To find a tutor for the boys proved less easy than Mrs. Thayne anticipated. There seemed a dearth of available young men in Jersey and she had about decided to send Roger to the best school and let Win work as he chose by himself, when Mr. Angus heard of a young Scotchman, already acting as secretary to a gentleman in St. Helier's and who could give the boys his afternoons.
Such an arrangement was not ideal, but Win took an instant liking to the tall raw-boned person, who announced himself in a delightful manner as "Weelyum Feesher."
Roger promptly dubbed him Bill Fish and refused to speak of him by any other term, causing his mother to live in terror lest Mr. Fisher should in some way learn of the disrespectful abbreviation. Roger was not at all enthusiastic about Bill Fish but liked still less the two schools he visited. To accept the tutor seemed the lesser of two evils.
The chief drawback proved that the boys were occupied at just the time when the girls were free, with the exception of Wednesday, a holiday for all.
The result was that Edith and Frances were thrown much together. Frances found it fortunate that she had a companion of her own age, for the island ladies soon called upon Mrs. Thayne and drew her into numerous social engagements. The little community had a strong army and navy tinge and naturally welcomed Mrs. Thayne. She would have taken far less part in the various festivities had she been leaving her daughter alone, but the two girls proved so congenial and Mrs. Thayne was so well satisfied with Edith as a companion for Frances that she felt free to indulge her own social instincts and enjoy the pleasant circle so invitingly opened.
Whenever they went out, the girls kept a close watch for the "collie lady" and the "beach dog." Twice Tylo came to hail them on the sands, once apparently entirely alone. The other time he merely greeted them and bounded away to rejoin two riders on the road. One was his lady, her companion a slender young man of distinctly foreign aspect, dark and distinguished-looking. Their horses were walking slowly, the riders engaged in deep conversation and the beach dog's mistress did not see the eager faces of the girls.
They talked a good deal about her, wondering who she was, where she lived and whether they would ever know her. After seeing her on horseback, they fell more and more under the spell of her charm and began to picture her the heroine of all sorts of stories.
Day-dreams and romantic stories however, had but a small place in a world so busily filled with lessons of various kinds. One Tuesday evening, Frances was openly groaning over the need of writing an essay upon Julius Caesar.
"Wouldn't you like him better if you saw something he did?" inquired Win, hearing her lamentations. "There's a castle in Jersey, part of which he built."
Fran's eyes opened incredulously and Roger whistled. "Is that one ofBill Fish's yarns?" he demanded.
"Ante-dates him," replied Win. "It's Mont Orgueil, over the other side of the island. Let's have a picnic there to-morrow, take our lunch and stay all day. Mother, you must come. Don't say you've promised to make calls."
"I can go perfectly well," said Mrs. Thayne. "Only there is Roger's appointment with the dentist in the afternoon. He'll have to keep that, but there will be plenty of time for the picnic if we start early."
"Think of having an outdoor picnic in December," exclaimed Frances."We'll take Edith, of course."
"Of course," assented her mother. "And Estelle, if she will go. I wish she would. She shuts herself up so closely and seems to shrink from seeing people, but perhaps she will go to Orgueil just with us."
Even Edith could not persuade her sister to join the party thoughEstelle was touched by their regret, evidently genuine.
"If you only would, Star," begged Edith. "You would enjoy it. You don't know how funny and nice they are to go with."
"I couldn't, little sister," said Estelle gently. "You go and tell me about it afterwards."
Edith was not satisfied but all persuasion proved useless. She had a vague idea that Star was worried. Just why, Edith did not see, since the plan of letting lodgings had come out so pleasantly. Everything was going smoothly at present; why should Star borrow trouble from the future?
Mont Orgueil is reached by a miniature railway leading from St. Helier's to the fishing village of Gorey. By this time the young people were all well accustomed to the absurd little narrow gauge tramways with their leisurely trains. But if the train into St. Helier's crawled, the one to Gorey snailed, to quote Roger. Time was ample to note the pretty stuccoed houses, pink, cream or brown, with gardens and climbing vines that even in December made them spots of beauty. They passed under the frowning cliffs of Fort Regent and saw several lovely turquoise-blue bays with shining sandy beaches. Farther on farms succeeded the villas, stone farmhouses with tiled or thatched roofs, some with orange or other fruit trees trained against their southern walls. Suddenly Frances rose to her feet.
"What on earth are those?" she demanded. "Just look at those cabbages on top of canes."
The others looked and saw something answering exactly to Fran's graphic description.
"Oh, yes" said Mrs. Thayne, "those are the cow cabbages of Jersey. They are common in the interior of the island. It's a peculiar kind of cabbage growing five or six feet high. The farmers pick the leaves on the stalk and leave just the head on top. These stalks are made into the canes we have seen in shops."
"I saw them," said Win, "but I didn't realize what they were. Look, there's a Jersey cow among the cabbages."
"The Jersey cattle are so pretty," said Frances admiringly.
"They are very valuable," said Edith. "The farmers coddle them like children."
Gorey proved a picturesque village with many schooners and boats of different kinds drawn up on the beach and in every direction fish nets drying. Above and behind towered the ruined castle of Orgueil, rising more than three hundred feet sheer from the sea.
Mrs. Thayne sent Roger to find and engage a donkey which Win mounted without protest, after one glance at the climb before him, though he insisted on swinging the boxes of luncheon before him on the little animal's neck. Its owner was dismissed, Roger agreeing to pull the beast up the hill.
Mont Orgueil forms the crest of a lofty conical rock and looks down like a grim giant upon the blue waters that stretch away to the coast of France. Tier after tier the fortifications mount the cone, crowned at the apex by a flagstaff.
At the castle entrance, gained after a steady climb, a small boy appeared, sent by the castle keeper to act as guide. He tied the donkey to an iron post and led the way into the interior.
"This is the oldest part," he began shyly. "They do say this tower was built by Julius Caesar."
"Gracious, that's some story!" whistled Roger, looking with all his might.
"I believe it is true," said Mrs. Thayne. "Win, you were reading about the castle before we started."
"Yes," said Win. "That's straight about Caesar. That's why I wantedFran to see it. And most of the place was built a thousand years ago.Is it ever used now!"
[Illustration: ABOVE AND BEHIND TOWERED THE RUINED CASTLE OF ORGUEIL]
"In summer the signal service is quartered here," replied the boy."This is the well, ninety feet deep."
As he spoke, he dropped a pebble over a low parapet. Some seconds later came a hollow splash.
The guide showed them a cell where condemned prisoners were once kept, a ruined chapel with a very old crypt, and above the chapel a room reached by winding stairs. The girls entered with a simultaneous shriek of delight.
"What a love of a room!" said Edith.
"Mother, isn't this too sweet for words?" demanded Frances.
"This is the Cupola room," explained their guide. "Charles the Second stopped here during his exile from England."
"Prince Charles!" exclaimed Win, his imagination fired at once. "Oh, I read that in the guide book, but this—his room—"
Win's voice trailed into silence. To read a fact in a book was different from standing under the very roof that had once sheltered bonnie Prince Charlie. He looked about him, trying to picture to himself those far past days.
The ceiling rose in a huge dome and one immense window framed a wonderful view. From a little sally-port leading to a platform one could look sheer down to the rocks or across fourteen miles of tossing water to beautiful France. By using a little imagination the girls agreed that they could detect the spire of the cathedral of Coutances easily visible in clear weather.
"In the French revolution the governor of Jersey signalled to the army of the Vendée by means of a flagpole held in place by chains," said Mrs. Thayne.
"Yes," said their small guide. "The chains are still on the wall but the pole is new. The naval men use it in summer."
"Do they sleep here?" asked Win.
"Down in the chapel, sir."
"I'd stay here," said Win. "Say, how much would you rent this room for?"
"Three and six a week, sir, with the platform thrown in," replied their small guide so gravely that they all looked to see whether he was really in earnest.
"That's cheap enough, considering the view," said Mrs. Thayne, smiling.
Fascinated by the picturesque old castle, Win wandered off by himself, deciphering the inscriptions placed on the many doors. There is no guard in the guard-room, no stores are kept in the storeroom, and the chapel never hears a sermon save those preached by its own stones to those who have ears to hear. But the sunlight falling on the green platforms, the pigeons cooing on the walls, the blue sea stretching to the shining cliffs of France, the glamour of old-world romance struck impressionable Win. Dreamily he recalled that whether Caesar built the tower or not, no reasonable doubt exists that Orgueil was occupied if not built by the mighty Prince Rollo, grandfather of William the Conqueror. Over the main entrance to the castle-keep his coat of arms survives the centuries. For centuries to come, Orgueil will remain gathering more legendary charm as the slow years pass.
Win shook off the feeling of awe gently creeping over him and joined the others, investigating a tiny cell where Prynne the Puritan leader was confined for three years. Roger was immensely impressed by the ruins of a secret staircase, connecting a dungeon where the criminals were executed, with the keep and sally-port.
"There's a many secret stairs in the old Jersey houses," volunteered their guide, noticing his interest.
"Where can we see them?" demanded Roger at once, but this their small informer could not tell.
"Gentry lives in those houses," he volunteered. "They'se not open to trippers."
"To what?" demanded Roger.
"Visitors, strangers like," explained the boy.
"I like that," said Roger, flushing indignantly.
"Hush, Roger," interposed his mother. "No offense was meant. What are these chains? They seem very old."
"They were used long time ago to hang criminals. They do say they put 'em there alive and left 'em to the corbies."
"Corbies? Oh, crows," interpreted Win. "Nice custom! Mother, look at the heaps of rocks exposed by the tide."
"There's more this side," said their guide, turning a corner of the rampart with Roger close at his heels. The rest were about to follow when suddenly Mrs. Thayne gave an exclamation.
"Listen!" she said. "That must be a skylark."
From somewhere in the blue above fell a rain of happy music, so liquid and so sweet that it scarcely seemed to come from any earthly bird.
"Where is it?" asked Frances excitedly, peering into the air and dropping on her knees the better to look up. Mrs. Thayne did the same and both stared into the sky, trying to detect the tiny spot of feathered joy, the source of all this melody. Presently Edith and Win joined them.
Back around the corner came Roger and the guide, both stopping short at sight of the rest of the party down on their knees on the daisy-starred turf.
"Whatever are they doing?" ejaculated the boy.
"Oh, it's a skylark!" exclaimed Frances enthusiastically. "Come and see."
Mouth open in amazement, their small guide stood rooted to the spot. "A skylark!" he muttered, staring at the four in their attitude of devotion. "Lookin' at a skylark!" he repeated as though unable to credit the testimony of his own eyes.
Win burst out laughing and rose to his feet. "Take this," he said, producing a shilling. "Thank you for showing us about. We'll stay a while longer and eat lunch here."
The boy pocketed the coin and withdrew, his face still a picture of incredulous astonishment over the actions of this singular and apparently insane group of excursionists. At last sight, he was still slowly shaking his head and murmuring, "Lookin' at a skylark!"
[Illustration: "LOOK, THERE IS A JERSEY COW AMONG THE CABBAGES."]
After luncheon, time passed too quickly. Before it seemed possible, Mrs. Thayne declared the hour had come for Roger to keep his appointment with the dentist in St. Helier's.
"Let him go alone, Mother," said Win. "He's no kid. We want you to stay with us."
"Of course he could go alone," agreed Mrs. Thayne, "but I ought to consult the dentist myself and do an errand or two. There's no reason why you and the girls should cut short your stay. This is a lovely place to spend the afternoon and the day too perfect to hurry home. Just be back for dinner."
"Let Roger return the donkey," suggested Win. "I sha'n't need him going down hill and very likely we shall strike across beyond the village."
Mrs. Thayne departed, Roger clattering ahead on the donkey, and the three were left in the meadow by the castle entrance, a meadow starred with most fascinating pink-tipped English daisies.
"Just see the dears and then think that it's really winter," sighed Frances. "I can't believe that at home everybody is wearing furs and the ground is frozen. It doesn't seem possible that Christmas is so near."
Win was lying flat on the close-cropped turf, his attitude indicating that he contemplated a nap. After a glance at his prostrate figure, the girls wandered to a little distance, seeking the pinkest daisies. Presently they were surprised by the sudden arrival of a beautiful collie, who poked a cold nose into Edith's face.
"O-oh!" she exclaimed. "Go to Frances. She's the one who likes dogs. I prefer nice soft little pussy-cats."
"It's the beach dog," said Frances. "Do you suppose his lady is with him?"
Edith looked eagerly about. The elevated castle meadow commanded a rather extended view but in no direction was any one visible.
"I don't see her anywhere. Come here, Tylo. Oh, Fran, let's read the plate on his collar. Perhaps it will have her name."
Hot and panting from a run, Tylo willingly lay down by the girls and made not the least objection to having his collar examined. The unusually long plate bore considerable lettering.
"Laurel Manor, St. Brelade's," read Frances in excitement. "Here's someFrench, Edith."
"It's Italian, Fran. 'Palazzo Grassi, Via Ludovisi, Roma.' Just two addresses and no name!" Edith ended in disappointment.
"Oh, but wait!" exclaimed Frances. The light struck the plate at such an angle as to make visible to her some additional lettering, not engraved but apparently scratched with a knife. Though small, the words were extremely neat and legible and the girls deciphered them eagerly.
"Connie—her dog.
"Max—his mark."
"Her name must be Connie!" Edith declared, turning excited eyes upon her companion. "Speak, Tylo! Is your mistress called Constance?"
Tylo vouchsafed no answer, only pricked his ears, hearing something inaudible to the girls. The next instant came a distinct though faint whistle.
The beach dog departed at once, tearing down over the meadow in a graceful curve to leap a hedge into a shady lane beyond.
"Well, we've learned a little," sighed Frances. "His mistress is called Connie and she lives at Laurel Manor. The rest ought to be easy. Let's go down to the shore. I want to explore that point of rocks."
"But Win's asleep," said Edith hesitatingly. "Ought we to leave him?"
"It's all right," said Frances. "He couldn't scramble on the rocks and it's splendid for him to sleep in this fine air. I'll leave a note telling him where to look for us."
Edith supplied a blunt pencil and Fran wrote her message on a bit of paper torn from the luncheon box, pinning it carefully to her brother's coat where he could not fail to see it. Then they ran down to the cove beyond Orgueil.
The water, far on the horizon, showed only as a gleaming line of light, leaving bare heaps and piles of rocks, inextricably turned on end in some prehistoric upheaval. In places the rocks were continuous, in others separated by spaces of wet sand.
Over the rocks grew masses of vari-colored seaweed, brown, yellow, blue-green, even pink. Footing proved both slippery and treacherous, but offered the fascination of exploring an unknown region. As they walked farther out, curious shell-fish were clinging to the stone.
"These are ormers and limpets," said Edith. "I saw them the day Nurse and I went to market. What a huge winkle!"
Fran stared at this new specimen. "Is that a winkle?" she demanded in disgust. "I call it a plain snail. Why, all my life, I've read about winkles and thought I'd like to eat some but I'd die before I'd eat a snail. Oh! Oh! Oh!"
Edith turned so quickly that she almost fell on the slippery weed.Frances was fairly dancing with excitement, wholly however of pleasure.
In the hollowed rock lay a pool of clear sea water, at first sight filled with bright-hued flowers, pink, purple, orange. The next glance showed them to be living organisms.
"Sea-anemones!" breathed Edith softly. "I never saw anything so beautiful."
The anemones were pulpy brown bodies varying in size from a pea to a tomato. From their anchorage on the rock they stretched waving tentacles of soft iridescent hues, transforming the little pool into a marine fairyland. Between the anemones a bright yellow lichen-like growth almost covered the warm red granite, and tiny yellow, rose, and black and white striped snails were set like jewels on this background. Two or three sharp limpet shells waved feathery seaweed fans.
A long time passed and the girls still lingered. They discovered that most of the pools boasted anemones, some not unlike an ordinary land daisy with light-colored tentacles stretching ray-shaped from a yellow centre. When touched with an empty shell, the anemone would close over it, folding both the shell and itself into a tight brown ball, then open slowly and drop the shell. The only food the girls had with them was some sweet chocolate, so they experimented with this, watching the lovely living sea-flowers seize upon fragments held within reach of their feelers.
"I suppose it will give them frightful pains," remarked Frances at last, rising from her cramped position. "Goodness! the tide is coming!"
"Yes, but it's far out," replied Edith, casting a glance at the line of water, still distant a full half-mile. "Look, Frances, here's a tiny pink crab."
For a moment Frances again bent over the aquarium but soon started to her feet.
"Let's go back, Edith. We're a long way from shore and you know how very fast the tide comes in."
"Oh, is that crab gone? I thought you would mind where he went," saidEdith as she reluctantly rose. "I wanted to take him to Win."
The two began to retrace their way, at first over piles of red rock covered with seaweed, farther on over stretches of sand surrounding rock islands.
Just as they left the last of the solid rock a big wave came curling lazily along its side. For a second the water clung to it like fingers, then withdrew.
"Fran, we must run," said Edith quietly, but her face had grown pale.
Frances made no reply. Both ran as fast as they could across the stretch of level hard sand. Before they reached the first rock island, long fingers of foam again darted past at one side.
Neither girl spoke. Automatically they seized hands and redoubled their efforts. One island after another was left behind, then Edith, looking over her shoulder, saw that the tide was gaining. Its next incoming heave would overtake them.
"We'll have to climb these rocks!" she gasped.
"No!" said Fran, giving her hand a tug. "Keep on. No matter if we do get wet. Wemustget nearer in. These rocks will be covered."
Edith kept pace. They seemed to have reached a higher ridge of the beach since presently the water, instead of pursuing directly, passed on either side, stretching shorewards.
Too terrified to consider what this would mean when the tongues of water should meet before them, the girls pressed on blindly.
Suddenly there came a shout from shore, now measurably nearer. Down the beach sped a galloping horse, his rider waving to attract their attention.
Fran's quick wits grasped the situation. "He'll come for us!" she exclaimed. "He means us to climb this rock and wait."
This seemed what the rider meant for as they scrambled up the ledge, he ceased to call and merely urged his horse to greater effort. Edith reached the top without accident, but Frances slipped and soaked both feet.
The horse, a beautiful chestnut thoroughbred with tossing mane, came at quick speed. In the distance, his rider looked a mere boy, but as he approached, the girls saw that he was a young man of twenty-three or four, with a fine, clean-cut face, who sat his horse as though a part of it.
Arriving by their rock, the chestnut checked himself in full gallop and turned almost in his stride.
"Give me your hand," said the young man to Edith. "Step on my foot.Swing round behind me and hold on any way you can."
Edith instantly obeyed. "Here," he added to Frances, "scramble up in front. Quick! There's no time to lose. Steady on, Saracen!" he added as the horse jumped and snorted at touch of the water curling about his heels.
They were perhaps a quarter-mile from shore and the return was made at a fast pace, yet as they came up above tide mark, the waves were lapping the shingle and only a rock here and there remained uncovered.
During the hurried trip the young man had spoken only to his horse, words of encouragement uttered in a pleasant voice, and both girls were still too stunned by the sudden peril and their equally sudden rescue to realize their very unconventional situation; Edith with both arms around the stranger, her cheek pressed into his shoulder; Fran sitting on the saddle-bow, held in position by his left arm while his right hand clasped the reins.
Once in safety, Saracen stopped of his own accord, looking around as though, now the hurry was over, he would like to know what sort of unaccustomed load he had been carrying.
"Right we are!" said the young man cheerily. "Now I wonder if you can slide down."
Still speechless, Frances did so. The young man swung himself from the saddle and turned to lift Edith from her perch as though she was a little child. Again on firm ground, she began to utter incoherent thanks.
[Illustration: "HE'LL COME FOR US! HE MEANS US TO CLIMB THIS ROCK ANDWAIT"]
"I think you must be strangers to the island," he said rather gravely, "else you would know that the Jersey tides come in as rapidly as they ebb. This isn't a safe coast to experiment with."
"It was the anemones," began Frances. "We never saw any before and forgot to watch the water."
The young man smiled. "Those anemones!" he said. "I was once in a similar fix for the same reason. Better remember that the only safe time to watch sea anemones is when the tide is just going out. There's a place up here where the farmer's wife is a friend of mine. I think you'd better let me take you over to Mother Trott and she'll dry you out."
"I'm not wet," said Edith. "Frances fell, that's why she's drippy."
"Oh, but Win!" Frances exclaimed. "He'll find that note saying we're on the rocks and he'll see the water and be frightened. My brother," she added to the stranger, who was looking at her inquiringly. "He's in the meadow."
The young man's clear gray eyes grew rather stern. "And what is this brother doing while his little sister gets into danger?" he asked.
"Oh, it's not his fault. He was asleep and hemustn'tbe frightened," Fran began. She spoke rapidly, her explanation banishing from the inquirer's face all look of disapproval.
"I'll go and tell Win," said Edith. "I'm not a bit wet. You go on to the farm, Frances. Which house is it?"
"Do you see the long low one with the vines about half a mile up the hill?" replied their rescuer. "That's it."
"If Win's still asleep, for goodness' sake don't wake him," directed Frances as Edith set off toward the castle. "Perhaps I can get dry and be there before he need know what has happened."
"Would you be willing to ride in front of me again, Miss Frances?" asked the young man, as Edith vanished around the wall. "We could reach the farm much more quickly."
Without demur, Frances consented. She felt queerly shaken and ill and to her consternation, as Saracen crossed the highroad and entered the farm lane, a sudden burst of sobs overcame her. She struggled bravely to control herself.
"That was a beastly experience," said the pleasant voice, "but you were so near shore when Saracen and I saw you, that you'd probably have made it with merely a wetting."
"We haven't really thanked you," said Frances incoherently. "I do—so much—Mother—"
"Thank Saracen. He did it. It's nothing at all, and you mustn't let it trouble you. Hello, Tylo. Been off again on your own?"
Obedient to touch, his horse stopped at the cottage gate. Frances slid from her perch and the young man dismounted, throwing the reins to the beach dog, whose sudden reappearance did not surprise nor interest Frances, as ordinarily it would have done.
"Come round to the back," said her companion, opening the gate. "Mother Trott will probably be in her kitchen. She'll put you to rights in no time. No mess too bad for her to take on."
Frances accompanied her guide along a pebbled path neatly edged with big scallop-shells measuring fully six inches across. Beside the walk stretched garden borders still gay with geraniums, japonicas and other hardy plants in full bloom. As they passed the front door of the cottage with its whitewashed steps gleaming in the afternoon sun, a roughly outlined heart surrounding some initials caught Frances' attention. The design was carved in the stone top of the door-frame and looked very old.
"That's a pretty custom of the island," said her companion, noticing Fran's glance. "The people who first made a home had their initials cut over the door. Many of the Jersey farmhouses have several sets of initials on the door-stones."
Around the corner of the house lay a neat kitchen garden full of vegetables in thrifty green rows, a patch of the curious cabbages and in a field just over a fence, was tethered a pretty, soft-eyed Jersey cow. Beside the entrance stood a bench glittering with shiny copper pails and milk-cans.
Without stopping to knock, the young man stepped directly into a clean, low-ceiled kitchen, where white sand was scattered on the stone floor.
"Are you there, Mrs. Trott?" he inquired.
Hastily setting down the pan of potatoes she was peeling, a pleasant-looking stout woman rose to her feet with a curtsy.
"If it isn't Mr. Max!" she exclaimed, her voice expressing both surprise and delight.
"And as usual seeking help, Mrs. Trott. This young lady, Miss Frances, has been unlucky enough to be overtaken by the tides—"
"Poor dear!" interrupted Mrs. Trott. "Bess!" she called, "come you down. Ah, 'tis the tides that make the Jersey heartaches. Ye did quite right to bring her, Mr. Max. Bess, be quick!"
A rosy-cheeked girl of seventeen came clattering down the tiny stair, to smile at the visitors and drop an awkward, blushing curtsy to each.
"Why, Bess, you're quite grown up," said the young man, smiling back at her.
"A year does make a differ, sir," said Mrs. Trott. "Lead the young leddy up the stair, Bess, and dry her feet and give her your Sunday socks and shoon. Mr. Max, you'll drink tea? Sure, now, and taste my fresh wonders. The young leddy'll be down directly and a cup of tea will set her up."
"Indeed, I could do with some tea, Mrs. Trott, and I've not had any wonders since—"
Frances did not hear the end of the sentence for she was following Bess up the narrow, winding stone stairs to emerge in a little room with slanting caves and dormer windows in its thatched roof. The place was bare but spotlessly clean and through the open western casement shimmered the blue sea.
"Sit down, Miss," said Bess in a soft voice with curious musical intonations that made up for imperfect pronunciation.
With a sigh of relief, Frances sank into the straight chair. The reaction from her late adventure was still upon her. Before she knew what was happening, Bess approached with a basin of water and a towel, and knelt to unfasten the soaked shoes.
"Oh, I can do that for myself," Frances protested with the independence of an American girl.
"Sit ye still, Miss," said Bess pleasantly. "'Tis bad for the nerves to race the tides. It shakes one a good bit."
Her deft fingers made short work of their task. Presently, Frances was comfortable in white cotton stockings and black slippers far too large and wide.
"Twill serve," said Bess, smiling at the way they slid around on Fran's slender feet. "Dry at least. Now come ye down and drink your tea. 'Tis not lately we've seen Mr. Max. Mother'll be rarely pleased."
Frances had it on her tongue's end to inquire into the identity of her rescuer, but the difficulty of keeping on those heavy leather shoes with their big silver buckles distracted her attention. She came carefully down the stair to find Mr. Max seated on the big black oak settle, his hat and riding-crop beside him and Mrs. Trott arranging her table before the fire.
"Come, Miss, to your tea," she exclaimed. "Bess, fetch the cream."
Frances tried to protest, feeling already under great obligations to these total strangers, but Mr. Max promptly rose to give her a seat.
"Tea will do you good, Miss Frances," he said with a most engaging smile. "Try Mrs. Trott's wonders. Have you ever eaten a Jersey wonder?"
"It looks like a doughnut," said Frances, taking a fried cake from the proffered plate.
A sudden, mischievous grin crossed the young man's face. "A plain NewEngland doughnut disguised by an old-world name," he said.
"New England!" repeated Frances, stopping with the cake halfway to her mouth. "How do you know about New England doughnuts?"
Mr. Max seated himself, looking boyishly amused.
"'Land where our fathers died,Land of the Pilgrims' pride,'"
he quoted, seriously enough but with gray eyes dancing with fun. "Oh, I know the whole thing. Shall we sing it together?"
"Are you really an American?" Frances demanded in utter amazement."Then how—what—You don't talk—But that accounts for it."
She stopped, feeling suddenly shy of questioning him. "Well," she added after a second, "that's the reason I didn't feel a bit strange about coming with you. It seemed all right—just as though you were somebody I knew."
"Thank you, Miss Frances," said her companion. "That is a very lovely way to express your appreciation. Yes, we are fellow-countrymen, though I have spent much of my life in Europe. In fact, my first visit to the United States was when I was around your age. Since then I've put in four years at Yale and one in Washington. Now, I'm attached to the American Embassy in Paris and came over here to spend the Christmas holidays with old friends. Jersey has seen me many times before this. That's how I happen to know about the sea anemones and the tides."
Mrs. Trott came bustling back with jam, followed by Bess with a covered jar. "And how's Miss Connie?" she inquired.
"She seems very well," replied Mr. Max. "Your tea is as good as ever,Mrs. Trott. Clotted cream, Bess? You know my weak spots, don't you?"
"They do be saying that the Colonel fails since his lady died," went on Mrs. Trott, regarding her table anxiously. "Couldn't you fancy an egg now, Mr. Max, or a bit of bacon?" as he raised a protesting hand.
Frances also declined. She did not feel hungry but after Mrs. Trott had brought water to dilute the strong tea, she drank it willingly.
Neither did Mr. Max eat enough to satisfy his hostess. After a few moments he rose and looked at his watch.
"I think I'll ride over to the Manor and exchange Saracen for another horse and the trap and give myself the pleasure if I may, Miss Frances, of driving you and the others back to St. Aubin's. Your boots will hardly be dry for you to wear on the train. I'd really like to do so," he added, seeing that Frances looked disturbed. "You know it is the business of the American Embassy to look after its fellow countrymen in a foreign land, so this is only my plain duty."
"Best let him, Miss," said Mrs. Trott approvingly. "Mr. Max do always take thought for others. But where happens Miss Connie to-day?"
"Oh, Miss Connie's gone to a tea-fight of some kind," replied Mr. Max, giving Frances another mischievous glance. "She said I couldn't go, so I annexed her dog and her father's horse and went out on my own. I shall be back before long."
Frances gave an anxious thought to Edith, concluded that she probably found Win asleep and was following instructions not to wake him. This conjecture proved correct for Edith soon came hurrying down the path.
"I took the first note and left one saying we were at this cottage," she explained. "Are you all right, Fran? Do you think you've caught a chill?"
Frances explained that they were to be driven home and Mrs. Trott pressed tea and wonders upon Edith, who accepted both gratefully.
"Is it far to the Manor—to where Mr. Max is going?" Frances inquired of Mrs. Trott.
"Not for a good horse, Miss, though 'tis beyond St. Aubin's. I'm thinking you must have marked the place, a big old stone house with many a laurel tree about it and open to the cliffs beyond."
"Oh, we know it," said Fran eagerly. "There are iron gates with a coat of arms and the grounds are lovely."
"That's Laurel Manor, Miss," assented Mrs. Trott.
The girls looked at each other in delight. In one afternoon they had learned where lived the mistress of the beach dog and what her name.
"'Tis good to lay eyes on Mr. Max again," Mrs. Trott went on. "A pity he and Miss Connie couldn't content themselves with each other. 'Tis not to our liking to have our young leddy takin' up with a foreign prince."
"Oh, please tell us about it," demanded Frances. "We met Miss Connie on the beach and we think she's perfectly lovely. Is she really to marry a prince?"
"He's not a prince of a royal house," replied Mrs. Trott. "He's anEyetalian and in that country, they tell me, there's a different kindof royalty. I don't rightly know, Miss, but I'm thinking they areRomish princes."
"Is Miss Connie marrying a Catholic?" inquired Edith in great interest.
"That's the question," said Mrs. Trott, reflectively resting both hands on the table. "I could see Mr. Max didn't want to talk, but we hear considerable through the housekeeper at the Manor. This young man that they say Miss Connie's tokened to is the son of one of these princes. But his mother was an Englishwoman and a Protestant and so when two boys had been baptized as Catholics, the third son,—Miss Connie's young man,—was brought up in his mother's faith, our English church.
"I suppose," Mrs. Trott went on meditatively, "they thought he'd never succeed to his father's title and position, bein' the third son. But the oldest, Prince Santo-Ponte, or some title like that, was killed in a motor mishap—they say he was racin' something shameful,—and soon the next brother died of pneumonia. So that leaves the Protestant son the heir. And the story is that he's to be made to turn Catholic."
"But they can't make him if he won't," protested the shocked Edith.Both she and Frances were listening eagerly to this romantic story.Their wildest flights of imagination concerning Miss Connie fell shortof the truth,—if this was truth.
"I don't know, Miss, I don't know," said Mrs. Trott doubtfully. "Turn the young leddy's boots, Bess,—don't ye scent the smell o' scorchin'? 'Tis hard on the poor fellow. There's his father urgin' him to do it for the sake of the family, and there's a title and a great fortune waitin' when he does. They'll be tellin' him it's his duty as they tell't the Princess Alix, own granddaughter of Queen Victoria, when she married with the Czar of all the Russias. 'Twas the Greek church she went over to."
"But will Miss Connie marry the prince if he does give up his own church?" asked Edith eagerly.
Again Mrs. Trott shook her head. "There's no mention of any weddin'," she admitted, "and it may be they're not even tokened, but the prince has been visitin' a sight of times at the Manor. Now, I'm thinkin' it's a good sign Mr. Max is here again. The Colonel, Miss Connie's father, loves him like a son. Why, he and Miss Connie grew up together, brother and sister-wise. The way of it was that Mr. Max's mother died when he was but a tiny and Mrs. Lisle, Miss Connie's mother, about took him for her own. He's fair lived with them. Many's the time he and Miss Connie have run in here for their tea or to dry their feet. You see I was parlor-maid at the Manor before I married Trott. That was when Mr. Eichard was living Miss Connie's brother. He was near fifteen years older and he died in South Africa, poor lad! Ah, when he was killed it nigh broke the Colonel's heart. Well, I've often helped out at the Manor when extra service was needed. Far rather would I see Miss Connie wedded to Mr. Max."
"But how did Miss Connie happen to know the prince?" asked Frances.
"In Rome. Till her mother died, they spent part of every winter there, but the Colonel can't bear the place now and they stop here the season. I keep hopin' Mr. Max will get her yet. Such a pretty well-mannered boy he always was and never above passin' a friendly word with us all.
"I suppose," Mrs. Trott concluded, "when you come to think of it, Mr. Max is a foreigner, too, but the best I can say is that he's just like an honest English gentleman."
Frances flushed, choking back a hot comment. She had so quickly felt a bond of kinship with this young American. Yet, in spite of her momentary anger, she realized that Mrs. Trott was paying the highest compliment in her power. Well, pride in her own country could teach Frances to value like loyalty in another.
"What is his other name?" she inquired.
"I couldn't rightly tell you, Miss. He was but a wee lad when he first came to the Manor. He calls the Colonel, uncle, and we forget he isn't really of the family. Yet his father has been here, too. He's famous for something very wise indeed. Could I speak the name, you might know, for he's well-spoken of outside our island."
At this moment, Win appeared, strolling up the lane and looking annoyed to find the girls so far in the opposite direction from the railway. Nor did his vexation lessen on hearing their adventures, softened and smoothed though the version was. In fact, self-controlled Win was inclined to be decidedly cross and to disapprove emphatically acceptances of further favors from a stranger. Fran was still arguing when a smartly-appointed trap drawn by a shiny horse turned into the lane.
"Now, you can see for yourself," declared Fran. "He's an American and a gentleman and it's all right for us to let him drive us home."
"As if we couldn't hire a carriage in Gorey," Win retorted, but with a second glance at the driver, his attention was distracted.
"Oh-h!" he said in perplexity, "that's the fellow who was in the Royal Square that morning. Now, where in the wide world have I seen him before?"
Thinking hard, Win stared with puckered brows. Suddenly his face cleared. "Why, he's that young chap Father introduced me to the time he took me to Washington," he said accusingly to Fran. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"How on earth could I know?" demanded Fran, but her brother had turned with a smile to greet the trap just drawing up by the gate. Mr. Max looked at Win with a puzzled glance which gradually changed to a look of recognition.
"I do know you, don't I?" he said. "Well, I never suspected when I was detailed to entertain Captain Thayne's son for an hour or so, that we'd meet again in Gorey village. Why, that makes us old friends!"
Win grasped the cordially offered hand and having bestowed Edith andFrances in the seat behind, climbed up beside Max, his face beaming.With many thanks to Mrs. Trott and promises to come again, they droveoff.
"Hasn't this been the most exciting afternoon?" Frances confided toEdith. "We've learned the collie lady's name and met the boy she toldus of, and heard about her Italian prince. Look at Win! He's crushed onMr. Max,—I can tell by the way he's looking at him. I should thinkMiss Connie would much rather marry an American."
"Perhaps he hasn't asked her," said Edith sensibly. "Perhaps, if she really is engaged to the prince, she did it before Mr. Max came back from America and he couldn't help himself because it was too late."
Max's back did not look as though it belonged to a specially unhappy person and the expression of his face as he talked pleasantly with Win was not that of a young man whose enjoyment in life has been seriously darkened, but it pleased the girls to fancy him as a blighted being, so keenly had Mrs. Trott's rather injudicious confidences appealed to their youthful ideas of romance.
"Why, I've met Miss Lisle several times," said Mrs. Thayne after hearing Fran's account of the exciting end of the picnic. "She's a charming girl and her father is the finest type of an English gentleman. At the lawn party this afternoon she spoke of meeting two girls on the beach and asked if one wasn't my daughter."
"Oh, I do hope I can know her," said Frances happily. "I think she's the sweetest thing I ever saw. But, Mother, do you suppose what Mrs. Trott said about her and the Italian prince is true?"
"That was a bit of gossip which Mrs. Trott should not have repeated to girls of your age," commented her mother, "but since you have heard it, I suppose it will do no harm to say that Prince Santo-Ponte undoubtedly does visit at the Manor, though I do not believe that any engagement exists between him and Miss Lisle. As for Mr. Max, as you call him, his father is Professor Rodney Hamilton, the noted scientist. Max has been much with the Lisles and to all purposes is the son of the house."
"The day when I really meet Miss Connie will be the happiest of my life," declared Frances solemnly. Later, her amused mother learned that Edith was equally smitten.
In his quiet way, Win was most anxious to see more of Max and it was partly with this wish in mind that he set off one morning shortly after the picnic at Orgueil, to stroll on the road leading past the Manor. On so pleasant a day he might encounter the young people riding or walking.
When Win reached the Manor gates, no one was in sight, and he sauntered past, not caring to intrude on private grounds. One longing glance he cast at the chimneys above the laurels, twelve that he could count from that angle. What a rambling old structure the Manor house must be! Surely in its existence stretching back through the centuries, many interesting things had happened under that roof. What fun it would be to try to find them out!
Absorbed in pleasant thought, Win walked farther than he realized, lured by the blue sea and a most interesting little church almost on the water's edge. The doors proved locked, but Win resolved to come again when he could gain admittance, for from outward appearance the building was extremely old.
On turning, Win was soon aware that he had overtaxed his strength and was in no shape to walk to St. Aubin's. Pleasant as the sky still was, a strong sea breeze had risen, bringing difficulties for a person who required very favorable conditions for any prolonged exercise. Only slow progress was possible and when he again reached the iron gates of the Manor, he was really too tired to go on. Choosing the sunny slope of the hedge, he sat down to rest.
Before long, voices approached on the other side of the laurels, voices speaking in French, and Max came through the arch, accompanied by a gardener carrying tools.
"Why, Win," he said. "You're not stopping at the gate, I hope. The house is just beyond."
[Illustration: A MOST INTERESTING LITTLE CHURCH ALMOST ON THE WATER'SEDGE.]
Win smiled. "I sat down to get my breath," he explained. "I've been for a stroll and the wind knocked me about a trifle."
Max looked at him keenly. "It's a bit cool to stop there," he said. "Come up to the house. We'll slip into the library and you can rest properly."
Win demurred, thinking he would detain Max from his business.
"Uncle only asked me to direct Pierre about some planting around the cottages," Max replied. He added some words in French to his companion, who nodded and struck off toward the shore. "I'll not stop for you," Max went on, taking Win's arm. "There isn't a person at home, and you will have the library to yourself."
Win yielded at once. Aside from the pleasure of seeing Max again, the suggestion of books acted as a magnet.
They crossed the beautiful Manor lawn,—green as in June,—not toward the main entrance but in the direction of some big French windows opening on the terrace. The casement yielded to Max's touch and the two entered a room that would have made Win gasp with pleasure had he been less exhausted. He received only the impression of spacious beauty and countless books, as he was established on a big old settle beside a fireplace where cheery flames were flashing. Before he knew precisely what was happening, Win found himself tucked among comfortable cushions.
"There, go to sleep now," said Max, flinging over him a soft blue Italian blanket. "I've an idea this thing belongs in Connie's room, but since she left it here we will make use of it. There's no one at home and the only person likely to come is Yvonne, one of the maids. If she appears to look after the fire, just tell her you are my friend."
Max departed and Win soon fell into a reverie. He did not sleep immediately but as his physical discomfort lessened under the influence of rest and quiet, he began to look about him.
The three rooms composing the library were very high and opened into one another by arches. From floor to ceiling the books climbed, rank on rank, on the upper shelves in double tiers, in some places overflowing window seats. Narrow stained-glass casements threw pleasant patches of color on the polished floor. Age had blackened the oak ceiling and the handsome wall paneling where books did not conceal it. Here and there hung portraits, evidently of the family, judging from certain recurring resemblances. Their quaint costumes dated from the days of the Stuart kings.
The utter quiet of the place, the time-faded bindings, the old pictures, the spots of crimson and blue light, the faint odor of leather, mingled with the scent of fresh flowers from some invisible source, all had their effect upon Win, who sank into a state of mind where he was neither awake nor quite asleep. His last wholly conscious thought was for the curious coat of arms above the fireplace, a shield that bore the date 1523.
An hour later, Win came to full consciousness and at the same time to a sense of familiarity with his surroundings. "Of all queer things!" he thought as he sat up and looked around him. "The first day I was in Jersey I dreamed of this room or of some room like it. That man up there in the picture is mighty like the old Johnny that was around. I've been dreaming about him now, only I can't remember what."
Try as he might, Win could not recall that dream, a fantastic jumble of persons and an impression, almost painful, of a fruitless search.
"This is a house where anything might have happened," his thoughts ran."How I wish I could have a chance at these books!"
Shelves framed even the ancient fireplace, their contents within easy reach of Win's settle. His eye ran idly along the titles, a History of the World, an edition of Defoe, some old hour-books. Tucked in with these were two volumes of very modern philosophy, their bright cloth bindings looking curiously out of place. With their exception, nothing in sight looked less than a century old and examination proved most to be even older. Many bore marks of ownership by Lisles dead and gone.
His enthusiasm thoroughly aroused, Win examined volume after volume, lingering over the quaint bookplates. Finally he took down a book unlettered on the back, but with a rubbed leather binding that showed marks of use. It proved a very old copy of the Psalms, a book that some one had once read often, for its pages were worn not only by time but by constant turning.
Opening to the front, Win searched for a bookplate. There was none, but in fine handwriting appeared: "Richard Lisle His Valued Book." As Win replaced the volume a paper slipped from its pages.
Picking it up, he glanced idly at the single sheet which seemed a page perhaps lost from some letter written long before, possibly a leaf from a diary. The penmanship was like the autograph in the Psalter, the ink, though faded, perfectly legible on the yellowed paper.
The extract began in the middle of a sentence. Win, who started to decipher it from mere curiosity, ended by reading it five or six times. It ran as follows:
"having fed my Prince and Eased him after his hard Flight we took Counsel anent his Refuge.
"That he should lye at ye Manor looked not wise. Ye Castel seemed ye better Place.
"Lest he be curiously viewed of Many we did furnishe Other garb and aStrong Bigge Cloake. And those who knew did safely lead him through yeTowne.
"Ye honoured Relicks my Sonne and I did place in ye Spanish Chest and convey by Lantern light to that safe Place beyond ye Walls. So shall they Reste till happier Times shall Dawne.
"Strange that this Day should bring such Honour to Mine House."
Win's eyes grew interested and excited as he studied this message from the past. For whom was it meant and why had it lain all these years in the old Psalter? Did the Manor family know of its existence? The prince, the castle, the town, mentioned by a Lisle of Laurel Manor, must refer to events of island history.
After thinking a few minutes, Win drew out his notebook and made a careful copy. Surely that was not abusing Max's hospitality and could do no harm. If he discovered anything interesting in looking up the matter in some history of Jersey at the public library, he would share his knowledge. Or there surely must be books of that kind here at the Manor. Perhaps he would be permitted to come again and investigate this fascinating room more thoroughly. He wished he knew Max better. If he only did, he could show his find at once and ask for an opinion. Well, that might come later. Anyway, it would be great fun to study the enigmatic paper and see what he could make of it.
When Max came quietly a few minutes later, Win made no mention of his discovery. Surprised to find it so late, he thanked his host, and declared himself entirely fit to walk back to Rose Villa.
"Come again," said Max as they parted at the gates. "I know you liked the library and that will please Uncle Dick. You must come when he's at home and he'll show you all his special treasures."
Win went on with a happy face. That meant he would certainly have another opportunity to browse in that fascinating old book-room, and perhaps become so well acquainted with the Manor family that he could share his puzzle with somebody who would be equally interested in finding out what it meant.
Fran's "happiest day" soon dawned, for not long after the Orgueil picnic, she and Edith were walking down one of Jersey's lovely lanes. Enclosed by high ivy-covered earthen banks, it ran, a straight white road between green walls, and so narrow that at regular intervals, little bays were provided that carriages might pass. Evergreen oaks, often growing from the banks themselves, and drooping vines made the lane a bower of beauty even on a December afternoon. The girls had stopped to admire the old Norman gateway leading to Vinchelez Manor, when suddenly around a corner, bounced the beach dog. Close behind came Constance Lisle and Maxfield Hamilton.
[Illustration: THE OLD NORMAN GATEWAY LEADING TO VINCHELEZ MANOR]
"We've been to call on your respective mother and sister," declaredConnie, "and were desolated not to find the little ladies. What luck tomeet you! Max, you don't need an introduction, do you, after playingLord Lochinvar with both girlsat once?"
At this sweeping characterization, they all laughed and walked along together, Tylo galloping ahead or falling behind as his sweet will led.
"I'm giving a treat to the Sunday-school children after Christmas," Connie confided, as at the end of a brisk walk, they came to the parting of the ways. "I should like you girls, if you will, to help me with the kiddies. The brothers are invited too, if they would fancy it."
"Win would like to help," Frances said quickly, her face lighted with pleasure at this request. "He's very good at things like that, but Roger's only twelve, you know."
"Oh, Roger can hand buns," said Connie at once. "No harm if he does tread on a few. I shall count on you then next week Thursday, three days after Christmas. Take care not to stir abroad on Christmas eve for that's when the Jersey witches hold their meeting at the rock up by St. Clement's."
She waved a laughing adieu and the girls went back to Rose Villa, bubbling over with pleasure and anticipation.
It was fortunate for Frances that she did have this expectation of a visit to the Manor to buoy her spirits, for the season scarcely seemed Christmas. Warm weather and plentiful flowers did not appeal to one accustomed to the holiday in wintry Boston, but not the weather alone disturbed Fran. For some foolish reason she disliked intensely the differences of celebration that marked this holiday in another land. Her state of mind both worried and distressed Mrs. Thayne.
"Why, little daughter, don't you see the fun of having Christmas under strange conditions?" she asked one evening, when she went to investigate a sound of woe from Fran's room.
"No, I don't see any fun in it," replied Frances stubbornly. "I could stand Thanksgiving, even though I had to go to school, because Miss Estelle knew it was an important day to us and had a turkey for dinner and put little American flags around. But Christmas here in St. Aubin's, without Father, is too impossible."
Mrs. Thayne was silent for a moment. Then she sat down on the bed and took Frances in her arms.
"Listen, now," she said. "I want you to think about somebody else for a moment. There's Edith. Just remember how sad this season must be for her and Estelle. Yet Estelle goes about with a smiling face that gives me a heartache because her eyes are so pitiful. She's planning hard to make things pleasant for us and to have it seem Christmas to Edith. I know some of her plans, Fran. Then, even if Father isn't with us, we know he is well and that it is only a question of time before thePhiladelphiais where we can be nearer. Win is always self-controlled and naturally he and Roger don't miss the home conditions as you do, but their enjoyment is going to depend largely upon their sister. Why, Fran, you usually like new experiences and here they are looming thick and fast."
"That's just the trouble," sobbed Fran. "I don't want them all piled on top of Christmas. I want to be with Grandmother and the cousins. I can't believe it is Christmas when it's so green and so hot."
"Many nice things are going to happen," her mother went on. "Just think what fun you and Edith will have helping Miss Connie with her school treat. You are going to find that very English."
Frances smiled. "Oh, I won't be a pig, Mother," she said at last. "MissConnie is a dear and of course we must make the boys have a nice time."
"The climate agrees so well with Win that I am very thankful to spend Christmas here," replied Mrs. Thayne. "To-morrow, Nurse is going into town to the French market and I think you will like to go with her."
Win and Edith joined the marketing expedition next morning and evenFrances was impressed with the holiday spirit overhanging the place.They left Nurse carefully inspecting fat geese in a poulterer's stalland started to explore.
Any number of plump chickens and ducks hung about, together with little pigs decorated by blue rosettes on their ears, a touch that struck Win as extremely funny. In the vegetable market were heaped huge piles of potatoes, scrubbed till their pink skins shone, great ropes of red onions braided together by their dried tops, turnips, artichokes, garlic, winter squashes, white and purple cabbages, celery and egg plant and many varieties of greens and early vegetables. The stalls themselves were prettily arranged and fragrant with nice smells but their keepers were the great attraction. Many were in charge of old women dressed in white peasant caps and clean starched aprons above full wool skirts and wooden sabots. Little tow-headed grandchildren, comical replicas in miniature, smiled shyly or dropped bobbing curtsys as the girls stopped to speak.
Fruit stalls proved even more fascinating with the hothouse grapes, red, white, and dark purple, showing a hazy bloom. Fresh figs and dates abounded, alternating with baskets of Italian chestnuts and oranges, forty for a shilling. Every stall seemed to have vied in decorations with its neighbor, being bowers of myrtle and laurestinus. One sported a shield showing three leopards in daffodils against a green background.
"Look at the English coat of arms," said Frances, catching sight of it.
"That's not English," said Edith. "Those are the leopards of Jersey, the old Norman insignia."
"I can't understand," observed Frances as they sauntered on, "why, when Jersey belongs to England, it has a different coat of arms and government and everything."
"Because the islands are all little self-governing communities," supplied Win. "It's a privilege they have always had, and even England wouldn't dare take it from them now. Jersey is desperately jealous of Guernsey. They say that even a Jersey toad will die if it is taken to Guernsey."
"Neither will Guernsey flowers blossom here," Edith added. "Oh, there'sMiss Connie!"
The little lady of Laurel Manor was standing before one of the flower-stalls, chatting in French with a very clean, rosy-cheeked old woman in a white cap. Behind Constance stood a servant carrying a basket and as the girls watched she purchased an enormous bunch of daffodils, a sheaf of calla lilies, and a quantity of narcissus.
"Isn't she sweet in that soft green suit," commented Edith admiringly.
Turning from the stall, Connie saw and hailed them. "Have you seen the fish-market?" she asked after greeting them gayly. "Oh, you must not miss that. I always go there."
She led them past a long bench where sat several nice white-capped old women beside huge baskets of spotlessly washed eggs or round rolls of fresh, unsalted butter wrapped in cool green cabbage leaves. Some of them nodded and smiled and once Connie stopped to ask after a sick child. Everybody spoke in French and seemed most kind and cordial.
Arrived at the fish-market, conger eels as big as Win's wrist, and four or five feet long, crabs two feet across the shells, lobsters blue rather than green, enormous scallops, huge stacks of oysters, cockles and snails, the so-called winkles, greeted the astonished eyes of the young people. In other directions were heaped piles of smelts, plaice and unknown fish.
"These are what I dote on," said Constance, calling their attention to piles of tiny crabs, neatly tied by the claws into bunches. Most were alive, but owing to the fact that all chose to walk in different directions, the bunches remained fairly stationary. One might purchase two, four, six or a dozen, according to the size of one's appetite.
"I'm so glad we met," said Connie, when in addition they had made the round of the flower market and exclaimed over its treasures of color and fragrance. "I thought of you this morning and wondered if you young people wouldn't like to help decorate the church. There are never too many helpers and we have ordered such lovely greens and flowers. Several of us are to be at the church at two this afternoon and you'll be very welcome if you care to come. It's pretty work and we always have a nice time."
"Indeed, we should like to help," said Frances promptly. "Is it Mr.Angus's church at St. Aubin's?"
"No, the one I mean is a tiny stone church not far beyond the Manor. Just take the highroad inland from the village and turn once to the left."
"Oh, I know," said Win quickly. "It stands almost on the shore."
"That's it," said Connie. "I'll expect you then."
Win declared himself quite equal to helping with the decorations that afternoon. When they arrived, the beach dog lay in the porch, thumping his tail by way of welcome, so they knew his mistress was already within. For a few moments, the three lingered to look at the quaint French inscriptions on the churchyard stones, but finally entered rather shyly. They were not given one moment to feel themselves strangers.
"I'm delighted to see you," exclaimed Constance, coming down the aisle with a long vine trailing after. "So glad you came. Rose," she called to a pretty young girl working near by, "here are some helpers for your windows. Oh, you know Rose LeCroix, don't you? She goes to your school. Win," she added quickly, "won't you come and help struggle with this tiresome pulpit?"
Win followed at once, glad to see Max already busy over the designated task, but Constance sent him to seek a certain wire frame reputed to exist in the sacristy. Win found himself twining myrtle wreaths around the pillars of the stone pulpit, yet stealing constant glances at the interior of the old church.
"Oh, Max, that's the wrong frame," Constance said suddenly.
Win turned to see her sorting lilies where she knelt on the chancel steps.