did. Perhaps you know the rest, and can tell me who is Robert

MacDonald.”

Reed looked puzzled for a moment, then he struck his forehead tragically. “Dolt that I am!” he exclaimed. “I see it now. I didn’t happen to have a card of my own that first time I visited this mansion, so I took one that I happened to have in my pocket, one that a fellow gave me some time ago. I actually had forgotten his name, and had no intention of forging his initials when I signed my own, which are the same, you see.”

“Then we shall never meet Robert,” rejoined Ellen half regretfully.

Reed laughed. “Are you then so disappointed? I’m pleased to pieces myself. To think that you should be my wood-nymph is the jolliest sort of a surprise, and we’ll keep it a secret all to ourselves.”

“How can we keep it a secret when all those men know?”

“What men?”

“All those you were with on Halsey’s Island, and that met us in a body on the bridge.”

Reed threw back his head and shouted. “That’s one on you, Cronette, for I didn’t tell them a thing except that I had a date with a female person whom I didn’t know, and until I saw her I thought we’d better march in company. Well, you know how it came out, and if the boys didn’t jolly me well, you miss your guess. That was some blind game, Cronette, and I must acknowledge myself the loser. In all that horde of white-robed, goldenrod-decked females I never looked for you; even your hair didn’t show under that hat. By the way, now is my chance to get a sketch of you, the chance I missed last winter. May I make it? We’re old friends, you know. You’ll let me come over to see you, won’t you, and may I bring Tom along? He’s an all-right fellow, lots of talent and a great pal of mine.”

Ellen gave her consent. She had liked Tom’s looks, and recalled his little act of courtesy in the post-office. She told Reed about it.

“Just like Tom,” he responded. “He’s always looking out for the other fellow. At this very moment he is off helping his cousin to establish herself at Beatty’s. She has taken a cottage there for a month. Nice little woman she is; you’ll like her. Queer, Cronette, but it seems as if I had known you all my life, although this is really only the second time we have met.”

Ellen considered this for a moment before she said, “Probably it is because we both know Don Pedro so well, and then you know the violin is a common bond.”

“It’s quite as if I had adopted a member of your family, isn’t it? No end of comfort it is, too,—quite like a brother. You know the song, ‘Fiddle and I’?”

“I know it and love it. I am very glad you have the violin,” she said after a moment’s silence. “It was very generous of you to buy it.”

“Why, no, it wasn’t; I wanted it in the worst way. Would you like to hear it again?”

“Oh, please.”

He picked it up and held it lovingly as he played several short bits. While not a finished performer he played with some skill and much feeling, and so absorbed were both in the performance that neither noticed the time till suddenly the boat whistled at the landing next to Beatty’s.

Ellen started up. “Goodness!” she exclaimed. “The boat will be here in another minute or so, and I must run for it. I promised to meet my friends and help with their parcels.”

“I’ll go with you,” Reed stated. “I must lock up this treasure first, but I won’t be a minute. Don’t wait; I’ll catch up.”

Ellen started at a swift pace, but Reed’s long legs bore him to her side before the bridge was reached. The boat was turning a point in sight, and the whistle for Beatty’s blew before they arrived at the long flight of steps. Down these they raced, arriving at the wharf just as the boat’s gangplank was lowered.

Miss Rindy and Mabel came ashore, laden with bundles, some of which Ellen took possession of. “You’re all out of breath,” Miss Rindy commented, “and your face is as red as a beet. What have you been doing?”

“Running for the boat. We were late getting here.”

“We? What we?”

“Mr. Marshall and I.” Ellen turned to present Reed, who loaded himself with bundles in spite of Miss Rindy’s protests.

“What’s a fellow good for if he can’t be useful once in a while?” he replied, smiling. “Hello! there’s old Tom; I’ll press him into service. Any more dunnage, Miss Crump?”

“There’s a box somewhere, but that can be sent up.”

“No need when here are two donkeys to carry it. Come here, Tom,” he shouted as his friend was walking off.

Introductions were made in short order, and then the party turned toward home. “Shall we wait for the mail?” asked Ellen.

“Don’t bother about it,” replied Tom. “We’ll bring it to you later. My cousin will want hers anyway.”

“But it will give you extra trouble and a longer walk,” Miss Rindy was ready again to protest.

“What’s a walk more or less?” remarked Reed. “It’s no distance to your cottage.”

“How do you know?” asked Miss Rindy sharply.

“Your cousin has just told me that it is the second house beyond the church,” answered Reed triumphantly, with a sly glance at Ellen.

Tom, with box on shoulder, was keeping pace with Mabel, while the other three followed, Reed the bundle bearer. He spoke truly when he said the distance was short, for in a few minutes they had reached the cottage where packages and box were deposited, and the two young men took their leave, promising to bring the mail later.

As soon as they had stepped off the porch Mabel seized Ellen’s hands. “Where did you meet him? Who is he? Tell me quick. That Mr. Clayton came on the boat. He got on at South Heartwell. He is a dear. I’m crazy about him. He is such an unaffected ingenuous sort of lamb. What do you think was his first question? Did I know how to make clam chowder? He said they wanted to dig some clams, and he could make the chowder if he had a good recipe. Oh, he is a babe, a darling infant. I never met any one quite like him.”

Ellen laughed. “You certainly are bowled over, Mab. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I get a chance. It’s a long story. Now you must have your supper. I know you must be starved. That trip on the boat does give one such an appetite.”

“I wish it were clam chowder instead of lobster,” said Mabel as they sat down, “for then we could ask Mr. Clayton to have supper with us and see if he likes the kind of chowder we have.”

“As if any one could possibly not like our kind; it’s the best ever,” retorted Ellen. “You can ask him for some other time; he won’t melt away.”

“How do I know what he will or won’t do? If he stayed to-night, in common decency he’d have to come back.”

“Then why not ask him to stay?” Miss Rindy spoke up. “I suppose he might put up with lobsters; they are not usually despised, and there is an abundance for all, your young friend, too, Ellen. It will be mighty handy to have them open that box.”

The upshot of the matter was that when the young men returned with the mail they were urged to stay, the supper was supplemented by various supplies which the shoppers had brought from Portland, and all went merry as the traditional marriage bell. Miss Rindy promised to make chowder for them if they would supply the clams, and this offer brought forth an invitation to come to the studio and partake of a supper when the chowder should be the center of the feast.

“I don’t suppose you have a place to cook it, or anything to cook it in,” scoffed Miss Rindy.

“We have an excellent oil stove, a large iron pot, and various other utensils,” Reed boasted. “Suppose you all make a preliminary visit and take account of stock.”

“And if anything is lacking, I can borrow it from my cousin,” Tom remarked.

“Or, if the supply isn’t equal to the demand, we can bring our own dishes from here,” promised Mabel.

“It’s a pretty long walk for an old limp-it like me,” objected Miss Rindy.

“Limpet? You’re no limpet; they cling close to the rocks; I’m surprised at you making such a feeble joke,” said Mabel merrily.

“I didn’t mean it for a joke; it’s a solemn fact,” replied Miss Rindy plaintively.

“Oh, you needn’t walk,” declared Reed. “We’ll come around in the boat and get you. There is a good little landing just below the bridge, as I believe you are aware.”

Then every one laughed, and Reed declared he would like to make a study of Ellen in a white dress and with goldenrod somewhere in the picture.

Then Tom insisted that he must do a like study of Mabel, who blushed and stammered that she was not paintable.

“Oh, aren’t you? I should say you were.” Tom squinted up his eyes and looked at her, causing greater confusion on her part.

“I speak to do Miss Crump, too,” cried Reed; “she’d make a stunning subject, so much character to get.”

“There you go,” exclaimed Tom; “I was going to speak for her, but I was going about it more diplomatically. I didn’t mean to blurt out my wishes in that bald way.”

“What’s the matter with both of us painting her if she will be so utterly angelic as to sit for us?” said Reed.

“Go along with you,” cried Miss Rindy. “The idea of asking a creature like me to sit; I’m no beauty.”

“Dear lady,” said Tom, “there is something better than magazine-cover beauty, and that thing you have.”

“You’ve said it, boy,” Reed agreed. “Come, Miss Rindy, I may call you that, mayn’t I? You are going to be good and sit for us. We won’t keep you long, and we’ll do anything in the world you ask of us, split wood, run errands, any old thing, won’t we, Tom?”

“Very well, since you have eliminated the claim for beauty I’ll promise, and you can begin your tasks by opening that box you brought up.”

“That’s easy. Lead us to it,” said Reed.

So was begun an intimacy, the results of which were far-reaching.

“When we said we didn’t know what might be around the corner, we must have had a subconscious awareness of those two boys,” said Mabel, as the two girls parted for the night. “It’s a lovely world, Ellen.”

“It’s a lovely island,” sighed Ellen, “but the summer is flying too fast.”

“‘Gather rosebuds while ye may,’” quoted Mabel. “It’s the best summer I ever had, and I mean to make the most of what is left of it.”

“Meaning?”

“Draw your own conclusions, miss. I’m not referring to ghosts.”