Front matter (continued 2)

A little, white-haired old man of military bearing took them through the building, and explained the exhibits. He marshaled and directed the sight-seers like a crowd of children, and insisted upon absolute quiet while he talked. Not a finger did they dare lay upon any article, and not a move could they make in any direction until he gave the signal.

Martha leaned over and whispered some comment to Nancy, and immediately the guide fixed his piercing eyes upon her severely, and said, “I shall have to ask you to refrain from talking during my lecture. I cannot tell about these things when anyone else is talking.”

Martha shrank back, filled with confusion; and after that episode no one of the whole party ventured even the briefest remark.

In the narrow hall is displayed a collection of cuts of coats of arms, a treasure to anyone interested in the development of heraldry. In one of the rooms there is a collection of coins, covering all types used in Nova Scotia since the first settlement. Another is given over mostly to souvenirs of the World War, seeming a bit out of place amidst the relative antiques of the other rooms. Still another contains various pieces of firearms during the different sieges of the Fort. The guide displayed also, as one of his choicest bits, the immense key to the fort, handed over to the English general by the French commander in the last siege, and until recently in the hands of the Massachusetts Historical Society.

But the girls found most interesting of all, the Acadian room, taken intact from an Acadian house, and rebuilt into its present setting. It is simplicity itself, and takes one back in spirit to those delightfully simple people whom Longfellow has made so well known. The floor is bare, and the woodwork painted Acadian blue; and on the walls are a few holy pictures, and a couple of rifles. At one side of the fireplace with its andirons and swinging crane, stands a wooden cradle with a hood at one end; and on the other side is the spinning wheel. The chairs have seats made of strips of deerskin, woven in and out. “Just like the mats we made out of paper in the kindergarten,” said Nancy. One of the oddest articles in the room is a table which one can transform into a chair or a cupboard by the proper manipulation of the leaves. On the door is the old wooden latch, and the guide explained that if this were an outside door, the latchstring would be drawn in at night, after which no one could open the door from the outside.

“So that,” exclaimed Nancy in delightful enthusiasm, forgetting the rule of silence, “is where we get our expression ‘our latchstring is always out for you.’ I’ve wondered about that ever since I first heard it.”

“Don’t you feel just as if you had been let out from school?” asked Martha, as they left the building and walked across the Park to take a look at the powder magazine.

“Yes; wasn’t he strict?” answered Jeanette. “But he certainly knows his exhibits. And how he loves them, and everything connected with Nova Scotia!”

It was difficult to tear themselves away from the interesting old place, but Jim said they would have to be going in order to get to Digby in proper time.

“This town,” he said, as they entered Bear River, some miles beyond Annapolis Royal, “is celebrated for its Cherry Carnival. In the middle of July, hundreds of tourists and natives come here to feast upon cherries and witness a series of thrilling aquatic events. The Indians from a near-by reservation take part in the birch bark canoe and log rolling contests, and usually carry off many of the prizes.”

“Um!” said Martha. “I’d like to be here then. I just love cherries.”

The car now followed the curving shores of the Annapolis Basin toward Digby. This is one of the most beautiful parts of the country. The purplish North Mountain range rises abruptly from the opposite bank of the Annapolis River, and one passes through miles of a picture book world—farms, quaint tiny villages, deep woods, rivers, hills, lovely summer homes guarded by tall fir trees, log cabin colonies, until the long bridge which leads into Digby is reached.

“Out there,” said Jim, pointing across Digby Basin, “is what they call Digby Gut. It was properly named Digby Gap; but, according to the story, the fishermen, after they had completed their catch, always stopped out there to clean the fish, throwing the refuse into the water; and from that comes the inelegant name which the gap now bears. The gap is formed by a mile wide break in the North Mountain range, and through that mountain gate, which the Indians call ‘Tee-wee-den,’ or ‘little hole,’ rush the great floods of the Bay of Fundy, twice every twenty-four hours. They fill the basin, the rivers, and all their tributaries to the very top of the diked embankments for a distance of over forty miles.”

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Jeanette, while Miss Ashton quoted from Longfellow:

“Oh, faithful, indefatigable tides

That ever more, upon God’s errands go,

Now seaward, hearing tidings of the land,

Now landward, bearing tidings of the sea,

And filling every firth and estuary,

Each arm of the great sea, each little creek,

Each thread and filament of water course,

Full with your ministrations of delight!”

“How perfectly that description suits this part of the country,” said Nancy appreciatively.

They drove up the wooded hill to the big hotel, surrounded by cottages of various sizes. One of these was assigned to Miss Ashton and her party; and they took possession at once, for dinner time was fast approaching.

“What a darling place!” cried Nancy, inspecting the two bedrooms, bath, and living room.

“I like this room best,” said Jeanette, standing in the living room with its big fireplace, cretonne hangings, and wonderful view of the basin into which extended the long government pier from which you may sail to St. John, New Brunswick.

“You had better postpone your raptures,” suggested Miss Ashton practically, “if we are all to bathe and dress for dinner. I understand that this is a very fashionable place, and we want to look our best.”

“I want to ask you something,” said Nancy, detaining Miss Ashton as she prepared to follow the girls who were on their way to the bedrooms.

“Yes?”

“Jim asked me to go to the dance at the hotel for a while to-night.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said I’d ask you and let him know later.”

“Well, why don’t you go? He is a very nice boy; and, by the way, I forgot to tell you that I had quite a long talk with him the other day and we have some mutual acquaintances.”

“But what about the other girls? Jeanette won’t mind, I’m sure; but I don’t feel so positive about Martha.”

“She is certainly sensible enough to know that the boy couldn’t be expected to take three girls to a dance. I’ll think up some way to fix things.”

Miss Ashton was much pleased with Nancy’s deference to her opinions. She had chaperoned other girls who had shown far less consideration.

“Thanks a lot,” cried Nancy, running happily off to dress for dinner.

At the table in the big dining room, filled with beautifully dressed people, Miss Ashton decided, after looking about, that her girls looked just as pretty as any of the other young people. Nancy was a picture in the old rose chiffon, with her dark brown fashionably bobbed hair, deep dimples, and dancing brown eyes. Jeanette, demure and dainty, was in the blue and silver which blended so well with her blond hair and blue eyes. The gypsy-like Martha was gay in unrelieved scarlet.

“Nancy has been invited to dance this evening,” began Miss Ashton, while they were waiting for the soup.

“Oh, how nice!” said Jeanette. “Jim?”

Nancy nodded.

“I thought it might be fun, if you all agree,” continued Miss Ashton, “to take a taxi uptown and look about a bit. Then perhaps when we get back, Nancy and Jim will be ready to join us at the cottage.”

“A good idea,” agreed Jeanette.

“And we might have a game of bridge,” proposed Martha, who had succeeded in stifling her bit of envy; for she did love to dance.

“Fine!” said Nancy heartily. “We’ll go over to the cottage as soon as you get back.”

Shortly after they left the dining room, Jim came in search of Nancy; and the others departed in a taxi, with long heavy coats over their evening clothes.

They prowled about the little town of Digby, buying post cards, stamps, etc., and seemed to have about exhausted the possibility of purchases, when Martha exclaimed:

“Let’s buy some funny prizes for our bridge party!”

“Oh, let’s,” agreed Jeanette, entering a little store in the window of which various souvenirs were displayed, Miss Ashton and Martha following.

It was difficult to make a selection; for they wanted a prize for each which would be particularly suited to its recipient; and by turns each had to withdraw while her prize was being bought. At last, however, they were ready to return to the hotel, when Martha cried:

“We haven’t any lunch for the party! And what’s a party without a lunch!”

Jeanette laughed; but Miss Ashton replied:

“I’ll surprise you. I planned that part of it long ago.”

When they got back to the cottage they found Nancy and Jim sitting on the tiny front porch looking at the moon above the tall pines shining down upon the little village and the pier with the lighthouse at the end.

“There was such a crowd that we didn’t care to stay any longer,” explained Nancy, as they all went into the living room.

The fireman had been in, and now a cheerful wood fire was dancing in the fireplace. They drew the table close to the hearth, for there was a chill in the air as soon as the sun went down, and settled themselves for card playing.

At about eleven o’clock, Miss Ashton, who had been watching the game, suggested counting up the scores.

“We bought some prizes,” she announced, “and they will now be awarded.”

She had taken the opportunity, while the young people were occupied, to wrap and label the articles which she now laid before each one.

“You had the highest score, Jim,” said Nancy, “so you open yours first.”

He slowly untied a box, and from it drew forth a toy automobile, while the girls exclaimed at its appropriateness.

“It winds up and runs, I think,” said Nancy, examining it closely.

“Take it right away from her,” said Martha. “If she gets fussing with a mechanical toy, it’s good night to everything else.”

Jim put his big hand over it, and Nancy surrendered the toy without protest.

“Now yours, Nan,” said Jim.

A toy duck emerged from her package, and Jim shouted with laughter.

“Oh!” she cried, delightedly, “it quacks!” as she accidentally pressed a spring in its neck.

Martha’s prize was a purse labeled, “For Captain Kidd’s coin.”

“Lovely!” she exclaimed. “I’ll put it right in.”

Jeanette received a small clothes brush, for she was always fussing about dust; and then Martha and Jeanette together presented Miss Ashton with a small basket filled with tiny dolls, and bearing a label “Some of your protégées.”

“She is always taking some girl under her wing,” exclaimed Nancy to Jim.

“I did not have much time or many opportunities for providing an elaborate lunch for this party,” said Miss Ashton, after the prizes had been examined and laid aside; “but I did my best.”

She laid a paper lunch cloth on the table, and in the center placed a big box of delicious looking chocolates and bonbons which she had bought in Boston.

“Don’t start on those,” she directed, as she added a box filled with fancy English cookies which she had picked up in Halifax, and not opened before.

“Now as soon as the boy brings over the coffee which I ordered from the hotel, we can begin.”

He soon appeared with a big tray of cups, spoons, sugar, cream, and pots of steaming coffee.

“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed food so much,” said Jim, after they had finished, and were clearing up. “One gets awfully tired of the regular hotel menus.”

“I’ll bet I never would,” said Martha. “Anyhow, I’d like to try it until I did.”

“Which would not be long,” finished Nancy.

“Now, folks,” said Miss Ashton, “much as I hate to break up this delightful party, it is nearly midnight, and we have to take to the road again in the morning.”

They hastily said good night, and Jim went off to his quarters with a backward glance at the window which framed Nancy’s rose-colored loveliness.

“If you hear me holler during the night,” said Martha, “you’ll know that someone reached in this window and grabbed my feet.”

The girls laughed; but after they were settled in the twin beds on either side of their own room, Nancy asked Jeanette rather hesitatingly:

“Do you suppose anyone would?”

“Would what?”

“Reach in these windows.”

“Of course not! There are other cottages all around us, and the grounds are doubtless patrolled during the night.”

“Just the same,” persisted Nancy, “I don’t like sleeping in a little cottage with windows so close to the ground.”

“Wait until you go to Yellowstone, as you are always talking of, you’ll sleep in a cabin there.”

The next thing they knew, the sun was shining brightly, and Miss Ashton was calling:

“Hustle, girls! It’s after seven, and we leave at eight thirty!”

They dressed and packed in a hurry, and crossed the gravel path to the hotel. When they reached the top of the stone steps leading to the terrace, they paused to admire the view. The water of the Basin was calm and blue; the sky crossed by bands of brilliant light; and the surrounding mountain ranges were a bit misty.

“This view is said to resemble the one across the Bay of Naples,” said Miss Ashton, as they reluctantly continued on their way to the dining room.

“It is a lovely place,” said Nancy, when they were once more in the bus, and rolling past the brilliant flower beds, tall pine and spruce trees, and out upon the main road. “I had a good time here, and I rather hate to leave.”

“I hate to think that our trip is almost over,” said Jim, so softly that none of the others heard him.

Nancy made no reply; but there was a queer little feeling of sadness at the idea of leaving this lovely land behind.

“That long strip of land to the right,” said Jim presently, “is Digby Neck; and it separates the Bay of Fundy from St. Mary’s Bay which we shall follow for many miles.”

“Isn’t this where the Acadians settled when some of them returned from exile?” asked Miss Ashton.

“Yes; their houses are strung all along this Bay; and sometimes it is hard to tell when one leaves one village, and enters, the next. Some have only half a dozen houses; others a larger number. These people still speak French, and retain all the customs of their ancestors, one of which is the constant dividing and redividing of their long narrow farms among their children and grandchildren.”

“There are few signs of life around the houses,” commented Jeanette. “I should think farmers would have to be up and at work before this time.”

“On an ordinary day they would,” said Jim; “but I understand that this is one of their Holy Days. They are a very religious people, you know, and not a stroke of work is done on a Holy Day any more than on a Sunday. We shall presently meet them all going to church.”

Sure enough, as they entered Weymouth, they saw conveyances of all kinds gathered about the church; and along the dusty roads toward it plodded old and young. One man was pushing a baby carriage containing a very young child, while his wife followed, leading one about three or four years old by the hand. A rough box wagon passed filled with children of all ages, sitting on the floor. Another cart had heavy boards laid across it for seats, all occupied by men, women, and children.

“This is Church Point,” said Jim, “and the spire of St. Mary’s Church, situated on the point, rises over two hundred feet and can be seen by every vessel nearing the shore. From far out on the water the sailors look for the cross on the top of the spire.”

Here too the church was surrounded by vehicles, and many people were approaching it from all directions.

Some miles farther on, Jim added:

“In this town, the church is unfinished; and the people, as you can see, are using a tiny wooden chapel. This big new church,” stopping before a dignified building of gray stone, “has been under construction since 1910. The outside, as you see, is practically done; but the inside is a mass of scaffolding.”

“Yes,” said Nancy, “I can see some of it through that window. But why take so long to build one church?”

“The people have not enough money to finish it all at once; and although they give most generously to the church, it may be ten or fifteen years before the building is ready for use. They never use a church until it is entirely completed; and, apparently, do not borrow to build, as we do in the States, but simply go as fast as their money on hand will permit.”

“I think it marvelous,” said Miss Ashton, “that even in twenty-five years the people of a section like this could put up such a church. Surely the congregation is not large; and it is quite obvious that they are not possessed of much of this world’s goods.”

“It is wonderful,” admitted Jim; “but you see their whole life centers around the church, and they give, according to our standards of giving, far out of proportion to their means.”

“But how on earth do these people ever get anywhere?” asked Martha. “There is no sign of a railroad.”

“They drive; or if by chance (which is very seldom) they want to go some distance, the railroad can be reached, although it swings inland from Digby to Yarmouth instead of following the coast line. There is a reason for that curve in the Atlantic Dominion Line. It is said that when the course of the railroad was laid out, the priest who had charge of this district begged not to have it pass through these little French villages. His request was granted, and few distractions of the world outside disturb his people. The position of the priest here is most important; for he is judge, lawyer, general friend and adviser, as well as pastor.”

“Seems like a mighty drab sort of life, I think,” said Martha, skeptically.

“It does look that way to us,” said Miss Ashton, “who have made a regular fetish of what we call progress. But I wonder if perhaps in the real happiness that comes from peace and contentment, they haven’t the better of us.”

“In other words,” said Jeanette softly, “you think it possible that they have ‘chosen the better part.’”

Everyone was quiet for a while; there is an air of peace in the Acadian country that seems to command reverence. Soon the region of St. Mary’s Bay was left behind, and the bus rolled into Yarmouth, reaching the hotel just in time for lunch.

CHAPTER VIII

IN THE MAIL

“Be ready at two thirty for a trip to Lower Woods Harbor, please,” said Jim, as they left the bus; adding in an undertone to Nancy, “our last ride together.”

“It is hard to realize that,” she replied softly. “It seems as if we were just going on and on in this bus for the rest of the summer.”

“We’ll probably find some letters here,” said Miss Ashton, as she went toward the desk in the lobby.

“I hope so,” replied Jeanette. “It seems perfect ages since we left home.”

“Homesick, Janie?” inquired Martha.

“Oh, no; only I do love to get mail; and it seemed queer to be without it all this time.”

“Well, here’s plenty of it,” said Miss Ashton, distributing it rapidly. “Two for Jeanette, three for Martha, five for Nancy, and four for myself.”

“Let’s go somewhere and read it all; so we can exchange news,” proposed Martha.

“A very good idea. That ‘somewhere’ might just as well be one of our rooms,” agreed Miss Ashton, leading the way to the elevator, to which a bell boy had already preceded them with the luggage. They got off at the third floor, where two rooms had been reserved for them. They were a bit disappointed to find that they were not connecting; one, a small room, was near the end of the corridor; the other, much larger, was near the stairs.

“My goodness,” exclaimed Martha, as they entered the larger one. “You could give a dance here!”

A huge double bed near the fireplace, a single beside the two long windows (from which they could see the wharf), a big wardrobe, an immense dresser, a fair-sized square table and three chairs only partly filled the old-fashioned room; and its very high ceilings accentuated its huge proportions.

“You could take the single bed if you wanted to, Mart,” proposed Nancy; “and give Miss Ashton a chance to get a little real sleep. You see, we know how restless she is at night, as well as by day,” she added to Miss Ashton.

“Fix it up any way to suit yourselves,” she replied; “and that will please me. Now for our mail.”

For several minutes there was no sound except the opening of envelopes and the turning of pages. When everyone had read all her communications, they began to exchange bits of information.

“One of mine,” said Miss Ashton, “is from Madelon. Her foster mother is still confined to her bed, and she has no idea when she will be able to come back to Boston.”

“What a shame!” cried Nancy.

“Poor Madelon!” said Jeanette softly. “She must feel terribly lonely up there now, after having lived in a city like Boston.”

“I don’t know her at all,” said Martha; “but let’s all get her some little thing and mail to her at different times.”

“That is a very nice idea,” approved Miss Ashton. “She said to tell you girls how much she regretted being unable to show you Boston, which she likes so well. The rest of my letters are from old or prospective patients, and would not interest you particularly.”

“One of mine,” said Jeanette, “is from home. Mother spent Monday with your mother, Nan, and she said Polly kept calling, ‘Where is Nancy?’ She seemed to think Mother should know. My other letter is from Mrs. Perkins, and encloses one from Joey. Wait. I’ll read them both to you. Mrs. Perkins says:

“‘I was so glad to get your card, and to know that you and your special pals were going to have such a delightful trip. Nova Scotia is a place I always thought I should like to see. Perhaps if your reports of it are enticing, I may yet visit it some day. When you come back to college, you might give us a travel talk; and, by the way, there might be a surprise here awaiting your return. Don’t write and ask me what it is; for I shall not tell you. That would spoil the surprise.

“‘The Harris family is getting along very well. One of Pauline’s office friends invited her to go on a vacation trip to Toronto, for both of them happened to get the same two weeks. The other girl’s people live there; so it was a question simply of the fare for Pauline; and that was managed quite nicely——’”

“Which means that she supplied the money herself,” interrupted Nancy.

“‘Joey’” [continued Jeanette], “‘has been rather lonely this summer, in spite of all the attention lavished on him by the Harrises and the college people who live in town. He misses, I think, the crowd and bustle of college life. I enclose a note from him.

“‘Love to you and your pals, “‘Alicia Perkins.’”

“And here is Joey’s note,” she went on; “of course the spelling is superb, so you had better read it for yourselves.” She passed it on, and they all read:

“Dee Mis Janete, Hop you ar havin a fin time but com bac soon THanks fur the cards Rollo sends lov.

“Joey.”

“And who, pray, is Joey?” inquired Miss Ashton.

“Oh, we forgot,” cried Nancy. “You don’t know anything about Joey, or Mrs. Perkins either; do you?”

All three of the girls tried to explain at once; so Miss Ashton had to exercise her imagination in spots to piece together the disjointed, interrupted bits of information about the little crippled boy who belonged to one of the college janitors, and had been taken up by the students as a sort of protégé; and of the fine Mrs. Perkins who was a member of the girls’ club for helping others.

“Poor little fellow,” she said, when the trio had finished. “Seems to me he should have some simple lessons to help occupy him, as well as to develop his mind.”

“Perhaps when we go back, he will be able to,” replied Jeanette thoughtfully. “He really wasn’t well enough for anything but play last year. Some days even that was too much of an exertion.”

“Now, Nannie,” said Martha. “What news have you to contribute?”

“The first letter I read was from Mother,” said Nancy. “Dad has bought a dog—a big collie, which they have named Peter; and Polly just can’t bear him. He, however, is quite curious about her, and frequently stands for some minutes in front of the cage, gazing at her, undisturbed apparently by her shrieks of rage and uncomplimentary remarks.

“Mother has been dividing her spare time, since we left, between instructing a new maid, and sewing for a family whose house and belongings were badly damaged by fire. She says she has been a regular pest to the neighbors because she has asked all of them for cast-off clothing and furniture. Her struggles with the maid must be very funny; for she can’t speak a word of Italian, nor the girl a syllable of English. She tried to explain to Benita the other day that the floors in the bedrooms must be gone over with the dust mop every day, and showed her how the lint gathered under the beds where there were a couple of pairs of slippers. The next morning after the upstairs work was finished, Mother was horrified to find her slippers set carefully on her lovely orchid rayon dresser spread! She learned from. Benita’s pantomime explanations that if the slippers were not kept under the bed there would be nothing to catch the dust. Now Mother puts all her footwear in the closet, where, she says, it really belongs after all. Mother hurt her ankle the other day (it was nothing serious, but she had to keep off of it for a day); and she sent Benita out to get the mail, from the box. She tried by gesticulations to get her to understand what she wanted; but from the noise on the porch she wondered what on earth Benita was doing. It seems that our maid is quite a muscular person; for what do you suppose she did? She got the wrong idea from Mother’s motions about taking something out of a box, and actually ripped the flower box off the railing of the porch and brought it in! Mother is surely having some fun, but I imagine it is rather trying. That is about all of interest in her letter.”

“And the second one?” urged Martha.

“That is from Uncle John. They have added a sun parlor to the house, Janie, on the south side, you know, near the fence where the lizards sun themselves——”

“Lizards, ugh!” shuddered Martha.

“Oh, Mart, you wouldn’t mind them. They are dear little things, some of them quite tame.”

“No recommendations at all to my way of thinking,” retorted Martha. “The wilder the better, I should say, if being wild makes them keep away from me.”

“What else did the Doctor say?” inquired Jeanette, who was very fond of Nancy’s uncle.

“He saw Madame the other day; in fact, she invited them over for dinner. She told him that she is considering getting a companion. Her husband is so occupied with some kind of writing that he is doing, that she is left alone a great deal of the time; and she would like a young girl who would liven up the house a bit. She says that she would be prepare to treat the right kind of a girl like a daughter, entertain for her, and all that. She wanted to know if Uncle could recommend anyone. He did not know of any possibilities, but promised to keep his eyes open.”

“Pauline!” cried Jeanette.

“Janie, you’re a genius! I wonder if she would go!” exclaimed Nancy. “I’ll write Uncle to-night, and tell him all about her.”

“And the third epistle?” teased Martha, who had seen an envelope addressed in a masculine hand.

“That’s from Curtis,” replied Nancy, without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. “He has been sent out to Portland.”

“Maine?” asked Martha, hopefully. “That’s isn’t so far from here. We might stop over on the way home.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, dear,” answered Nancy, sweetly, “but I said out not up, for the Portland in question happens to be in Oregon.”

“‘Now that’s too bad! That’s just too bad!’” sighed Martha.

Everybody laughed; for they had all recently seen “On with the Show” and recognized the quotation at once.

“Curtis wrote only a note; for he had just arrived, and had not yet seen anything interesting. This other letter,” she continued, “is from Phil Spenser.”

“Oh, are he and Tom going to meet us in Boston as they spoke of doing?” asked Jeanette.

“Time alone can tell,” replied Nancy.

“They started out in Tom’s old Ford coupe, intending to take in quite a part of the Adirondacks on the way. Thinking to make better time, or merely for the experience, I don’t know which, they drove all one night, instead of putting up anywhere. They made a wrong turn at some point or other, which took them off the main highway onto a very deserted road, where they were held up by a couple of armed men——”

“How perfectly thrilling!” cried Martha.

“Who relieved them of all their money, their watches, etc., punctured all the tires, and then rode off in their own little car. The boys stayed there until morning, and then got a passing motorist from the highway to tow them to the nearest garage. They had no money to pay for repairs; so made arrangements with the garage owner to stay and work out their bill. They worked there for a week, and then started on, almost penniless, for Lake Placid——”

“But why didn’t they send home for some money?” demanded Martha.

“Because Tom had taken with him all he could afford to spend on vacation, and Mr. Spenser, under protest, had furnished Phil with a like amount.”

“I thought the Spensers had quite a lot of money,” said Jeanette.

“They have, I believe; but Mr. Spenser thinks Phil should earn what he wants to spend on pleasure. Phil says his dad was quite annoyed because he preferred going off with Tom to working all the rest of the summer in the Electric Company’s office. I imagine it was only the fact that Tom begged for Phil’s company that made Mr. Spenser consent at all. He feels that Tom has rather a good effect on Phil, I understand. But, to go on with the story—they tried all the hotels to see if they could get jobs, and finally found one where one of the elevator boys had just been sent to the hospital; so Tom was taken on as a sub. After some more wandering about, Phil found a place with an old man who has a farm a little way up the lake, and who supplies the hotels with chickens and eggs. He used to deliver his wares himself in an old-fashioned buggy; but that method is too slow now. He bought a Ford truck, and then discovered that he couldn’t learn to run it. Phil fortunately appeared on the scene at that particular moment, and was hired at once.”

“Just imagine,” cried Martha, “the superior Phil Spenser driving up to those big hotels with a load of chickens and eggs. It’s the funniest thing I have ever heard!”

“So that is what they are doing now,” concluded Nancy; “and their meeting us all depends on whether they can earn enough money before we go home.”

She picked up another letter. “This,” she said, “is from Ethel King——”

“Oh, what does she say about Emma?” inquired Jeanette eagerly.

“I’ll read it to you.

“‘Dear Girls:

“‘To say that I was pleasantly surprised when Emma stepped off the train at Plattsburg is to put it mildly. Her hair looks just fine, and her pride in her new bob is very funny. She keeps patting it, and feeling of it to see if it is still there. Later on she’ll have to be broken of that. However, Marian will teach, or try to teach, her repose of manner. Did you ever see anybody practice it so perfectly as our “Mary Ann”? She never touches her clothing or herself, or anything at all, in fact, unnecessarily. I understand that her mother is painfully neat and particular—(what a jolt poor Emma will give her!)—and I suppose Marian took her ways quite naturally, or was trained into them.

“‘Emma’s wardrobe is perfect, and she really takes pains to keep her things nice. I suspect that was some of Jeanette’s good work. Her manners, too, are greatly improved, and she does not hang onto one’s waist or neck quite so persistently as of yore.

“‘You will want to know, I suppose, what little Ethel did for her. Well, Mother and I talked things over beforehand—for, of course, I had to confide in her—and we decided to teach our mutual friend the joys of athletic exercise. We get the morning setting-up series over the radio; so the very first day I routed her out and made her do them with me; and ditto the rest of the days. Twice a day we went into the water, and Emma learned to swim a little. We went for tramps through the woods, and along the shore; and had picnic suppers. In fact, as I said, outdoor exercise was the theme of our entertainment. At the end of the week, Emma really had a little color, and had straightened up considerably.

“‘Esther expected to interest her in gym work when she went to Moore’s; so I imagine when we see Emma again she will have lost that distressing stoop, and rounded shoulders. I’m really very anxious to see what the entire summer will do for her. I can’t help thinking, though, that whatever does come out of it, the most credit should go to you two. The start you gave her in those two weeks was incredible. But all the C.M.’s are so different, and ride such diverse hobbies, that the composite result should be at least interesting, if not inspiring.

“‘Do run up here, if you can, before the summer is over, any or all of you. Love,

“‘Ethel’”

“What might be wrong with this Emma!” asked Miss Ashton, and again the three all enlightened her at once.

“Glad you are being such friends in need,” was her brief comment, when they had finished. “And now let’s get ready for lunch.”

“Clams,” read Jeanette from the menu, when they were seated at the table. “I never ate any, but I understand they’re very popular here.”

“No time like the present,” suggested Nancy a bit absently, her eyes roving about the dining room.

“But I shouldn’t know how to eat them,” said Jeanette, wavering between her desire to taste a new food, and reluctance to appear awkward in such a public place.

“I’ll show you,” offered Martha.

“Do you really know how?” asked Jeanette, a bit doubtfully.

“Of course I do. I went to a couple of clam bakes last summer.”

When a cup of melted butter, another of hot water, and a big dish of steaming clams were set before her, Jeanette looked really frightened.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have ordered them. I don’t know what to do first.”

“You open them this way,” said Martha, demonstrating them as she talked; “pull off this piece, which I always called its ear——”

“Why?” asked Jeanette, watching anxiously.

“Because that part is not good. Then dip the clam into water, to wash the sand out, then in the melted butter, and then swallow it.”

“You take it in your fingers?” asked Jeanette in horrified tones.

“Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why, yes. Go ahead, and don’t be silly!”

Slowly and awkwardly, Jeanette repeated the processes which Martha had demonstrated.

“Everybody is looking at me,” she said, flushing hotly.

“Everybody is far too interested in his own lunch to bother looking at you,” Miss Ashton assured her.

“I’m afraid this isn’t the right way to do it,” protested Jeanette, over the third clam. “It seems so sort of messy.”

“I certainly would have no object in deceiving you,” retorted Martha, a bit tartly. “That man at the next table just got some. Watch him and see what he does.”

Rather to Jeanette’s surprise, and to Martha’s complete satisfaction, their neighbor employed the same method.

“You’re right, Mart,” admitted Jeanette. “I don’t mean that I actually doubted your word; but, as I said, the process is so unattractive.”

“I agree with you,” said Nancy. “Someone ought to invent a more gracefully way of handling them.”

“Someone ought to invent a means of keeping the time from passing so quickly,” observed Miss Ashton. “We are due in the bus in ten minutes.”

A light fog was beginning to be seen and felt as they took their old places in the bus.

“Couldn’t you have ordered a better afternoon?” asked Martha saucily of Jim as they left the hotel behind. “And don’t forget that you promised to show us some ox teams to-day. In fact, you told us we’d see a lot yesterday, and not even one appeared.”

“I’ll do my best,” was Jim’s brief reply. He was not much of a talker at any time, except when his work required it; but this afternoon he was more quiet than ever before. Nancy, too, was strangely silent.

The country through which they were riding was sterner, more rugged than any they had yet seen; now rocky shores, rolling stony pastures, few houses, bleak strips of beach seen through a heavy mist, with white billows of fog in the background ready to roll in upon the land at any minute and envelop everything in its baffling embrace.

“Here comes your ox team, Mart,” said Jeanette presently, as they saw in the near distance a team pulling a long low wagon loaded with stone.

Jim good-naturedly stopped the bus and let the girls get out to take a picture of the animals at a watering trough where they paused for a drink.

“Why, they have no harness,” said Jeanette, “only that heavy wooden yoke laid across their necks and binding their heads together. How do you guide them?” she asked of the driver.

“With this small whip, Miss, and my directions,” replied the man.

“Poor things!” said Nancy, after they had climbed back into the bus again. “They look so sad, and lumber along so bent down that it really is depressing. The expression in their eyes is truly pathetic. I almost wish I hadn’t gotten out to look at them.”

The girls laughed, but Jim looked down understandingly at Nancy. Jim, who slowed down the big bus to almost a standstill if even a chicken crossed the road in front of it!

“These people,” he said, after a moment, “are very proud of their fine oxen, and take pains to have them perfectly matched. If one of a team happens to die, they travel all over the country, if need be, to find an exact match for the survivor.”

“Why do they prefer them to horses, I wonder,” said Miss Ashton.

“Because they are cheaper to feed. They are peculiar to Nova Scotia; for nowhere else in Canada are they still used.”

The fog billows gathered themselves together, and rolled along the surface of the water, closer and closer to the land.

“What are those?” asked Nancy, pointing to a stack of crate-like objects near a fisherman’s hut.

“Lobster pots,” said Jim; “and that pile of stakes with the ball-like colored tops are markers.”

At the next pile, which happened to be close beside the road, he stopped and got out; and they all followed him to see what the strange looking cages were really like.

The base of the pot was rectangular in shape, and between two and three feet long, and a foot and a half wide. It was made of narrow strips of wood; and the sides and top were formed, in a semicircle, of similar narrow strips bent and fastened to the base, into which some flat stones are wedged to give weight, and help sink them. The trap is lined with coarse net, and openings are left at the side and ends, with the net so arranged that the lobsters can get in, but once in, cannot get out. The box-like cage is let down in the water where lobsters are known to be plentiful, and a marker is set up beside it. The lobster is so full of curiosity that he crawls into the trap, but finds it more difficult to get out again. Some of the pots are so constructed as to catch four lobsters at one time.

“You will notice,” said Jim, “that the markers are of different colors and combinations of color. Every fisherman in a section has his own, and no one else dares to touch the trap guarded by the markers of another.”

Jeanette had been busy pulling wild roses from the thicket beside which they were standing; and when they got back into the car, presented each person with a fragrant spray. Some of these sprays were carelessly thrown away as the flowers wilted; but two of them were carefully pressed and preserved for many years.

“Oh, what is going on here?” cried Martha, as they approached a small village.

Flags, large and small, the blue one of New Scotland, the Canadian maple leaf, the Union Jack, the tricolor of France all strung along the roadside; also on the houses, barns, trees, and even merely stuck into the ground. Even the tiniest, poorest cottage proudly flaunted its bit of loyalty. The grounds of the church were surrounded with conveyances of all types, from brand new Fords to muddy canopied surreys. Crowds of people were standing about the building, some setting up tables, some carrying chairs, some helping the tall young priest place the donations of food and fancy articles which would presently be sold. Between two trees stretched a banner of blue, bearing in white letters the words “Old Home Week.” For miles, the roads were dotted with men, women, and children of all ages, dressed in their best, hurrying eagerly along on foot to take part in the festival.

Jim prolonged the drive as much as possible, but at last it came to an end; and they drew up once more before the hotel.

“Well, my boy,” said Miss Ashton, “we have enjoyed the trip immensely, and are indeed sorry that it is over. Look me up when you get back to Boston, if you ever happen to feel like it. Here’s my card.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I shall. I live in Cambridge, but that’s only across the river, as you know.”

Jeanette and Martha then said good-by, and Jeanette considerately took Martha by the arm, and followed Miss Ashton into the hotel.

“And have you enjoyed it all?” asked Jim, when he and Nancy were left alone.

“Just wonderfully,” replied Nancy honestly. “The most of any trip I have ever taken.”

“I wish I had a stop-over here so I could show you the town; but I go back to Digby first thing in the morning, as soon as the boat comes in. Do you suppose you could go out to-night for a walk, or are you too tired?”

“I’ve done nothing to tire me,” said Nancy, smiling. “And I’m sure Miss Ashton won’t mind.”

“Then I’ll call for you at—say eight?”

“Yes; I’ll be all ready.”

They could not have told you where they walked that evening, nor what they said; but their conversation was entirely of themselves.

Nancy heard all about Jim’s parents, and his older brother; about his plans and hopes for the future; his experiences in prep school, and at college. She in turn told him all about herself and her friends.

“I wish I were going back on the boat with you to-morrow night,” he said, as they rested on the enclosed porch for a few minutes before parting for good.

“It would be very nice, if you could,” she said. “When do you expect to go back?”

“I have no idea. Whenever orders come. Well, you must get some sleep; for you’ll want to shop in the morning, I suspect. There are some stores here which I guess would interest girls.”

Reluctantly they rose, and stood silent for a moment.

“Will you write, Nancy?”

“Yes.”

Poor Jim! He could think of many things which he would like to say, but was too bashful, too repressed to put them into words.

They clasped hands; then Jim ran down the steps, turning to salute when he reached the sidewalk.

Nancy did not feel like joining the others just yet; so she selected a far corner of the nearly deserted writing room and began a letter to her mother. Miss Ashton peered in at her a couple of times, and then went upstairs again without disturbing her.

“Nan is writing,” she said to the other two girls. “I imagine she will be up after a while. I, for one, am going right to bed.”

She was as good as her word; but she lay for several hours, turning over an idea in her mind. When she had settled it to her satisfaction, and not until then, she fell asleep.

In the meantime Jeanette and Martha had also retired, and lay talking across the room.

“It seems to me,” said Martha, “that somebody has quite a case on somebody else.”

“Your statement is a trifle ambiguous,” laughed Jeanette, “but I know what you mean.”

“And don’t you think so, too?” persisted Martha.

“Yes, I do; but for pity’s sake don’t let Nan know that you notice it. She just hates any of what she calls ‘foolishness over the boys.’”

“That’s the funny part of it,” said Martha. “I don’t believe she realizes that Jim is just crazy about her.”

“Or that she cares for him,” added Jeanette, to herself.

“Do you?”

“No-o-o,” yawned Jeanette. “I’m terribly sleepy. Let’s settle down.”

It would be easier for Nancy if they were both asleep when she came up, and she could slip into bed without having to talk. Martha was soon breathing heavily; but Jeanette did not succeed in getting to sleep until long after Nancy came to bed.

CHAPTER IX

RAMBLES ABOUT YARMOUTH

“What are we to do to-day?” asked Martha at the breakfast table.

“Shop, and see the town,” suggested Jeanette.

“Suits me,” said Nancy, when they all waited for her comments. Just a few minutes before, she had heard the whistle of a boat from the wharf. The steamer from Boston must have docked, and the big bus was down there now ready for a new cargo of passengers. What would this crowd be like? She wondered.

“I have some letters to write; so I’ll have to be excused,” said Miss Ashton. “If I finish in time, I may hunt you up; if not, we’ll all meet here at lunch time.”

An hour later, the three girls were strolling along the main street, stopping in various stores to look at the goods most attractively displayed.

“I could spend a day in there,” said Nancy, as they left a stationer’s store, where English books and magazines invited one to browse.

“It’s funny, I suppose; but I never thought of their having different magazines from ours,” said Martha.

“I know. It gives one a kind of a start to look at the display, and not see a name one recognizes,” remarked Jeanette.

“I’d love to read them all, and compare them with similar publications of ours,” said Nancy.

“We might buy Joey one of those books for small boys,” suggested Jeanette.

“That’s so,” and Nancy darted back into the store to select one.

When she came out, they wandered on again until they came to a shop where all kinds of gifts were sold.

“Don’t you think it would be nice,” said Jeanette, “if we were all to put together and get some little souvenir for Miss Ashton? It need not be very expensive, but something that she could keep as a memento of this trip.”

“I think that would be fine,” agreed Nancy. “She has been just wonderful to us.”

“So do I,” added Martha. “What shall we get?”

They were inside now, and gazing helplessly at the fascinating array.

“One of these water colors of Nova Scotian scenery,” suggested Jeanette, picking one up as she spoke.

When there were three to be suited, and each picture they looked at was more beautiful than the last, the process of making a decision was a lengthy one. At last, however, it was accomplished to everyone’s satisfaction; and to the relief of the clerk.

“Dear, I’d just love to buy some of these for all my relatives and friends,” said Martha, hanging longingly over a tray of sparkling amethysts.

“I’m going to get a pin for Mother,” said Nancy; “but I’m afraid that will be the extent of my purchases.”

“I thought we were going to get something for Madelon, as you call her,” said Martha.

“Yes, we were—or rather, we are,” replied Jeanette. “Would one of these pendants be nice?”

“Just the thing, I should say,” agreed Nancy. So they selected a dainty silver chain and a long slender pendant set with a single amethyst.

“I’ve just got to have it,” murmured Martha, presently.

“Got to have what, Mart?” asked Jeanette.

“That ring. Did you ever in all your life see such a beauty?”

It was lovely—a dinner ring with an oblong amethyst of one of the deepest violet shades.

“Well, why don’t you buy it then?” asked Nancy, a bit impatiently. She was restless, and eager now to move on.

“I can’t quite make up my mind. It’s quite expensive and yet I do want it so much.”

“Well, think it over, Mart,” suggested Jeanette, “and come back here this afternoon if you decide you can’t get along without it.”

“I heard that there are wonderful bargains in sweaters here,” said Martha, as they went out upon the street again; “and I’d like to find them.”

After a little search, they found the shop where woolens of all kinds were sold, and Martha went into raptures over the various articles.

“I’m going to get that doll for Ellen Harris, and this scarf for Betty——

“Do you think that is really wise?” interrupted Jeanette.

“What?”

“Taking presents to those children?”

“Why not?”

“If it were only this once, it might not matter so much; but don’t you see that you will be creating a precedent? Like all children, and some grown-ups, they will then look for souvenirs every time you or any of us go away in the future. One can’t always be bringing things, and yet, naturally, you hate to disappoint children.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Martha slowly. “But the things are darling.”

“Nancy and I decided when we first began to go on trips that we’d each take our mother some little gift, but no one else. Wholesale buying of souvenirs is very expensive, and sometimes is the cause of much jealousy and dissatisfaction. There is no good stopping place, once you have begun. If you really want to buy any of these things for friends, I would suggest that you get them as Christmas gifts. Lots of people buy their gifts when on their vacations.”

“Well, I don’t know about buying Christmas gifts as early as this,” said Martha, after thinking a minute; “but anyhow I’m going to get a sweater for myself. This rose one is lovely. Don’t you think so?”

“It is sweet,” said Jeanette; “but would it go with everything?”

“Always the careful shopper, Janie,” laughed Nancy.

“I suppose it wouldn’t go with everything,” admitted Martha, putting it hack reluctantly. “I’ll take this tan one, I guess. That gray and violet I’ll buy for Mother. And I’ve always taken something to Christine, the girl I pal around with at home. I’ll buy the powder blue one for her.”

While the purchases were being wrapped up, Martha was looking over more sweaters; and Nancy heard her murmur to herself.

“What are you saying, Mart?” she asked. “You know it’s a bad sign, they say, when you begin talking to yourself.”

“I was just thinking that scarlet sweater would be exactly the thing I need for skating this winter. I think I’ll take that one too,” pointing it out to the clerk.

“For pity’s sake, let’s get her out of here,” whispered Nancy to Jeanette; “or she’ll have to walk home.”

“And won’t we even get the things for Joey?” asked Martha, when they were on the street again, loath to bring to a close the shopping expedition which she so dearly loved.

“Oh, we’ll each get some simple amusing toy for him. Nobody would question our remembering a sick child.”

They stopped in another shop and selected a game, a puzzle, and a new collar for Rollo; and then they went on for a walk through the residential section of the town.

“Did you ever see such flower gardens?” asked Jeanette, entranced.

“Or such climbing roses?” added Nancy, pointing out a house where, on trellises at either side of the front door, with its brass knocker, red roses ran to the very roof.

“These beautifully trimmed hedges of English hawthorne attract me,” said Martha. “Imagine them when they are covered with deep rose-colored blossoms!”

“The guidebook says Yarmouth is famous for rose gardens, velvet-green lawns, and well-trimmed hedge rows,” said Jeanette. “Years ago it was also famous for shipbuilding, and the ships made here went all over the world. Now it is the principal port for passenger and freight service between Nova Scotia and the United States.”

“Oh, look at those darling colored children,” cried Martha. “I must get a picture of them.” They stood waiting, while the oldest girl pulled, pushed, and coaxed the younger children into a straight line; smoothed their fuzzy hair, and their clothing, joined their hands, and then took her place at the head of the row.

“Do you know that it is nearly lunch time?” asked Nancy, as Martha lingered to visit with the children.

“That’s so! How the morning has flown! We’ll have to run so as not to keep Miss Ashton waiting. Come on!” And clutching them by the arms, Martha started toward the hotel at a very rapid pace.

“Martha,” objected Jeanette, “do slow up a bit. They don’t dash around here the way we do down in the States. People will think we are crazy, or going to a fire or something.”

“We are going to something,” laughed Martha, slackening her speed, “our lunch. Some more clams, Janie, now that you know how to eat them!”

“Never!”

“Now I suppose we shall have to pack,” groaned Martha, as they left the dining room after lunch. “That’s the only part of a trip that I don’t like.”

“I want to consult you girls,” said Miss Ashton. “Will you come in here, please?” entering the white parlor on the opposite side of the hall.

“I wonder what has happened,” thought Jeanette anxiously; for their chaperon looked very serious.

“One of my letters yesterday,” began Miss Ashton, when they were seated before the fireplace in the attractive room with its white woodwork and blue upholstered furniture, “told me that I shall not have to report on a new case for another two weeks. This place seems to be very healthful and pleasant, and I wondered if you would mind canceling our sailing reservations for to-night and staying on a few days longer——”

“Mind!” exclaimed Martha and Jeanette together.

Nancy said nothing at all, but her eyes shone.

“I shall devote the time to rest; for I expect to have a rather heavy, busy season. Do you think you can find enough amusement by yourselves to keep from being bored?”

“Of course we can,” replied Jeanette. “I, for one, love to ramble about a strange place; and I know Nan does too.”

“I’ll hire a car, I think, and practice; so I can take my test as soon as we go home,” announced Martha.

“Are you learning to drive?” asked Nancy in surprise, finding her tongue at last.

“Oh, yes; I meant to surprise you, but the ‘cat’s out of the bag now.’ I’ve had an awfully funny time so far,” and Martha paused to laugh.

“Go on; tell us about it,” requested Miss Ashton, relieved at finding the girls so agreeable about the proposed change of plan.

“Well, I decided that I’d be quite independent and go to a driving school and learn properly. So I enrolled, and I nearly laughed myself sick at the first lesson.

“I found myself in a little room—the ‘driving school’—and there, across the bay window, was the body of an ancient machine, set up on blocks of wood. At the opposite end of the room was a display of ‘ladies’ dresses at $1, $2 and $3 presided over by a fat, elderly woman. She also sold fancy articles—very fancy. A young fellow of twenty-three or four, the son of the fat lady, as it developed, was the instructor. He gave me a few directions, indicating, with the flourish of a pointer at some diagrams on a blackboard facing the ‘car,’ the position of the various gears, and what happened if you ‘stripped them.’ Then he had me climb into the car and learn to start, and stop. Shifting was the difficult thing; and, to make things worse, the clutch pedal stuck. I never felt so utterly silly in my life. He’d say, ‘Now we’re coming’ to a red light. Down with your two feet, and say, don’t forget to put your hand out.’ And I’d stop the already motionless car. ‘Now the lights are green,’ he’d say. ‘Let out your clutch and give her gas; throw in your clutch and shift into second; give her a little start; now throw out your clutch and shift into high; and drive on.’ And on I’d go, in the same spot. ‘Now you’re making a left turn. Stretch out your hand; Straighten your wheel! straighten your wheel!’ and I would madly tug at the wheel, after making the motions as directed. It was a scream but I did learn the shifting operations.

“The second lesson, I was to take on the road; and his mother went along, evidently as chaperon. She called in a neighbor to take care of the ‘shoppe.’ I have an idea that from what she observed in the school she thought my lesson would be too good to miss. I think the boy knew his machine, and probably knew how to instruct green drivers; but, as I learned afterwards, he had just had an accident, and his nerves were ragged. And that day he did nothing but holler at me; and the more he hollered, the more stupid I became. ‘Don’t you see what you went and done there?’ he’d demand. ‘You almost took his wheel off.’ Or, ‘That was an awful way to turn a corner,’ to which the chaperon would contribute, ‘I’ll say it was!’

“After making many corrections, he finally complimented me: ‘You done fine in the school; but you’re awful at steering. I never saw anyone do so bad.’

“I kept getting madder and madder, and finally I stopped the car with a jerk which nearly threw Jake on his nose, and his mamma on our backs, and said just as emphatically as I could: ‘Now see here, I’m not used to being yelled at like this by anybody, least of all someone I’m paying. You can just cut it out right now, or I’ll stop taking lessons immediately.’ Jake stared at me blankly for a minute, and then tried to bluster, ‘Say, don’t you like my teachin’?’

“‘It has nothing to do with your teaching,’ I said; ‘but I won’t let you yell at me. So that’s that!’

“After that, he behaved quite like a human being, and didn’t even do more than feebly remonstrate when, one day, I ran over a traffic officer’s foot——”

“Ran over a traffic officer’s foot!” exclaimed Miss Ashton, while the other two girls doubled up with laughter.

“Yes, he stopped me just as I was going to turn into a one-way street, and in twisting the car around so as to keep on straight ahead, his foot got in the way and I ran over it——”

“But Mart,” gasped Jeanette, “what did he do?”

“What could he do? He was peeved, of course; but it was his own fault for keeping his old foot too near my wheels.”

“Peeved—” began Nancy, but she could get no farther.

“But Martha,” protested Miss Ashton, “wasn’t the man hurt?”

“Not much, I guess, except his temper. It was just the edge of his foot, not the whole top of it.”

“I—never—heard—anything—quite—so funny,” stammered Nancy.

“Mart,” said Jeanette, when they had recovered from their spasm of mirth, “won’t you have to have a licensed driver in the car with you?”

“I suppose so,” replied Martha slowly. “I never thought of that.”

“You might send for Jake,” suggested Nancy, with a giggle; “but he would probably have to bring mamma with him.”

“I’ll go with you sometimes,” said Miss Ashton. “I have my card here, and won’t want to rest all the time.”

“That’s indeed awfully good of you,” said Martha gratefully. “I’ll hunt up a place to rent a car this very afternoon.”

“Be careful not to get lost,” warned Jeanette.

“She’ll be all right,” said Nancy, “as long as there is no fog.”

“Somebody would bring me home,” said Martha carelessly.

Then they all parted. Martha went in search of a car. Miss Ashton retired to her own room, well satisfied with the progress of her plan so far. Jeanette had a headache, and decided to try to sleep it off; and Nancy sat in the little park near the hotel, and just dreamed.

“I hired a car,” announced Martha, when they gathered around the dinner table; “and it now rests in the hotel garage, awaiting the touch of my hand.”

“And all you need now is a companion driver,” observed Nancy.

“Well—I—I’ve——”

“Hired one of those, too?” asked Jeanette.

“Not actually hired,” corrected Martha; “sort of borrowed.”

“Who is it?” asked Miss Ashton quickly.

“Mr. Pierce.”

“And who might he be?”

“Why, the purser. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, you foul weather friend,” said Jeanette, laughing.

“My friend in need, you mean.”

“Well, you might give us an account of yourself,” suggested Miss Ashton.

“I was coming up Main Street for the third time, hunting for the garage, after having asked several people where such an establishment was located, when I ran right into Mr. Pierce, figuratively and literally.

“I had been looking in a window at——”

“Don’t say they were sweaters,” groaned Nancy.

“Or amethysts,” added Jeanette.

“Just for that I won’t tell you what was in the window,” retorted Martha. “Anyhow, after I finished looking at them, I turned away rather quickly, stepped on a pebble, turned on my ankle, and nearly fell. Someone grabbed me, and I looked up to see Mr. Pierce looking anxiously down at me. We were near that street which leads to the wharf; so with his help I limped down to the boat, and the ship’s doctor strapped my ankle for me. You are an observing crowd, I must say, not to have noticed all this plaster,” and Martha stuck out her foot to display the bandaging plainly visible through her thin stocking.

“It was all right to do that; wasn’t it?” appealing to Miss Ashton. “My foot was swelling rapidly, and I did not know where to find any of the town doctors.”

“It was perfectly all right,” Miss Ashton assured her.

“Well,” Martha resumed, “the stewardess insisted upon getting me a cup of tea; and while I drank it I told Mr. Pierce how I happened to be wandering around this afternoon. He knew exactly the place I wanted, and as by that time I could walk perfectly well, we went in search of the garage. I selected a car, got in, and he drove it to the park over here; and there we sat and planned my driving practice. I don’t want you,” turning to Miss Ashton, “to think me ungrateful for your offer, or that I am simply passing it by; but I know you want to rest, and it is tiresome work sitting in with a beginner——”

“Won’t it be terribly tiresome for Mr. Pierce?” asked Nancy gravely.

“Don’t you bother about me,” said Miss Ashton. “I understand perfectly. But Martha, how can Mr. Pierce get away from the boat? Doesn’t he go back to Boston to-night?”

“Well, you see, he has two weeks’ vacation. He had one week in Halifax, where his people live—that was how I ran across him there—and the other week is still coming to him. He can take it now, or later——”

“And he’s going to take it now,” finished Nancy.

“Any or all of you are perfectly welcome to sit in the back seat when I practice,” offered Martha generously.

“Thanks, so much,” said Nancy.

Miss Ashton, who had seen the two in the park that afternoon, when she was on her way to the steamer to cancel her reservations, had made a few careful inquiries as to the character of the young man, and had been perfectly satisfied with what she had found out. So she made no objections to Martha’s going about with him.

“Well, don’t go too far away; that’s all, Martha,” she said; “and be very careful; for some of the native drivers here still keep to the left of the road. It is very confusing to one accustomed to the right side.”

CHAPTER X

WHERE IS NANCY?

“My, but I am glad we didn’t go back last night,” exulted Jeanette the next morning.

“Why?” inquired Martha, as they sat in the sun parlor after breakfast.

“Didn’t you see the fog when we got up?” asked Nancy.

“Oh, yes. It was foggy; wasn’t it?”

“Mart likes fog,” said Jeanette, smiling.

“I’m going for a long ramble along the shore this morning,” announced Nancy presently. “Anybody want to come along?”

“I promised Miss Ashton that I’d go with her to look at some linens she is thinking of buying,” said Jeanette regretfully. “I’m sorry; for I’d love to go. I suppose she would postpone her shopping trip, but I sort of hate to ask her to.”

“I know; she asks so little of us, that one can’t refuse when she does want something,” said Nancy.

“I’d go, but I’m driving this morning,” said Martha. “But we’ll take you part way, if you like. Which way are you going?”

“Oh, out the road toward Lower Woods Harbor, I think. I love that rocky coast. Thanks for the offer of a lift, Mart; but I really want to just ramble along the shore.”

“You won’t be able to see much; will you, Nancy? It’s so foggy,” said Jeanette. Somehow she didn’t quite like the idea of Nancy going off alone this morning; and yet she had no reasonable objection to offer.

“The fog will be entirely gone by ten o’clock, I imagine,” replied Nancy.

“Don’t go so far you can’t get back for lunch,” advised Martha.

“Oh,” laughed Nancy, “I always have a bar of chocolate in my bag for emergencies; so if I walk farther than I expect to, at least I won’t starve.”

“If you get tired, or go too far, just hop on an oxomobile,” suggested Martha.

“In that case, I’m afraid it would be dinner time before you reached the hotel,” said Jeanette.

“Dinner time to-morrow, you mean,” corrected Nancy; “for the poor beasts move so painfully slowly.”

“Better wear something warm, Nan,” advised Jeanette, as they all went upstairs to get ready for the morning’s trips. “It’s quite chilly.”

“But it’s hard to walk in a long coat,” objected Nan. “I should think my knitted dress and heavy sweater would do.”

“Perhaps,” said Jeanette, doubtfully.

“Don’t lose your pocketbook, Nan,” called Martha, as they parted at the foot of the hotel steps later in the morning.

“Don’t fall, Mart,” retorted Nancy.

Laughing, they turned in opposite directions, Martha toward the garage where she knew Mr. Pierce would be waiting; and Nancy toward Lower Woods Harbor.

The selection of a luncheon set took Miss Ashton and Jeanette much longer than they expected; then they spent an hour looking at the fascinating souvenirs in one of the shops devoted to such bait for the tourist. It is almost impossible to tear one’s self away from their attractive displays.

Martha found driving on the dusty, winding roads of Nova Scotia quite a different thing from rolling smoothly over the concrete roads at home. Besides a stream, on one road, they saw a brand new maroon sedan on its side in the water, at the right of a narrow bridge. The bank at the entrance to the bridge plainly showed where the driver had gone over. Martha got so nervous that she wanted to give up the wheel to her companion at once; but he quietly refused.

“Go right ahead,” he ordered. “You’ll have to learn to cross narrow bridges.”

“But that car down there,” protested Martha.

“Don’t look at it. Keep your eyes on the road ahead of the car.”

Martha was not at all accustomed to being told so firmly what to do, and expected to do it. Everyone had always laughed at her and considered her ways and remarks a huge joke. She did not know now whether to obey or not; so she slowed up a bit.

“Go on,” said her instructor. “Keep to the right of the center of the bridge, and you’ll be over it in a minute.”

“Don’t ever let yourself become unnerved at the sight of an accident,” he went on sternly when they had left the bridge behind. “Put your mind on the managing of your own car, and let the other fellow attend to his.”

Long before the lesson was over, Martha discovered that there are instructors; and instructors.

“Where is Nan?” inquired Miss Ashton, when they assembled for lunch.

“I haven’t seen her since we parted at ten o’clock at the foot of the hotel steps,” replied Martha.

“Nor I since she dressed to go out,” added Jeanette.

“It is strange that she is not back by this time,” said Miss Ashton anxiously.

“She said she had some chocolate in her bag,” observed Martha, “and that she wouldn’t starve if she went too far to get back by lunch time.”

“Yes, she did,” agreed Jeanette. “I thought she was joking; but maybe she meant it.”

“In that case, there is no sense in our waiting lunch for her,” decided Miss Ashton, practically. “Perhaps she will come before we have finished. If not, we’ll manage to feed her some way when she does come.”

“Nan always walks farther than she intends,” said Jeanette, as they sat down at the table; “then has to sit down and rest before she can get home again.”

“That’s probably the case this time,” decided Miss Ashton. “There is no occasion for worry about her.”

Jeanette tried to take the same view of the situation; but, in spite of herself, she felt some misgivings. She wished now that she had asked Miss Ashton to put off the shopping trip, and had gone with Nan. However, there was nothing to do but wait; and everything probably was all right after all. As Nan always said, Jeanette was over-inclined to worry.

Martha was so tired after her morning’s exertion that she threw herself across her bed, and slept most of the afternoon. Jeanette roamed anxiously from their room down to the lobby, out to the sun parlor, from which you can get a view of the street in both directions, and back again. Shortly after lunch, the fog crept in again; and the damp, gray, gloomy atmosphere added to her depression. She wanted to go out in search of Nancy, but since she was not very sure of direction in a strange city, she was afraid of losing her way. Miss Ashton had gone to the outskirts of the city to call upon a family whose address had been given her by a Boston friend with an urgent request to see them before she returned.

By four o’clock, poor Jeanette was quite frantic. She was crossing the lobby for the tenth time, when she caught sight of Jim Jackson standing before the desk. Running across the room, she grabbed him by the arm; and he turned quickly.

“Why, Miss Grant! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed in surprise. “I thought you were in Boston by now.”

“No; we didn’t go—we’re still here,” replied Jeanette, incoherently; “but”—her voice almost broke—“Nan’s gone.”

“Nan’s gone! What on earth do you mean?”

“Nan’s lost, I think.”

“When? How?”

“Since morning. She went for a walk, and——”

“In which direction? Do you know?”

“She spoke of going toward Lower Woods Harbor.”

The scene of their last ride together, thought Jim.

“I’ll take the bus and go to look for her. Want to come?” he added kindly; for Jeanette’s distressed little face touched him.

“If you don’t mind. I’ll not be a second.” She dashed upstairs, snatched her own heavy coat and Nan’s, and was down again by the time he had the bus at the door. Miss Ashton had not yet returned, and Martha was still asleep; but Jeanette was far too excited to think of leaving any word for them.

“I was so shocked to see you standing beside me,” began Jim, as he guided the bus rapidly in the direction of the Harbor, “I could hardly believe my eyes.”

“Well, I assure you I was delighted to see you. I have been nearly frantic all the afternoon. Miss Ashton is away off somewhere at the other end of the town, making a call, and Martha is asleep; and I didn’t know what to do.”

“How did you happen to stay over!”

With frequent pauses to examine the roadside more closely, Jeanette told him about their change of plan; and of what they had been doing since he left town.

“Pierce, the purser?” he asked, when she mentioned Martha’s efforts to learn to drive. “Yes.”

“He’s a fine fellow. A bit serious, and stern; but a good scout.”

“I can’t imagine Martha with anyone of that type,” observed Jeanette; “for she’s always been laughed at and given her own way.”

“She’ll never get it with him, unless it happens to be his way too; or he’s convinced that hers is the right way. Pierce doesn’t hold out for his own way through mere obstinacy; but when he’s sure he’s right, there’s no budging him.”

“What’s that?” asked Jeanette suddenly; and Jim stopped the bus almost instantly.

“Where!”

“Down on those rocks.”

Jim scrambled down, and came up with a piece of bright Blue bunting.

“Just a bit of some of the decorations we saw the other day, evidently,” he said, tossing it aside after showing it to her. “If only this fog would lift,” he muttered, as he started the bus again.

“You watch that side of the road,” he presently directed Jeanette; “and I’ll watch this.” They were going very slowly, and scanning every nook and cranny.

In the meantime, Miss Ashton had returned, taken a peek into the girls’ room, and found Martha just rousing from her long nap.

“Where are the other two girls?” asked Miss Ashton.

“I don’t know—” yawned Martha. “I went to sleep right after lunch; for I was dead after this morning. Nan hadn’t appeared then, and Jeanette was waiting around for her. She must have come, and then she and Janie gone off somewhere; for I’m quite sure Jeanette would never have let me sleep until this hour if Nan hadn’t returned.”

“It is very strange that they are staying out until now,” said Miss Ashton, half an hour later, going again to the girls’ room, where she found Martha partly ready for dinner.

“That’s just what I was thinking. Do you suppose Nan didn’t come back, and Janie went to look for her?”

“I don’t know what to suppose. It isn’t like Jeanette to go off without a word to anybody.”

“I know it.”

Worry and excitement gripped Martha, and she had a hard time to keep back the tears.

They finished dressing, and went down to the lobby, where Miss Ashton inquired of the clerk if he knew anything about Jeanette’s whereabouts.

“The day clerk is off duty now, Madam,” he replied, “and I have not seen the young lady this evening.”

“Pardon me,” said the head bell boy, who had been standing near enough to hear the question and answer. “You mean the little blond lady?”

“Yes, yes,” cried Martha.

“She came into the lobby about four o’clock, just as Jim got here——”

“Jim?” demanded Martha.

“Yes, Jim. I don’t know his other name, but he drives the bus. They stood here talking, and then the lady went upstairs for her wrap, and went off with Jim when she came down again. They went away in the bus.”

“Thank goodness!” breathed Miss Ashton, as they turned away after thanking the boy for his information. “Jim has evidently gone to look for Nan, and has taken Jeanette with him. Don’t worry, Martha,” she added, seeing that the girl beside her was struggling with emotion, “Jim knows these roads, as probably no one else does. He will find her, I’m sure.”

“But—but—” faltered Martha, “suppose something has happened to Nan.”

“We just won’t think about such a possibility,” decreed Miss Ashton determinedly.

“But I don’t see why Jeanette didn’t waken me.”

“She probably thought every minute that Nancy would come. You know how it is, Martha, when one is waiting for somebody. Besides, after all, what could you have done?”

“I could have kept her company, at least,” retorted Martha quickly.

“Yes, of course; but she knew that you were tired out. We might as well eat dinner.”

“I couldn’t swallow a mouthful——”

“There is no sense at all in letting yourself get weak and more nervous for want of food,” said Miss Ashton firmly. “So we’ll eat. Order something light, if you prefer; but you must have nourishing food.”

For the second time that day, Martha surprised herself by following the will of another.

It seemed to Jeanette that they had ridden at least twice around the whole peninsula of Nova Scotia before she spied something red upon the rocks below the road.

“Stop!” she cried, excitedly; and Jim obeyed.

“Nan has a red purse. Maybe that’s it,” pointing to the scarlet spot at the water’s edge.

They both scrambled across the rocks with what speed they could, for they were wet and slippery with the incoming tide, and strewn with seaweed.

“It is!” exclaimed Jeanette, as they got closer to the object. “She must be drowned!”

Jim made no reply, but with one long stride, and a sweep of his arm, he secured the little purse.

“For Heaven’s sake!” he cried. “Look!”

The purse was tied to the back of a toy duck.

“That’s the prize Nan won at the bridge party in Digby,” he added.

“You’re right, but how did it come here?” puzzled Jeanette.

“I can’t tell any more than you, but it is what kept the purse from sinking. See how wet it is? Nan must have sent the toy ashore, hoping it would attract attention.”

“But what can we do?”

Jeanette was twisting her hands and trying to keep from tears. She must not become hysterical.

Jim was doing some rapid thinking.

“I imagine she’s out on one of those rocks that are high and dry at low tide, but cut off from the mainland when the tide comes in. I can get a boat back there a ways,” waving his hand in the direction from which they had come, “and go out after her. Would you be afraid to stay in the bus if I lock it? I’d take you,” as Jeanette hesitated, “but I can go quicker alone; and, besides, it won’t help matters any for you to get soaked.”

“I’ll stay,” said Jeanette, bravely going back toward the car, and getting in.

“Good for you! You’ll be perfectly safe, and I’ll be just as quick as I can.”

Jim disappeared into the fog, and Jeanette curled up on one of the seats for a good cry. She was soon over it, however, and straining her eyes, trying to see through the thick gray blanket which had wrapped itself around the coast. Once she heard the sound of oars, but she could not distinguish any objects.

The minutes seemed to fairly crawl, and each one was like an hour! No one passed along the road, not even a stray dog. Suppose Jim could not find Nan? Suppose he too got lost? Suppose she had to just stay on and on here?

In the meantime Jim was heading, as well as he could, toward a big rock called “The Turtle,” which he had pointed out and remarked upon to Nan on that last memorable ride. It was a big flat slab, with an end which reared up much higher than the rest of it, and formed the head of the turtle. The long tail, which joined the formation with the jutting point of the shore, was well under water long ere this. It was difficult to be sure of direction in the fog, and he paused frequently to get his bearings. He dared not go too far along the coast, either way, because he might get beyond his goal. If he rowed out any great distance, the current might catch him; and if he remained too close to the shore, he would ground on the rocks.

If old Dave had only been at home, he would have come with him; or at least would have furnished a lantern. Lucky that the old dory, with the oars in it, was outside where all Jim had to do was help himself.

“Nan!” he finally shouted at the top of his voice, when he figured he might be somewhere near the cut-off portion of the “Turtle.” He listened intently, holding his breath so as to hear better.

No reply.

He rowed a little farther to the right, and tried again with the same result. Then he turned back to the left, where he had called the first time.

“N—A—N!”

Was that an echo, or a faint answer?

He tried again.

“N—A—N!”

“—e—r—e.”

No mistake. It was a far-off reply. But from which side had it come?

“Nan! Where are you?”

He strained his ears for the answer, trying with all his might to get the direction when the answer did come.

“—e—r—e.” It trailed off feebly in the fog at the right. He must have gone beyond The Turtle; for he felt quite positive that was where Nancy was. The purse and duck had been at a point nearly opposite it.

He rowed as fast as he dared for some little distance to the right, and then called again.

“Nan! Where are you?”

“Here— Tur-tle.”

Thank God she was safe!

By repeatedly calling and waiting for the answer, he guided the boat successfully toward the rock formation. At last it loomed up beside him, and he saw Nancy perched on the head, all the rest being covered by water.

“Hello, Jim!” she said, as he sat for a moment silently looking up at her.

One would have thought it the most natural place in the world for them to meet.

“Oh, Nan,” he faltered; and could get no further.

“Jim, take me home,” she begged, her bravery and nonchalance quickly dispelled by the sight of his deep distress.

“Can you slide down into the boat?”

“I think so.”

“Steady yourself with this,” holding up one oar and keeping the boat in place with the other.

She succeeded in slipping down the rocks and into the dory, and Jim started to head for the shore. Neither said a word, until Nancy began to wring the water out of her skirt.

“Nan, you’re soaked. Take this,” said Jim, pulling off his sweater quickly.

“I won’t! You’ll catch your death of cold without it.”

“I’m exercising. Put it on!”

Nancy obeyed, and nothing more was said until the boat grated on the sand. Jim stepped out and gave her a hand. She was stiff and cold, and could hardly stand. Seeing her stagger, Jim stooped and picked her up like a doll.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he directed.

“But Jim,” she protested, “I’m too heavy. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Paying no attention to her objections, he carried her across the beach and appeared so suddenly beside the bus that Jeanette gave a little scream.

“She’s all right,” said Jim, placing Nan gently on the seat beside Jeanette, “only cold and stiff.”

After one wild hug, Jeanette busied herself making Nancy comfortable.

“Give Jim my coat,” directed Nan, when Jeanette tried to slip it on her. “He made me put on his sweater, and it’s too wet from my clothes now for him to use it.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Jim decidedly. “Besides, what do you suppose would happen to your coat if I tried to get into it.”

“Jim, please!” pleaded Nancy. “You’ll catch cold and have pneumonia—or—or something, and it will be all my fault——”

Her voice broke.

“I have a sheepskin somewhere here under the seat. I’ll put that on to satisfy you. Will that do?”

“Yes.”

Nobody talked on the homeward trip; each was too busy thinking of what might have happened.

“Go ahead and open the doors for us, Miss Grant,” directed Jim, when they stopped in front of the hotel, and he prepared to carry Nancy in. Like a good soldier, Jeanette obeyed, and did not look behind.

“It’s quite unnecessary to carry me, Jim,” said Nancy. “I can walk perfectly well now; see? I’d really rather not be carried in. Please!” as he hesitated.

“I—I don’t know what to say to you, how to thank you,” she continued.

“Don’t try. Go in now, dear. I’ll see you to-morrow.”

At the top of the long flight of steps, up which he assisted her, a pillar shut off the light from the windows; and in its shadow Jim stooped and shyly kissed Nancy. Then he pushed her gently into the lobby, where Jeanette was waiting; ran down the steps, and out to the bus.

“My goodness, Nan,” cried Jeanette, “you were so long getting in that I was afraid he had dropped you.”

“He didn’t carry me, Janie. I’m all right now. Please don’t tell the others that part of it,” she begged.

“All right, Nannie dear. I won’t.”

It did not take them long to put Nancy to bed and give her a hot meal.

“We’re not going to ask or answer any questions to-night,” decreed Miss Ashton, in her professional manner. “I want Nancy to be perfectly quiet now, and go to sleep. To-morrow, if she feels like it, she may tell us her experiences. Jeanette, you and Martha take my room for to-night. I’ll stay here in case Nan needs any care during the night.”

Excited though they were, the girls respected Miss Ashton’s wishes too much to object to her decision. Jeanette hated to be separated from Nancy, but she knew that she would be in capable hands; for Miss Ashton was a tireless nurse.

The girls bade Nancy good night and went to their room. Miss Ashton went to bed in Martha’s single, and, after bidding Nan call her if she wanted anything, or felt at all ill, she was soon asleep.

Nancy herself lay wide awake in the big bed beside the fireplace, and watched the street lights flicker across the windowpane. She was quite cozy and comfortable, but not in the least sleepy. The events of the day passed and re-passed through her mind, especially those of the last two hours. How nice it had been to see Jim again, and how wonderful of him to rescue her. Her cheeks burned as she recalled his good night, yet she could not, some way, feel angry at him, as she should. Why? She had always hated any form of “necking” and a boy who tried it even once was out of her good graces.

“You’re so funny, Nan,” remarked one of her admirers, smarting from a rebuke. “Everyone does it now.”

“That may be,” she had replied. “Let ‘everyone.’ I won’t.”

“But why? There is no harm in it,” he had persisted.

“Whether there is harm in it or not, I don’t like it. I consider love and all that goes with it such a wonderful, such a sacred thing, that I don’t care to spoil it by playing at it with Tom, Dick, and Harry. My kisses and hugs are going to be kept for the one right man; if he ever comes. This wholesale display of affection is unspeakably cheap and disgusting, and I won’t be a party to it.”

Poor Jim! He had been so cut up over her disappearance, and the difficulty he’d had in rescuing her, that the relief of getting her home safely made him forget all about his shyness and customary reserve. She’d try to forget about the whole affair, and go to sleep.

“But,” she thought, just before she fell into a doze, “I’m glad Jim’s coming to-morrow.”

CHAPTER XI

AFTER EFFECTS

The next morning, although Nancy appeared to be perfectly all right, Miss Ashton insisted upon her remaining in bed.

“You were thoroughly soaked and chilled, and must have had quite a nervous shock,” replied that lady when her patient wanted to go down to breakfast; “so we’re going to be on the safe side. This afternoon, possibly, I will let you get up.”

Jeanette brought up some breakfast, and insisted upon feeding her, though Nancy laughed at her. A little later in the morning, they all gathered around the bed to listen to the story of her adventure.

“I went right out the Harbor road after I left you, Mart,” began Nancy. “The fog had risen, and the sunshine on the water was lovely; and I stopped often to admire the view. When I reached The Turtle, I walked out and sat down on his back to rest. First, I faced the water for a time; then I turned around, leaned against his head, and just reveled in the scenery.

“Such scenery! Back from the shore, beyond the road, lay a stretch of forest land. The great, green tips of the pines on the background of the blue sky, the white birch trunks among the dull rough ones of the firs, the splash of russet, yellow, or crimson where a branch had put on autumn color made a wonderful picture. The rocks were very warm in the sun, and I was tired from walking; so I think I must have had a nap, although I didn’t mean to. I wakened from a dream of a sudden heavy rainstorm, to find a complete change in the landscape. The sun had disappeared. A fog was gathering, and between my rock and the shore was a sheet of water.

“If I’d had any sense, I’d have waded ashore then; but the water looked pretty deep—I couldn’t even see the tail of the turtle. The waves kept creeping up to where I sat, and I realized that soon I’d be in them. So I climbed up on the head, and made myself as comfortable as I could.”

“And what did you think about,” asked Martha, “while you were perched up there?”

“First, that I was very stupid to go to sleep. Then I wondered how I’d get back here again; if I’d have to stay until the tide turned. I did not know when that would be, nor how much higher it would rise. I thought about all of you, and imagined just what you were doing. I knew you’d be worried after a while, and try to find me. I remembered telling you in which direction I was going; but the fog which kept growing more dense would prevent you from seeing me, even if you did pass along the road.

“After a while, I became awfully hungry; so I opened my bag to get the bar of chocolate, and discovered my duck! Don’t you remember, my big needlepoint bag was on the table that night at Digby, Janie, and for want of a better place, I stuck my prize in it? I never bothered to take it out, fortunately. An idea came to me, and I fairly hugged the little beast. I emptied the red purse which I keep in that bag, fastened it on the duck’s back with some rubber bands, and on the nest wave set it afloat. The last I saw of it, it was headed straight for the shore. It made such a brilliant, unusual combination that I thought somebody might notice it when it went around on the rocks.”

“But,” objected Martha, “if a stranger instead of Jim had happened to find it, how would that have helped you? A stranger would never connect it with anyone being out on the rocks.”

“But my card was in it, with the message: ‘Am out on The Turtle. Please rescue me.’ Didn’t you find it, Janie?” turning to Jeanette.

“We didn’t even open it, Nannie,” confessed her chum. “We knew at once that it was yours, and Jim said you must be on The Turtle.”