“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.”

“Jim, the Sleuth,” laughed Nancy; but Miss Ashton saw the light in her

eyes as she said it.

“Oh, Nan,” said Jeanette, “he was just wonderful! I’ll never forget it.”

“Nor I,” replied Nancy, quietly.

“Then what?” urged Martha. “Go on, Nan.”

“There wasn’t much more. I simply sat there, curled up in a heap so as

to keep as warm as I could, and waited. After, oh, hours and hours it

seemed, I heard someone calling me, and I answered. I did not know at

first whether he could hear me; for the fog seemed to force the tones of

my voice right back upon me. Soon, however, we were keeping up a regular

system of calls.”

“Did you know it was Jim?” asked Martha.

“Of course I wasn’t _sure_ until he was nearly there; then I recognized

his voice.

“Thus endeth the tale,” she added laughing; “except that I want to say

how awfully sorry I am to have caused you all so much worry.”

“Anyway,” said Martha, “they lived happily ever after.”

Nancy blushed, and looked sharply at Martha; but her remarks were

apparently quite innocent of any hidden meaning.

A maid rapped at the door at that moment.

“I was to give these to Miss Pembroke,” she said, when Miss Ashton

opened the door, “and ask if she is able to see anyone.”

Miss Ashton took the mass of lovely red roses, freshly cut from some

Yarmouth garden, and laid them on Nancy’s bed.

“I’ll go down, and talk to him,” she said; “for I suppose it is Jim.”

She was out of the room before Nancy could say a word; and in a few

minutes she was back again.

“It was Jim, as I supposed. He made the proper inquiries about your

health, and is going to join us for lunch.”

Nancy drew a breath of relief. She might have known that Miss Ashton

would not simply send him away without letting her see him.

After hearing what Jeanette and Martha did in her absence, Nancy got up

and dressed; and they all went down to lunch.

Jim, as Miss Ashton had directed, was waiting in the white parlor.

“Go and get Jim,” she said to Nancy, as they turned toward the dining

room. “We’ll go on in.”

Jim, who had been sitting before the fireplace, rose as Nancy entered,

and crossed the room to meet her.

“You’re all right, Nan?” he asked, a bit breathlessly, his kind brown

eyes gazing searchingly down into hers.

“Perfectly, thanks to you,” she replied, giving him her hand.

He held it, clasped firmly in both of his for a long moment.

“And I want to thank you also for the lovely roses,” she added.

“I robbed my landlady’s garden for those,” he said. “She has a huge

trellis, just covered with them. Perhaps if we take a stroll this

afternoon you’d like to see it?”

“Just love to. Had we better go in to lunch now?”

They joined the others, and had a merry time at the table laughing over

Martha’s efforts to learn to drive. Much, to Jeanette’s confusion, and

Jim’s amusement, they also told him about her struggles with the clams

the first day they spent in Yarmouth.

“Well,” said Martha, as they left the dining room, “in spite of your

discouraging mirth, I’m going to drive again this afternoon; so I’ll

have to leave you now. Shall I see you again, Jim?”

“I’m going out at five this afternoon,” he replied; “but I’ll be back

day after to-morrow.”

“We’ll still be here then,” said Miss Ashton. “How much longer do you

stay in Nova Scotia, Jim?”

“I’m not sure. May get orders to go back the last of the week.”

“It would be nice if you could go when we do,” suggested Miss Ashton.

“Wish I could,” he said, fervently.

“Would Miss Ashton object to your going walking if you feel able to?”

Jim presently asked Nancy, as they followed the others down the hall.

“I don’t think so.”

“As long as you don’t get overtired,” said Miss Ashton, when Nancy asked

her. “See that she doesn’t go too far, Jim,” she added.

So they went out into the fresh sea air and brilliant warm sunshine with

which Yarmouth was filled that afternoon, and rambled down one street

and up another of that charming seaport town, pausing to admire a

colorful garden here, some fine trees there, and many an attractive

house of English architecture.

The days passed rapidly after that, hurrying along toward Friday night,

when they would sail.

Early Friday morning, Jim ran in.

“Good news!” he announced. “Orders have come to park the old bus on the

steamer and return to Boston.”

“Really, Jim?” said Miss Ashton. “How very nice,” while Nancy flashed

him a happy smile.

“I can’t stay now, for I’ve a dozen things to fix up before I leave. See

you at the dock to-night,” and Jim ran out again.

“I have some shopping to do,” announced Martha, when he had gone.

The other two girls groaned.

“What now, Mart?” asked Nancy.

“Oh, that’s so. You didn’t get that ring you wanted. Did you?” inquired

Jeanette.

“Yes! No! That is, yes,” stammered Martha.

“What do you mean by ‘Yes—no—yes’?” demanded Nancy.

“I mean that I didn’t at first; but then I did,” explained Martha.

“Just as clear as clear,” laughed Jeanette. “You didn’t tell us you

bought it,” said Nancy reproachfully.

“Well, with all the excitement we’ve had, could you blame me for

forgetting something? It was extravagant, I admit; but I felt I’d never

be happy without it. I’ll wear my last year’s clothes all year to make

up for it.”

“Yes, you will!” jeered Nancy.

“But if you have the ring, why shop?” asked Jeanette.

“I thought I’d buy a little fruit to eat on the steamer——”

“Now, Mart, didn’t you learn better than that on the way over?”

protested Nancy.

“But I don’t expect to be sick this time. I’m a seasoned sailor now.”

“You probably won’t touch it; and anyhow, you can buy some on board,”

persisted Nancy.

“Not such fruit as I saw.”

“Well, go to it if you must.”

So that night, when they went on board, Martha’s baggage included a

fancy basket filled with various kinds of fruit.

*CHAPTER XII*

*THE UNEXPECTED*

Tim met them at the head of the gangplank; and after having their chairs

placed, he and Nancy strolled about the deck to inspect the crowd.

Finally a little tug, carrying the end of a heavy cable attached to the

steamer, swung out into the harbor. After describing a wide semicircle,

it took up its position waiting for a signal. Soon it was given; and by

skilful manipulation the little boat pulled the big one slowly away from

the wharf and headed it out to sea. Its work done, the tug steamed

fussily back to the dock.

“So,” said Martha suddenly, as they all lay in their steamer chairs,

wrapped in rugs, and watching the rapidly receding shores of Nova Scotia

against the sunset, “we got away without my having my third fall, or Nan

losing her third pocketbook.”

“But,” said Jeanette, “you nearly fell, when you turned on your ankle,

Mart; and Nan nearly lost her little red purse.”

“A miss is as good as a mile,” declared Martha.

“Peut-on dire d’une chose qu’elle est perdue quand on sait où est die?”¹

quoted Jim softly.

“What’s that?” asked Martha.

“Didn’t you ever have that French exercise which tells about the sailor

who lost the silver teapot?”

“Yes, of course; but what’s that got to do with it?”

“If you don’t know, I’ll never tell you,” laughed Nan.

Jeanette said nothing; for she was quite certain that the little red

purse was not in Nan’s possession.

“My goodness, it’s getting rough,” complained Martha presently. “I’m

going down to bed.”

“So am I,” said Jeanette.

They made their way to their respective staterooms as rapidly as

possible.

“Will it be like this all the way, do you suppose?” asked Nancy

anxiously.

“I doubt it. This is the wash from the Bay of Fundy that we’re getting

now. It will be calmer after a while,” replied Jim, slipping a big warm

hand over her cold one under the edge of the steamer rug. “Go to your

stateroom if you want to; but I think if you lie here, perfectly quiet,

you will be quite all right.”

Presently the moon came up, and the ocean was a scene of fairyland. It

was a couple of hours later when Nancy crept in beside Jeanette, who was

sleeping soundly under heavy blankets in the big stateroom, filled with

fresh salt air which was sweeping in through the open port hole.

Toward morning, the foghorn began to blow; and Nancy looked at her

watch. Five o’clock. They were due to dock between seven and eight. Too

early to get up; but, try as she would, she could not go to sleep again.

So she lay, thinking over the things she and Jim had talked about the

preceding evening on deck. At half-past five she rose, dressed, and

began to pack.

“If I have all this done early, there will be more time to spend on

deck. I’ll do Janie’s too,” she decided, after finishing her own.

“_Dear_, dear Janie!”

She had just closed her own suitcase, and had Jeanette’s all ready to

slide in the last things, when a terrific jar threw her forward onto the

floor.

“Oh, what is it?” cried Jeanette, who was instantly aroused by the

unusual motion. “Nan dear, are you hurt?”

Nancy assured her that she was not.

The sound of opening doors, running feet, shouts, curt directions were

heard; then—the ringing of the big alarm! _That_ meant for everybody to

get out on deck.

“Get dressed as quickly as you can, girls,” called Miss Ashton from the

opposite state room. “We’ve been struck; but, don’t get frightened.”

In less time than she ever dressed before, Jeanette got ready to go up

on deck.

Jim met them in the passageway.

“Your life preservers,” he said, “are under the berths. Get them,”

taking their bags from them. “I’ll show you how to put them on.”

He quickly buckled them in place; his own was already on. Then he helped

Miss Ashton and Martha with theirs, and they all joined the throng of

passengers who were trying to get to the promenade deck.

Ship officers were everywhere, keeping order among the startled

passengers. It was a calm crowd, fortunately, rather inclined to treat

the accident as an adventure.

“I woke up,” said one man whose stateroom was on the lowest deck, “to

find the nose of some other steamer in my room. ‘Well, old girl,’ I

said, ‘either you or I’ll have to get out of here. I must have some

privacy! And I guess it had better be me.’ So here I am.”

“Well, I looked all over for my toothbrush,” said one woman, “while Joe

hollered at me all the time to hurry. ‘You go on if you want to,’ I said

to him at last; ‘but I won’t stir until I find that toothbrush.’ And I

_didn’t_.”

She was carrying it carefully in her hand, evidently having left all her

other belongings behind.

Another woman was taking great care of an umbrella and a box of candy.

Martha clung fast to her untouched basket of fruit.

A strange sight met their eyes when they reached the promenade deck.

Beside them, in the dense fog, was the steamer which had rammed them,

her bow still in the hole she had made; apparently just “standing by”

until help came.

The passengers surged in all directions. Some were crying, some laughing

hysterically; others pale and silent; but most were as calm as if this

were an everyday occurrence, or at least an interesting one. A few

blustered angrily over the delay and the inconvenience. The kicker, like

the poor, we have always with us.

“There is really no danger,” cried John Pierce, working his way in and

out among the people. “An SOS has been sent out, and assistance will

soon be here.”

He had no time to linger with Martha now, but paused beside her long

enough to say, “Don’t get excited. There is no need for worry.”

Jeanette and Martha, pale with anxiety, sat on the arms of Miss Ashton’s

chair; for Jim had succeeded in finding a place for her to sit down. He

and Nancy were half leaning, half sitting, on a pile of camp stools near

by.

“Frightened, Nan?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Not—exactly,” she replied, bravely smiling up at him, but she shook

with nervousness. “If there were only something one could _do_, instead

of just having to wait passively.”

“I imagine it won’t be very long,” he said, slipping his arm around her

to steady her a little. “We are so close to Boston that a boat, should

reach us very quickly.”

“Isn’t it queer,” she observed presently, “how persistent a part the fog

has played in this trip? The morning we landed at Yarmouth, that first

night in Halifax, several times on our motor trip——”

“And on Turtle Head,” interrupted Jim in a low tone.

“And now it is pushing us into Boston,” she finished, smiling at him.

“Pushing us in!” echoed Martha, who had caught her last sentence. “How

do you get that way? Keeping us _out_, you mean!”

“Miss Scott has recovered her speech at last,” observed Jim. “Is she

often silent for so long a time?”

“Very seldom; but Jim, why don’t you call her Martha? Miss Scott sounds

so very formal.”

“It isn’t very easy for me to get on familiar terms with people,” he

replied slowly. “I never have made friends quickly—at least,” he

corrected himself as he caught sight of her dancing eyes and funny

little smile, “never until the present instance.”

“The exception which proves the rule?” she inquired.

“Exactly.”

“But Jim,” she added, more seriously; “the girls like you, and—and my

friends must be yours too.”

“I know; I want them to he; and mine yours. You’ll like my special pal

Griff Burton. He’s the most unconventional chap you ever saw; a perfect

riot. But a prince of a fellow. I hope there will be a chance for you to

meet him before you go home.”

“Shouldn’t you think they were sitting calmly in a living room somewhere

on dry land, all by themselves, instead of here in a crowd of people on

a foggy ocean, not knowing whether we’re going to the bottom or not?”

whispered Martha, glancing at the two, absorbed in each other.

“Goodness, Mart, what a cheerful idea”; exclaimed Jeanette, ignoring the

first part of her remark.

Miss Ashton made no comment; but she gazed rather thoughtfully out to

sea.

“How long do you expect to stay in Boston?” continued Jim.

“I really don’t know. Our plans for the time subsequent to getting into

Boston are not at all definite. If Madelon had been with us, you know I

told you about Miss Ashton’s protégée, the little French girl?—we

expected to run about the city a bit; and there were a couple of boys

who spoke of meeting us here.”

“Who are they?” asked Jim quickly.

“One is a Junior at Roxford—his name is Phil Spenser; the other is his

cousin, Tom Mixer. He’s a grad. They are having such a funny experience

this summer,” and she went on to tell him of their adventures. “If we

had come back to Boston when we expected to, I think it unlikely that

they would have been here. But I sent Phil a card after our plans

changed, and it may be that by this time they have made enough money to

come on.”

“I should like you to meet my father and mother before you go back,”

said Jim, after she had finished her story of the boys. “My brother is

in Bermuda at present——”

“Oh, is he? That’s where Janie and I want to go next summer. We’re

planning to ask our folks to give us the trip as a graduation present.”

“And after that, what?”

“I honestly don’t know, Jim. I wish I did. During this last year at

college I’ll have to think hard, and come to some decision. I _might_

teach, for I love youngsters——”

“But only for, say a year or two?” interrupted Jim, in a very low tone.

“Why, I don’t know. I probably should keep at it if I liked it.”

“I mean just until I get well settled, and can take care of you?”

There was dead silence, broken only by the harsh sound of the foghorn,

and the subdued voices of the crowd around them. Nancy’s heart raced

madly; and although she felt Jim’s anxious eyes upon her, and knew he

was waiting, she could not force herself to reply at once.

“You’re not angry; are you, Nan?” he asked at last.

She shook her head.

“And—and—you’ll do it?”

“Do what?”

Even in a serious moment like this, her fondness for mischief got the

upper hand.

“You know perfectly well what I mean, Nancy,” he replied very gravely.

He had not meant to speak so soon; not for a long time. But in the

excitement of the collision, and their possible danger—for truly help

did seem mighty long in coming, and he knew that by this time water must

be filling the hold of the steamer—he had thrown aside all reserve. He

must let her know how very much he cared.

At that moment, a huge bulk loomed out of the fog, and there were shouts

of joy from the passengers. Help had come.

Two at a time, “Like the animals going into the ark,” remarked the

irrepressible Martha, the people were all transferred to the _City of

Boston_ which had come to rescue them; and the disabled steamer, being

lightened, prepared to limp into port with her cargo, under her own

power.

In the excitement Nancy managed to whisper to Jim:

“I can’t answer you now, with all this going on; maybe we’ll be able to

have a few minutes together before I go home?”

“I’ll see that we do,” was his firm reply.

Rumors of the accident had reached Boston, and the wharf was thronged

with people. Some were friends or relatives of the passengers on the

unfortunate steamers; others merely seekers of excitement. Jim managed

to get his party through the crowd, and into a taxi.

“Sorry to hurry you away from Pierce, Miss—Martha,” he said, after they

were seated in the cab and on their way to Miss Ashton’s apartment.

Nancy flashed him an approving glance.

“Oh, that’s all right,” replied Martha frankly. “He knows where he can

find me.”

¹ Can one say of a thing that it is lost if one knows where it is?

*CHAPTER XIII*

*A LETTER*

Dear Mary,

“I don’t know how you will feel about it, but in spite of my careful

chaperoning” [Miss Ashton smiled shrewdly to herself as she wrote that]

“I’m afraid that I have let your little girl fall in love.

“I fancy I can see you stiffen up at that, and hear you say, ‘What

nonsense! She is only a child.’ Perhaps she is in your eyes, still a

little girl—I suppose that, to their own mothers, children never really

grow up; but to others she is a very lovely and lovable young girl. She

was always most attractive, but how wonderfully she has developed and

improved during these last two years! I have not seen her, you know,

since that summer she was so crushed by her uncle’s departure for

Germany; and I imagine I see the change more clearly than you do.

“To get back to the subject in hand, I do not want to forestall Nancy’s

confidences to you; for I am sure she will tell you about her new

more-than-friend very soon, if she has not already; but I do want to

give you my impressions of the case, as well as to let you have some

information which will perhaps move you to smile, instead of frown, upon

these two young things.

“James Jackson, the driver of the bus and conductor of our motor trip

through Nova Scotia, is, except during the summer, a student at Harvard;

and, from what I have found but, a very good student. This will be his

senior year. His father and mother are well-known and highly esteemed

descendants of the founders of the city. He has one brother, Edmund, who

is at present running a lily farm in Bermuda. They are not wealthy

people, but are very comfortable and live in one of the lovely

old-fashioned houses in Cambridge. So much for his antecedents and

position.

“Now, for the lad himself. Really, Mary he is a dear! A big, strong,

manly fellow, but gentle and bashful as a girl—I correct myself, as

girls used to be. He talks very little, and hides his ideas and emotions

behind his serious face and quiet manners. There is plenty of character,

force, and determination, however, in the background, ready to be

exercised whenever needed. He has dark hair and eyes, though not quite

so dark as Nancy’s; but he is much taller, and of course heavier, than

she.

“Her manner toward him, as well as his toward her, have given no

opportunity for criticism even by the most severe judge. It is such an

ideal little romance that I just love to watch it. They are over in the

Public Gardens now, looking at the flower beds. Whether they will really

see them or not, I am not prepared to state.

“Seriously, Mary, they seem to be perfectly suited to each other—made

for each other, as we used to say. What is the modern term? Soul mates,

or some such foolish expression. It does not matter what we call it,

however, as long as real love, respect, and honor form the foundation.

“The girls will be here for a few days longer. Run down, if you like,

and look Jim over; or invite him to go home with Nancy for the week-end.

“Sincerely,

“Lois Ashton.”

*CHAPTER XIV*

*PLANS*

In the meantime, Nancy and Jim were sitting on a bench which was placed

on a tongue of land jutting out into the lake in the Public Gardens. A

white swan, which Nancy had been feeding with gingersnaps, uttered its

peculiar harsh cry to call her attention to its desire for more food.

“Well, Nan,” Jim was saying, “have you been thinking about what I asked

you on the steamer this morning?”

“Yes, I have very seriously, in the intervals of fitting ourselves and

belongings into Miss Ashton’s tiny apartment.”

“And you decided——”

“It’s this way, Jim,” said Nancy slowly, as if choosing her words very

carefully. “I’m going to be perfectly frank. I—I care a lot for you, and

just now I’m sure I’d never want to marry anyone else. But it seems to

me that we would be foolish to tie ourselves up with an engagement just

now, when we both have a whole year more at college. The senior year is

a very important one, and we’ve got to be deciding what we want to do

after we finish, and make preparations for work of some kind.”

“We could do all that just the same even if we were engaged,” protested

Jim.

“Yes, but suppose this last year you should meet some other girl you

care a lot for——”

“I won’t,” said Jim decidedly.

“You can’t be absolutely _sure_, Jim; and while I think there is no

danger of my meeting anyone who could take your place, such a thing

_is_, after all, a possibility, if not a probability. Just think! A

month ago we had never even seen each other! We have known each other

such a short time, and under such unusual conditions, don’t you really,

way down in your heart, think that it would be wiser, safer, for both of

us to go back to our old normal familiar lives for this one year,

unfettered?”

“I see what you mean, even if I can’t enthuse over it very much.”

“Don’t misunderstand me—dear,” faltered Nancy, for Jim’s tone was rather

hurt. “It’s frightfully hard for me to take this stand; but I feel that

it is the right one, and—” her voice broke pathetically.

“Please—Nan,” begged Jim, “don’t. Fix things up to suit yourself, and

I’ll do whatever you wish.”

“We can write regularly, that is, if you want to.”

Jim gave her such a disgusted look that Nancy smiled in spite of her

earnestness.

“And probably,” she added, “we’ll be able to see each other once or

twice during the year. Then, if next June we both feel the same way as

we do now, you may ask me again. Though, as a matter of fact, you

haven’t yet asked me _once_.”

“Why Nancy, I did; I’m sure I did,” protested Jim so earnestly that she

laughed.

“Why, Jim, you didn’t; I’m sure you didn’t,” she retorted. “You asked me

to wait until you were making enough to take care of me.”

“Well, anyhow, you knew what I meant. But to make sure, if you must have

it in so many words, Nancy, will you marry me?”

“Ask me that question on Commencement Day, and I’ll answer it.”

“Promise me one thing, Nan,” begged Jim very seriously; “that you won’t

become engaged to anyone else until I have had my chance, again in

June.”

“Of course, I’ll promise that; and—and Jim.”

“Yes?”

“If you find some other girl, and feel that you don’t want to ask me

again, just mail to me the little spray of wild roses that Janie gave us

on the Harbor ride that day—what ages ago it seems!—and I’ll

understand.”

Jim laughed gayly.

“Fat chance of that!” he declared.

“But you’ll promise?” persisted Nancy.

“Oh, yes; to please you I’ll promise,” he agreed indulgently.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Nancy, looking at her watch after a long

silence, during which the swan, disgusted at the lack of attention from

the two human beings, sailed off down the lake, “do you know that it’s

after five o’clock? Martha went off somewhere with Mr. Pierce; Jeanette

was going through some of the shops; and Miss Ashton suggested that we

all be back about five thirty. We had rather a ‘picked up’ lunch, as she

called it; and to-night we’re going out to dine.”

“I know it.”

“You do? How?”

“Because I invited you all to go to dinner with me.”

“You did! When?”

“I asked Miss Ashton this morning, and she accepted for the crowd.”

“How very nice! And she never said a word about it.”

“She’s an awfully good scout,” said Jim fervently, if a bit

irrelevantly.

“To-morrow,” he went on, “I hope to have you meet Mother and Dad. I told

them all about you when I ran out home for lunch, and they want you, and

the others too, of course, to come out for afternoon tea to-morrow.”

“I shall love seeing them, and your home, Jim.”

“They’ll love you, too. I’m going to have Griff there. I guess I’ll ask

him for to-night too; and Pierce, if I can get hold of him.”

“Jim, you’re extravagant, taking such a big party out to dinner; though

of course it would be loads of fun.”

“I have my whole summer’s pay, and we must celebrate some way.”

“Celebrate what?” asked Nancy quickly; but Jim only looked at her and

laughed.

At six o’clock he was back at the apartment, bringing Griff with him.

After introductions were over, they sat in the little living room

waiting for John Pierce. Griff, a tall, blond youth, proved to be as

lively and unconventional as Jim was serious and reserved. He roamed

restlessly about, taking up ornaments and books and setting them down

again, stumbling over footstools (whether accidentally of intentionally,

it was difficult to tell), and getting into people’s way generally.

“Excuse it, please,” he said, as he bumped into Martha who was just

turning away from the window for the third time.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked bluntly, as she watched him

continue his ramble about the room.

“Me? Oh, I’m nervous.”

“Over what?”

“Meeting so many charming girls all at one time. It’s quite a strain on

a fellow’s nerves. Didn’t you know that?”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Jim smiling. “He’s quite

harmless.”

“Indeed. And when you get really to know me,” added Griff, “you’ll like

me a lot. Folks always do.”

Jeanette did not know quite what to make of him, and sat watching him,

half fascinated, half disapproving. He noticed her gaze, interpreted it

correctly, and, being a born tease, decided to bother her.

“Little blond girl,” he said, going over to her and taking her hand, “I

feel that you are the only one here who really understands me. Come over

on the window seat and talk to me, and I’ll sit as still as a mouse. Oh,

have a heart,” he added, as she hesitated.

“Yes, Janie,” urged Martha; “do take pity on the rest of us, and keep

that Perpetual Motion quiet for a few minutes. It would be an act of

charity.”

Thus impelled, figuratively and literally, Jeanette, blushing to the

roots of her hair, rose to comply with the request. Bowing low, Griff

took her hand and led her ceremoniously across the room to the window

seat, where he began to talk nonsense to her in a low tone.

“You other people will have to amuse yourselves,” he paused long enough

to say. “We are too busy to bother about you.”

“Thank Heaven!” ejaculated Martha fervently.

After talking nonsense for a few minutes, Griff led the conversation to

the subject of books and plays; and Jeanette found him a really

delightful companion.

“I like to see the first impression Griff makes on strangers,” observed

Jim to Nancy. “Martha is evidently going to fight with him all the

time.”

“Yes, and poor Janie is fussed to death. She doesn’t know what to make

of him. But,” she added in a lower tone, “they seem to be enjoying each

other’s company now.”

“She’ll like him after a while. Girls always do.”

“Sorry to be so late,” said John Pierce, coming in at that moment; “but

it couldn’t be helped.”

Jim introduced him to Griff, and the party went down in the elevator. A

taxi soon whirled them through the streets to the Copley-Plaza Hotel.

“Oh, I’ve always heard so much about this, and wished to see it,”

whispered Nancy to Jim as they entered.

A table for seven had been reserved for them at one side of the circular

dining room, and they were soon making up for their “skimpy luncheon.”

They had so many things to talk about, that they spent a long time over

dinner.

“Now, what should you like to do?” asked Jim, when they finally rose

from the table. “A movie?”

“I don’t know, Jim,” said Miss Ashton with some hesitation. “I should

not like to be considered a spoil-sport, but it is half-past nine now,

and we have had a most strenuous day. I think the girls had better

forego the joys of the screen for the benefit of a little rest.”

She had been looking at her party while they were at dinner, and saw how

tired and excited they all were; and she didn’t want to send the girls

home looking like that. So after a stroll through the hotel, they

returned to the apartment.

“I’m not going to ask you boys to come up,” said Miss Ashton, as they

got out of the taxi. “But, let me see. To-morrow we’re going out to your

house, Jim, for afternoon tea. In the morning we hope to go to church.

Monday, these girls are going home. Suppose to-morrow night you all come

here for a farewell supper. We’ll be crowded, but I know you won’t

mind.”

The exclamations of delight with which her invitation was received fully

repaid her for any work which it would entail.

Packing themselves away for the night in Miss Ashton’s tiny apartment

was a problem, and they had so much fun over it that all inclination for

sleep was destroyed.

The living room had what Martha persisted in calling a “wall bed.”

“Mart, it’s a _Murphy_ bed!” protested Jeanette, whenever it was

mentioned.

“That may be its official name,” retorted Martha; “but it comes out of

the wall, just the same.”

“Suppose you and Jeanette sleep here, Nancy,” suggested Miss Ashton,

pulling it out. “Martha can take the davenport. We’ll push it over to

the other side of the room.”

“And what about you?” inquired Nancy. “I have a cot which I can set up

in the dressing room.”

“But you won’t be comfortable,” objected the girls. “Let one of us take

the cot.”

“Indeed I won’t. I’m used to sleeping anywhere. Wait until I get it

fixed and you’ll see how cozy it really is.”

It was. The cot fitted in between the wall and the dressing table in the

tiny room which connected the living room with the bathroom; and plenty

of air came in from the living room windows directly opposite, if the

door between were left open.

“This is heaps of fun,” declared Martha, when they were at last in bed,

and the lights had been extinguished. “Who’d ever think that this time

last night we were on the ocean, and to be shipwrecked before morning,

and not knowing anything about it.”

“If they could have known about it ahead of time, Mart,” laughed Nancy,

“I suppose it might have been avoided.”

“I said _we_, not _they_!” retorted Martha, as she turned over with a

flop. She was soon fast asleep, as was also Miss Ashton.

“Janie, are you sleepy?” whispered Nancy after a while.

“Not very. Are you?”

“No. Janie——”

“Yes, Nan?”

“I suppose you noticed that Jim has been—has been—sort of nice to me.”

“Yes.”

“Well—he—he asked me to marry him.”

“Oh, Nancy darling, I’m so glad!”

Jeanette caught her friend in her arms, and squeezed her until she could

hardly breathe. “I think he’s just fine, and I hope you’ll be just

awfully, awfully happy.”

“Not so fast! Not so fast!” protested Nancy. “I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

“You haven’t? Why Nan, don’t you care too? I thought you did.”

“I do; but I must be positive. It is too eternal, too serious a thing to

decide in a hurry. I’m not even engaged yet.”

She went on to tell Jeanette the substance of Jim’s and her conversation

on the subject; adding, as she finished, “Of course you know without my

telling you that this is just between you and me. I suppose Miss Ashton

suspects; and Jim has told his father and mother. I’ll tell Mother and

Dad, and Uncle John, but I don’t want anyone else even to suspect it.”

“But Martha?” said Jeanette.

“Oh, she’s so wrapped up in Mr. Pierce that she probably hasn’t even

noticed us,” giggled Nancy softly.

“Don’t deceive yourself,” said Jeanette, smiling to herself in the

darkness over Nan’s naivete, “Martha is more observing than you give her

credit for being. She hides a lot under that rather abrupt way of hers.”

“I wonder if I had better tell her, then, and caution her not to mention

it.”

“Of course, Nan, it isn’t necessary to tell her; but perhaps it would be

as well if you did. She will appreciate your confiding in her, and will,

of course, say nothing about it. And I think, Nan, that you have been

very wise in your decision, hard as it must now seem to you and Jim.”

“I felt that it was the only thing to do, Janie. I really want to finish

college, and be prepared to earn my living in some way if it is ever

necessary. So many girls think that if they can only get hold of a man,

they need never lift a finger again.”

“I know; and one can never be sure what will happen at some time in the

future. It is foolish not to find out what one thing we can do well, and

then fit ourselves to do it. Then, in an emergency, there is something

to depend upon.”

The girls talked for some time. They had missed their intimate

companionship in the excitement and confusion of the past few days, and

it gave both of them much pleasure to get together and talk things over

in the old intimate way.

“Well, now that we’ve talked it all over, and aired our ideas,” said

Nan, “perhaps we’d better try to go to sleep. To-morrow is going to be a

full day too, and we don’t want to be tired out.”

“I’m glad to be going home to see the folks,” she went on, “for it seems

ages since we left. I am a bit disappointed, though, at seeing nothing

of Boston; aren’t you? I did hope to _do_ the town while we were here.”

“Yes; I’m disappointed too, Nan. It is such an interesting city—so

different from other large cities.”

“There is only one Boston, and I’ve wanted, ever since I studied

history, to explore not only the city itself but also its surroundings.”

“And Cape Cod, that Joseph Lincoln writes about,” added Jeanette.

“Well, perhaps some time we shall be able to come back again,” said

Nancy, yawning.

“I am quite sure,” said Jeanette, squeezing her friend’s hand, “that at

least _you_ will.”

*CHAPTER XV*

*PARTIES*

As a result of the late hours which they had kept, in spite of Miss

Ashton’s resolutions, and also of the excitement and over-fatigue, it

was eleven o’clock the next morning before any of the girls stirred.

A stray sunbeam, coming through a tiny hole in the shade, shone directly

in Nancy’s eyes, and awakened her. For a moment she did not know where

she was; then the events of the preceding day rushed through her mind.

She lay still for a while, listening to hear if anyone else was awake.

Not hearing a sound, she drew her watch from under her pillow. Her

involuntary exclamation roused Jeanette.

“What’s the matter, Nan?” she inquired, sleepily.

“Guess what time it is!”

“Oh, about seven o’clock, I suppose. But please tell me it’s only five.”

“Add four to your seven.”

“Nan, you don’t mean it!”

Nancy held the watch before Jeanette’s eyes. “Imagine! And I don’t think

I stirred all night.”

“I’m sure I didn’t. I never slept so late in all my life.”

“Oh, did we disturb you?” Nancy asked, as Miss Ashton appeared in the

doorway.

“Disturb me!” she repeated. “It’s time somebody did. Do you two know the

hour?”

“Just discovered it. I’m afraid we won’t get to church to-day,” said

Nancy, regretfully. Martha slept peacefully on.

“It seems a shame to disturb her,” said Miss Ashton; “but we’ll be

eating lunch before we have breakfast, if we put it off much longer.”

“Mart,” said Nancy, shaking her.

“What?”

“Time to get up.”

“Can’t be.” And Martha turned over and settled herself for another nap.

“But it’s a quarter after eleven!”

“You’re crazy!”

She was now fully aroused.

“I’ll start breakfast,” said Miss Ashton, going into the kitchen. “Come

out as soon as you’re ready.”

“Why don’t we have breakfast and lunch in one?” called Nancy. “Then,

since we’re going to have afternoon tea, we won’t need any noon meal.”.

“Not a bad idea,” replied Miss Ashton. “We’ll do that.”

Soon they were gathered about the built-in table in the breakfast nook.

The sun was streaming in through the double window, and Jip, the canary,

flew merrily about his cage above their heads.

“Can’t we do something to help you get ready for to-night?” asked

Jeanette, as they were washing the dishes.

“Indeed you can,” replied Miss Ashton promptly. “Lots of things.”

“Good! Give us directions, and we’ll follow them to the letter,” said

Nancy gayly.

“We’ll try to, you mean,” amended Martha. “Remember; we’re amateurs.”

“What are we going to have?” inquired Nancy.

“The menu is on top of that cabinet,” said Miss Ashton.

“Fruit cup,” read Nancy. “Um! I love it. Cream of pea soup, with

croutons; celery, radishes and olives; breaded veal cutlet, with

scalloped potatoes, and asparagus; tomato and lettuce salad with cheese

wafers; vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce; cakes, and coffee. How

lovely!”

“Oh, it makes me hungry just to listen to it,” cried Martha.

“Mart! And you’ve just finished your breakfast,” laughed Jeanette.

“And not a _petit déjeuner_ either,” said Nancy.

“I didn’t eat any more than you did,” retorted Martha. “You had three

muffins, an egg, and a heap of bacon, besides peaches and cream.”

“Don’t let’s stop to quarrel over what we ate,” said Jeanette. “We must

get right to work. You allot our tasks, Miss Ashton, and we’ll do our

best to perform them.”

It was two o’clock before everything that could be prepared ahead of

time was finished.

“What are you going to wear this afternoon?” asked Martha, as they left

the kitchenette.

“My flowered chiffon, I think,” replied Nancy; “and I’m going to keep it

on for the evening, too. In fact, it is the only thing I have that is at

all suitable.”

“What about you, Janie?”

“Would the powder blue georgette be too dressy, do you think?”

“Not a bit, and you look so lovely in it,” replied Nancy. “And why don’t

you wear your green and white figured georgette, Mart?”

“I guess I will.”

All three girls had white coats and white felt hats, and Miss Ashton

thought they looked very nice as they sat waiting for the taxi.

“This is called the Longfellow bridge,” said Miss Ashton, as they were

crossing that lengthy span over the Charles River into Cambridge.

“Oh, is this where he was when he wrote—‘I stood on the bridge at

midnight’?” cried Martha.

“This is the bridge he was referring to when he wrote that line,”

laughed Miss Ashton. “He was inspired to write it, while standing on

this bridge.”

“Yes, Mart,” said the irrepressible Nancy, who was overflowing with fun

to-day, “but he probably waited until he got home to write the poem.

There wouldn’t be much light here on the bridge at midnight, you know;

especially in Longfellow’s time.”

Martha refused to say another word until they were going up the brick

walk toward an old colonial house set well back on a shrub-dotted lawn,

with several great elm trees spreading protecting branches over all.

“Some house,” she whispered, inelegantly, to Jeanette.

There was no chance to reply; for Jim stood at the top of the steps

ready to welcome them. In the doorway was a beautiful white-haired

woman, and in the dimness of the hall, just back of her, hovered a big,

genial-looking man.

“Come right in here,” said their hostess, after introductions were over,

and Jim had taken their coats; and she led them into the library on the

left of the long hall, which ran through the center of the house.

“It’s really not cool enough for a hearth fire to-day,” she went on;

“but I think it looks so cozy that I just couldn’t resist the temptation

to have one started.”

As they chatted of various matters, Mrs. Jackson’s keen, though kindly,

eyes were taking careful stock of these new friends of her son.

Mr. Pierce soon arrived, and shortly afterwards Griff burst in. Then all

attempts at serious conversation ceased for a time. At five o’clock a

maid brought in the tea service, and they all gathered about the table

which Mrs. Jackson had placed near the hearth.

Mr. Jackson, who had that fondness for young girls, which one so often

finds in a man who has no daughters, busied himself waiting on the

girls, and trying to make them comfortable.

“Mother, Miss Scott’s cup is empty,” he would say, taking it away from

Martha and carrying it to the tea table where his wife sat.

“Do have a sandwich, Miss Pembroke! They are so small it takes a dozen

to make one.”

“Now you must see our garden,” said Mrs. Jackson, rising, when they had

finished tea. “It is not very large, but we are quite proud, and very

fond, of it.”

While they strolled about among the flower beds and borders, and went on

behind a tall hedge which separated the vegetable garden from the rest

of the grounds, Mrs. Jackson managed to have a word or two alone with

Nancy.

“I do not find a vegetable garden and orchard so very interesting,” she

said, taking the young girl by the arm. “Do you? Shall we sit down here

beside the pool and watch the goldfish until the others came back?”

“I should be glad to,” replied Nancy shyly.

Jim turned around to see what had become of them; but at a look from his

mother, he followed the others.

“I want to say, dear, while I have a chance, that Jim has told me all

about you; and I can quite understand why he has so completely lost his

head, as well as his heart.”

“You are very kind,” murmured Nancy.

“I also want to commend you, my dear, on your very excellent sense. Now!

That sounds funny, doesn’t it? As if I meant in choosing my Jim. But

really, I mean your decision to wait a year to see how your sudden

friendship wears.”

“It was the only sensible thing to do, I thought,” said Nancy.

“And you were quite right. You and Jim need to get better acquainted

before choosing a life together. Naturally too, his father and I want to

know you real well, if you will let us.”

“I’ll be glad to.”

“Then too, your parents will want to get acquainted with my boy. It is a

pity we live so far apart; but there are ways of surmounting that

difficulty, I think. We must do some planning together. You and Jim will

have two or three short vacations during the college year, and we must

make the most of them.”

“It is good of you,” said Nancy impulsively, “to be so interested in me,

when a month ago you had never heard of me; and to be so willing for Jim

to be friends with me.”

“I judged a great deal by what Jim told me about you yesterday, and I

have added to my information by the impressions gained this afternoon,”

replied Mrs. Jackson, smiling. “I always expected that sometime my boy

would find the girl he wanted to marry; but I confess I was surprised

that he found her so soon. I do not realize—mothers never do—that he is

grown up. As you have doubtless discovered, Jim is quite diffident, and

though he has gone about with the girls considerably, it was mostly in

crowds, or with first one and then another. He has never gone with any

one steadily; and that, coupled with the fact that he had no sisters,

makes him in many ways quite unused to the ways of girls in particular.”

The others came back to them at that moment, and all opportunity for

further personal conversation was over.

They all walked back to the house again. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson and Miss

Ashton sat down before the fireplace; for the air was growing chilly,

and they had spent some time in the garden. The young people went into

the living room on the opposite side of the hall, and turned on the

radio. The band music which immediately filled the room was an excellent

cover for private conversation.

Mr. Pierce and Martha drifted to a big davenport in an alcove formed by

four small windows built out at one side of the room. Griff persuaded

Jeanette to occupy the radio bench with him; for he loved to operate it,

and could talk nonsense just as well while his fingers were busy with

the dial. Jim coaxed Nancy into the sun parlor, which opened from the

end of the room.

“Well, Nan?” he asked, smiling at her as they sat down in big willow

chairs facing the garden.

“Oh Jim, your mother and father are lovely. I’m going to like them a

lot, I know. Your mother and I had such a nice talk, and she was very,

very nice to me.”

Jim looked pleased.

“I’m glad,” he said simply. “They like you too. I could tell by the way

they acted. But who could help it?” he added.

“I hope they will,” replied Nancy seriously, ignoring his last remark.

“I certainly want them to like me.”

“And you have a lovely home, Jim,” she added after a few minutes’

silence.

“I like the old place, and I hope you will like it too. Dad said right

away, when I told them about you, that this house was plenty big enough

to add one small girl to it.”

“That was nice of him——”

“But?”

Nancy only laughed, a bit embarrassed.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I feel the same way—that we’d be

better off by ourselves, even if we had only a very small establishment

to start with.”

“I’m glad that you feel that way too. But, how funny we are?” and Nancy

stopped to laugh.

“Why?”

“We decided yesterday to be only friends, until June.”

“Well, we’re just thinking what we’ll do when we’re more than friends.”

“When?” repeated Nancy. “If, you mean.”

“_When_, I said,” replied Jim decidedly.

“Mother will want you to come here and make us a visit sometime before

summer,” he continued.

“Yes; she hinted at that, and spoke of our having several short

vacations before that time.”

“I hate to think of your going home to-morrow,” he said regretfully.

“Yes, I’m sorry too; but Miss Ashton goes on a case this week, and poor

Madelon won’t be able to get back for a while. Besides, my mother and

Janie’s mother are anxious for us to get back. They have had no real

chance to visit with us this summer; for Emma was there the first part

of the vacation, and then we spent all our time getting ready for this

trip. It won’t be long now, before college opens; and we really feel

that we should give our people some attention.”

Jim had been considering asking his mother to keep the girls a few days

longer; but Nancy’s words made him reluctantly put aside the idea. After

all, it would be better for her to come alone, say during the Easter

vacation. Or perhaps at Christmas time. _That_ would be sooner.

Miss Ashton appeared in the doorway.

“I think we had better go now, young folks,” she said.

They followed her out to put on their wraps, but they moved reluctantly.

“I tried to persuade Mr. and Mrs. Jackson to join us to-night,” said

Miss Ashton, as they stood for a moment in the hall before the final

good-bys.

“It is very nice of you,” replied their hostess; “but unfortunately we

have made other plans for this evening. I shall hope to see you all

again, though, before too long a time has passed.”

After various expressions of pleasure over the afternoon’s visit, they

all walked slowly down the steps and along the brick path to the street

where Mr. Jackson had his car ready to take them home.

“Good-by, my dear,” said Mrs. Jackson, kissing Nancy, who was the last

one, except Jim, to get into the machine. “I hope you will be able to

come again, and very soon.”

“I’m not going to say good-by,” said Mr. Jackson, when they got out of

the car at Miss Ashton’s apartment. “I hate the word, anyway; so I’ll

just say ‘good night and see you in the morning.’”

“What did he mean?” asked Nancy, as she and Jim walked up the steps

together.

“I don’t know exactly,” replied Jim. “Dad is a bit soft-hearted, though

you’d never guess it to judge by his size and appearance; and, as he

said, he never likes to bid people good-by.”

“Soft-hearted,” thought Nancy. “Like father, like son. That is where Jim

gets his big heart from. His mother is charming, but much more

practical. I like both of them, but I fancy his father and I will be

more especially chummy.”

The supper party was a hilarious affair. Everybody felt very gay, and

Griff quite outdid even himself. He insisted upon setting the table, but

Jeanette had to follow him around, correcting his errors of omission and

commission. The table had built-in benches on either side of it, instead

of chairs, and the space between was very narrow. On one of his trips

around the table, he slipped and fell, scattering a handful of silver in

all directions. He could not, or pretended he could not, extricate

himself; and the other two boys had to go to his rescue. With much

laughter and difficulty they succeeded in getting him out, and gathering

up the silverware.

“Now,” said Martha firmly, taking him by the arm and leading him to a

chair in the living room, “just come right in here and sit down. And

don’t you _dare_ stir until you are called.”

She left him sobbing noisily, his face buried in his handkerchief.

When the other two boys had finished setting the table, and supper was

ready to serve, they went to call Griff; and they found him, spread out

in the big chair, sound asleep.

“Let’s leave him there,” suggested the hard-hearted Martha.

“His fall must have tired him out,” remarked John Pierce, grinning.

“Come on, Griff,” called Jim. “Eats!”

“Where?” he cried, jumping up. “Oh, I remember.” He sighed deeply,

sinking back and covering his face with his hands.

“Oh, cut the comedy, and come on!” directed John Pierce, dragging him to

his feet.

Throughout the meal, he assumed the most exaggerated shyness, speaking

only in a whisper, and hardly raising his eyes from his plate. No amount

of razzing on the part of the others could make him change his manner;

and it was only when they began to clear up and wash the dishes, that

his real self reappeared.

“Which is worse than the other,” declared Martha.

The girls had managed to get their kodak pictures finished, and the rest

of the evening was spent in going over them, and recalling amusing bits

of their Nova Scotia tour.

“Like Dad,” said Jim, when the boys prepared to leave, “we won’t say

good-by; for I’m sure some of us, I won’t say for sure how many, will be

at the station in the morning. What time did you say your train goes?”

“Nine something, I think. What is the exact time, Janie?” asked Nancy.

“Nine fifty,” prompted Jeanette.

“Then we’ll say, au revoir,” said Mr. Pierce.

“Say au revoir, but not good-by,” caroled Griff in a lyric tenor.

“Be quiet! Other folks in this house are probably asleep,” ordered Jim;

and he and John Pierce pushed Griff rapidly along the hall in the

direction of the elevator.

“It was a lovely, party,” sighed Nancy, as they prepared the rooms for

the night; “and it was most awfully nice of you, Miss Ashton, to have

it.”

“I was indeed glad to be able to,” replied their hostess; “and I think I

enjoyed it almost, if not quite, as well as you young folks.”

*CHAPTER XVI*

*A STRANGE ENCOUNTER*

The next morning was a confusion of breakfast, packing, and hurrying off

to the station.

“I can never tell you, Miss Ashton,” said Nancy before they left the

apartment, “how very much I have enjoyed the trip, and how much I

appreciate all you have done to make things pleasant for us.”

“And how glad we are that you asked us to go in the first place,” added

Jeanette. “I too certainly had a wonderful time.”

“I never had so much fun in my life,” said Martha. “You have all got me

spoiled by this trip, for a summer at home or for an excursion with

anyone else. I’m wedded to you for life, vacationally speaking.”

“It is a real pleasure to take you girls anywhere,” said Miss Ashton, in

reply; “not only because you so thoroughly appreciate what one does, and

enjoy it, but because you are good company. It is not often that a

chaperon can boast of a wholly congenial party of girls who keep

sweet-tempered, pleased with what they see, and who have such

consideration for her. I hope we shall be able to go somewhere again,

sometime.”

“And so do we,” was the echo.

“And the lovely picture that you girls gave me will serve to remind me

constantly of the land of Evangeline, and our good times there.”

The big South Station was filled with hurrying people when they entered,

but Jim and the other two boys who had been watching for them were at

their side almost at once.

“The train is made up here,” said Jim, giving Nancy’s bags to a redcap;

“so you can get on immediately.”

It was a very long train; and they walked some distance along the

platform before they reached their car. The boys settled the party in

their chairs, and presented magazines, fruit, boxes of candy, and books;

then sat down to visit until it was time to get off.

“My goodness,” cried Martha, looking at the offerings, “you boys must

have thought we were going to be a week on the train.”

“Oh, no,” replied Griff quickly. “We gave them so you wouldn’t be weak.”

“Terrible! Terrible!” groaned John Pierce. “Don’t give us any more like

that.”

They remained on the train until the very last minute; so the final

good-bys consisted of hasty handclasps and promises to write.

Their last glimpse of the Boston station from the car window showed the

three boys and Miss Ashton waving to them as the train pulled out. The

girls were very quiet for a long time.

“Well,” sighed Jeanette, after the train had passed Worchester, “it’s

over.”

“The actual trip itself,” replied Martha; “but perhaps there might be a

sequel to it. Who knows?”

“Was it all you expected, Jane?” asked Nancy, rousing from a reverie.

“Yes, it was; and more than I anticipated, in some respects. What about

you, Nan?”

“Oh, I loved it! Yet how soon even such a pleasant trip falls into the

background. Nova Scotia seems to be so very far away already.”

“It is,” said the materialistic Martha. “Miles and miles.”

“It always seems a pity,” said Jeanette, “that we can’t enjoy the

present more while we still have it, on trips especially. We are always

looking forward to getting to the next place, or doing the next thing,

and so lose the full joy of what we are doing at the time. As our friend

Horace says, ‘_Carpe diem._’”

“There was a lot of good sense in his poems, if he was a bit gloomy,”

said Martha, as if she were announcing some hitherto unknown truth; and

she wondered why the girls laughed.

“But it’s true, as you say, Janie,” said Nancy, “and then afterwards,

when we think it over, we realize what we have missed, and wish we had

enjoyed it more intensely while we had it.”

“Next time, I’m going to try to do that,” resolved Jeanette.

“This vacation was rather unreal, anyhow,” said Nancy, after another

long silence.

“What do you mean?” inquired Martha.

“Didn’t Nova Scotia seem to you a kind of unreal, visionary country?”

“I think I see,” said Jeanette slowly. “It was a sort of phantom land.”

“Exactly.”

“You two are too poetical,” observed Martha. “It seemed real enough to

me.”

“Martha,” said Nancy, upon their return from the dining car, after

lunch, “can you keep a secret?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Because I want to tell you one.”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s—about Jim—and me——”

“Oh, that! I don’t need to be told about that. I don’t think _that_ was

a secret to anyone.”

Nancy laughed, a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

“Couldn’t help noticing something that even a blind man could see.”

“But nothing at all is to be settled until after Commencement, Mart; and

besides our parents, Miss Ashton, and Janie and you, I don’t want anyone

to know or even suspect.”

“Why, if I may ask?”

After Nancy finished her explanation, which she found it much harder to

make to Martha than to Jeanette, Martha replied, “I see. I guess maybe

you’re right. Anyway, of course you can count on me to keep it quiet.”

“Thanks a lot, Mart.”

The beautiful Berkshires had slipped away somewhere behind the train,

and they were rapidly approaching Albany, when Martha said hesitatingly:

“Since confidences are in order, I suppose I should do my part.”

“Martha! What?” demanded Nancy, excitedly.

“Oh, don’t get your hopes up like that. My news is not nearly so

interesting as yours. But you remember, you wondered in Yarmouth when I

had bought my amethyst ring?”

“Yes,” said Nancy, “because I thought it odd that you had not mentioned

it before.”

“I felt rather queer about it, to tell the truth. The day we sailed, Mr.

Pierce and I were strolling about, window shopping, and I foolishly

pointed out the ring and said how crazy I was over it. He immediately

went into the shop and bought it for me. I absolutely refused to accept

such a gift, for I knew that you and Jeanette disapprove of girls taking

gifts of any value from men——”

“But Mart,” interrupted Nancy, “what have our opinions got to do with

it?”

“Haven’t you been my mentors ever since we started out together in

Eastport?” demanded Martha.

“Why, yes, I suppose so; but you certainly must have some ideas of your

own on such subjects.”

“Well, I know most girls take anything a man gives them, and seem not to

give it a thought.”

“I know they do; and they laugh at us for having what they call such

old-fashioned notions; but I don’t care. In this, I think the custom of

my mother’s day, of accepting only flowers, books, or something like

that, is the nicer one; and therefore I adopted it for mine, and shall

stick to it,” decreed Nancy decidedly.

“But what could I do?” wailed Martha, “when he just forced it upon me?

He said it was just a little souvenir of the country; that he had been

intending to get me something to take home, and it was better for the

thing to be some article I liked a lot than just some trinket or other

that he might pick out.”

“In such a case I really don’t know what you could have done, Mart,”

said Jeanette, thoughtfully. “After all, those rings were not so awfully

expensive. If he had taken you to the theater a couple of times in a

city like New York, and to dinner afterwards, the expense would have

been more than the cost of the ring.”

“Yes, that’s true,” agreed Nancy. “I think I just wouldn’t worry about

it, Mart. You did your best; so wear the ring, and enjoy it, and forget

about the rest of it.”

“Anything else you’d like to tell us?” suggested Nancy shyly, after a

pause.

“Nothing much,” replied Martha. “He asked me if he might come to see me,

if he could get away for a few days sometime, and I said he might.”

“At college?” asked Jeanette.

“I don’t know. There would be no objections. Would there?”

“None at all. Many of the Juniors and Seniors, you know, have visitors

over the week-end, or go off to dances or house parties, though the

girls of our own crowd have not done much in that line.”

“You like Mr. Pierce, don’t you, Mart?” asked Nancy.

“Yes, I do sometimes——”

“And other times?” prompted Jeanette.

“I don’t like him a bit! He’s awfully stern, and so dictatorial when he

wants to be; and——”

“You’re not used to it,” concluded Nancy, laughing.

“No; and I’m not sure I could ever get used to it, either; or that I

want to.”

“_Albany!_” called the porter. “Stop of forty minutes.”

“Let’s get off,” proposed Martha. “It will be a long wait on the train.”

“If we can keep Nan right between us all the time, I will,” said

Jeanette; “but I refuse to let her out of my sight.”

“I want a soda,” decided Martha, as they strolled along the platform

with the other passengers. “There’s plenty of time.”

So they hurried on through the crowd of trainmen, redcaps, travelers,

dodged between baggage trucks, around piles of freight, and down the

stairs to the station proper.

“We were lots farther out than I thought,” observed Jeanette, as they

perched on stools before the soda fountain.

While they were waiting for their orders to be filled, Nancy’s eyes fell

upon a man who was lounging on one of the near-by benches. His clothes

had once been good, but were now very shabby, and he looked as if he

might be slightly the worse for liquor.

“His face looks familiar,” she thought. “I wonder where I have seen him

before.”

She puzzled over the likeness for a few minutes, and then gave it up.

After all, there were so many similar types. One was always saying,

“That person looks so much like so-and-so.”

While the girls were enjoying their sodas, the man, whose attention had

been attracted to them when they first approached the counter, eyed them

attentively. As they paid the check and turned away, he got up, and

moving across the short space between them, stood directly in their way.

They were about to walk around him, when he spoke.

“Say,” he demanded, in a low tone, “what did you do with my sister?”

“Your sister?” repeated Nancy, in astonishment.

“Come on! Don’t notice him,” whispered Jeanette, trying to urge them on

their way.

“Now just you wait a minute,” he persisted. “Don’t try to get away from

me. There’s something I want to find out and you’ve got to tell me.”

Jeanette looked wildly around to see if she could see a policeman, but

there were none in sight.

“We know nothing about any of your affairs,” said Nancy firmly.

The man laughed unpleasantly.

“Maybe you don’t know me, but I know you; and your friends too. You’ve

done me a couple of ill turns, and now to pay up a little you can tell

me where Georgia is.”

Now Nancy knew where she had seen him before. The peculiar acting man in

front of them in the theater that day so long ago; Georgia in tears in

the lobby; the girls taking her to tea, and making up enough to send her

home; the meeting with Georgia in the store at Christmas time; her

months of boarding at Janie’s house. All this flashed through her mind,

followed immediately by the picture of a man bending over her dresser

one night at college; his capture by means of her flashlight; the room

filled with girls; Tim’s entrance to take the man into custody.

“Georgia!” gasped Jeanette.

“Yes, Georgia,” repeated the man. “You tried to coax her away from me,

by getting her to live at your house; but I fixed that! You didn’t want

her any more after you found out about the brooch. Did you?”

The girls were so surprised and shocked by the man’s words that they

were absolutely speechless.

“She came back with me for a while after that,” he continued, “and then

gave me the slip again. Now what I want to know is, where is she? Where

have you hidden her?”

“We know nothing at all about Georgia’s whereabouts,” said Nancy,

finding her voice at last. “We only wish we did. We too have been

looking for her for a long time.”

“Is that the truth?” demanded the man, looking sharply at her.

“It certainly is. Now let us pass at once.”

Seeing a policeman crossing the station, the man slunk off, and was soon

lost in the crowd; and the girls hurried out, and up the stairs toward

the train.

“My goodness!” panted Martha, as they almost ran along the platform. “I

was scared.”

“I wasn’t scared; for there were too many people all around us; but I

was almost stunned by the unexpectedness of the encounter,” said Nancy.

“Poor, poor Georgia,” commented Jeanette, “to have such a brother! What

do you——”

“Our car!” cried Martha. “It’s gone.”

“It can’t be,” protested Nancy. “That is our engine.”

“Well, you can see for yourself that the car ‘Elaine’ isn’t anywhere

around here,” persisted Martha, excitedly.

“They are switching,” said Jeanette, after a careful survey of the

scene. “‘Elaine’ is probably farther out in the yards. We’ll walk on a

ways.”

“She’s gone. She’s certainly gone,” repeated Martha, after they had

proceeded for some distance, and still saw no signs of the runaway car.

“There it is!” cried Nancy, pointing across several tracks, where, far

ahead, almost at the bridge over the Hudson River, stood “Elaine.”

“How in the name of fortune can we get to her?” demanded Martha.

“The answer to that,” said Jeanette, smiling, “is that you can’t, at

present.”

“Unless you want to climb over those two trains,” added Nancy. “They’ll

probably switch again, and bring her farther in.”

They stood watching, and Martha breathed more freely when an engine soon

picked up the lost “Elaine” and brought her in near the platform where

the girls were waiting. Soon they were able to get on board again.

“Now that the excitement is over,” said Nancy, as they settled down in

their chairs for the rest of the trip, “let’s discuss our strange

encounter. Mart did so much dancing around out on the platform that we

had no chance to talk about it.”

“Well, I didn’t want to get left,” protested Martha.

“Of course we _did_,” laughed Nancy.

“Can you figure out the mystery at all. Nan?” asked Jeanette.

“No, Janie, I really can’t, that is in detail. We know now that this man

whom we first saw that day in the theater is Georgia’s brother; and that

he is a—a—” she hesitated, not liking to say the word.

“A thief!” prompted Martha, who had no such scruples. “And what did he

mean by saying that you had done him a couple of ill turns?”

“First, in befriending Georgia, I suppose,” replied Nancy slowly, “since

that took her away from him. And second, for turning him over to Tim

that night at college——”

“Oh,” squealed Martha, “was _he_ the burglar that you captured with the

flashlight?”

“Yes.”

“You realize, Nan, judging by what he just said, that he was responsible

for the brooch being found in Georgia’s pocket?” asked Jeanette.

“Do you suppose he was lying? I don’t see how he could have worked it.”

“Nor I, but he doubtless has ways and means of which we know nothing;

and I’m just as sure as sure—and always have been—that Georgia was not

guilty.”

“So am I; and I wish more than ever, now, that we could find her,”

replied Nancy.

“Perhaps if we advertised?” suggested Jeanette.

“You might. But don’t expect any results; for there are so many papers,

and so many cities. She might not even be in this country now.”

“What about the brooch story!” asked Martha. “I never heard that!”

“No, we never told it, and never intended to; but since you have

accidentally heard part of it, you may as well learn the rest,” replied

Jeanette.

Jeanette went on to tell her briefly how, after Georgia had been living

with them for some months, and had been left alone for the week-end, a

valuable brooch of Mrs. Grant’s had been found in Georgia’s pocket under

very puzzling circumstances, and that, immediately after, Georgia had

mysteriously disappeared.

“How very uncomfortable for all of you,” was Martha’s comment, when

Jeanette had finished her explanation. “Why don’t you tell everybody you

know,” she proposed, after a moment’s thought, “that you want to find

Georgia! Just give them a description of her, and tell them to be on the

lookout for such a person. You needn’t tell them why you want her.”

The girls smiled skeptically over her suggestion.

“I’ll ask John—Mr. Pierce anyhow,” she persisted. “He meets such a lot

of people.”

“First call for dinner. Dining car forward,” called a waiter, passing

through the car.

“Let’s go in right away,” proposed Martha, rising promptly. “If we

don’t, we’ll be standing in line later. We had a very light lunch, you

know,” she added, as Jeanette smiled. “And I’ll have to be leaving you

in about an hour.”

So they went in to the dining car, and lingered over their last meal

together on the trip; talking over the happenings in detail, as perhaps

only a trio of college girls can.

When Martha’s station was reached, they bade her good-by until the

opening of college; and by that time they were so tired and sleepy, that

they dozed until their own station was called.

“Just think,” observed Nancy, as they walked along the platform, “the

next time we come here we’ll be starting out for our last year at

Roxford. Our senior year, Janie. It doesn’t seem possible; does it?”