Chapter 27

MISUNDERSTANDING

A figure was standing on the bank watching the boat's approach. It was Judge Trent. His hands were clasped behind his ample black coat, but instead of the usual shade to his eagle eyes a flat earth-colored cap, with an extraordinarily broad visor, gave his sharp face the effect of some wary animal that peers from under the eaves of its home.

The young people waved their hands as they recognized him.

"Come back, have you?" he said, without moving. "It's about time."

"Were you listening to that dear thrush?" asked Sylvia, as she jumped from the boat.

"I was, and have been for half an hour. The fellow's staying powers are something marvelous."

The speaker brought a hand around from his back, prepared to meet his niece, whom he scrutinized without a change of expression. She possessed herself not only of the hand, but his arm, and deliberately kissed his cheek.

"I hope you received my letter about the boat, Uncle Calvin. You don't know how happy you made me."

Dunham noted the surprised start, and received the frowning look which the judge sent in his direction. The rose leaf of Sylvia's face remained close to the parchment folds of the lawyer's cheek.

"Well, it was about time I made you happy, wasn't it?" he replied.

"I ought to stay here now," said Sylvia, "and row you about, instead of going back to Hawk Island."

"Oh. You're going back to Hawk Island?" The girl thought she detected a note of disappointment in the brusque tone.

"I'm not sure. I haven't decided," she returned.

"She is going back," observed Dunham affably, "with me in about an hour."

Judge Trent glared at the speaker. Both Sylvia's hands being clasped about his arm, he was holding himself with conscious and wooden rigidity. This was his own flesh and blood, however, and she was clinging to him, and Dunham might be hanged for all he cared.

"My niece will decide that, and not you," he returned with surprising belligerency.

"Hello!" thought Dunham, amused. "Is Arcady getting on the legal nerves?" "We're a house party," he explained firmly. "We've come over here for some clothes. We shall be obliged to start back in about an hour because we have to take you with us, and we don't want to keep you out too late."

"Hey?" asked the judge.

"Yes," said Sylvia. "Edna asked us to bring either you or Thinkright back with us."

"Now that's very untactful of you, Miss Sylvia," objected John. "Supposing she did say either of them. Don't you know, first come, first served, and moreover that Judge Trent is company?"

"Yes, I've no idea that Thinkright would leave the farm over night at this busy time, anyway," replied Sylvia. "Where is he? I must see him before I decide. I'm really not sure about going back. Perhaps, Uncle Calvin, it will be best for you and Mr. Dunham to go without me."

The lawyer's steely gaze was sunk in the soft blue depths of hers. In this mood she reminded him of his last parting with Laura. No woman since that day had clung to his arm.

He grunted a dissent. "John and I see enough of each other as it is," he returned.

"The idea of any one seeing enough of John!" was the thought that flashed through Sylvia's mind. What she said was, "Would you really rather I went too, Uncle Calvin?"

The sharp eyes under the visor saw the expression in Dunham's face at the caressing tone.

"Oh, suit yourself, of course," he replied briefly, "suit yourself;" but he carefully made no motion of his rigid arm which should discourage Sylvia from leaning upon it, and the three moved off toward the house.

Minty Foster suddenly appeared, dragging herself shyly between the trees. "I seen yer comin' past the mill," she said. Her usually stolid face was so eloquent of satisfaction at meeting Sylvia again that the girl dropped her uncle's arm, and, stooping, kissed the red cheek.

"Don't you want to go and see if Benny won't give you a sail while he's waiting for us, Minty?" she suggested.

"Y' ain't goin' back, are yer?" protested the child, round-eyed.

"I'm not quite sure," replied Sylvia. Each new, trifling incident reassured her, and went to lighten her heart. Here was home and welcome, whatever had been her mistakes abroad.

Minty ran on to the waterside, and the three resumed their walk. The chime of little joy-bells and the silvery flourish of melody continued to come from woodland depths.

"What a pity we haven't time to find that darling hermit!" said the girl. "He must be near. Once I succeeded in discovering him, and I sat so quietly he didn't mind me, even if he saw. He was on the very topmost twig of a pine, so little and so brown against the vast blue. Uncle Calvin, I'm so glad you bought the Mill Farm!"

"Well, so am I," replied the judge.

"Some time," said Sylvia, "when you get very--unexpectedly--rich, I wish you'd buy the Tide Mill."

"You do?" grunted the lawyer. "What for, pray? Want to see a bonfire on the water?"

"Oh, dear, no!" Sylvia glanced around at Dunham. "Wouldn't it be tragic, after all its troubles, to see it burned at the stake?"

"She wants to tie blue ribbons around its neck and chuck it under the chin," explained John.

"Ah, I see," said the judge, smiling grimly as he remembered Sylvia's comments on the mill the first day he met her.

"There's Thinkright," cried Sylvia, suddenly breaking from her companions and running fleetly toward the house.

With one accord the two men watched her greet the third by kissing him first on one cheek and then on the other.

"It was only one of yours, Judge," said Dunham. "If I were you I'd call him out."

"I don't grudge it to him," returned the lawyer. "She's making up to him for her mother's lack."

He waited a moment, hoping John would continue on the subject. He had thought often of his niece since his last visit, and in the past days had heard only good words for her; but Thinkright might be expected to be partial to Laura's child, and the Fosters were scarcely judges. He wished very much to learn the opinion of the girl which would be formed by a man of John's world and experience. Dunham kept silent as they pursued their measured walk, and the judge's desire forced the question.

"Well, and how do you find Miss Lacey, now you've had a near view?"

"Oh--Miss Lacey. Yes. Brisk and busy as a little bumblebee. The round peg in the round hole, as you might say."

"H'm," returned the judge. "I'm interested to know how she strikes a man of your sort."

"She's all right, I tell you," returned John argumentatively. "You don't know a good thing when you see it, Judge. Domestic, capable, executive, cheerful,"--John warmed to his subject. His heart had been made soft to-day, and he remembered the row of inappropriate poplars.

"Domestic? That's a pleasant surprise. But how about manners and breeding? I'm aware that what might pass muster with me might look very different under the lens of the society man. I've only to scratch your legal skin, John, to find a society man. I've always known that."

"Why, I should call her manners mighty comfortable ones," returned the young man. "She's a practical homemaker, that's what she is; and you're a--well, it's unintelligent of you to go on living alone, that's all, with that wrinkled map of Ireland for your only appetizer."

The judge looked thoughtful. "I hadn't got as far as that," he said. "My habits are pretty hopelessly settled, I'm afraid. I don't think I ought to inflict myself on anybody at this late day."

"Nonsense. I know she wouldn't look at it that way, and perhaps this summer'll do the business. When you get over to Hawk Island and see her"--

"See who!" Judge Trent faced his companion, and his shaggy brows moved up and down portentously beneath the overhanging eaves of his brown cap. "You mortal idiot," he thundered, "who are you talking about?"

Dunham's mouth fell open. "Miss Lacey. You said--Miss Lacey! Did you--were you asking about Sylvia?"

"_No!_" roared Judge Trent wrathfully. "I asked about Miss Lacey. What are you doing with Sylvia's name? Miss Lacey I say, and you'd better say so, too!"

John mechanically drew his cap from his pocket, and fanned his heated countenance. Little did Judge Trent suspect how far this young man had rambled and swam and floated and sailed from that port where Sylvia might have been Miss Lacey to him. So it was _her_ manners and breeding upon which her uncle desired a society man's verdict. What if he should describe to the judge the Look, the Idea, and the Potion that awaited his home-coming?

Then there rushed over him the matrimonial bureau zeal with which he had done his best for Miss Martha. The combination reminiscence was too much. If it severed his connection with the law offices at Seaton forever, his self-control must snap, and all at once he threw back his head with a laugh which woke every echo that side the Tide Mill.

A black and towering shadow suddenly appeared at one of the farmhouse windows. Mrs. Lem, with Judge Trent an actuality and the splendid Mr. Dunham a constantly impending possibility, had been helmeted daily from early morn till set of sun. It was her imposing crest that John's storm of hilarity had brought into view.

The judge's fearful scowl relaxed, and he seized his companion's arm.

"I called you some names, didn't I, Boy," he said, when he could make himself heard. "Overlook it, won't you? I didn't know you were such a fool as not to be able to see when a chapter in a man's life is closed. Now let's begin at the beginning again. You who know all there is to know about girls, you for whom the exception proves the rule that you can manage them with one hand tied behind you,--what do you think of the exception? Tell me now. What do you think of Sylvia?"

"No, no, Judge," gasped Dunham. "Let me off. I'm exhausted."

"Brace up. I want to know."

"Well," returned John, wiping his eyes, "I think she made a tardy arrival on this planet. She's too late for her century."

"An old-fashioned girl, eh? I rather like that."

"Older fashioned than you're thinking of. She belongs in legends, and all sorts of stories that begin 'Once upon a time.' Do you catch the idea? She's the exact opposite in every respect of that excellent lady we--no, I mean I have just been talking about,--her aunt."

The judge's face fell, though his eagle glance was sharp.

"Yet, it is the Lacey blood that's done it," he said. "You mean she's erratic, visionary, unpractical."

"Yes. I mean that I think her very charming bonnet, if she ever wore one, would have a bee in it."

"John, that's worse than I feared," replied the judge dejectedly. "Confound Sam Lacey! She's a rather engaging girl with it all?"

"Immensely so. In fact, to such an extent that most people would prefer to follow her moods rather than to revel in the excellent qualities of a good housekeeper."

"What does Edna think?" asked the lawyer.

"Oh, come, come, Judge!" protested Dunham. "If you have the man's standpoint,--a wholly admiring standpoint, I hope you understand,--that ought to satisfy you for one day."

"I shall go back with you to Hawk Island," announced Judge Trent briefly. "Sylvia shall go too. I wish to observe her outside this atmosphere."

Meanwhile Sylvia had borne Thinkright away, in front of the house to the shade of the Æolian pine tree, and pulled him down beside her on a rustic seat.

"Oh, Thinkright, it's ages since you and I sat here last."

"Happy ages, I hope," he answered.

"Yes, I've been living a poem ever since I said goodby to you, until this noon. I've been walking on air,--living in a happy dream; then suddenly a bucket of cold water was dashed over me, and I came to myself."

"Are you sure it was yourself you came to?" asked Thinkright, for he saw the trouble in the eyes he loved. "Sometimes our dreams are nearer the truth than our mistaken waking notions."

"Oh, I wish this were a dream!" returned the girl devoutly; "for I've offended Edna."

"How?"

"If I only knew! I've gone through every incident of my stay, and I can't find a clue. I've been so careful about Mr. Dunham."

"About Mr. Dunham?"

"Yes; never to try even to attract his attention or behave as if I expected him to notice me."

"I don't understand at all," said Thinkright. "Do you mean that he and Edna care for each other?"

"Why, of course."

"But they haven't met often of late."

"I know; but of course she never could forget him, and they're so much alike in all their ways and tastes"--

"Hold hard, little one. Edna Derwent has a court of admirers at home. It isn't likely she has ever had time to think of Mr. Dunham."

"Oh, you know there couldn't be another like him," was Sylvia's quick response, given so devoutly that her companion regarded her more closely.

"I saw as soon as he came how things were, and would be; and I was extra careful. I've really almost avoided him, and yet, I'm going to tell you honestly, Thinkright, while he admires Edna so much, I seem to amuse him, and he has taken more notice of me than I wish he would; because of course all he thinks about me is that I'm a Western product, and he is curious about my difference from them. I can't imagine how I did it, but in some way I've offended Edna."

"How does she show it?"

"Just by a little coldness and difference in her manner; but it makes all the difference to me; and I want to stay with you now!" She came close to him and looked up into his face.

"There isn't a thing to do," he returned, "except to think right about it. I suppose you've been remembering that?"

"Ye-es, some," answered Sylvia, with hesitation.

"That's Mr. Dunham coming along with the judge now, isn't it?" asked Thinkright.

"Yes. Edna invited us yesterday to spend a week at the cottage, and we planned to come over to-day to get our clothes; and then last night she was cool to me, and this noon she was still more changed,--or else I noticed it more,--and oh," added the girl hastily, "they're coming this way. Tell them you want me to stay here, please do!"

"Does Edna expect you back?"

"Yes, but"--

"And you haven't attempted any explanation with her?"

"No, but"--

Thinkright patted the arm near him.

"Can't have my little girl show the white feather like that. You and Edna both know how to think. There isn't any power that can prevent your meeting on the right ground, and there is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed. The truth, even about this trifle, whatever it may be, will set you free."

"Is this a secret session?" asked Judge Trent as the two men approached.

Sylvia's speaking countenance seemed to say that it was; but Thinkright arose and shook hands with John.

"Edna's invited me to come back with these young people," said the lawyer. "She wanted you instead, I believe, but for reasons I'll go first, if you have no objection."

"None in the world," returned his cousin, "for I couldn't stay away just now."

"Sylvia, I think you'd better pack your bag," went on Judge Trent. "Time is flying."

Thinkright deliberately studied Dunham's expression as the latter watched the young girl, whose indecision and trouble were obvious.

"Be game, Miss Sylvia, be game," suggested John. "Steamer leaves dock in half an hour sharp, as Judge Trent elects to have a late supper at Anemone Cottage rather than an early one in the shade of Mrs. Lem's pompadour."

"Then I'm going, am I, Thinkright?" asked Sylvia, her eyes appealing to him as she rose.

"Of course you're going," put in the judge authoritatively. "I've had no visit with you yet."

"All right," returned Sylvia, smiling faintly at her uncle; but she took Thinkright's arm.

"I'll meet you in half an hour," she said to the other men, and started toward the house, with her cousin captive.

"Get your thought right on the way back, little one," he said. "You know how. You have nothing to conceal from Edna, I suppose?"

Sylvia did not answer at once, and Thinkright, after a moment, turned and looked into her grave, downcast face.

She spoke, after the little silence, with a collected dignity which was very becoming. "I'm ready to give Edna an account of every action of mine beneath her roof."

"Very well, my child. I haven't a doubt of it. It's better for you to go back to-night. I'm sure you think so."

"Yes, I do think so," replied Sylvia.