"O'er the waters so blue, o'er the waters so blue,
We're afloat, we're afloat in our birch-bark canoe."
Elinor's sweet fresh voice, floating across the waters of Lake Worth,
seemed a part of the rippling accompaniment made by the waves as they
lapped the bow of the Firefly. Edward, the young engineer, absorbed in
listening to the music, forgot he was guiding a boatful of people down
the lake to an evening party at Mr. Duffy's villa.
"Be careful," whispered Billie, sitting near him. "Look out for that
boat on the right."
Edward started from his dream, smiled, and turned the Firefly out of the
track of the oncoming boat.
"That's a pretty song," said Timothy Peppercorn, "only to be strictly
truthful, you should substitute--'We're afloat, we're afloat in our
little motor-boat.'"
"There's nothing poetical about the smell of gasoline," interrupted
Elinor. "It out-perfumes all the orange blossoms and yellow jasmine at
Palm Beach."
"Speaking of gasoline," Miss Campbell here broke in, "Edward, did you
find out any more about that leak that came in the Firefly the other
night? Was it--do you--er, could it possibly have been----"
Miss Campbell hesitated. She never liked to make accusations on
circumstantial evidence, but it certainly looked very much as if
Clarence Paxton had done the deed, out of spite.
Edward hesitated and Billie replied for him.
"The engineer is busy at this moment, Cousin Helen," she said, "but I
will tell you that if it wasn't the person who shall be nameless, he got
a good beating anyhow for some one else's sins the next day."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed the little lady with great concern. "Dear,
dear. Who beat him?"
"The other one."
"It all sounds very mysterious," laughed Timothy, "like the letter at
the trial of the Knave of Hearts:
"'I gave her one; they gave him two,
You gave us three or more.
They all returned from him to you,
Though they were mine before.'"
"What are these Paxton people like?" asked Genevieve Martin.
"They are English and peculiar," answered Nancy. "Two orphans and one
almost-orphan, and their grandmother. The two orphans are very nice and
the almost-orphan is--well, rather disagreeable. The grandmother beats
them when she is angry----"
"Oh, Nancy," exclaimed Elinor.
"She does, for I saw her at Timothy's drowning. She beat Clarence."
"Oh, Clarence. I should think she would have to beat him. But Edward is
really quite nice."
The others laughed at this, and the engineer bent down over his machine
as if motor engines were the only thing in life that interested him.
"Here we are," cried the ever-watchful Billie, pointing to a pretty
villa which was one of many built on a long strip of land separating the
lake from the ocean. "This is Mr. Duffy's villa. I can tell it by the
three lanterns hung in the boat-house. He told me that would be the
Duffy signal."
Since Billie's bravery in keeping Timothy from drowning, Mr. Duffy had
been her devoted follower. It was impossible for him to conceal his
admiration, he said. He wished all the world to know that she was the
finest young lady in three kingdoms and all the states. He brought his
wife to the hotel to call on Miss Helen and the girls, but chiefly to
exhibit the brave young woman who had kept two heads above water at the
same time and not lost either of them. And then he wished to give Billie
a party at his own house, and he invited her and all her friends who
were at the moment in speaking distance on the piazza. Timothy
Peppercorn and Genevieve Martin were included, and the three English
cousins who happened to be near at the time. The Firefly party could see
their launch now making for the pier.
"Why, look," exclaimed Mary. "Clarence isn't running the boat to-night.
Edward Paxton is doing it."
"Good!" cried Billie. "It's a fine sign."
"Sign of what, pray?" demanded Elinor.
"Oh, nothing," began Billie, when she was interrupted by a burst of
music played by three negroes on a guitar, a banjo and a triangle which
sent a silver tinkling note through the melody. Mr. Duffy, himself, was
at the boat landing looking as large as a white elephant in his spick
and span linen suit.
"This is a pleasure and an honor, Madam," he exclaimed, helping Miss
Campbell out of the boat as gallantly as if he had been a slender young
cavalier. "Mrs. Duffy and I have been looking forward to this, I can
tell you. The old woman's on the porch. She never walks a step if she
can avoid it, you know."
Mr. Duffy always called his wife "the old woman," but it was simply a
term of endearment for she was not really old at all. She was almost as
fat as her husband, however, but at the top of her mountainous figure
was the most charmingly pretty face imaginable, as pink and white as a
wax doll's and always wrinkling with little smiles which played
hide-and-seek among her many dimples. Her eyes were as blue and innocent
as an infant's and her naturally blonde hair, made blonder by artificial
means, gave her face a singularly childlike appearance.
"Are you all here?" she cried, giving a funny little elephantine run
down the piazza, as they came up the steps. "I do hope no one stayed
behind. I wish I had told you to bring more people. Mr. Duffy and I love
boys and girls, because we haven't any of our own, I suppose. If I
wasn't so fat and lazy, I think I should like to be at the head of a big
orphan asylum. It would be different from any orphan asylum I have ever
seen. The children should have such a good time they would forget they
had no parents. The little girls should have pretty dresses," she
rattled on, "and not those hideous dun colored things, and every
Saturday they should have a party----"
"You see how my old woman does run on," laughed Mr. Duffy, winking at
the others. "Orphan asylums are her particular fad, but I don't believe
any Methodist Association would engage her if they heard her views
first."
"If they ever do make you a superintendent of an orphan asylum, Mrs.
Duffy," called Billie, on her way up the stairs to leave her scarf and
wrap, "you will have your hands full because we shall all join the
orphan brigade."
"Bless you, child, Mr. Duffy and I would be only too glad to make a
little asylum just for you all alone if you should ever feel inclined to
try it," returned the warm-hearted soul who had yearned in vain for a
little girl of her own.
Mr. and Mrs. Duffy's winter home was built very much as they were: broad
and commodious and of an exceedingly comfortable disposition.
There was plenty of room in the big parlors for dancing; on the broad
piazzas were lounging chairs and hammocks, and in the tropical garden,
now lighted with Japanese lanterns, settees had been placed in all the
prettiest nooks.
Other guests now began to arrive from the neighboring villas, and our
Motor Maids soon found themselves at what Nancy called "a real party."
And, oh, how busy Mrs. Duffy was introducing all the boys and girls! She
chose Timothy Peppercorn as her assistant and the incongruous pair kept
the couples spinning about the room like so many human tops.
"No one shall ever have a stupid time in my house," declared the good
woman, leading forth young men and maids to the dance like so many
sacrificial lambs. But once things got into swing, she had no further
trouble except with poor, awkward, shy Georgiana. The young English girl
danced a hoppety dance instead of the American glide, and it was
difficult to obtain a partner for her a second time. At last Mr. Duffy
himself was called into action. With rivers of perspiration pouring down
his rotund countenance, like spring freshets down the side of a
mountain, he gallantly piloted Georgiana through the mazes of the waltz.
But Mr. Duffy had a light and graceful step, in spite of his enormous
weight.
There was a dancer at the ball whose enjoyment was so apparent that Mrs.
Duffy felt a thrill of gratification whenever she noticed his flushed,
happy face. It was Edward--which Edward, you may guess for yourselves,
but he danced as Cinderella must have danced when she knew that at
midnight she must fly. Billie was his partner as often as Timothy
Peppercorn would permit. As soon as Edward had arrived he had pushed his
way through the crowd and gone straight to her side.
"How many dances may I have, Miss Billie?" he asked, with a candor not
unusual in young Southerners.
"As many as you can get," replied Billie, laughing, but with a bright
flush on her cheeks, and Edward had taken her at her word.
Elinor, who was standing next to Billie when this happened, turned away
and bit her lip. It was only because she had been saving up something to
tell Edward about a duet she wanted him to try some day with her at the
hotel, and Edward had merely bowed to her and gone away. Such things are
disturbing even to the most dignified and high-bred natures, and it was
natural for poor Elinor to wonder why Edward Paxton had never been near
her since the evening they all spent together at Virginia's home.
Elinor had many partners that night, but Edward was not one of them. Her
feelings were hurt and she could not resist a slight coldness toward
Billie, who seemed to have forgotten that she had three intimate
comrades and was always talking to Edward in a low voice and stopping
immediately any one came near.
"Won't you and Timothy come and stroll in the garden with us, Elinor?"
asked Billie, as they passed each other between dances.
"Thanks," replied Elinor, with all the dignity of an injured queen, "I
would rather stay indoors."
So it was that Billie and Edward strolled alone in the garden.
"How are you getting on?" she asked.
"Splendidly," he replied. "I gave Clarence such a licking as he'll never
forget, and yesterday when the old lady started to rap me in the head
with her cane, I caught it in my hand and said 'Don't do that again.' I
could hardly keep from laughing. But she has treated me very politely
ever since. I have to watch out for Clarence, though. He is just waiting
for a chance to get at me. It will be from behind. That's why I have to
be careful. And I want to warn my twin brother. I suppose we'll find him
at the boat landing."
"How do you like being in another boy's shoes?" Billie asked, as they
turned in the direction of the boat-house.
"It's rather jolly having plenty of clothes and nothing to do but amuse
myself; but I'd just as soon live at the foot of Mount Etna as take a
permanent job with my present grandmamma.
"Nonsense," said Billie, "I believe you will find her all right if she
learns to respect you. She has no respect for her grandchildren. That's
why she bullies them with her cane."
Stretched on the cushioned seat of the Firefly, they found the other
Edward gazing at the stars, the very picture of contentment.
"Hello," he exclaimed, looking up as he stifled a yawn. "How's the
party?"
"Fine!" answered Edward l'Estrange.
"I wish you could have come, too," said Billie.
"Thanks, but I'm much happier here. I hate dancing. It always gives me
palpitation. The lights hurt my eyes, too, in a ball-room. I'm just as
well off here."
Billie gave a humorous groan.
"Dear me, what a delicate invalid you are," she laughed.
"I am getting better every day," he admitted. "This life of freedom is
doing me a lot of good. There is nothing really the matter with me but
constant worry and nagging, you know."
"And that reminds me," said the American boy. "You will have to give up
your life of freedom, as you call it, for a day or two and go to St.
Augustine with your family. They are all going to-morrow night."
"Oh, fizzle," exclaimed the other. "Why can't Grandmamma stay in one
place for a week at a time? We came over to New York on business and she
couldn't rest until she got here and now she wants to go somewhere
else."
"It's only for two days," continued Edward l'Estrange. "They want to see
the city. That's all."
"I say, Edward," said his counterpart in a coaxing voice, "won't you go
in my place?"
"I'm afraid to. I can't always remember to say 'been' as you do and they
might find out. You see, I shall have to be with them constantly. Now I
only see them at meals and I never talk unless some one asks me a
question."
The English Edward was silent for a few minutes. For the first time in
all his days he had been happy. He had tasted the joy of being his own
master and of living his own life. He had not even minded the work,
although he was not as diligent as the other boy and twice Billie had
scolded him about the appearance of the Comet which was not in its usual
spick and span order.
"Look here," he said at last, "I'm so anxious for another week's
happiness that I'd be willing to do almost anything to get it. Didn't
you tell me when you undertook this business that money was the thing in
the world you needed most?"
"Yes,"
"Would you do it for twenty pounds? That's about a hundred dollars in
your money."
Edward l'Estrange thrust his hands in his pockets and kicked the ground
meditatively with one toe.
"That seems a good deal for you to give and a good deal for me to ask.
Have you really got that much money?"
"Oh, yes; I saved it out of last year's allowance. I have kept it a
secret. Clarence would have borrowed it from me. He's always in debt. I
would gladly pay it to you for going to St. Augustine."
"Do you advise me to accept, Miss Billie?"
"Why, yes, I do," hesitated Billie.
"All right, then, I'll do it. I want some money so badly, that I would
do almost anything to earn a hundred dollars all at one time."
Billie, who felt that she was a very responsible party to this strange
transaction, was rather uneasy after it was settled. But she knew that
Edward l'Estrange must need money very much and it was a quick way to
earn it.
"We'll have to change places to-night, though," said the American boy,
"because I must go home first and see my mother if I'm to be away for
two days. Come into the boat-house and we'll change now."
Billie waited for them, sitting on a bench by the water's edge, and
pondering on the curious situation. Overhead the stars gleamed twice as
brilliantly as they did at West Haven. The air was full of sweet odors.
A little breeze ruffled the bosom of the lake and stirred the palm
trees. How sweet it all was! And Mr. and Mrs. Duffy, what adorable,
good-natured, fat, funny souls they were. She smiled to herself and
closed her eyes. The next dance had begun and the music of a waltz
floated out through the open windows. She was to have danced it with
some one, but, never mind, she would wait for the other Edward who would
now make his appearance in the drawing-room in his real character. It
was a pity he was so shy. And she was afraid, too, that he was just a
little lazy.
"I believe you have this waltz with me, Miss Campbell," said some one
close behind her.
It was the sharp voice of Clarence Paxton that broke the peaceful
stillness. Billie remembered that she had promised him a dance early in
the evening. She had not had the spirit to refuse with Mrs. Duffy
standing at her elbow.
"Oh, yes," she replied. "I am coming now," and she started down the
path.
"Do wait a moment, Billie. Perhaps I won't see you again for several
days. Won't you say good-bye?" called Edward l'Estrange, running out of
the boat-house.
He stopped when he saw Clarence standing near her.
Billie felt very uncomfortable. She wished Edward had not been so hasty,
but Southern boys take little pains to conceal their likes and dislikes.
Edward liked Billie very much and he was not at all ashamed of it.
However he was not prepared for what was now to happen.