice fix to-night. Why didn't ye take care of yer old scow? She's smashed us, that's what's wrong."

"Oh, is that you, Josh Britt?" and Captain Tobin's voice suddenly changed. "Climb on board, and we'll try to straighten matters out."

Without more words, Captain Josh lifted Rod tenderly in his arms and scrambled up into the tug.

"For heaven's sake! what have ye got there?" Captain Tobin exclaimed.

"Parson Dan's son, that's who it is. Got a bed ready?"

"Bring him here," and Captain Tobin turned to his right. "Put him in my bed; he'll be all right there."

By this time the tug-boatmen had made fast to the Roaring Bess with a long rope, and kept her in tow as the tug was swung around and headed for the drifting scow.

"We'll just run that confounded scow into the lee of the island," Captain Tobin told the ship-wrecked men, "and then we'll put you ashore as fast as this old tub can travel. Will that do?"

"I s'pose so," Captain Josh replied. "But git a big hustle on. Ye've got something more important than a scow to save to-night."



CHAPTER XXXI

BETTER THAN A FAIRY TALE

News of the accident on the river soon spread throughout the parish. For a time various kinds of reports were in circulation, until it was learned that Rod was the only one who had received any injury. It was told how Captain Josh had carried him up to the rectory, while the doctor went ahead to tell the Royals what had happened.

While the neighbours talked, Rod was lying in his little bed in the grip of a raging fever. He knew nothing of what was going on around him, nor how anxious ones watched him night and day. It was Miss Arabella who came to Mrs. Royal's assistance in this time of need to help with the household affairs. Her tongue had lost none of its sharpness for those she disliked, but for her friends she was most loyal. She would have done almost anything for Rod, and she was not slow in expressing her opinion of Tom Dunker and "his whole tribe" for causing so much trouble.

Captain Josh almost camped in the rectory kitchen. When not there, he was wandering about the door-yard right in front of Rod's window. He ate and slept at the Anchorage, but that was about all.

"It's my fault that the boy is sick," he told his wife, "and it's up to me to be on hand in case of need. Jimmy kin look after things around here while I'm away."

Numerous were the visitors who came to the rectory to enquire about the sick boy. Tom Dunker was one of them, and he found the captain on guard at the back-door.

"How's Rod to-day, cap'n?" he asked.

"No better," was the gruff reply. "Had a bad night."

"I'm real sorry, cap'n, I surely am," Tom blubbered. "To think that he did it all fer my Sammy."

"How is yer kid?" the captain questioned.

"He's better, thank the Lord. The doctor got there jist in time. But fer you and Rod he'd be dead now."

"Cut that out, Tom. I'm not used to sich stuff."

"But I can't help it, cap'n," the visitor sniffled. "I can't sleep at nights fer thinkin' of it all. I shan't fergit it in a hurry, oh, no."

"Big fool," the captain muttered to himself as he watched Tom shuffle away. "It takes a mighty hard blow to knock any sense into a head sich as his."

As the days passed, Rod became more restless, and kept calling for Anna Royanna. It was hard for the anxious watchers to listen to his piteous pleadings. The doctor's face grew grave during one of his frequent visits as he watched the raving boy.

"Do you suppose she'd come?" he asked Parson Dan, who had followed him into the room.

"Would it do any good, doctor?"

"It might. One can never tell. Anyway, I think that Miss Royanna should be told how sick he is. She is very fond of the boy. You should send word to his mother as well."

"You're right, doctor," the clergyman replied.

"I shall send two messages at once."

In less than two days Anna Royanna entered the room where Rod was lying. She had been driven from the station by a fast team. Her face was pale and worn, clearly showing that little or no sleep had come to her eyes the night before. In fact, she had not slept since she had received Parson Dan's message. Everything else was forgotten. Only one thing mattered to her, and that was the boy lying sick unto death in far-off Hillcrest.

Rod had been more restless than ever during the night, and the fever was at its highest. All realised that this was the crisis, and that a short time would decide everything. He was still calling and raving as the singer entered the room. Stepping quickly to his side, she placed her hand upon his hot forehead.

"Hush," she soothed. "I am here. It is Anna Royanna."

That touch, more than the words, seemed to have a magic effect. The parched burning lips ceased to move, the staring eyes closed, and with a deep sigh Rod turned his head on the pillow, and sank into a peaceful sleep. Lovingly, and with eyes brimming with tears, the woman stood for some time and watched the boy. Then a light step aroused her. It was the doctor.

"The turn has come," he whispered. "You were just in time."

Rod rapidly recovered, and there was joy not only at the rectory but throughout the entire parish. Captain Josh was almost beside himself with joy, while the scouts plucked up sufficient courage to meet at Headquarters to talk about the accident, and their patrol-leader's illness.

It was a great day for Rod when he was able to sit up and receive visitors. Captain Josh had been often in the room, but so far the scouts had not been allowed to come. When at last they were given permission to visit the invalid, they could not get to the rectory fast enough. They were surprised to see Rod so thin and white, and when they left after their brief visit, they hurried back to Headquarters for another long talk.

Rod was never so happy as when Anna Royanna was with him. Many were the stories she told, and she would often read to him. She seemed to be in no hurry about going away, and this pleased the boy, as he wanted her to stay until after Christmas. They were to have a big time on Christmas Day, so he told her. Captain Josh and the scouts were coming for dinner, and perhaps Whyn would be home.

One day Rod noticed that Mr. and Mrs. Royal seemed happier than usual when they came into his room. Though no parents could have been kinder than they ever were to him, yet now there appeared a marked difference. He could not explain what it was, but at times he found them both watching him with a new expression in their eyes. He even caught Mrs. Royal brushing away a tear, which surprised him.

"What makes you cry, grandma?" he asked.

"Oh, several things, dear," was the reply. "People sometimes cry when they are very happy, you know."

"I understand, grandma. You are happy because I am getting well."

That evening after Rod was snugly tucked in bed, Miss Royanna came and sat down by his side. She had a book in her hand and she was going to read to him as was her custom now.

"Tell me a story, please," Rod begged. "I like that better, and your stories are so interesting."

"What kind do you want to-night?" the woman asked, as she looked into the bright eyes before her.

"Oh, anything. You always know best."

For awhile Anna Royanna remained silent, to all outward appearance very calm. But she was greatly agitated. She knew that the moment had arrived of which she had dreamed for years. Would it make any change in him? she wondered. Would he feel the same toward her?

"What are you thinking about?" Rod questioned.

"About what I am going to tell you," and the woman gave a slight laugh. "It's the most wonderful story you ever heard."

"Better than a fairy tale?"

"You can judge that for yourself when you hear it."

"All right, then. Go ahead."

"The beginning of this story goes back quite a number of years," the woman began. "There was a young man who went away from home, and left his father and mother alone. They missed him very much, for he was their only child. He was a handsome man, and all who saw him admired him. After awhile he met a woman who loved him dearly. They were married, and lived so happily together in a little cottage with trees all around it. They didn't have much money, but they had each other, and that meant so much to them. At last a little stranger came to their home, a dear baby boy, and then their cup of joy was full. He was so sweet and cunning, and they were never tired of watching him grow. Then something terrible happened. The father of the baby was suddenly killed."

"Oh!" It was all Rod could say, as with eyes full of sorrow he fixed them upon the face of the story-teller.

"Yes, he was killed," the woman continued in a low voice, while with a great effort she restrained her feelings. "It was in a railway accident. His wife was thus left alone. She was a stranger and without money, and for days she wandered about trying to get work. But no one wanted a woman with a baby. She was told to put it either in the Poor-House, or the Orphan Home, or let somebody adopt it. If she did this, she knew that she would have to give up her darling forever, and this she could not do.

"At last, in despair, she worked her way back to her husband's old home. It was a dark cold night when she reached the house, and there she left the baby, and hurried away as fast as she could."

"Why didn't she stay there?" Rod enquired. "Wouldn't they have been glad to take her in? I know I should."

"Yes, dear, they certainly would. But this woman did not know them then, and she was very independent. She made up her mind that she would work hard, and when she had enough money she would go to see her boy."

"And did she?" was the eager enquiry.

"Not for years did she see him again. She worked so hard, and at times people treated her most cruelly. But her little boy was ever in her mind. For him she toiled, and for his sake she was willing to put up with almost anything. She sent what money she could for his support, but that was very little at first. Then one night she saw her boy! It was in a city, and she knew who he was, though he didn't know her. Oh, how she wanted to put her arms around him, and kiss him."

"Why didn't she do it?" Rod asked. "What stopped her?"

"She was afraid that he wouldn't love her as a boy should love his mother. So she made up her mind that she would win his love first, and when she was certain, then she would tell him who she was."

"And did she?"

"Not for some time. You see, she went under a name different from her real one. She saw her husband's father and mother, and became well acquainted with them. But she did not tell them who she was, as she wanted them to love her too. Then, there was something else which kept her from telling people who she really was. She made her living——" Here she paused, as if uncertain how to proceed.

"How?" Rod enquired.

"By going on the stage."

"Oh, she was an actress, then," the boy exclaimed. "I have read about such people."

"No, not exactly that. But she sang on the stage."

"Oh!"

"What's the matter, dear?" the woman enquired.

"Nothing much. Only something funny came into my mind. That's all."

"Yes, she sang in public," the story-teller continued, "and she had made an agreement to sing for three years. She was afraid that if people knew that she was going under a wrong name it might make trouble. Anyway, she was sure it would make a whole lot of talk, and she didn't want that to happen for awhile. It was one night after she was through singing that she met her little boy. He came with another boy to see her, and asked her to go and sing for a sick girl at Hillcrest."

With a startled cry of joy, Rod sat up suddenly in bed. His eyes fairly blazed with excitement, and his body trembled.

"Are you the woman?" he cried. "Am I the boy? Are you my mother? Oh, tell me quick. Is it really true?"

"Yes, dear," and the woman caught both of his hands in hers, "every word is true. You are my own boy, and I am your mother. Are you glad?"

The expression upon Rod's face, as with a deep sigh of relief he lay back once more upon the pillow, was answer enough. All the old dread that the other mother would come back and carry him off suddenly disappeared. And yet he wondered about the letters she used to write. A puzzled look came into his eyes.

"What is it?" his mother asked. "Are you sorry?"

"Oh, no. But I was wondering about that other woman who used to write to me, who said she was my mother."

"It was I who wrote those letters, dear. I had to, you see."

"And you are not Anna Royanna, after all?"

"No. My real name is Anna Royal. I only changed part of the last name to Royanna."

"Why, it's just like a fairy tale," Rod exclaimed. "But, no, it isn't, either," he mused. "A fairy tale is only a make-believe, while this is really true. It's better than a fairy tale. Isn't it great!" and his eyes sparkled. "But, say, do grandad and grandma know about it?"

"Yes, dear. I told them last night."

"And I bet they were pleased."

"Indeed they were. I wish you could have seen their faces when I told them that you are Alec's boy, and their own real grandson."

For a few minutes there was silence, Rod thinking of all that he had heard, and his mother recalling the night before, when she had revealed to Mr. and Mrs. Royal the story of her life. Never should she forget the look of intense joy which came into their eyes, nor the sweet peace which possessed her heart as they enfolded her in their arms, kissed her, and called her "daughter." It had seemed almost too good to be true. She was roused by Rod's voice.

"May I tell Captain Josh?" he asked. "It would be great for him to know."

"We talked that over last night, dear," was the reply. "Christmas will soon be here, and you are to have a party on that day. How would it do to wait until then?"

"Oh, that'll be great! Captain Josh, and the scouts will be here."

"Yes, and Whyn will be back by that time, so I understand, and we can arrange for her and her mother to come up from the city. Will that do?"

"Won't it be great!" and Rod fairly shook with delight.

"It certainly will. We shall all go to the service on Christmas morning, and your grandfather wants to offer up special thanks for all the blessings we have received. We shall then come home for dinner, and have all the afternoon and evening for games."

When Captain Josh came to see Rod the next day, he noticed the happy expression upon the boy's face.

"What's up, lad?" he asked.

"What do you mean, captain?"

"Oh, I hardly know," and the old man scratched his head in perplexity. "But everybody in this house seems about ready to explode with excitement. I never saw sich a happy bunch in all my life. Ye'd think that summer had been suddenly dumped down here, with all the birds singin', the bees hummin', and the flowers bloomin'. That's the only way I kin describe it."

"I guess you're about right, captain," was Rod's brief reply, for he was determined not to give away the wonderful secret.

THE END