XXIX

To Arthur, half-way across the lake, considering just what he should say

to the trespassers, the sudden sight of the person whom of all persons

in the world he least expected and most wanted to see was a staggering

physical shock. He almost fell out of his canoe. And if he had done that

he might very likely have drowned, so paralyzing in effect were those

first moments of unbelievable joy and astonishment. Then she waved her

hand to him and swiftly crossed the beach, and he began to paddle like a

madman. When the canoe beached with sudden finality, Arthur simply made

a flying leap to the shore and caught her in his arms.

Then he held her at arm's length, and if eyes could eat, these would

have been the last moments upon earth of a very lovely young woman.

Then a sort of horror of what he had done and of what he was doing

seized him. His hands dropped to his sides and the pupils of his eyes

became pointed with pain. But she said:

"It's all right, Arthur; don't look like that. My husband is dead."

"Dead?" said Arthur, his face once more joyous as an angel's. "Thank God

for that!"

And why not thank God when some worthless, cruel man dies? And why not

write the truth about him upon his tombstone instead of the conventional

lies?

"But why didn't you write to me?" demanded Arthur.

"It had been such a long time since we saw each other. How did I know

that you still cared?"

"But how could I stop caring--about you?"

"Couldn't you?"

"Why, I didn't even try," said Arthur. "I just gave it up as a bad job.

But how, in the name of all that's good and blessed, do you happen to be

in this particular place at this particular time? Did you, by any

chance, come by way of the heavens in a 'sweet chariot'? I came to eject

trespassers, and I find you!"

"And I came to spy on you, Arthur, and to find out if you still cared.

And if you didn't, I was going to tie a stone round my neck and lie down

in the lake. Of course, if I'm a trespasser----"

They had moved slowly away from the shore toward the tents. From one of

these a languid, humorous voice that made Arthur start hailed them. And

through the fly of the tent was thrust a beautiful white hand and the

half of a beautiful white arm.

"I can't come out, Arthur," said the voice; "but good-morning to you,

and how's the family?"

"Of all people in the world," exclaimed Arthur; "my own beautiful

mamma!" And he sprang to the extended hand and clasped it and kissed it.

"Your excellent stepfather," said the voice, "is out walking up an

appetite for breakfast. I hope you will be very polite to him. If it

hadn't been for him, Cecily would have stayed in London, where we found

her. He wormed her secret out of her and brought her to you as a

peace-offering."

There was a deep emotion in Arthur's voice as he said:

"Then there shall always be peace between us."

The hand had been withdrawn from the light of day; but the languid,

humorous voice continued to make sallies from the brown tent.

"We didn't want to be in the way; so, remembering this bit of property,

we just chucked our Somali outfit into a ship, and here we are! I was

dreadfully shocked and grieved to hear that you were all quite broke and

had started an inn. In New York it is reported to be a great success, is

it?"

"Why, I hope so," said Arthur; "I don't really know. Mary's head man.

Maud keeps the books; the triplets keep getting into mischief, and Eve,

so far as I know, keeps out. As for me, I had an occupation, but it's

gone now."

"What was your job, Arthur?"

"My job was to have my arm in imagination where it now is in reality."

"Cecily!" exclaimed the voice. "Is that boy hugging you publicly? Am I

absolutely without influence upon manners even among my own tents?"

"Absolutely, Princess!" laughed Cecily.

"Then the quicker I come out of my tent the better! You'll stop to

breakfast, Arthur?"

"With pleasure, but shan't I get word to the girls? Of course, they

would feel it their duty to call upon you at once."

"I should hope so--as an older woman I should expect that much of them.

But, princess or no princess, I refuse to stand on ceremony. In my most

exalted and aristocratic moments I can never forget that I am their

mother. So after breakfast _I_ shall call on _them_."

At this moment, very tall and thin, in gray Scotch tweeds, carrying a

very high, foreheady head, there emerged from the forest Prince

Oducalchi, leading by the hand his eight-year-old son, Andrea, and

singing in a touching, clear baritone something in Italian to the effect

that a certain "Mariana's roses were red and white, in the market-place

by the clock-tower!"

Andrea wore a bright-red sweater, carried a fine twenty-bore gun made by

a famous London smith, and looked every inch a prince. He had all the

Darling beauty in his face and all the Oducalchi pride of place and

fame.

"Mr. Darling, I believe?" asked the prince, his left eyebrow slightly

acockbill. "I have not had the pleasure of seeing you for some years,

but I perceive that you are by way of accepting my peace-offering."

"I was never just to you," said Arthur, a little pale and looking very

proud and handsome, "and you have been very good to my mamma and you

have been very good to me. Will you forgive me?"

"I cannot do that. There has been nothing to forgive. But I will shake

hands with you with all the pleasure in the world--my dear Cecily, does

he come up to the memories of him? Poor children, you have had a sad

time of it in this merry world! I may call you 'Arthur'? Arthur, this is

your half-brother, Andrea. I hope that you will take a little time to

show him the beautiful ways of your North Woods."

Arthur shook hands solemnly with the small boy, and their stanchly met

eyes told of an immediate mutual confidence and liking.

"I've always wanted a brother in the worst way," said Arthur.

"So have I," piped Andrea.

And then Princess Oducalchi came out of her tent, and proved that,

although her daughters resembled her in features, simplicity, and grace

and dignity of carriage, they would never really vie with her in beauty

until they had loved much, suffered much, borne children into the world,

and remembered all that was good in things and forgotten all that was

evil.

"Mamma," said Arthur, "is worth travelling ten thousand miles to see any

day, isn't she?"

"On foot," said Prince Oducalchi, "through forests and morasses infested

with robbers and wild beasts."

The princess blushed and became very shy and a little confused for a few

moments. Then, with a happy laugh, she thrust one hand through her

husband's arm, the other through Arthur's, and urged them in the

direction of the tent, where breakfast was to be served.

Andrea followed, with Cecily holding him tightly by the hand.

"If we had not been buried in Somaliland at the time," said Arthur's

mother, "we would never have let this 'Inn' happen. I'm sure you were

against it, Arthur?"

"Of course," said he simply. "But with sister Mary's mind made up, and

the rest backing her, what could a poor broken-hearted young man do? And

it has worked out better than I ever hoped. I don't mean in financial

ways. I, mean, the sides of it that I thought would be humiliating and

objectionable haven't been. Indeed, it's all been rather a lark, and

Mary insists upon telling me that we are a lot better off than we were.

We charge people the most outrageous prices! It's enough to make a dead

man blush in the dark. And the only complaint we ever had about it was

that the prices weren't high enough. So Mary raised them."

"But," objected Prince Oducalchi, "you, and especially your sisters,

cannot go on being innkeepers forever. You, I understand, for

instance"--and his fine eyes twinkled with mirth and kindness--"are

thinking of getting married."

"I am," said Arthur, with so much conviction that even his Cecily

laughed at him.

"When I divorced your poor father," said the princess, "he happened to

be enjoying one of his terrifically rich moments. So, in lieu of

alimony, he turned over a really huge sum of money to me. When I married

Oducalchi and told him about the money, he made me put it in trust for

you children, to be turned over to you after your father's death. So you

see there was never any real need to start the Inn--but of course we

were in Africa and so forth and so on-- If you've finished your coffee,

I'm dying to see the girls. And I'm dying to tell them about the money,

and to send all the horrid guests packing!"

"Some of the horrid guests," said Arthur, "won't pack. Of course, the

girls think that I only study frogs and plants; but it's a libel. When

two and two are thrust into my hands, I put them together, just as

really sensible people do. You will find, mamma, a sad state of affairs

at the camp."

Princess Oducalchi began to bristle with interest and alarm.

"Andrea," said his father, "have a canoe put overboard for me."

Andrea rose at once and left the breakfast tent.

"Now, Arthur," cried the princess, "tell me everything at once!"

"Gay," said Arthur, "is in love with a young Englishman, and knows that

she is. He had to go home to be made an earl; but I think she is

expecting him back in a few days, because she is beginning to take an

interest in the things she really likes. Mary is in love with Sam

Langham, and he with her. They, however, don't know this. Phyllis has

forsaken her garden and become a dead-game sport. This she has done for

the sake of a red-headed Bostonian named Herring. Lee and a young fellow

named Renier are neglecting other people for each other. And our sedate

Maud, formerly very much in the company of two fiery Southerners, is now

very much in the company of one of them, Colonel Meredith, of South

Carolina. The other Carolinian, Mr. Bob Jonstone, sprained his wrist the

other day, and it seems that sister Eve was intended by an all-wise

Providence to be a trained nurse. But in the case of those last

mentioned there are certain mysteries to be solved."

At this moment Andrea appeared at the tent opening and announced in his

piping child voice: "The canoe is overboard, papa."