"Come, Miss, to your tea," she exclaimed. "Bess, fetch the cream."

Frances tried to protest, feeling already under great obligations to these total strangers, but Mr. Max promptly rose to give her a seat.

"Tea will do you good, Miss Frances," he said with a most engaging smile. "Try Mrs. Trott's wonders. Have you ever eaten a Jersey wonder?"

"It looks like a doughnut," said Frances, taking a fried cake from the proffered plate.

A sudden, mischievous grin crossed the young man's face. "A plain New England doughnut disguised by an old-world name," he said.

"New England!" repeated Frances, stopping with the cake halfway to her mouth. "How do you know about New England doughnuts?"

Mr. Max seated himself, looking boyishly amused.

"'Land where our fathers died, Land of the Pilgrims' pride,'"

he quoted, seriously enough but with gray eyes dancing with fun. "Oh, I know the whole thing. Shall we sing it together?"

"Are you really an American?" Frances demanded in utter amazement. "Then how—what—You don't talk—But that accounts for it."

She stopped, feeling suddenly shy of questioning him. "Well," she added after a second, "that's the reason I didn't feel a bit strange about coming with you. It seemed all right—just as though you were somebody I knew."

"Thank you, Miss Frances," said her companion. "That is a very lovely way to express your appreciation. Yes, we are fellow- countrymen, though I have spent much of my life in Europe. In fact, my first visit to the United States was when I was around your age. Since then I've put in four years at Yale and one in Washington. Now, I'm attached to the American Embassy in Paris and came over here to spend the Christmas holidays with old friends. Jersey has seen me many times before this. That's how I happen to know about the sea anemones and the tides."

Mrs. Trott came bustling back with jam, followed by Bess with a covered jar. "And how's Miss Connie?" she inquired.

"She seems very well," replied Mr. Max. "Your tea is as good as ever, Mrs. Trott. Clotted cream, Bess? You know my weak spots, don't you?"

"They do be saying that the Colonel fails since his lady died," went on Mrs. Trott, regarding her table anxiously. "Couldn't you fancy an egg now, Mr. Max, or a bit of bacon?" as he raised a protesting hand.

Frances also declined. She did not feel hungry but after Mrs. Trott had brought water to dilute the strong tea, she drank it willingly.

Neither did Mr. Max eat enough to satisfy his hostess. After a few moments he rose and looked at his watch.

"I think I'll ride over to the Manor and exchange Saracen for another horse and the trap and give myself the pleasure if I may, Miss Frances, of driving you and the others back to St. Aubin's. Your boots will hardly be dry for you to wear on the train. I'd really like to do so," he added, seeing that Frances looked disturbed. "You know it is the business of the American Embassy to look after its fellow countrymen in a foreign land, so this is only my plain duty."

"Best let him, Miss," said Mrs. Trott approvingly. "Mr. Max do always take thought for others. But where happens Miss Connie to- day?"

"Oh, Miss Connie's gone to a tea-fight of some kind," replied Mr. Max, giving Frances another mischievous glance. "She said I couldn't go, so I annexed her dog and her father's horse and went out on my own. I shall be back before long."

Frances gave an anxious thought to Edith, concluded that she probably found Win asleep and was following instructions not to wake him. This conjecture proved correct for Edith soon came hurrying down the path.

"I took the first note and left one saying we were at this cottage," she explained. "Are you all right, Fran? Do you think you've caught a chill?"

Frances explained that they were to be driven home and Mrs. Trott pressed tea and wonders upon Edith, who accepted both gratefully.

"Is it far to the Manor—to where Mr. Max is going?" Frances inquired of Mrs. Trott.

"Not for a good horse, Miss, though 'tis beyond St. Aubin's. I'm thinking you must have marked the place, a big old stone house with many a laurel tree about it and open to the cliffs beyond."

"Oh, we know it," said Fran eagerly. "There are iron gates with a coat of arms and the grounds are lovely."

"That's Laurel Manor, Miss," assented Mrs. Trott.

The girls looked at each other in delight. In one afternoon they had learned where lived the mistress of the beach dog and what her name.

"'Tis good to lay eyes on Mr. Max again," Mrs. Trott went on. "A pity he and Miss Connie couldn't content themselves with each other. 'Tis not to our liking to have our young leddy takin' up with a foreign prince."

"Oh, please tell us about it," demanded Frances. "We met Miss Connie on the beach and we think she's perfectly lovely. Is she really to marry a prince?"

"He's not a prince of a royal house," replied Mrs. Trott. "He's an Eyetalian and in that country, they tell me, there's a different kind of royalty. I don't rightly know, Miss, but I'm thinking they are Romish princes."

"Is Miss Connie marrying a Catholic?" inquired Edith in great interest.

"That's the question," said Mrs. Trott, reflectively resting both hands on the table. "I could see Mr. Max didn't want to talk, but we hear considerable through the housekeeper at the Manor. This young man that they say Miss Connie's tokened to is the son of one of these princes. But his mother was an Englishwoman and a Protestant and so when two boys had been baptized as Catholics, the third son,—Miss Connie's young man,—was brought up in his mother's faith, our English church.

"I suppose," Mrs. Trott went on meditatively, "they thought he'd never succeed to his father's title and position, bein' the third son. But the oldest, Prince Santo-Ponte, or some title like that, was killed in a motor mishap—they say he was racin' something shameful,—and soon the next brother died of pneumonia. So that leaves the Protestant son the heir. And the story is that he's to be made to turn Catholic."

"But they can't make him if he won't," protested the shocked Edith. Both she and Frances were listening eagerly to this romantic story. Their wildest flights of imagination concerning Miss Connie fell short of the truth,—if this was truth.

"I don't know, Miss, I don't know," said Mrs. Trott doubtfully. "Turn the young leddy's boots, Bess,—don't ye scent the smell o' scorchin'? 'Tis hard on the poor fellow. There's his father urgin' him to do it for the sake of the family, and there's a title and a great fortune waitin' when he does. They'll be tellin' him it's his duty as they tell't the Princess Alix, own granddaughter of Queen Victoria, when she married with the Czar of all the Russias. 'Twas the Greek church she went over to."

"But will Miss Connie marry the prince if he does give up his own church?" asked Edith eagerly.

Again Mrs. Trott shook her head. "There's no mention of any weddin'," she admitted, "and it may be they're not even tokened, but the prince has been visitin' a sight of times at the Manor. Now, I'm thinkin' it's a good sign Mr. Max is here again. The Colonel, Miss Connie's father, loves him like a son. Why, he and Miss Connie grew up together, brother and sister-wise. The way of it was that Mr. Max's mother died when he was but a tiny and Mrs. Lisle, Miss Connie's mother, about took him for her own. He's fair lived with them. Many's the time he and Miss Connie have run in here for their tea or to dry their feet. You see I was parlor-maid at the Manor before I married Trott. That was when Mr. Eichard was living Miss Connie's brother. He was near fifteen years older and he died in South Africa, poor lad! Ah, when he was killed it nigh broke the Colonel's heart. Well, I've often helped out at the Manor when extra service was needed. Far rather would I see Miss Connie wedded to Mr. Max."

"But how did Miss Connie happen to know the prince?" asked Frances.

"In Rome. Till her mother died, they spent part of every winter there, but the Colonel can't bear the place now and they stop here the season. I keep hopin' Mr. Max will get her yet. Such a pretty well-mannered boy he always was and never above passin' a friendly word with us all.

"I suppose," Mrs. Trott concluded, "when you come to think of it, Mr. Max is a foreigner, too, but the best I can say is that he's just like an honest English gentleman."

Frances flushed, choking back a hot comment. She had so quickly felt a bond of kinship with this young American. Yet, in spite of her momentary anger, she realized that Mrs. Trott was paying the highest compliment in her power. Well, pride in her own country could teach Frances to value like loyalty in another.

"What is his other name?" she inquired.

"I couldn't rightly tell you, Miss. He was but a wee lad when he first came to the Manor. He calls the Colonel, uncle, and we forget he isn't really of the family. Yet his father has been here, too. He's famous for something very wise indeed. Could I speak the name, you might know, for he's well-spoken of outside our island."

At this moment, Win appeared, strolling up the lane and looking annoyed to find the girls so far in the opposite direction from the railway. Nor did his vexation lessen on hearing their adventures, softened and smoothed though the version was. In fact, self-controlled Win was inclined to be decidedly cross and to disapprove emphatically acceptances of further favors from a stranger. Fran was still arguing when a smartly-appointed trap drawn by a shiny horse turned into the lane.

"Now, you can see for yourself," declared Fran. "He's an American and a gentleman and it's all right for us to let him drive us home."

"As if we couldn't hire a carriage in Gorey," Win retorted, but with a second glance at the driver, his attention was distracted.

"Oh-h!" he said in perplexity, "that's the fellow who was in the Royal Square that morning. Now, where in the wide world have I seen him before?"

Thinking hard, Win stared with puckered brows. Suddenly his face cleared. "Why, he's that young chap Father introduced me to the time he took me to Washington," he said accusingly to Fran. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"How on earth could I know?" demanded Fran, but her brother had turned with a smile to greet the trap just drawing up by the gate. Mr. Max looked at Win with a puzzled glance which gradually changed to a look of recognition.

"I do know you, don't I?" he said. "Well, I never suspected when I was detailed to entertain Captain Thayne's son for an hour or so, that we'd meet again in Gorey village. Why, that makes us old friends!"

Win grasped the cordially offered hand and having bestowed Edith and Frances in the seat behind, climbed up beside Max, his face beaming. With many thanks to Mrs. Trott and promises to come again, they drove off.

"Hasn't this been the most exciting afternoon?" Frances confided to Edith. "We've learned the collie lady's name and met the boy she told us of, and heard about her Italian prince. Look at Win! He's crushed on Mr. Max,—I can tell by the way he's looking at him. I should think Miss Connie would much rather marry an American."

"Perhaps he hasn't asked her," said Edith sensibly. "Perhaps, if she really is engaged to the prince, she did it before Mr. Max came back from America and he couldn't help himself because it was too late."

Max's back did not look as though it belonged to a specially unhappy person and the expression of his face as he talked pleasantly with Win was not that of a young man whose enjoyment in life has been seriously darkened, but it pleased the girls to fancy him as a blighted being, so keenly had Mrs. Trott's rather injudicious confidences appealed to their youthful ideas of romance.



CHAPTER VIII

RICHARD LISLE'S LETTER

"Why, I've met Miss Lisle several times," said Mrs. Thayne after hearing Fran's account of the exciting end of the picnic. "She's a charming girl and her father is the finest type of an English gentleman. At the lawn party this afternoon she spoke of meeting two girls on the beach and asked if one wasn't my daughter."

"Oh, I do hope I can know her," said Frances happily. "I think she's the sweetest thing I ever saw. But, Mother, do you suppose what Mrs. Trott said about her and the Italian prince is true?"

"That was a bit of gossip which Mrs. Trott should not have repeated to girls of your age," commented her mother, "but since you have heard it, I suppose it will do no harm to say that Prince Santo-Ponte undoubtedly does visit at the Manor, though I do not believe that any engagement exists between him and Miss Lisle. As for Mr. Max, as you call him, his father is Professor Rodney Hamilton, the noted scientist. Max has been much with the Lisles and to all purposes is the son of the house."

"The day when I really meet Miss Connie will be the happiest of my life," declared Frances solemnly. Later, her amused mother learned that Edith was equally smitten.

In his quiet way, Win was most anxious to see more of Max and it was partly with this wish in mind that he set off one morning shortly after the picnic at Orgueil, to stroll on the road leading past the Manor. On so pleasant a day he might encounter the young people riding or walking.

When Win reached the Manor gates, no one was in sight, and he sauntered past, not caring to intrude on private grounds. One longing glance he cast at the chimneys above the laurels, twelve that he could count from that angle. What a rambling old structure the Manor house must be! Surely in its existence stretching back through the centuries, many interesting things had happened under that roof. What fun it would be to try to find them out!

Absorbed in pleasant thought, Win walked farther than he realized, lured by the blue sea and a most interesting little church almost on the water's edge. The doors proved locked, but Win resolved to come again when he could gain admittance, for from outward appearance the building was extremely old.

On turning, Win was soon aware that he had overtaxed his strength and was in no shape to walk to St. Aubin's. Pleasant as the sky still was, a strong sea breeze had risen, bringing difficulties for a person who required very favorable conditions for any prolonged exercise. Only slow progress was possible and when he again reached the iron gates of the Manor, he was really too tired to go on. Choosing the sunny slope of the hedge, he sat down to rest.

Before long, voices approached on the other side of the laurels, voices speaking in French, and Max came through the arch, accompanied by a gardener carrying tools.

"Why, Win," he said. "You're not stopping at the gate, I hope. The house is just beyond."



Win smiled. "I sat down to get my breath," he explained. "I've been for a stroll and the wind knocked me about a trifle."

Max looked at him keenly. "It's a bit cool to stop there," he said. "Come up to the house. We'll slip into the library and you can rest properly."

Win demurred, thinking he would detain Max from his business.

"Uncle only asked me to direct Pierre about some planting around the cottages," Max replied. He added some words in French to his companion, who nodded and struck off toward the shore. "I'll not stop for you," Max went on, taking Win's arm. "There isn't a person at home, and you will have the library to yourself."

Win yielded at once. Aside from the pleasure of seeing Max again, the suggestion of books acted as a magnet.

They crossed the beautiful Manor lawn,—green as in June,—not toward the main entrance but in the direction of some big French windows opening on the terrace. The casement yielded to Max's touch and the two entered a room that would have made Win gasp with pleasure had he been less exhausted. He received only the impression of spacious beauty and countless books, as he was established on a big old settle beside a fireplace where cheery flames were flashing. Before he knew precisely what was happening, Win found himself tucked among comfortable cushions.

"There, go to sleep now," said Max, flinging over him a soft blue Italian blanket. "I've an idea this thing belongs in Connie's room, but since she left it here we will make use of it. There's no one at home and the only person likely to come is Yvonne, one of the maids. If she appears to look after the fire, just tell her you are my friend."

Max departed and Win soon fell into a reverie. He did not sleep immediately but as his physical discomfort lessened under the influence of rest and quiet, he began to look about him.

The three rooms composing the library were very high and opened into one another by arches. From floor to ceiling the books climbed, rank on rank, on the upper shelves in double tiers, in some places overflowing window seats. Narrow stained-glass casements threw pleasant patches of color on the polished floor. Age had blackened the oak ceiling and the handsome wall paneling where books did not conceal it. Here and there hung portraits, evidently of the family, judging from certain recurring resemblances. Their quaint costumes dated from the days of the Stuart kings.

The utter quiet of the place, the time-faded bindings, the old pictures, the spots of crimson and blue light, the faint odor of leather, mingled with the scent of fresh flowers from some invisible source, all had their effect upon Win, who sank into a state of mind where he was neither awake nor quite asleep. His last wholly conscious thought was for the curious coat of arms above the fireplace, a shield that bore the date 1523.

An hour later, Win came to full consciousness and at the same time to a sense of familiarity with his surroundings. "Of all queer things!" he thought as he sat up and looked around him. "The first day I was in Jersey I dreamed of this room or of some room like it. That man up there in the picture is mighty like the old Johnny that was around. I've been dreaming about him now, only I can't remember what."

Try as he might, Win could not recall that dream, a fantastic jumble of persons and an impression, almost painful, of a fruitless search.

"This is a house where anything might have happened," his thoughts ran. "How I wish I could have a chance at these books!"

Shelves framed even the ancient fireplace, their contents within easy reach of Win's settle. His eye ran idly along the titles, a History of the World, an edition of Defoe, some old hour-books. Tucked in with these were two volumes of very modern philosophy, their bright cloth bindings looking curiously out of place. With their exception, nothing in sight looked less than a century old and examination proved most to be even older. Many bore marks of ownership by Lisles dead and gone.

His enthusiasm thoroughly aroused, Win examined volume after volume, lingering over the quaint bookplates. Finally he took down a book unlettered on the back, but with a rubbed leather binding that showed marks of use. It proved a very old copy of the Psalms, a book that some one had once read often, for its pages were worn not only by time but by constant turning.

Opening to the front, Win searched for a bookplate. There was none, but in fine handwriting appeared: "Richard Lisle His Valued Book." As Win replaced the volume a paper slipped from its pages.

Picking it up, he glanced idly at the single sheet which seemed a page perhaps lost from some letter written long before, possibly a leaf from a diary. The penmanship was like the autograph in the Psalter, the ink, though faded, perfectly legible on the yellowed paper.

The extract began in the middle of a sentence. Win, who started to decipher it from mere curiosity, ended by reading it five or six times. It ran as follows:

"having fed my Prince and Eased him after his hard Flight we took Counsel anent his Refuge.

"That he should lye at ye Manor looked not wise. Ye Castel seemed ye better Place.

"Lest he be curiously viewed of Many we did furnishe Other garb and a Strong Bigge Cloake. And those who knew did safely lead him through ye Towne.

"Ye honoured Relicks my Sonne and I did place in ye Spanish Chest and convey by Lantern light to that safe Place beyond ye Walls. So shall they Reste till happier Times shall Dawne.

"Strange that this Day should bring such Honour to Mine House."

Win's eyes grew interested and excited as he studied this message from the past. For whom was it meant and why had it lain all these years in the old Psalter? Did the Manor family know of its existence? The prince, the castle, the town, mentioned by a Lisle of Laurel Manor, must refer to events of island history.

After thinking a few minutes, Win drew out his notebook and made a careful copy. Surely that was not abusing Max's hospitality and could do no harm. If he discovered anything interesting in looking up the matter in some history of Jersey at the public library, he would share his knowledge. Or there surely must be books of that kind here at the Manor. Perhaps he would be permitted to come again and investigate this fascinating room more thoroughly. He wished he knew Max better. If he only did, he could show his find at once and ask for an opinion. Well, that might come later. Anyway, it would be great fun to study the enigmatic paper and see what he could make of it.

When Max came quietly a few minutes later, Win made no mention of his discovery. Surprised to find it so late, he thanked his host, and declared himself entirely fit to walk back to Rose Villa.

"Come again," said Max as they parted at the gates. "I know you liked the library and that will please Uncle Dick. You must come when he's at home and he'll show you all his special treasures."

Win went on with a happy face. That meant he would certainly have another opportunity to browse in that fascinating old book-room, and perhaps become so well acquainted with the Manor family that he could share his puzzle with somebody who would be equally interested in finding out what it meant.



CHAPTER IX

CHRISTMAS IN JERSEY

Fran's "happiest day" soon dawned, for not long after the Orgueil picnic, she and Edith were walking down one of Jersey's lovely lanes. Enclosed by high ivy-covered earthen banks, it ran, a straight white road between green walls, and so narrow that at regular intervals, little bays were provided that carriages might pass. Evergreen oaks, often growing from the banks themselves, and drooping vines made the lane a bower of beauty even on a December afternoon. The girls had stopped to admire the old Norman gateway leading to Vinchelez Manor, when suddenly around a corner, bounced the beach dog. Close behind came Constance Lisle and Maxfield Hamilton.



"We've been to call on your respective mother and sister," declared Connie, "and were desolated not to find the little ladies. What luck to meet you! Max, you don't need an introduction, do you, after playing Lord Lochinvar with both girlsat once?"

At this sweeping characterization, they all laughed and walked along together, Tylo galloping ahead or falling behind as his sweet will led.

"I'm giving a treat to the Sunday-school children after Christmas," Connie confided, as at the end of a brisk walk, they came to the parting of the ways. "I should like you girls, if you will, to help me with the kiddies. The brothers are invited too, if they would fancy it."

"Win would like to help," Frances said quickly, her face lighted with pleasure at this request. "He's very good at things like that, but Roger's only twelve, you know."

"Oh, Roger can hand buns," said Connie at once. "No harm if he does tread on a few. I shall count on you then next week Thursday, three days after Christmas. Take care not to stir abroad on Christmas eve for that's when the Jersey witches hold their meeting at the rock up by St. Clement's."

She waved a laughing adieu and the girls went back to Rose Villa, bubbling over with pleasure and anticipation.

It was fortunate for Frances that she did have this expectation of a visit to the Manor to buoy her spirits, for the season scarcely seemed Christmas. Warm weather and plentiful flowers did not appeal to one accustomed to the holiday in wintry Boston, but not the weather alone disturbed Fran. For some foolish reason she disliked intensely the differences of celebration that marked this holiday in another land. Her state of mind both worried and distressed Mrs. Thayne.

"Why, little daughter, don't you see the fun of having Christmas under strange conditions?" she asked one evening, when she went to investigate a sound of woe from Fran's room.

"No, I don't see any fun in it," replied Frances stubbornly. "I could stand Thanksgiving, even though I had to go to school, because Miss Estelle knew it was an important day to us and had a turkey for dinner and put little American flags around. But Christmas here in St. Aubin's, without Father, is too impossible."

Mrs. Thayne was silent for a moment. Then she sat down on the bed and took Frances in her arms.

"Listen, now," she said. "I want you to think about somebody else for a moment. There's Edith. Just remember how sad this season must be for her and Estelle. Yet Estelle goes about with a smiling face that gives me a heartache because her eyes are so pitiful. She's planning hard to make things pleasant for us and to have it seem Christmas to Edith. I know some of her plans, Fran. Then, even if Father isn't with us, we know he is well and that it is only a question of time before the Philadelphia is where we can be nearer. Win is always self-controlled and naturally he and Roger don't miss the home conditions as you do, but their enjoyment is going to depend largely upon their sister. Why, Fran, you usually like new experiences and here they are looming thick and fast."

"That's just the trouble," sobbed Fran. "I don't want them all piled on top of Christmas. I want to be with Grandmother and the cousins. I can't believe it is Christmas when it's so green and so hot."

"Many nice things are going to happen," her mother went on. "Just think what fun you and Edith will have helping Miss Connie with her school treat. You are going to find that very English."

Frances smiled. "Oh, I won't be a pig, Mother," she said at last. "Miss Connie is a dear and of course we must make the boys have a nice time."

"The climate agrees so well with Win that I am very thankful to spend Christmas here," replied Mrs. Thayne. "To-morrow, Nurse is going into town to the French market and I think you will like to go with her."

Win and Edith joined the marketing expedition next morning and even Frances was impressed with the holiday spirit overhanging the place. They left Nurse carefully inspecting fat geese in a poulterer's stall and started to explore.

Any number of plump chickens and ducks hung about, together with little pigs decorated by blue rosettes on their ears, a touch that struck Win as extremely funny. In the vegetable market were heaped huge piles of potatoes, scrubbed till their pink skins shone, great ropes of red onions braided together by their dried tops, turnips, artichokes, garlic, winter squashes, white and purple cabbages, celery and egg plant and many varieties of greens and early vegetables. The stalls themselves were prettily arranged and fragrant with nice smells but their keepers were the great attraction. Many were in charge of old women dressed in white peasant caps and clean starched aprons above full wool skirts and wooden sabots. Little tow-headed grandchildren, comical replicas in miniature, smiled shyly or dropped bobbing curtsys as the girls stopped to speak.

Fruit stalls proved even more fascinating with the hothouse grapes, red, white, and dark purple, showing a hazy bloom. Fresh figs and dates abounded, alternating with baskets of Italian chestnuts and oranges, forty for a shilling. Every stall seemed to have vied in decorations with its neighbor, being bowers of myrtle and laurestinus. One sported a shield showing three leopards in daffodils against a green background.

"Look at the English coat of arms," said Frances, catching sight of it.

"That's not English," said Edith. "Those are the leopards of Jersey, the old Norman insignia."

"I can't understand," observed Frances as they sauntered on, "why, when Jersey belongs to England, it has a different coat of arms and government and everything."

"Because the islands are all little self-governing communities," supplied Win. "It's a privilege they have always had, and even England wouldn't dare take it from them now. Jersey is desperately jealous of Guernsey. They say that even a Jersey toad will die if it is taken to Guernsey."

"Neither will Guernsey flowers blossom here," Edith added. "Oh, there's Miss Connie!"

The little lady of Laurel Manor was standing before one of the flower-stalls, chatting in French with a very clean, rosy-cheeked old woman in a white cap. Behind Constance stood a servant carrying a basket and as the girls watched she purchased an enormous bunch of daffodils, a sheaf of calla lilies, and a quantity of narcissus.

"Isn't she sweet in that soft green suit," commented Edith admiringly.

Turning from the stall, Connie saw and hailed them. "Have you seen the fish-market?" she asked after greeting them gayly. "Oh, you must not miss that. I always go there."

She led them past a long bench where sat several nice white-capped old women beside huge baskets of spotlessly washed eggs or round rolls of fresh, unsalted butter wrapped in cool green cabbage leaves. Some of them nodded and smiled and once Connie stopped to ask after a sick child. Everybody spoke in French and seemed most kind and cordial.

Arrived at the fish-market, conger eels as big as Win's wrist, and four or five feet long, crabs two feet across the shells, lobsters blue rather than green, enormous scallops, huge stacks of oysters, cockles and snails, the so-called winkles, greeted the astonished eyes of the young people. In other directions were heaped piles of smelts, plaice and unknown fish.

"These are what I dote on," said Constance, calling their attention to piles of tiny crabs, neatly tied by the claws into bunches. Most were alive, but owing to the fact that all chose to walk in different directions, the bunches remained fairly stationary. One might purchase two, four, six or a dozen, according to the size of one's appetite.

"I'm so glad we met," said Connie, when in addition they had made the round of the flower market and exclaimed over its treasures of color and fragrance. "I thought of you this morning and wondered if you young people wouldn't like to help decorate the church. There are never too many helpers and we have ordered such lovely greens and flowers. Several of us are to be at the church at two this afternoon and you'll be very welcome if you care to come. It's pretty work and we always have a nice time."

"Indeed, we should like to help," said Frances promptly. "Is it Mr. Angus's church at St. Aubin's?"

"No, the one I mean is a tiny stone church not far beyond the Manor. Just take the highroad inland from the village and turn once to the left,"

"Oh, I know," said Win quickly. "It stands almost on the shore."

"That's it," said Connie. "I'll expect you then."

Win declared himself quite equal to helping with the decorations that afternoon. When they arrived, the beach dog lay in the porch, thumping his tail by way of welcome, so they knew his mistress was already within. For a few moments, the three lingered to look at the quaint French inscriptions on the churchyard stones, but finally entered rather shyly. They were not given one moment to feel themselves strangers.

"I'm delighted to see you," exclaimed Constance, coming down the aisle with a long vine trailing after. "So glad you came. Rose," she called to a pretty young girl working near by, "here are some helpers for your windows. Oh, you know Rose LeCroix, don't you? She goes to your school. Win," she added quickly, "won't you come and help struggle with this tiresome pulpit?"

Win followed at once, glad to see Max already busy over the designated task, but Constance sent him to seek a certain wire frame reputed to exist in the sacristy. Win found himself twining myrtle wreaths around the pillars of the stone pulpit, yet stealing constant glances at the interior of the old church.

Part of it was very ancient, with round Norman pillars and a rounded vault, speaking of very distant days. Everything save pews and choir stalls was of granite, its rosy color making the stone seem warm rather than cold. Vines, holly and flowers heaped about the interior emphasized by their ephemeral beauty the solemn enduring majesty of the church itself. Ten or twelve young people were working more or less steadily to the accompaniment of much gay conversation.

"Oh, Max, that's the wrong frame," Constance said suddenly.

Win turned to see her sorting lilies where she knelt on the chancel steps.

"This isn't Easter, ducky," she added. "We want a star, not a cross."

Max smiled at Win, an indulgent, rather amused smile, and when the proper frame had been substituted, came back to the pulpit.

"Tell me," said Win, indicating the stone vault. "What are those little pointed things up there?"

"You mean the limpet shells?" asked Max, looking up.

"Are they shells?" said Win in amazement. "They looked it, but I couldn't imagine how shells could be scattered about up there."

"Some thousand years ago when the original builders quarried this stone from the Jersey shore, they didn't trouble to scrape off the limpets that clung to it. Nobody has removed them since; now it would seem sacrilege to do so."

"A thousand years!" repeated Win in awe. He stopped work for a moment to look at the pointed shells on the roof.

"Does jar a fellow and makes him feel mighty transitory and insignificant, doesn't it?" commented Max, with a friendly glance of understanding. "I think there's no place quite like this church. The Manor lies in its parish and Uncle Dick would know if a single limpet was knocked off. The only time I ever saw him really angry was once when some Americans—I'm an American, too, you know, so I can tell this story—tried to bribe the verger to scrape one down for them. There was rather a row and Uncle was in a fine fizz.

"There's one interesting thing common to all these old churches," Max went on, seeing that Win appreciated the place. "The island is divided into twelve parishes. From the church of each there was originally a road, leading directly to the sea. In feudal times, a criminal was safe if he took sanctuary in the church and by the old custom, after he had abjured his crime, he could go down by this one road to the shore and leave the island. But if he strayed never so little aside, he lost the benefit of the sanctuary and was liable to the law. Just imagine some old robber or cut-throat marching down his path to the sea, escorted by the churchwardens, with other men watching his every step, ready to seize him if he swerved. Some of these sanctuary roads are still the main highways."

"I think the island history is so interesting," said Win. "I suppose it is a fact that Prince Charles did take refuge here?"

"No doubt of it," Max replied, looking critically at the almost completed pulpit decorations. "Indeed, there is a story that he was entertained at Laurel Manor. Ask Uncle about it," he added, not noticing Win's start of interest. "He's awfully keen on that legend. I suppose it is very likely true though I don't know that there is any real proof. There, do you think her ladyship will approve our efforts? Excuse me,—Connie wants her star put in place."

Left alone, Win stood thinking hard. So Prince Charles was reputed to have visited Laurel Manor! What if that chance letter were the proof? If so, was there not more in its message than confirmation of the prince's stay? One thing was certain—he must get acquainted with Colonel Lisle.

So many industrious hands soon completed their task. After the gay workers departed, Connie lingered for a last look.

"Come and see it to-morrow morning," she said to the three. "Probably you'll wish to go into town at eleven, but come here for the early service at six."

Edith looked doubtful. "Sister planned to go to St. Aubin's," she said.

"I couldn't come alone," said Frances, her disappointment showing in her face.

"I'll come with you," offered Win so unexpectedly that his sister frankly stared.

"Good!" said Constance. "There'll be no music and only candle- light, but you'll love it. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

That very evening Fran was forced to admit that a Jersey Christmas had its compensations. The doors of the back parlor, mysteriously locked for days, were opened and in the room, gay with holly, mistletoe, and laurestinus, appeared a most delightful little Christmas tree, itself rather foreign in appearance since it was a laurel growing in a big pot. Real English holly concealed the base and merry tapers twinkled a welcome.

Estelle had spent much time and thought, coupled with anxious fears lest these young Americans whose lives seemed so sunny, might not care for so simple a pleasure. Their appreciation, not in the least put on for the occasion, quite repaid her. Inexpensive little gifts adorned the tree, each bearing a number.

"Draw a slip," commanded Roger, appearing before his mother with a box. "Take a chance and see what you'll get."

When all the slips were distributed, Roger as instructed by Estelle, took a gift at random from the tree and called its attached number.

"Who has eight?" he demanded.

"Here," said Win, giving up his slip in exchange for the tiny package, and presently laughing heartily over an absurd mechanical mouse. Ridiculous misfits in the presents made the distribution all the funnier, and the rejoicing was great when Roger, who didn't believe in washing his hands without being told to do so, drew a wee cake of soap. He took it good-naturedly and considered as an added joke, Estelle's hasty and shocked assurance that it was not meant especially for him.

Strange to say, some packages appeared on that tree of which Estelle was ignorant, conveyed by Roger to the proper persons. Edith was rendered speechless with joy over several lovely gifts, and tears filled Estelle's eyes. Nor were Nurse and Annette forgotten. The Thaynes had certainly lived up to the American reputation for generosity.

Then Nurse brought a big bowl filled with darting blue flames. The courageous shut one or both eyes, stuck in a fearful finger and extracted a fig or a fat raisin. Egg-nog and roasted Italian chestnuts completed Estelle's entertainment save for the holiday dinner of roast beef and plum pudding to follow on the morrow.

Unexpected by Estelle, her plans were supplemented by a group of parish school-children, led by the old organist, who came through the streets, singing Christmas carols: "God save you, merry gentlemen," "Good King Wenceslaus" and "As Joseph was a-waukin'"

In fascination Fran lingered on the steps long after the singers were gone, pleased with her distribution of pennies from her mother's purse and biscuit provided by Estelle. Far in the distance she could hear their voices. Yes, after all, an English Christmas had its points.

Next morning, Nurse's call seemed incredibly early to Frances, though she found the whole household awake and exchanging greetings. Mrs. Thayne decided to accompany Win and Fran, and Roger alone remained in bed.

The stars still shone brightly, making it seem the middle of the night, save for the hurrying groups bound for church, some still singing carols or hymns.

"It's like October weather at home, isn't it, Mother?" said Frances as they walked on through the crisp, clear air. "See, there are lights in the windows and people leaving lanterns in the porch."

The moment she entered, Frances understood what Connie meant by not missing that service for "anything in the world," and Win felt it even more keenly, being by nature more impressionable.

The utter quiet, broken only by a distant wash of waves,—waves that sometimes broke over the stones in the churchyard,—the candles in the chancel, throwing into high relief Constance's Christmas star and touching with light the jonquils banking steps and altar rail; the dusk in the nave of the church half-revealing scattered groups of people as they knelt in silence under the arched vault where clung the limpets dead a thousand years,—all contributed to the age-old Christmas miracle.

"I feel as though I'd never realized what Christmas meant before," thought Win, and somewhat the same feeling came to Frances as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom and she discerned among the kneeling figures her fellow-workers of the day before. Half-way down the nave was the family from the Manor, Constance and Max on either side of a tall gray-haired gentleman. Fran recognized him as the one who had spoken to Win that day in the Royal Square.

Win recognized him also, knew him to be Colonel Lisle and was quickly reminded of that curious old document, as yet a mystery. How he hoped Miss Connie's school treat would afford an opportunity to meet the owner of the Manor and to take some step toward the solution of that puzzle.

As the service began, Frances stole a glance at the windows banked with glossy laurel and holly, over which she and Edith had worked with Rose LeCroix and her sister Muriel. Just because she had helped do something for that little church in a foreign land, Fran experienced a sudden blessed feeling of belonging a bit. A pleasant glow crept into her heart, a sense of the spirit that makes the world akin at Christmas.



CHAPTER X

THE BUN WORRY

"I have helped you very nicely all the morning, Connie, and I hope you appreciate my goodness. But as for messing about the lawn with a bun worry in full blast,—thank you, Maxfield is not on. One doesn't want to let one's self in for everything."

"Your goodness isn't such as to alarm me," sighed Constance, casting a worried glance about the Manor green. "You're in no danger of acquiring saintship. Dad has balked, too. What'll I do alone?"

"Being on toast yourself, why do you want to have me there?" said Max mischievously. "Aren't all the Sunday school mistresses coming to help and didn't you ask those nice American kiddies?"

"I did, and that's another reason why I want you," retorted Connie, flying to adjust to her better satisfaction the basket of narcissus decorating the chief table. "Max, I don't know where to have you. Since you came from the States, I can't make out whether you are English or American. Here you are shying either at an English school treat or at some nice American children. Which is it?"

"Neither, I think," Max replied after a survey of the close- clipped lawn, boasting that velvety turf which only centuries of care can perfect. Great groups of laurel proudly proclaimed the right of the Manor to its name; carefully trimmed hedges of yew and box protected borders already gay with spring flowers, and beyond the grounds shimmered the sea. Max's glance was one of affection, for this was the scene of many happy boyhood days.

"I think I'd shy just as quickly at an American tea-fight," he said at length. "As for being neither English nor American, I love both countries. I would certainly be loyal to my own, but I would also take up arms for England, if the time ever came that she needed me and the two duties didn't conflict."

"You're a duck," said Constance promptly. "Come, take up arms and carry a basket of buns for me this afternoon."

"Too many petticoats coming," said Max. "I'm afraid of those freaks from the rectory. But I'll agree to furnish a substitute who will more than take my place. The kiddies will be thrilled to a peanut. Come now, let me off?"

"I suppose so," agreed Constance. "Don't bother about letting me down softly. Trot off and do anything you think you have to do. Here are the Marque children already. And there come the Thaynes."

"I will perform a vanishing act," said Max quickly. "Connie, I really am booked for an hour with Uncle Dick, but I'll send that substitute. Watch for him."

Constance looked after him suspiciously, but Max was already half across the sunken garden, whistling to Tylo as he went.

"Are we too early, Miss Connie?" asked Frances as they came up.

"Just on the dot," replied Connie, greeting them all. "The children are arriving. We will play games first and then have tea. Excuse me, please, while I go and speak to the Reverend Fred."

Constance departed to greet the curate thus disrespectfully designated, a youthful individual of rather prepossessing appearance. Just behind him appeared Rose and Muriel LeCroix and other girls whom Frances knew at school.

Soon the children came thick and fast, shy youngsters propelled by older brothers and sisters, independent groups, a few babies in arms, a scattering of older people.

Two white-draped tables by the yew hedge were the target for the children's eyes as they wondered what those linen-covered baskets concealed. There would be tea of course, buns in plenty, possibly cake.

Presently the children, poked and pulled into line were started playing London Bridge, two of the biggest girls forming the bridge.

For a moment Frances stood apart, watching the marching, shouting youngsters, scrubbed till they shone, clothed in clean though often clumsy garments and heavy shoes. No great poverty was indicated by their apparel, and some, evidently of French origin, were dressed with real taste and daintiness. These were also remarkable for a more vivacious appearance than the stolid little Anglo-Saxons. Some few were of striking beauty.

As one game succeeded another, the children grew less stiff and self-conscious. The Reverend Fred was joining in the sport with conscientious zeal, as were his two sisters and Edith and Miss Connie. Fran caught the contagion and found herself flying about the Manor lawn, tying a handkerchief over one child's eyes to lead in Blindman's Buff, helping another group play King of the Castle, finally organizing a game of Drop the Handkerchief.

With amused surprise she saw Roger actually helping Muriel LeCroix with a number of the smallest children, and this fact so impressed Frances that she failed to note Win's absence.

Her brother was not far away. Had Frances been nearer the opening in the hedge, leading into the sunken garden in its season full of roses, she might have seen an interesting picture, for with great glee, Win was helping prepare for appearance Max's promised substitute.

Down in the rose-garden, where an old sundial marked "only the sunny hours," the afternoon shadows grew long. The older people, somewhat exhausted by strenuous play, seated the children in a big circle ready for tea. From the Manor emerged Yvonne, Pierre, and Paget, Constance's old nurse, armed with shiny copper cans, to fill cups for distribution.

Frances seized a basket of buns and for a time was so occupied with playing Lady Bountiful to a host of little hands, now rather grimy, that it seemed quite natural to be sharing in this unusual festivity. But as she was hurrying back to the table to refill her empty basket, she met Edith on a similar errand. Suddenly it struck her as very odd that she should be helping.

"This is the funniest affair I ever saw," she confided merrily.

"Why?" asked the puzzled Edith, lifting grave eyes to look at her. "Don't you give the Sunday school children treats in America?"

"Oh, yes," admitted Frances, "but we'd never fill them up on weak tea and buns. They'd expect ice-cream and cake."

Edith looked much shocked. "Ices are very dear," she remarked, "and not fitting for these children. Would you really serve ices in winter?" she asked incredulously.

"On the very coldest day of the year," asserted Frances emphatically. "Oh, America is so different, Edith! Why there's scarcely a town so tiny that you can't buy ice-cream any time of the day or any time of year."

"It must indeed be different," Edith agreed. Basket refilled, she returned to her charges.

For a minute Frances lingered, looking around at the circle of hilarious children, each with a mug, more or less precariously clasped, each stuffing big plummy buns; looked at the older people so anxiously attending to them. Yes, it was very different, very English, but also very interesting.

As Frances passed the entrance to the sunken garden, her basket filled this time by solid-looking pieces of cake, she heard her name.

"Fran," came Win's voice, "call Tylo. Get him to come out on the lawn."

Frances called. She could see no one in the garden, only hear amused voices trying to induce Tylo to answer the summons.

"He won't start," said Win again. "Ask Miss Connie to whistle for him, Fran."

On receiving Fran's message, Constance looked puzzled.

"I'd as soon Tylo would stop away," she said. "The kiddies may not fancy him begging for their cake. Still, I'll call."

At the summons from his mistress, Tylo instantly came, causing a sudden silence among the chattering children, silence succeeded by wild shrieks of pleasure.

The beach dog emerged from the garden wearing a wreath of roses around his neck, with an open pink silk parasol fastened to his collar and tipped at a fashionable and coquettish angle over his head and holding firmly in his mouth the handle of a basket filled with as varied an assortment of English "sweets" as Max could secure in his hasty gallop into St. Helier's.

Connie, too, gave an exclamation of laughter. "Oh, look at my best Paris brelly!" she groaned. "Max stole that. Yvonne never gave it to him."

Fully conscious that he held the center of the stage, Tylo advanced, waving his tail and casting amiable glances upon the children as they came crowding around, buns and cake forgotten. He seemed perfectly to understand what was expected and held the basket until the last sugar plum was secured by little searching hands, then employed to caress the bearer. Max's substitute certainly scored the greatest hit of the Manor "bun worry."

From their seclusion in the rose-garden, the two conspirators watched Tylo's successful appearance.

"Let's come in and wash," said Max, seeing that no further responsibility remained to them. "Or are you keen on a bun worry? I like them, like them awfully, you know, but somehow, I'm afraid Uncle Dick may be lonely. I feel it's my duty to look him up."

Win would have seen through this flimsy excuse without the betrayal of Max's merry eyes, but the proposal chanced to be what he most wished to do. Very gladly he followed Max through the gardens to a side entrance to the house, where they went up to Max's room, a high oak-paneled chamber that would have been sombre were it not for three sunny mullioned casements overlooking the sea. Cases crowded with books stood by the fireplace, fishing rods, cricket bats and oars decorated the walls.

"Those aren't mine," said Max, noticing Win's glance as he stood drying his hands; "only the skiis and racquets. This was Richard's room, Uncle Dick's only son. He was a subaltern in the British army, just twenty when he was killed in the charge on Majuba Hill. They have always given me his room at the Manor. I fancy Uncle liked to have it occupied by a boy again."

"Colonel Lisle himself must have done some fighting," observed Win. "How did he lose his arm?"

"For years he was an officer in India. He lost his arm defending the Khyber Pass against the Afghans."

Max took his guest down the main staircase to the great entrance hall, with its high raftered roof, and stone floor half covered by valuable Oriental rugs. Suits of shining armor lent glints of light; curious spears, ancient swords and firearms, many of them very old, were fastened on walls dark with age. Win stopped to look at the carved mantel over the great fireplace, sporting the leopards of Jersey, the Lisle coat of arms and the date 1509.

"Imagine living in a house built all those centuries ago," he sighed. "This is older than the library, isn't it?"

"Somewhat," replied Max. "The wing here is the oldest part of the house. Let's come to Uncle's study. I fancy he'll be there."

Colonel Lisle was lounging near the fire, but appeared very willing to put aside his book and welcome the two.

"And have you had tea, Uncle?" Max inquired. "We haven't, and I could do nicely with a cup."

"With all those gallons of tea on the lawn, it is a pity if an able-bodied young gentleman couldn't secure one cup," said the Colonel smiling. "Now you mention it, I believe I have had none either. Ring the bell by all means and order it. I was absorbed in verifying some points of old Norman law," he added to Win. "Our islands have an interesting history."

"Win is pleased that Prince Charles has left his mark on Jersey," observed Max, giving the bell-pull a vigorous twitch. "Tell him, Uncle, about his stopping here."

"Such is the legend handed down from father to son," replied the Colonel. "The story goes that the prince was brought to the Manor immediately after landing in Jersey. Just where he landed and how he was conveyed here is not known, but his stay was short. The owner of the Manor at that date, another Richard Lisle,—he whose portrait hangs in the library,—was an ardent Royalist who would have risked everything to serve his prince. Authorities agree that Charles spent the period of his stay in one of the castles, some say Orgueil, others Elizabeth. Probably the Manor roof sheltered him but for a few hours. I should very much like to see the legend of his stop in this house authenticated beyond question. Max tells me you are fond of books," the speaker continued. "After tea, I will show you some of our special treasures."

Win's face, already alight with interest, grew even more responsive to this offer, yet as the tea came, he felt unaccountably stupid and idiotic. Utter disgust with himself filled his mind to think he couldn't get to the point then and there of telling his kind host about that letter he had discovered.

Max noticed that Win was ill at ease, attributed it to shyness or perhaps awe of the Colonel, who was, as Max put it, "a bit impressive till a fellow knew him," and tried to help matters by talking nonsense that amazed Win and evidently amused the Colonel. Gradually, as he saw that Max was not in the least afraid of the dignified owner of the Manor, Win began to feel less tongue-tied.

Presently came a sound of gay voices, a tap at the door and Constance, the girls, and Roger entered.

"The tea-party is gone and in its place is peace," said Connie. "Daddy dear, I want you to meet Frances and Edith. And this is Roger. Max, why didn't you have tea with us and the kiddies?"

"Because of buns," said Max. "My bun-eating days are past."

"Not so long past!" retorted Constance with a mischievous smile. "Not so many years ago that I bribed you with a penny bun to steal a tooth for me out of a skull in the Capuchin church! He did it, too," she added to the girls, laughing delightedly at this charge. "You haven't been in Rome? The Capuchin monks have a church there with some holy earth brought from Jerusalem. Years ago,—they don't do it now, because modern sanitary laws have invaded Rome,— the monks who died were buried in this earth. Only of course as the centuries passed, there wasn't room for them all, so the monks longest buried had to get up and give place to others. Their bones were arranged in nice neat patterns on the walls, and the skulls heaped in piles. It was a tooth from one of these skulls that I fancied. Max ate the bun and stole the tooth for me, but Daddy wouldn't let me keep it and made Max put it back."

"Oh, how could you ever want such a thing, Miss Connie!" exclaimed Edith, shuddering with horror.

"I wonder, why did I?" said Constance reflectively. "It certainly doesn't appeal to me now. Mother was shocked; she disinfected everything that tooth had touched. Are you through tea, Daddy? I want to take the girls into the library."

Once again in the old book-room, Win recovered his self-possession in admiration of its treasures of illuminated missal and manuscript. His interest pleased his host, who ended by cordially inviting the boy to visit the Manor library whenever and as often as he chose to come. Win's genuine delight over this permission touched the Colonel, who from his own physical handicap, guessed that life was not always smooth for Win.

Win's pleasure arose not merely from the enjoyment of the library itself but because he would surely grow better acquainted with the Manor family and have a more favorable opportunity to show his discovery in the old Psalter.

He was very quiet on the way home and scarcely spoke while Fran was giving her mother a graphic account of the afternoon. Win hardly knew she was talking until his attention was caught by a dramatic remark.

"Miss Connie told us something so exciting, Mother," Fran was saying. "Roger asked her if there was a ghost. He blurted it right out and I was quite mortified, because you know if they did have one and were sensitive, it would have seemed impolite. But Miss Connie said right away that the Manor had all modern improvements, including a well-behaved and most desirable ghost. Then she and Mr. Max looked at each other and laughed. She said the haunted room was above the library and promised to give us a chance to investigate some day. I wanted dreadfully to ask about secret stairs,—you remember what that boy at Orgueil said—but perhaps when we are looking for the ghost there will be a chance to speak of the stairs."

"Indeed, you've had a most interesting afternoon," agreed Mrs. Thayne, "the discovery of a haunted room at the Manor being not the least."

"And what have you done all by yourself, poor Mother?" said Frances, suddenly sympathetic and affectionate.

"Part of the afternoon I was out and since then I have been talking with Estelle. If she only felt she could, it would be so much better for her to go more among people, for the constant effort to be brave when she is so much alone, is very wearing. She seems so pathetically grateful that we chanced to come to her this winter instead of other less congenial lodgers. Sometime I hope she will speak frankly of just how they are situated and whether she has plans beyond this season, for I might be able to further them. And I hope, too, I shall succeed in placing the something familiar that always strikes me in Estelle. Have you ever noticed it, Fran? To my surprise, Win said the other day that Estelle reminded him of some one."

"No," said Fran. "I never noticed it. But I might ask Edith whether they have any relatives in the United States."

"That could do no harm," assented Mrs. Thayne thoughtfully. "Since Win spoke of it also, the resemblance must be to some one we know over there."

Frances and her mother went away but Win sat thinking for some moments. The mention of secret stairs recalled to him, though he could not say why, that odd dream twice experienced since he came to Jersey, of a search in a narrow unfamiliar passage, with unknown companions, for something unspecified.

With a start he finally roused himself and went upstairs. Before going to bed he read again the copy of Richard Lisle's letter.

"There's more to this than just the coming of the prince," he thought. "That's a fact, but if that 'safe place' can be discovered, I'll warrant we shall find the Spanish Chest and whatever 'relicks' Richard and his 'Sonne' put into it."



CHAPTER XI

THE MANOR CAVE

A few days after the school treat, Maxfield Hamilton was sauntering slowly across the Manor grounds. The January sky above shone blue as in a New England June, gay crocuses starred the short green grass, snowdrops and bluebells were already budded. From heights unknown floated the song of a skylark; in the holly hedge sat an English robin.

Max heard the skylark but did not notice the robin as he stopped at the gates to look down to the sea, stretching to shining horizons under the afternoon sun. His face was thoughtful and rather sober.

The robin gave a little cheep and Max turned to discover the bird almost at his elbow, a tiny scrap of olive feathers and bright red breast, considering him with soft wise eyes, head on one side.

"Hello, old chap," Max remarked. "What do you think of this world?"

From the tone, the robin might have inferred that the speaker's opinion was anything but favorable. Considering him for a second, he concluded him inoffensive and began to peck at the glowing holly berries.

Max wandered slowly through the gates and across the Manorhold to the shore, distant at this point about a quarter of a mile. Two or three stone cottages with picturesque straw-thatched roofs lay near the cliffs, property of the Manor and usually occupied by employees.

With the thoughtful expression still on his face, Max passed the cottages to stop on the edge of the cliffs already showing yellow with gorse. Should the tide serve, he had it in mind to revisit a haunt of his boyhood. A moment's scrutiny showed him right in thinking that the tide was on the ebb and he started rapidly down a rough, rather slippery path. As he rounded an outlying rock he came full on Roger Thayne.

Sprawled flat on the sloping cliff, Roger was watching so intently the doings of a spider that he did not look up until a shadow fell squarely across the web.

"That you, Roger?" said Max. "Alone? Where are Win and the girls?"

"I don't know," replied Roger, flushing uncomfortably. "That is, I don't know where the girls are."

"Win's not ill, I hope?"

"No, he isn't." Roger rolled over to look at his visitor. The young face wore a pleasant smile and the gray eyes were friendly, but somehow Roger had a suspicion that Mr. Max wasn't the sort to approve outright truancy.

"Win's all right," he added evasively. "He's studying or something."

A queer little expression crossed Max's lips. "Then since you have a holiday,—well-deserved, no doubt,—come on exploring with me."

Roger was on his feet in a second, the arrow of reproof glancing off unnoted. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Oh, just down here a few rods. We may have to hold up for the tide. It won't be low water for some time yet."

The faint path presently ended in piles of red granite, still wet from the sea, in places slippery with vraic, as the Jerseymen call the seaweed used as fertilizer for their land.

"We shall have to stop a bit," said Max, after a short steep descent. As he spoke he sat down and began to crush a bit of vraic between his fingers.

"This seaweed is one of the biggest assets the farmers have," he said to Roger. "You'll enjoy being here in February when the great vraic harvest comes. The farmers go down to the shore with carts and a sort of sickle. At low tide the southern shore is black with people cutting the seaweed from the rocks. The carts are used to carry it up beyond tide-mark. Men, women and young people all turn out and it's one of the sights of the island. The harvest lasts for several weeks and for the first few days there is a continual picnic with dancing and all sorts of jollifications."

"But I've often seen men gathering seaweed on the beach," said Roger. "It isn't February yet."

"They are gathering the loose weed that is washed ashore. Any one may take that between the hours of sunrise and sunset, but he must stop at sound of the sunset gun. The cutting from the rocks is regulated by a hallowed custom. In June there's a second harvest when only the poor people may cut the vraic for a few weeks. After they have had their turn anybody may cut it till the last of August."

As he concluded, Max threw away the seaweed and picked up one of the abundant black flint pebbles. For some moments he amused himself by striking sparks from it with the back of a knife blade.

"I haven't lost the knack," he remarked. "By the way, have you found any flint knives? They turn up occasionally, though more often inland than in a place like this. They are relics of the days when the Druids were in Jersey. You've seen the burial mounds, haven't you,—the Dolmens?"

"I have," said Roger briefly. "In Bill Fish's company. Liked the stones all right enough, but Bill can't talk, you know. He expounds."

Max grinned. "Bad Writ, that," he agreed. "Come along. We can get through now."



Climbing carefully around a slippery projecting rock, its base yet submerged, they came upon the loveliest of lovely little beaches, in shape almost a semi-circle, the water forming the bisector and the frowning red cliffs the arc. Near the centre of the half- circle stood two tall pinnacles of red granite. Behind them yawned an entrance about five feet high and under this Max bent his tall head. Roger followed and uttered a whistle of pleasure and amazement.

They stood in a large cave, floored by fine bright yellow sea sand, broken irregularly by out-croppings of rose-pink rock, sand and rock alike wet and glistening. Away to the back of the cave, Roger saw that the floor rose higher. The roof was iridescent with green and yellow lichens; pebbles of jasper, cornelian and agate strewed the sand.

In the twelve years of his existence, Roger had never seen anything like this and surprise rendered him inarticulate.

"Some cave!" he commented at length. "Look, Mr. Max, what are these?"

"Oh, haven't you met any sea-anemones? The pools are full of them. Jolly little beggars."

Roger was naturally less enthusiastic over the charming water- gardens than the girls when they chanced upon them, but he was considerably interested in the numerous and varicolored snails, their shells bright green or delicate pink, truly entrancing to pick up and examine. By the time Roger finished a somewhat minute inspection his companion was out of sight.

"Hello!" he shouted in some concern.

"Right-oh!" came a quiet reply.

Bather abashed by the startling echoes he had evoked, Roger climbed over fallen rocks to the back of the cave. There the floor rose sharply, affording a level apparently beyond reach of the tide, for some tiny land plants had found a lodging, ferns waved from the crannied vault and there was no sign of any marine growth.

"This used to be a favorite resort of mine," said Max, who was sitting on the high ledge, some five feet wide. Beyond, the cave ended in a mass of stone and rubble.

Roger's eyes grew wide. "What a dandy place!" he exclaimed.

"Not much compared with the Plemont caves," replied his companion. "You'll probably go there before leaving the island. There are five or six of them and one has a waterfall dividing it into two distinct caves. Plemont is the spot where the cable comes in from England, crawls out of the ocean like a great dripping hoary old sea-serpent to trail through a cleft to the station on the cliff above. This is a rat-hole beside those caves."

"I'll take steps to go there," said Roger earnestly. "Say, does the water ever come up here?"

"I don't think so. Even at the spring tides, it would probably not reach within two feet of this ledge. Only a rip-snorter of a tempest could endanger goods stored here, or even anybody who chose this cave to hide in."

"Some hiding-place," admitted Roger.

"So I've found it. When I was about your age, I came down here because I was annoyed with the world in general and stopped between two tides."

"Really?" gasped Roger. "Did you get wet?"

"Not a bit. I'll admit that things seemed spooky when I'd waited so long that I couldn't get out. I took solid comfort in the ferns and in a sea pink that had put out a scared little blossom right where we are sitting. I was shut in the better part of six hours and time proved a bit slow. I remember coming to the conclusion that perhaps the people I'd left behind weren't so utterly unreasonable after all. I fancy it's a rather sure sign that when you can't rub along with anybody, the trouble isn't altogether with them."

Roger looked at him suspiciously but Max's gaze was bent on the cave entrance, arching over a wonderful view of blue sea.

"Do you like to live in Paris?" he asked hastily.

"I'd rather stop in Rome where my father is," Max replied, suppressing a smile over the sudden change of subject. "But Dad runs up occasionally. I feel as though I'd be more use in Rome because there I know everybody who is anybody, you see, and it would be a help to the Embassy. Dad thinks I may be able to work a transfer after a year or so. If the Ambassador to Italy remarks to the State Department at Washington that Maxfield Hamilton seems a likely young chap with both eyes open and that he wouldn't mind having him on his staff, why Max may receive a document telling him to pack his little box and attach his person to the Embassy at Rome."

Roger laughed. "Then you don't like Paris?"

"Oh, yes," said Max thoughtfully. "I've had a jolly time socially. I can't imagine anybody in my circumstances not enjoying himself. But it's not where I most want to be. It's up to me to make good so emphatically that they'll hand me on to Rome with a word in my favor."

"I expect they will," said Roger.

"Not if I don't buckle down," said Max half to himself. "Something happened last October that gave me a jolt and it has been hard to stick to work. I came over here for the holidays determined to get myself in hand again. I think I've succeeded, old chap, so I'd better go back and dig in. A man mustn't whine, you know, if it looks jolly final that he isn't going to have everything he wants. I've wasted time enough. I must go back to Paris now and keep my mind on my job."

"I bunked Bill Fish this afternoon," admitted Roger suddenly.

"No doubt he was a frightful bore," commented Max without showing the least surprise. "Probably I'd have done the same in your place. The only disadvantage about shying at disagreeable things like tutors is that one hardly ever gets rid of them after all. I'm becoming convinced that the only way to get round a difficulty is to hit it in the head and walk over its flattened corpse."

Roger grinned. "Shall I bat Bill Fish?" he asked.

"Bill Fish might be worse. Don't blame you for feeling him a freak, but the schools in Jersey are footy affairs. If you want a fair sample of a school you'd have to try England proper. We've messed about here long enough. Let's take a swim."

"Does the cave end here?" asked Roger, looking at the pile of broken stone beyond the shelf.

"I suppose so. It's the only one on the Manor lands so Connie and I liked to come. Uncle Dick wouldn't permit it unless a grown person was with us to watch the tide. How about a dip? No one can see us."

Max left the ridge to saunter toward the entrance, stopping to investigate more than one pool of anemones. "By the way," he added, "I wouldn't tell the girls of this cave. They'll be keen on searching for it afternoons when they are free and you aren't, and may get into a mess with the tides. Really it's not quite safe."



"All right," agreed Roger, sliding from the shelf. As he did so, a sudden current of warm air struck him, quite unlike the rather damp, salty atmosphere of the cave. His curiosity was sufficiently aroused to cause him to stop and look back, but Max had already begun to undress and there seemed no possible place for a sweet land breeze to find entrance.



CHAPTER XII

WIN VISITS THE LIBRARY

Max's abrupt departure two days later was a great disappointment to Win, who admired him greatly and coveted a closer acquaintance. That he should cut short his stay on the plea of work to be done seemed reasonable to the others but his going quite upset Win. Nor was this disappointment lightened by a period of semi-invalidism when all exertion was difficult and patience very far to seek. Not for some weeks after Max left was Win able to take advantage of the Colonel's prized invitation to use the Manor library.

He made his first visit, fully determined to broach the discovery of Richard Lisle's letter to either the Colonel or his daughter, whichever should appear, but Yvonne, who admitted him with a smiling welcome, reported neither at home.

Nor did fortune favor his second attempt. The Colonel was in St. Helier's and Constance entertaining a group of young people on the lawn. Win dodged these visitors and from the library windows looked down upon a lively set of tennis. Players and spectators alike seemed to know one another extremely well. The inference Win drew was correct, that for some reason, the little lady of the Manor chose just now to crowd her life with social engagements and gay festivities.

Time had been when Win didn't care to watch others play games he could not share, but Win was learning that every life has its compensations; when one is debarred from one thing, he is sure to have another in its place. Without envy Win watched them for a time before turning to the books.

His third visit was made on a morning in early February when walking was rather difficult owing to a penetrating rain. Wintry weather seemed to have visited the Island, but the cold was deceptive, for though a heavy coat was acceptable, plenty of flowers were in blossom, even a number of surprised-looking roses.

On reaching the Manor, Win was admitted by cordial Yvonne, who at once conducted him to his sanctuary. The room was empty, but a cheery fire glowed on the hearth, and on the long bare black oak table stood an enormous copper bowl full of fresh daffodils, making a spot of light and beauty in the sombre room.

Win spent a few moments warming his hands at the fire and considering thoughtfully the back of the old Psalter in which was shut Richard Lisle's letter. Perhaps opportunity would favor him to-day, some chance be provided to show that discovery to either Miss Connie or her father.

That its contents referred to Prince Charles was established beyond doubt by the existing legend of his entertainment at the Manor, but the letter said much more than that. Only some one thoroughly familiar with the Manor and its possessions could interpret further. As the rain beat on the terrace outside, Win chanced to look up at the portrait near the fireplace, and instantly recalled that curious dream.

"I dreamed all that stuff just because I've always been crazy to go treasure-hunting," he thought, "and because that old Cavalier was the last thing I saw before I went to sleep. Well, I might go and read for a while."

With a glance of admiration at some fine old armor passed on the way, Win went into the farther room to settle himself on the comfortable window seat with a fat history of the island of Jersey.

Fully an hour passed before the sound of low voices penetrated his consciousness. Gradually he became aware that two people were now occupying the seat before the smouldering fire. One was Constance Lisle, the other some one Win had never seen before, a dark distinguished-looking young man, evidently of foreign blood.

Connie was leaning back in the corner of the old settle, her white dress and the neighboring bowl of daffodils standing out as high lights in the shadowy surroundings. Her companion, beside her, was bending slightly forward, his face turned eagerly toward hers.

Had he wished to listen, Win could not distinguish the low words. That fact absolved him from the necessity of making his presence known, for leave he could not without passing through the room. Presently the young man raised his voice and Win realized that he was speaking in Italian.

For the moment, interest in the present dismissed the past. Win had heard the girls' chatter about their adored Miss Connie and the romance attributed to her by Mrs. Trott, but boy-like, paid very little attention to what he considered the foolish fancies of sentimental kids. Now he was startled into sudden interest.

That stranger must be Miss Connie's Italian prince. Very handsome and very much of a gentleman he looked and most earnest their conversation. Yet even to an inexperienced observer, it was not that of two happy young people, entering a sunny stretch of life, but of a boy and girl confronted with some stern and very present problem. Connie's hands were clasped too tightly, there was a sense of strain in the poise of her head. Her companion's pose was one of perplexity and doubt.

Win remembered what else he had heard of that rumored engagement, not much to be sure, save that strong pressure was being put upon the last of the Santo-Pontes in order to secure the estates and title of a great Roman house to the church of his ancestors.

Presently Win realized that he had no right even to look on. He turned his face to the storm and again buried himself in his old volume.

A long time later he heard his name and Constance strolled alone through the arch from the other room. She looked pale and tired but otherwise composed.

"I didn't know you were here, Win," she said as she came to his chosen window.

"I've been stuck in this book for ages. Miss Connie, I've found the most interesting thing ever."

"What is it?" Connie inquired listlessly, wondering, but not particularly caring whether Win knew of her interview with Louis di Santo-Ponte. She looked sweet and wistful as she stood leaning against the window seat, her mind down in the town where the boat for St. Malo was getting up steam. "Tell me about it, Win," she added, recalling her wandering thoughts. She liked Win as she liked most young people.

"Come and see," said Win, replacing his history in its case. Connie accompanied him to the fireplace in the main room.

"Did you ever look at that book?" he inquired, indicating the worn old Psalter.

"There are several thousand books here that I never looked at," said Connie promptly. "Max is the one who browses in this part of the library. Ah, he's been here lately, reading his horrid old German philosophers." With an air of disgust she pointed to the blue-bound modern volumes.

"What is this book that interests you so much!" she went on, taking It from the shelf. "Oh, an old copy of the Psalms. Look at its odd type."

"It isn't the book that interests me," said Win, "but this paper. I found it accidentally. Do read it, Miss Connie, and see what you make of it."

After her first perusal, Constance grew as excited as Win. With the deliberate purpose of putting her troubles from her mind, she concentrated her attention on this discovery.

"The prince of course refers to Charles, because it is an historical fact that he took refuge in Jersey," began Win.

"Yes, and there's the legend that he was entertained here at the Manor," exclaimed Connie. "Why Dad will be crazy about this, for it proves that story!"

"I hoped he'd be pleased," said Win happily.

"Oh, he will!" replied Connie. "Charles was just a boy, only sixteen, at the time he fled from England."

"Ever since I saw two letters in the British Museum, Charles the Second has seemed a very real person to me," said Win smiling. "Do you know them, Miss Connie? One is from Queen Henrietta Maria to Prince Charles, expressing great regret that the prince has refused to take the 'physick' prescribed for him, and hoping that he will consent to do so on the following day, for if he didn't she should be obliged to come to him and she trusted he would not give her that 'paine.' She had also requested the Duke of Newcastle to report to her whether he took it or not and so she 'rested.'

"But what I liked best," Win went on, "was the letter Prince Charles wrote. He evidently didn't reply to his mother, but sent a note to the Duke of Newcastle in which he flatly refused to take the 'physick' and advised the Duke not to take any either!"

Connie laughed. "That does seem a touch of real boy nature, doesn't it? But I'm afraid Prince Charles was rather a rotten young cub, not worth the affection expended on him nor the good lives laid down in his cause. The Richard Lisle who wrote this letter was my great-great—oh, I don't know how many times removed—grandfather! It's plain that Prince Charles came here to the Manor, was fed and provided with a change, and escorted to the castle, probably Orgueil. But what the 'relicks' are and what the 'safe place,' I can't tell. Nor do I know what is meant by the Spanish chest. If there was anything of that description around the Manor I'd jolly well know it."

"Would Colonel Lisle know?" asked Win eagerly.

"I wonder, will he?" mused Connie after a pause spent in close scrutiny of the document. "We'll ask. Anyway, he'll be awfully interested because here it is in black and white that Prince Charles was brought to the Manor. Win, it's storming desperately and I'm bored to death. I'm going to send Pierre to St. Aubin's to tell your mother that you won't be back for luncheon. We'll show Dad your find and bring our united minds to bear on the problem."

Win was sorely tempted. The walk through the storm had taxed his strength. Should he struggle back, the chances were that he would be too tired for any lessons after his arrival.

"Your tutor won't matter, will he?" asked Connie. "You're not expected to be so regular as Roger."

Wingate grinned. "I was thinking how angry Roger will be if he finds himself the sole object of Bill Fish's attention this afternoon. Thank you, Miss Connie. I want mightily to stay. I ought not to have come up here today when it was storming, but since I'm here the wisest thing is to wait for a time. And I'm wild to know what your father thinks of this paper. I will send a note to Mother if I may."

"I'll write, too," said Constance, "and I shall tell her that we'll keep you all night if the rain continues. I need somebody to play with me, Win. I'm jolly glad you did brave the storm."



CHAPTER XIII

ABOUT THE SPANISH CHEST

Roger's state of mind at finding himself destined to be the sole object of Bill Fish's ministrations that afternoon was laughable. He vowed to Frances that he also would take French leave and bitterly denounced Win for absconding, declaring it a "put up job."

"Perhaps Mr. Fisher won't come," consoled Frances. "The storm has really grown much worse since morning."