“Dear boys and Captain:

“We’ve gone on to Ottawotta Run. Farmer Stillwell’s tug, that he owns half of, is towing us to the Branch. There some more men will be hired to pole us to Deer-Copse. Aunt Betty says you’re to hire a wagon, or horses, or somebody to bring you and the Stem after us. She will pay for it, or I will, that’s just the same. And, oh! I can’t wait to tell you! There’s a buried treasure up there that we must find! A regular ‘Captain Kidd’ sort, you know, so just hurry up – I mean take it easy, as Auntie advises; but come, and do it quick! Don’t forget to bring the fish. Mrs. Bruce says put them in a basket and trail them after you, if you come by boat; or, anyway, try to keep them fresh for breakfast. Dolly.”

“I reckon they’ll keep, seeing they aren’t caught yet. What fools we were to go off just then! How do you suppose, in this mortal world, those women and girls had gumption enough to run away with that house-boat? I’ll bet they did it just to get ahead of me, ’cause I’d said plain enough I wouldn’t go to any old hole-in-the-woods. I simply wouldn’t. And I shan’t. I’ll get passage on one these fruit-scows going back to Baltimore and quit the whole thing. I will so;” declared Gerald, fuming about the wharf in a fine rage.

“Got money left for your ‘passage?’” asked Jim. He was pondering how best and soonest to “follow” the Water Lily, as he had been bid. They were all too tired with their rowing to do any more of it that day, and his pride shrank from hiring a wagon, for his own convenience, that he wasn’t able to pay for.

“What about your monkey, Gerry?” queried Melvin.

“Oh! I’ll – I mean – you take it off my hands till – later.”

“No, thank you. I’ve invested all I can afford in monkeys just now, don’t you know? But I’d sell out, only I do want to give them to her. She’s such a darling of a girl, to entertain us like this. She might have been born in our Province, I fancy, she’s so like a Canadian in kindness and generosity.”

It was a long speech for modest Melvin and an enthusiastic one. He blushed a little as he felt his comrades’ eyes turned teasingly upon him, but he did not retract his words. He added to them:

“Dorothy Calvert makes me think of my mother, don’t you know? And a girl that does that is an all right sort I fancy. Anyway, I’ve thought lots of times, since I found out it was she and not the rich aunt who was paying the expenses of our jaunt, that it was mighty unselfish of her to do it. Jim’s let that ‘cat out the bag.’ He was too top-lofty to take a cent of profit from that mine he discovered last summer for Mr. Ford, but all the girls were made small shareholders and got three hundred dollars a-piece for a send-off. Miss Molly, whose father I work for, put hers right into gew-gaws or nonsense, but I think Dolly’s done better. The least I can do to show her my appreciation is to give her the monkeys.”

“Speak for yourself, sir, please. Half that monkey transaction is mine, and I don’t intend to impoverish myself for any girl. I mean to train them till they’re worth a lot of money, then sell them.”

“Oh! no you won’t. You’re not half bad, don’t you know? You like to talk something fierce but it’s talk. If it isn’t, pick out your own monk and be off with it. You’ll have to leave me the cage for Dorothy because she’ll have to keep my monk, her monk, the monk in it sometimes.”

“Most of the times I guess. I don’t like the looks of the creatures anyway. They’re ugly. I wish you fellows had left them on that sailor’s hands. He just befooled us with his big talk. Why, sir, I got so interested myself I’d have hired out to any ship would have me if it had come along just then. Queer, ain’t it? The way just talk can change a fellow’s mind,” said Jim. “Hello, Cap’n! What you found now?”

The old man had been limping about on the bank where Billy had enjoyed himself, and which his teeth had shorn smooth as a mowing machine might have done. It was a field rarely used, which explains why Billy and Methuselah had been left to do as they pleased there. So Metty had carried thither all the trifling toys and playthings he had picked up during his trip. Shells, curious stones, old nails, a battered jew’s-harp, and a string of buttons, had been stored in an old basket which the pickaninny called his playhouse.

The playhouse caught the old man’s eye and the end of his crutch as well, and he glared angrily upon the “trash” which had come in his way. Also, he lifted the crutch and flung Metty’s treasures broadcast. Among them was an old wallet, still securely strapped with a bit of leather. Captain Jack had a notion he’d seen that wallet before, but couldn’t recall where. Opening it he drew out a yellowed bit of old-fashioned letter-paper on which a rude picture was sketched. There were a few written words at the bottom of the sketch, but “readin’ handwrite” was one of the accomplishments the good captain disdained.

But his curiosity was aroused and he whistled to the lads to join him, holding up the paper as an inducement. They did so, promptly, and Jim took the extended paper, thinking it was another note from the absent “Lilies,” as the house-boat company had named itself.

Then he, too, whistled, and cried:

“Hello! Here’s a find! Has something to do with that fool talk o’ Dolly’s about ‘buried treasure.’ Somebody’s been bamboozlin’ her and this is part of it.”

The four heads bent together above the odd little document, which had been folded and unfolded so often it was quite frayed in places with even some of the writing gone.

The drawing represented a bit of woodland, with a stream flowing past, and a ford indicated at one point, with animals drinking. It was marked by the initials of direction, N, S, E, W; and toward the latter point a zig-zag line suggested a path. The path ended at the root of a tree whose branches grew into something like the semblance of a cross. Unfortunately, the writing was in French, a language not one understood. But, found as it was, evidently lost by somebody who had valued it, and taken in conjunction with Dorothy’s words – “buried treasure” – it was enough to set all those young heads afire with excitement. Even the Captain took the paper and again critically studied it; remarking as he replaced it in the wallet:

“Dretful sorry I didn’t fetch my readin’-specs when I come away from town. Likely, if I had I could ha’ explained its hull meanin’.”

“Dreadful sorry it wasn’t Greek, or even Latin! I could have ciphered the meaning then, if it has a meaning. But every-day French, shucks!”

“How do you know it’s French if you don’t know French?” demanded Gerry.

“Oh! I’ve seen it in Dr. Sterling’s library. I know a word or two an’ I plan to know more. Don’t it beat all? That just a little bit of ignorance can hide important things from a fellow, that way? I tell you there never was a truer word spoke than that ‘knowledge is power’.”

Melvin cried:

“Come off! That’ll do. Once you get talking about learning and you’re no good. Cap’n, you best stow that in your pocket and help us settle how to ‘follow our leaders’. For my part, I’ve no notion of sleeping out doors, now that it looks so likely to storm. What’ll we do?”

“Hoof it to the Landin’ and hire a conveyance. One that’ll carry us an’ the boat, too. That’s what she says, and if there’s a girl in the hull state o’ Maryland, or Annyrunnell, either, that’s got more sense in her little head nor my ‘fust mate’, Dorothy, you show me the man ’at says so, an’ I’ll call him a liar to his face.”

“That’s all right, Cap’n, only don’t get so excited about it. Nobody’s trying to take the wind out of Dorothy’s sails. So let’s get on. I reckon I can punt along as far as that Landing, even with a cargo of monkeys. Then Gerry can take his and skip, and we’ll take the other to our folks.”

Melvin was laughing as he talked. Gerald’s angry, disgusted face had changed its expression entirely, since that finding of the curious map which made the possibility of the “buried treasure” seem so real.

“Oh! I won’t bother now. I reckon I’d ought to go on and ask Aurora if she wants to go home with me, or not. Popper and Mommer’d be sure to ask me why I didn’t bring her. We can settle about the monkeys later.”

“Huh! I tell you what I believe! ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag’ you back to town till you’ve found out all about what that Frenchy letter means and have had a dig for the ‘treasure’. I know it couldn’t me. There isn’t a word of sense in the whole business, course. Likely these whole States have been dug over, foot by foot, same’s our Province has, don’t you know? But my mother says there always have been just such foolish bodies and there always will be. Silly, I fancy; all the same, if Dorothy or anybody else starts on this business of digging, I’ll ply the liveliest shovel of the lot.”

Melvin but expressed the sentiments of all three lads. Even the old captain was recalling wonder-tales, such as this might be, and feeling thrills of excitement in his old veins. Suddenly, he burst out:

“Well, I’d be some hendered by my crutches but when you get to diggin’ just lemme know an’ I’ll be thar!”

They waited no longer then, but stepped back into the “Stem,” the caged monkeys viciously scolding and sometimes yelling, till the Captain fairly choked with fear and indignation. However, nothing serious happened. They reached Jimpson’s in a little while, and were fortunate in finding a teamster about to start home along the river road. His wagon was empty, the row-boat could be slung across it, there would be abundant room for passengers – including monkeys – a new sort of “fare” to him.

But they had scarcely got started on this part of their journey before the threatening storm was upon them. This “gust” was a fearful one, and they were exposed to its full fury. The driver shielded himself as best he could under his blankets but offered none to his passengers. The sky grew dark as night, relieved only by the lightning, and rivalled, in fact, that tempest which had visited them on the first day of their trip.

Fortunately, horses know the homeward way – though to be literal these horses were mules – and they travelled doggedly along, unguided save by their own instinct. Also, when they had ridden so far that it seemed to the drenched travellers that they had always been so riding and always should be, there came a sudden slackening in the storm and an outburst of moonlight from behind the scattering clouds that was fairly startling.

After a moment of surprise Melvin broke the silence, asking:

“Do you have this kind of thing often in Maryland?”

“Sure. Down in Annyrunnell we do. ’S nothin’ but a ‘gust’. Most gen’ally has ’em if the day opens up hot, like this one did. But it’s purty when it’s over, and yender’s the turn to the Copse. My road lies t’other way. It’s a quarter a-piece for you white folks an’ fifty a-head fer the monks. I ’low ’twas them hoodooed the trip. Hey? What? Can’t pay? What in reason ’d ye hire me for, then? I ain’t workin’ for fun, I’d let you know. We’re honest folks in Annyrunnell an’ we don’t run up no expenses ’t we can’t meet. No, siree. You asked me to bring you an’ I’ve brung. Now you don’t leave this here wagon till I’ve got my money for my job.”

“Look here, farmer! What sort of a man are you, anyway? We went off fishing not expecting our house-boat would go on without us. We had no mon – ” began Jim, about as angry as he had ever been in his self-controlled life.

“You had money enough to buy fool monkeys, didn’t you?”

Gerald answered promptly:

“That’s none of your business! Suppose we did. We paid it and it’s gone. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

Came the sullen answer: “Don’t smoke. Don’t waste my money. Pay up now, and get on. I want my supper, and it’s past milkin’ time a’ready.”

Melvin was shaking with chill, sitting there in his wet clothes, but the absurdity of the situation appealed to him, and he asked:

“Since we’ve spent all our money for monkeys, will you take a monk for pay?”

“No, siree. I’ve no use fer such vermin an’ you’ll get sick enough of ’em, ’fore you’re through.” With that the teamster drew his driest blanket about him, settled himself comfortably, and pretended to go to sleep. “Wake me up when you get ready to pay.”

Then began a fresh search in every pocket for the needed two dollars which would release them from this imprisonment.

“I haven’t got a penny!” declared old Cap’n Jack with tearful earnestness. “I spent every last one a-fixin’ up to look like a skipper’d ought to.”

“I did have a little, but I left it in my bunk. I was afraid I’d spend it if I didn’t almost hide it from myself,” wailed honest Jim.

“All I had, except what I paid the sailor, is in my other clothes; that bill I gave the sailor was one I always carried with me because my mother gave – ”

Melvin didn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t. He was shivering too much and that sudden memory of his idolized mother almost unmanned him. Suppose he were to contract pneumonia? Her constant dread was that he should be ill and die.

But it was Gerald who now suffered most. Because the morning had been so warm he had put on a white duck suit. He fancied himself in it and it was becoming; but it was also thin, and under present circumstances a costume of torment. If Melvin were shivering, Gerald was worse. He was shaking so that the ricketty wagon rattled and he felt as if he were dying.

“Oh! man alive! Don’t act the tyrant this way! Tell us where you live and I give you my word of honor I’ll go to your place the first thing to-morrow and settle. I’ll even pay double,” begged Jim; and when the farmer remained obstinately silent, leaped from the wagon and dragged Gerald after him. “Run, run! You’ll get warm that way! Run, I tell you, for your life!”

But the poor lad couldn’t. He sank down upon the wet earth and was fast lapsing into unconsciousness when the lash of the teamster’s whip fell smartly about him.

“I’ll warm you, ye young scamp! Cheat an honest man of his earnin’s, will you?”

But the whip went no further. With a yell as of some enraged animal, Jim flew at the man and gathered all the strength of his labor-trained muscles for one fierce onslaught.

CHAPTER XI.
A MORNING CALL OF MONKEYS

Then a mighty din arose. With an answering yell the half-drunken teamster flew at his assailant, using his whip continually, but not wisely, for both wrath and liquor blinded him. Else would the result have been worse for Jim.

The startled Cap’n Jack tossed his crutches out of the wagon and recklessly tumbled after them; then picked them up to lay about him in an aimless effort to subdue the fighters. But he managed to hit nobody for, as he afterward stated, “they didn’t stan’ still long enough.”

Shrieking for peace Melvin jumped to the ground, upsetting the cage of monkeys, whose frantic yells and jabberings added a strange note to the racket, until their own wild antics forced their cage out of the wagon. Then, terrified by their fall, they became quiet enough till the Captain caught the bars of their little prison-house on his crutches and tossed it out of the way of the feet of the mules, which were also becoming excited.

Still pleading uselessly for peace, Melvin managed to drag poor Gerald out of the road to a safer place, then warmed himself by seeking to warm his poor friend. So engaged did he become in trying to reanimate the motionless form that he scarcely heard what was going on about him or knew when the frightened mules set out on a lively trot for home, leaving their owner behind them but carrying away the row-boat, well strapped to the wagon-box.

Then suddenly, upon the uproar of angry voices, jabbering monkeys, the rumble of the disappearing wagon, and the screeching of an owl in the tree-top, broke another sound. A man came merrily whistling out of the woods, his gun over his shoulder, his dog at his heels.

“Shut up, Towse! What in Bedlam’s here!” cried the newcomer, running up. A moment later, when he had recognized the befused and battered teamster, demanding: “Who you fightin’ with now, By Smith? Never really at peace ’cept when ye’re rowin’, are ye?”

This salutation surprised the contestants into quiet, and the man addressed as “By” laughed sheepishly, and picked his hat out of the mud. Then he turned and discovered the loss of his wagon. At this his fury burst forth again and he slouched upon poor Cap’n Jack with uplifted fists and the demand:

“Whe’s my team at, you thief? You stole my wagon! What you done with my wagon you – ”

But a hand laid across his lips prevented his saying more.

“There, there, Byny, that’ll do. Lost your wagon, have you? Well, it serves you right. A fellow that takes the pledge ’s often as you do an’ breaks it as often. Now, sober up, or down, and tell what all this rumpus means and who these folks are.”

There was something very winning about this newcomer, with his frank manner and happy face, which smiled even while he reproved, but no words can well describe the utter carelessness of his attire and his general air of a ne’er-do-well. The lads, Melvin and Jim, began to explain, but a lofty wave of the cripple’s crutch bade them yield that point to him.

“I’m Cap’n Jack Hurry, of the Water Lily; a yacht cruisin’ these here waters an’ – an’ – ”

The excited old man paused. The man with the gun was laughing! As for that he, Cap’n Jack, saw nothing laughable in the present situation.

“Cruising in the woods, you mean, eh? Good enough! Haven’t tumbled out of a balloon, have ye? Look ’s if ye’d got soused, anyhow, and ’d ought to get under cover.”

Then Jim took up the tale and in a moment had explained all. He finished by asking:

“Is there any house near where we can take this boy? He’s been overcome with the wet and has done a lot of rowin’, to-day, that he ain’t used to. Is it far to Deer-Copse?”

“Yes, a good mile or more. But my house ain’t so far. We’ll take him right there. Fetch some them saplings piled yonder. Get that blanket’s tumbled out By’s wagon. Fix a stretcher, no time.”

Laziness seemed stamped all over this man’s appearance but he wasn’t lazy now. It seemed he might have often made such stretchers as this he so promptly manufactured by tying the four corners of the blanket upon the crossed saplings. The blanket was wet, of course, but so was poor Gerald; and in a jiffy they had laid him upon it and started off through the woods.

The hunter carried the head of the stretcher by hands held behind him and Jim the foot. Melvin courageously shouldered the cage of monkeys which he would gladly have left behind save for Gerald’s partnership in them. The Cap’n wearily stumped along behind, sodden and forlorn, more homesick than ever for his old city haunts.

“Byny” was left behind, his fare still uncollected, to trudge home on foot to his belated milking. Even the lads who had been so furious against him had now utterly forgotten him in this prospect of shelter and help for Gerald. His condition frightened his mates. Neither knew much about illness and nothing of Gerry’s really frail constitution, nor that it had been mostly on his account the Water Lily had been built.

“My name’s Cornwallis Stillwell. Corny I’m called. That was my brother Wicky – Wickliffe, I mean – that tugged you up the Branch. He – he’s as smart as I ain’t. Ha, ha! But what’s the odds? He likes workin’, I like loafin’ an’ ‘invitin’ my soul’, as the poets say. All be the same, a hundred years from now. Won’t make a mite of odds to the world whether I hunt ’possums or he ploughs ’taters. I live on his farm an’ Lucetty runs it, along with the kids. Wicky calls it mine, ’cause it was my share of father’s property. But it ain’t. It’s only his good brotherliness make him say it. We et it up ages ago. Bit at it by way of mortgages, you know, till now there ain’t a mouthful lef’. I mean, they can’t another cent be raised on it. It’s Wicky’s yet, but I’m afraid it’ll sometime be Dr. Jabb’s. Wicky holds a mortgage on me, body and soul, and Doc holds one on Wicky, and so it’s a kind of Peter-and-Paul job. Be all right in a hundred years and there ain’t a man in old Maryland nor Anne Arundel can hold a taller candle to my brother Wickliffe Stillwell, nor a wax one, either. I can talk, can’t I? So can he – when he can catch anybody an’ make ’em listen. Here we be – most. That’s my castle yonder. Hope Lucetty ain’t asleep. If she is, she’ll wake up lively when she hears my yodel. Nicest woman in the world, Lucetty. A pleasin’ contrast to Lizzie, Wicky’s wife. That woman’d drive me crazy but she suits him.”

All this information had not been given at once, but at intervals along the way through the forest where the travelling was smooth. But rough or smooth, the path had been a direct one, swiftly yet gently followed by this good Samaritan of the wilderness; and now, as he gave that warning cry he boasted, a light appeared in the windows of the whitewashed cabin they approached and, roused by the musical, piercing signal, Gerald stirred faintly on his litter.

“Comin’ to! Good enough! I knew he would, soon’s he came within hailing distance of Lucetty!”

Seen by moonlight the humble dwelling looked rather pretty, so gleaming was its whitewash and so green the vines that clambered about its door. In reality it had once been negro quarters, a low ceiled cabin of three rooms – and a pig-pen! The latter a most important feature of this home.

Following the candle-light a woman appeared. She was slender to emaciation and her face almost colorless; but a beautiful smile habitually hovered about the thin lips and the blue eyes were gentle and serene. Evidently, she was among the poorest of the poor of this earth, but, also, the happiest.

“Why, Corny, dear! Back so soon? And you’ve brought me company I see. They are welcome, sure, but – what’s wrong here?”

Stepping outside the woman bent above Gerald and earnestly studied his face. Then she swiftly turned, ordering:

“Fetch him right in. Lay him there. Somebody light the kindlings in the stove. One of you fetch a pail of water from the well. Pour it into that tea-kettle, get it hot soon’s possible. Corny, fetch your good shirt. Haul that ‘comfort’ off the children’s bed – it’s warm from their little bodies, bless ’em! Now help me get these wet things off and dry ones on. Soon’s the water boils make a cup of ginger tea. Thank goodness there’s enough ginger left in the can. Don’t know how? Corny, you darling, you grow stupider every day! Hear me! One teaspoonful of ginger to the blue bowl of water. Hot as he can drink it. Look in the crock and see if there’s a single lump of sugar left. No? Then those blessed children have been into it again and the poor fellow’ll have to drink his dose without.”

Swift as the directions were given they were obeyed, yet there was not the slightest confusion or excitement. Jim and Melvin watched from the wooden bench against the wall while Cap’n Jack hovered over the broken stove, deriving what comfort he could from the blaze of kindlings within. He would have added a stick of wood from a near-by pile, but the master of the house laughed and shook his head.

“Can’t waste anything while Lucetty’s around. Why, that woman can make a kettle boil with just one blazing newspaper under it. Fact!”

“That’s all right, Corny, dear, but you’d best add ’t it was a big paper and a mighty little kettle. Now, that’s real nice. Your good shirt fits him to a T! And the ‘comfort’s’ a comfort indeed to his chilled body. Aye, my boy, you’re all right now. You’re visitin’ in Corny Stillwell’s house and you’ll be taken care of. Lie right still, I mean hold your head up if you can and swallow some this nice ginger tea. Set your circulation going quick. You’ve had a right smart duckin’ but you’re young and ’twon’t harm you. What? Don’t like it? Foolish boy! Come here, one you others, or both. They’s enough in this bowl for all of you, that old officer into the bargain. Have a swallow, Commodore?”

How this wise little woman chanced to hit upon the very title dearest to this old vagrant’s heart is a puzzle; but he beamed upon her as she said it and drained the last contents of the bowl without a shudder, even though most of the ginger had settled there and stung his throat to choking.

The bed upon which his hosts had placed Gerald was their own, and stood in one corner of the front room which was, also, kitchen, dining-room and parlor. It was of good size, with a rag carpet on its earthen floor and well ventilated by cracks between the clap-boarded sides. There were holes in the carpet and the Captain’s crutch caught in one, and lifted it, revealing the earth beneath. Seeing him look at it prompted the hostess to explain:

“We’re going to put down boards, sometime, when Corny dear can get them and the time to fix them. The little rough spots and rents are from the children’s feet. They are such active little things, especially Saint Augustine.”

Then she looked at her husband inquiringly and he nodded his head in approval. After which he disappeared into the third room, or lean-to, and was gone some time. When he returned he had a well-worn pewter tray in hand upon which he had arranged with careful exactness four chunks of cold suppawn and four tin cups of buttermilk. These he passed to his guests with a fine air of hospitality, and they accepted the offering in the same courteous spirit. All except Gerald, who had fallen asleep and whose portion was set aside till he should wake. Melvin choked over the tasteless cold pudding and the very sour buttermilk, but he would have choked still more and from a different cause had he suspected that he was helping to eat the family breakfast, for want of which six healthy youngsters would go hungry on the coming day.

Presently, Mrs. Lucetta rose and blew out the candle. Jim’s early training in poverty told him that its burning longer was an “extravagance” when there was such brilliant moonlight to take its place, and that his hostess felt it such. Also, reminded him that they should be leaving this hospitable house if they were to reach the Water Lily that night. Only, what about Gerald?

Rising, he asked:

“Mr. Stillwell, can you show us the way to Deer-Copse, or tell us I mean? Our house-boat must be there and our folks’ll be anxious. And don’t you s’pose we could carry Gerry there, just the same as we brought him here? I’m sure we’re more obliged to you and Mrs. Stillwell than I can very well say. You treated us prime – and – ”

From the foot of the bed where she sat Mrs. Lucetta answered for her husband. Evidently she did most of his thinking for him.

“I’ve fixed all that. This sick boy must stay just where he is till he can walk to the Copse on his own feet. That won’t be to-morrow nor next day. So one of you other boys had best stay, too. He might be afraid of me – ”

“Hear! hear! afraid of Lucetty! He’d be the first livin’ creatur’ ’t ever was, then!” interrupted Corny, with his hearty laugh.

“You can lead them the way better than tell it. On your way back you’d better call on Dr. Jabb and ask him to ride round.”

“Lucetty? A doctor? Just because a healthy boy got caught in a ‘gust’? Wh – ”

“Yes, Corny, dear, but you see he isn’t our boy. It would be better, and of course, if these people can afford a boat of their own, they can pay for a doctor. I’d have to have that understood,” she finished with some hesitation and a flush of color rising in her pale cheek.

“Sure. It will be, but I hope, it can’t be, ’t Gerry’s really sick. If he is I’ll be the one to stay take care of him. Melvin, you go along with this gentleman an’ Cap’n Jack, and take care you don’t worry any of them about Gerry. Can’t be he’s really sick.”

“Yes, let’s set sail! It’s real comf’table here, Ma’am, but I’m anxious to get back to my bridge; an’ my clo’es – sea-farin’ men is apt to be rheumatic – they’re jest a speck damp – ”

“Of course. Sorry we couldn’t offer you each a change. As it is you’d better go, soon as you can, too. What is in that box you brought along? Something alive, I know, for it keeps up such a queer noise.”

“They’re terribly alive, indeed, don’t you know? And I fancy they’re as hungry as I was. But,” as his hostess hastily rose, doubtless to seek further refreshments, Melvin added: “I shouldn’t know what in the world to give them. They’re just a pair of monkeys, Mrs. Stillwell, and I haven’t an idea, don’t you know, what they would or would not eat.”

“Monkeys! How lovely! Oh! please do leave them overnight, so that the children can see them. Why, Corny dear, it would be almost like going to a circus, as we did once before we were married. Down to Annapolis, you know. Do you remember?”

“Shall I ever forget? With you the prettiest show – ”

“Corny, dear, there are strangers present. Family speeches don’t belong. Now be off.”

Yet like a happy girl she submitted to her husband’s parting kiss as if it were an ordinary, every-day matter, and as the trio passed out of sight she turned to Jim, explaining:

“I’m very glad you stayed and not the other. Gerald’s fever is rising fast. He may get restless and Corny – Did he take his gun?”

“I believe so, ma’am. I think he picked it up as he went out the door.”

Lucetta sighed.

“Then like as not he’ll forget all about the doctor. He wouldn’t mean to, not for a minute; only the dear fellow cannot resist the woods. He loves them so. I’ve known him to get up in the night and wander off, to be gone two or three days. But he always comes home so happy and rested. I’m glad to have him go.”

“Do you stay here alone those times, ma’am? It seems a pretty lonesome sort of place. I didn’t see any other houses nigh.”

“Yes, I stay alone, that is with six of the sweetest children ever lived. So, of course, though there are no houses near, I’m never lonely. I’m busy, too, and to be busy is to be happy.”

Jim wondered at the refined and cultured language of this isolated countrywoman, until she explained, after a moment:

“I was a school teacher before we were married and we brought several books with us here. I teach the children now, instead of a larger school, and they’re so bright! I’ll have them recite to you in the morning.”