The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Spanish ChestThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The Spanish ChestAuthor: Edna A. BrownRelease date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6998]Most recently updated: September 13, 2014Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Vital Debroey, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPANISH CHEST ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The Spanish ChestAuthor: Edna A. BrownRelease date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6998]Most recently updated: September 13, 2014Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Vital Debroey, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Title: The Spanish Chest
Author: Edna A. Brown
Author: Edna A. Brown
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6998]Most recently updated: September 13, 2014
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Vital Debroey, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPANISH CHEST ***
Produced by Vital Debroey, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
[Illustration: "WHAT IS IS THIS TINY DOTTED LINE ACROSS THE GROUNDS?"WIN INQUIRED]
who shared a winter spent in the Channel Islands and have now gone on a longer journey.
This little book I wrote for theeThy friendly eyes will never see.It was not meant for critics' reading,Nor for the world that scans unheeding.For there are lines washed in with tears,As well as nonsense, mocking fears.Alas! thine eyes will never seeThis little book I wrote for thee.
Once upon a time a clever Japanese artist drew a sketch of a man who sat industriously painting, when, to his great amazement, all the little figures on his canvas came to life and began to walk out of the picture.
Something like that happened to this book. Books grow, you know, because somebody thinks so hard about the different characters that gradually they turn into lifelike people, who often insist on doing things that weren't expected. When this especial book began to grow, two persons who hadn't been invited, came and wanted to be in the story.
The author politely remarked that they were grown-up and couldn't expect to be in a book for young people.
They said that they were not so very grown-up, only twenty-three and a half and that they still knew how to play.
Connie said that her home was in the Island of Jersey where the story was going to be, and if she came in, she could make things much more pleasant for the other characters.
Max said that the story would go to smash without him, because he should be needed at an important moment.
So, because they looked most wistful and promised very earnestly to behave as though they were nice children, and not be silly, the author said they might have a share in the story.
Connie at once offered to lend her collie. So that is how the beach dog happens to be in the book.
"What is this tiny dotted line across the grounds?" Win inquired
The Village of St. Aubin's
"For a long time people supposed they were called Martello towers from the man who built them"
Above and behind towered the ruined castle of Orgueil
"Look there is a Jersey cow among the cabbages"
"He'll come for us! He means us to climb this rock and wait"
A most interesting little Church almost on the water's edge
The old Norman gateway leading to Vinchelez Manor
They came upon the loveliest of little beaches
Plémont is the spot where the cable comes in from England
Win's plan of the Manor cellars
What was undoubtedly the Spanish Chest
The silence in the little drawing-room had lasted for some moments before being broken by the man seated in the big wicker chair. His dress indicated a clergyman of the Church of England, his face betrayed lines of kindliness and forbearance, but its present expression showed a perplexity not unmixed with disapproval.
"I suppose, Miss Pearce," he said at length, "there is no use in trying further to dissuade you from your plan, and of course it may work out for the best. But—you will excuse me, my dear, for I have daughters of my own—you seem too young to undertake a lodging-house. Now a position as governess in a nice family—"
Estelle Pearce interrupted him quickly.
"There is Edith, you know. Should I try teaching, it would mean separation from her. And Imustkeep Edith with me. We have only each other now. No, Mr. Angus, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your interest in us, but I am sure it is best to try my plan. You see I have the house on my hands. When we came to Jersey, Father leased it for the winter and I can't afford to forfeit thirty pounds. And there is Nurse as well as Annette. Surely Nurse lends dignity to any family. But I am older than you think," she ended with a smile and a pretty blush. "I am twenty-four, Mr. Angus."
A kindly look came into the eyes bent on her slender, black-robed figure. "You do not look it, my dear," her visitor said after a pause. "Well, with two good servants, the plan may be successful. Much depends on what class of lodgers comes your way. I am told that Americans are rather desirable inmates, that they pay well and are not exacting. If you could let your rooms to some refined American ladies, things might adjust themselves very satisfactorily. To be sure, few Americans visit the Channel Islands; they are given to wandering farther afield. But I will speak of your plans to the postmaster and one or two others. It might be advisable to put a card in the circulating library at St. Helier's. Rest assured that both Mrs. Angus and I will do all we can for your father's girls. Lionel and I were good friends at Oxford though we saw so little of each other afterwards. I did not think when he wrote me scarcely six weeks ago that it was to be Hail and Farewell.
"I must go," he added quickly, seeing that Estelle's eyes were brimming. "Where is Edith? I hoped to see her also."
"She has gone to the sands," replied Estelle. "It is dull for her, moping here, so I sent her for an errand and told her to run down and see whether the tide had turned. She begins school on Monday."
Mr. Angus took his leave, and still looking doubtful, went down the steps of Rose Villa, a quaint little house, covered with tinted plaster, as is the pretty custom of the Channel Islands, and appearing even to a masculine ignorance of details much more neat and attractive than its neighbors.
So Mr. Angus thought, as he turned from his puzzled survey of its exterior, to walk slowly down the short street at the end of which glittered the waters of the English Channel.
The tide was on the turn but the expanse of sandy beach lay yet broad. Far toward St. Helier's the curve of the port showed the high sea-wall, for this same innocent-looking tide that ebbs and leaves behind miles of sandy stretches and rocks, can return with force sufficient to dash over even the lofty breakwater and surprise the placid Jerseymen at times, by scattering large stones in the esplanade.
But here at St. Aubin's the curve of Noirmont Point sheltered the little town from the full force of the waves. Dr. Angus looked from the end of Noirmont Terrace straight down to the sands and saw in the distance the sunset air filled with wheeling gulls, a group of boys playing football on the wide level, and somewhat nearer, a slender girl of fourteen, dressed in black, with long fair hair floating over her shoulders.
She was walking slowly and the kind clergyman attributed her leisurely pace to dejection, but as a matter of fact, Edith was feeling quite happy and much interested in the tiny bright yellow snail shells the beach was providing for entertainment. She had been spared all that was possible of the depression and sorrow of the past weeks. Daddy had been poorly for years and Edith could not remember him as ever well and strong. His loss affected her more because it grieved Estelle, the only mother she had known.
There had been a few sad confused days when nothing seemed real, and strangers had been kind in a way that Estelle accepted with a sort of resentful patience, plain even to Edith. But since then, life had been rather cheerful, with a great deal of attention from Nurse, and Estelle's time almost wholly given to her. It was gratifying to share Sister's confidence and to help arrange the rooms attractively for the possible delightful people who ought to come to lodge with them.
That they might not be delightful, Sister would not admit for a moment, so of course they would be. St. Aubin's itself was far more desirable as a place of residence than the noisy Exeter street where Edith had spent much of her life. Far back in the past she could just remember a charming Surrey village with a pretty vine-covered church where Daddy used to preach. She could recall exactly how her fat legs dangled helplessly from the high pew seat. Directly behind sat a stout farmer with four sons. The boys made faces at Edith on the sly; their mother sometimes gave her peppermints.
Edith's thoughts had wandered rather far afield, though still alert for any gleam of the yellow shells, when she arrived opposite Noirmont Terrace and reluctantly left the sands. A light shone from the drawing-room and she knew that Annette would be bringing in supper, and Sister would be found poring over a little account book with a "don't speak just now" look in her eyes.
But Estelle proved to be waiting at the open door and as Edith began to run on catching sight of her, she thought that Sister somehow looked happier.
"Did you meet Mr. Angus?" Estelle inquired. "He went toward the sands."
"I saw him in the distance," replied Edith. "Why, Star, you look like—like a star," she ended laughing. "Was Mr. Angus agreeable? Did he say you oughtn't to take people?"
"I think he doesn't wholly disapprove now," answered Estelle gently."And he is going to do what he can toward sending pleasant lodgers.Wouldn't it be nice if some dear old ladies should come and want tostay with us all winter?"
"Just ladies?" queried Edith. "Do they have to be old?"
"I shouldn't take gentlemen," said Estelle. "Nurse wouldn't approve, and ladies would be pleasanter. Perhaps there might be a young mother and some ducky little children. How would you like that?"
"Much better," responded Edith. "I don't want any fussy old freaks with false fronts and shawls. They'd expect to be read aloud to and waited on within an inch of their lives. I'd like some babies to take down to dig and paddle. Do say you'll have children, Sister."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I think we'll have to take the people who want to come," replied Estelle sensibly. "Let's just hope that somebody very nice will think we'd be nice to stay with. Come in now, Edith. Annette has shrimps for supper and after we are finished, we will put a card in the window and see what happens next."
But the little white card that most modestly announced "Lodgings" remained in the drawing-room casement for a week, and every day as Edith came from school, she looked anxiously to see whether it was gone. Its absence would mean that some one had looked at the rooms with approval.
One afternoon as she came up the Terrace, the sight of an unknown face at an upper window sent a thrill down her back. The card was yet in evidence but the presence of strangers indicated that some one had felt attracted by Rose Villa. Yes, there was a cab at the door.
As Edith entered quietly a voice struck her ear, struck it unpleasantly, an English voice, high-pitched and rather supercilious.
"I should require to see your kitchen, Miss Pearce, and your servants. I am most particular. In fact, I must be free at any time to inspect the scullery. There must be a definite arrangement about Marmaduke's meals. He likes a light breakfast with plenty of cream, and for dinner a chop or a bit of chicken. His dinner must be served with my luncheon. Then for tea—"
"I am afraid my servants would be unwilling to cook especially for a dog," interposed Estelle's voice, courteous but with a chilling tone Edith had never suspected it possessed. "It is useless for you to consider the lodgings."
"Oh, your rooms are very passable," said the voice. "Small, of course, and underfurnished, but some pictures and antimacassars would take off that bare look. And Marmaduke is adorable. Your cook would soon be devotion itself. Why, at my last lodgings—"
"I really cannot undertake the care of a pet animal," said Estelle firmly. "I hope to have other lodgers and his presence might be objectionable to them. You will excuse me now, as I have an engagement. I will ring for Nurse to show you out."
"Well, really, Miss Pearce," began the voice, but Nurse appeared on the scene so promptly that one might have suspected her of being all the time within hearing distance. Edith scuttled into the drawing-room, just avoiding a very large, over-dressed person, who came ponderously down the stairs, a moppy white dog festooned over one arm. Her face was red and perspiring and she seemed to be indignantly struggling with feelings too strong for words. Edith could not suppress a stifled laugh as she was ushered from the house in Nurse's grandest manner.
Emerging from her refuge, Edith saw Estelle on the landing, her face pale except for a tiny red spot on either cheek, her eyes unnaturally bright.
"My word, Star!" said Edith, giggling, "didn't you get rid of her finely? What a fearful person!"
"She was impossible," said Estelle. "Oh, Nurse," she exclaimed impetuously, seeing the old family servant still lingering in the hall, "do you suppose only people like that will want lodgings?"
"No, indeed, my lamb," replied Nurse, casting a glance of satisfaction after the cab disappearing from the terrace. "Don't you fret, Miss Star, and don't you take the first people who come. Just bide your time, and there'll be some quality who will be what you ought to have."
"Mr. Angus thought Americans might be rather desirable," said Estelle hesitatingly. To prepare Nurse for such a possibility might be wise.
Nurse pursed her lips significantly. "Well, it's not for me to disagree with the reverend gentleman," she remarked. "And I haven't been in contact with Americans. No doubt they're well enough in their country, but I hope, Miss Star, it'll be some of our people that want to come. Now an elderly couple or some middle-aged ladies would be quite suitable and proper, but Americans—Well, I don't know."
Nurse shook her head dubiously as she left the room. Edith came to put her arms about Estelle.
"What a fearful woman that was!" she repeated, drawing her sister toward the window. "Poor Star, I'm sorry you had to talk to her. Rooms underfurnished, indeed! And you tried so hard not to have them crowded and messed with frightful crocheted wool things. She'd want a tidy on every chair and extra ones for Sunday. And you've made things so pretty, Star!"
"We think so, don't we!" replied Estelle, kissing her little comforter."Somebody may yet come who will agree with us. We won't give up hope."
Estelle was silent for a moment. She did not want Edith to suspect how very necessary it was that those rooms should prove attractive to somebody.
"Is that the Southampton boat just rounding the point?" she added."She's extremely late."
"They must have had a rough passage," agreed Edith, looking at the steamer ploughing into the smooth water of St. Aubin's bay. "Let's put a wish on her, Star. Let's wish,hard, that she has on board the nicest people that ever were and that they're coming straight out here and say they'd like to spend the winter with us!"
"I positively refuse," said Mrs. Thayne, "to go out again to-day. And I wish you wouldn't go either, Wingate," she added to her older son. "That steamer trip was frightful. What a night we did have! As for you two," she went on to Frances and Roger, "I suppose you won't be happy until you are off for an exploring expedition, but I don't see how you can feel like it."
"Why, Mother, I wasn't seasick," said Roger, a handsome, mischievous-looking boy about twelve. "I slept like a log till I heard Win being—hmm—unhappy. That woke me but I turned over and didn't know anything more till daylight."
"I shouldn't have been sick if you hadn't begun it, Mother," observed Frances, turning from the window overlooking the esplanade. "I feel all right now. Mayn't Roger and I go down on the beach or take a car ride?" she asked, eagerly.
"I don't imagine there are any electric cars on the island," said Mrs.Thayne.
"But out here is a funny little steam tram marked St. Aubin's," interposed Frances. "It's going somewhere. Look at the dinky cars with a kind of balcony and that speck of an engine."
"That's a pony engine for sure," drawled Win, joining his sister at the window. Except that he was thin and fragile no one could have known from Win's clever, merry dark face, how greatly he was handicapped by a serious heart trouble. But the contrast between his tall, loosely-knit figure and Fran's compact little person brought a wistful expression into Mrs. Thayne's observant eyes. Win was seventeen and had never been able to play as other boys did. Probably all his life would be different, yet he was so plucky and brave over his limitations.
"There's theLydiadown in the harbor," exclaimed Frances. "My, didn't she wiggle around last night!"
"Lydia, Lydia, why dost thou tremble?Answer me true.Traveler, traveler, I'll not dissemble,'Tis but the screw.
Lydia, Lydia, why this commotion?Answer me quick.Traveler, traveler, 'tis but a notion.You must be sick!"
drawled Win, following the direction of his sister's glance.
"Win, how bright of you!" she exclaimed. "I wish I could think of things like that. But, Mother, mayn't we go out and take that little train wherever it's going?"
"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mrs. Thayne. "Take care of Fran, Roger, and don't get separated. You might notice any attractive places offering lodgings. We don't want to stay in this hotel all winter and the sooner we are settled the better."
"Come along, Fran," exclaimed Roger. "That infant train is getting a move on."
The two tore impetuously from the sitting-room. "Such energy!" Mrs.Thayne remarked with a sigh. "Will you lie down here, Win?"
"No, I think I'll write a bit," replied her son. "I'm not so done up as you are, Mother."
"Why Roger wasn't ill after the strange combination of food he ate at Winchester last evening is a miracle," remarked Mrs. Thayne. "Were you planning to write to Father?"
"I will," replied her son. "Mother, do go and rest. You look like the latter end of a wasted life. But I hope the kids will light on some lodgings. I've had enough of hotels. Nothing on earth is so deadly dull and so deadly respectable as a first-class English hotel."
"Why, of course it is respectable," said Mrs. Thayne, looking rather puzzled.
"Thunder, yes! But it's sofearfullyproper! That head-waiter down-stairs, with his side-whiskers and his velvet tread and his confidential voice—why, when he came to take my order, I wanted to pull his hair or do something to turn him into a human being."
Mrs. Thayne smiled. Much as she loved Win, she did not always understand him. Shut out from active sports, Win had early taken refuge in the world of books and his quick perceptions were often those of a mature mind.
When his mother had gone into her room, Win settled himself by the west window overlooking the bay where Castle Elizabeth rose on its rock in the middle distance. Win looked at it approvingly, promising himself later the fun of finding out its history and present use. Just now, he would devote himself to getting the family journal up to date for Father, on duty with thePhiladelphia, somewhere near Constantinople. It was to be on the same side of the Atlantic that the Thaynes had come to England and a slight attack of bronchitis on Win's part had resulted in this additional trip. Jersey was reported to possess a mild climate as well as good schools where Roger and Frances might have new and probably interesting experiences. Win himself was not equal to school routine, but there would doubtless be some tutor available to give him an hour or two every day, a pleasant and easy task for some young man, for Win was always eager to study when health permitted.
Deep in his heart was the ever-present regret that he could not enter Annapolis nor follow in the footsteps of his father, but if an elder brother had any influence, Roger was going into the naval service. At present, Roger showed no inclination to such a future, and was but mildly interested in his father's career, but Captain Thayne and Win shared an unspoken hope that a change would come with the passing years.
For some time after finishing his letter, Win sat with eyes on Castle Elizabeth, idly speculating about the coming winter. This old-world island, with its differing customs and ancient traditions seemed a place where most interesting things might happen, a land of romance and fairy gold, offering possibilities of strange adventure. Just because Win was debarred from most boyish fun, his mind turned eagerly to deeds of daring. Visions of pirates, smugglers, and buried hoards often danced through his brain, and the least suggestion of any mystery was enough to excite his keen interest. That hoary old castle on its island proved a source of many romantic ideas to Win, who presently fell into a day-dream.
The sun set in crimson splendor behind the castle towers and Win's reverie changed to genuine slumber from which he was roused by the reappearance of Mrs. Thayne.
"I'm sorry I waked you," she said. "I didn't notice that you were asleep."
"Why, I didn't know I was," said Win lazily. "I must have been dreaming and yet I thought I was awake. It was such an odd dream about a young man or rather a boy, in queer clothes ornamented with silver buttons and wearing his hair in curls over his shoulders. I was following him somewhere through a passage, very dark and narrow. Then suddenly we were in a room with a big fireplace and books around the walls. It was a beautiful old room but I never remember seeing a place like it. Some other people came, all men, also in queer clothes and very quiet and serious. On a table was food of some kind and this boy I had been following began to eat but the others stood about, apparently consulting over something. Then I woke. Wasn't it a crazy dream? Oh, the reason we were in that passage was because something was lost. I don't know what it was nor how I knew it was lost but we were trying to find it."
"That was odd. You must have read something that suggested it," Mrs. Thayne began, just as Fran and Roger came into the room, bursting with suppressed excitement. For a few moments they talked in a duet.
"Mother, it's lovely over at St. Aubin's, ever so much nicer than here," Fran began breathlessly, her brown eyes sparkling. "And such a funny little train running along the esplanade!"
"You couldn't believe there was such a beach," put in Roger. "Why, the tide goes out forever, clear to the horizon! Fellows were playing football down there, two games. How much does this tide rise, Win?"
"This book I've been reading says forty feet," replied his brother.
"And the houses!" Fran went on breathlessly, "all colors, cream and brown and blue and pink."
"Oh, draw it mild, Sis," interrupted Win. "I should admire a pink house."
"It's out there," said Frances, "and what's more, it's very pretty!"
"That's right," corroborated Roger. "Wouldn't a pink house look something fierce at home? But here it's swell and kind of—of appropriate," he ended lamely.
"And flowers, Mother," Frances took up the tale. "Hedgesof fuchsia, real live tall hedges, not measly little potted plants. Geraniums as tall as I am, and ever so many roses and violets. Oh, and we've found some lodgings. You're to see them to-morrow."
"Frances!" exclaimed her horrified mother. "You haven't been in strange houses, inspecting rooms?"
"Why, you told us to look for them, didn't you, Mother?" replied her astonished and literal daughter. "Roger was with me. It was perfectly all right."
"I simply meant you to notice from the outside any attractive houses that advertised lodgings," explained Mrs. Thayne. "Well—" she ended helplessly, "I suppose there's no harm done."
"Why, no," Frances agreed. "What could happen? Let me tell you about them. We took the baby cars and got off at St. Aubin's because that especial train didn't go any farther. It's lovely there, Mother, and plenty of lodgings to let. We walked along and saw one house that looked pleasant, so we went up and rang and a maid showed us into a parlor. We knew right off we didn't want to come there, because the place was so dark and stuffy and there were fourteen hundred family photographs and knit woolen mats and such things around. I was going to sit down but just as I got near the chair,—it was rather dark, you see,—something said 'Hello!' and there was a horrid great parrot sitting on the back of the chair. I jumped about a foot."
"You screamed, too," said Roger.
"I may have exclaimed," admitted Frances judicially. "It was not a scream. If I had yelled, you would have known it. Well, a messy old woman came who called me 'dear,' but when I said I didn't believe my mother would care for the rooms, she got huffy and said she was accustomed to rent her rooms to ladies, only she pronounced itlydies.
"We left that place," went on Frances, paying no attention to the look of silent endurance on her mother's face, "and walked some distance without seeing anything we liked. But suddenly we came to a tiny street going down to the sea. There were only six houses and one had a card in the window. They faced the bay and just big rocks were on the other side of the street. Now, listen."
Frances went on dramatically. "The house with the card was the dearest thing, all cream-color and green, with a pink rambler rose perfectly enormous, growing 'way up to the eaves, and a rough roof of red tiles and steep gables. The windows were that dinky kind that open outward and had little bits of panes. Everything was clean as clean, the steps and the curtains and the glass. While we were looking, the door opened and a girl came out. She was about my age, Mother, butsopretty, with gray eyes and yellow hair andsucha complexion. I'd give anything to look like her."
Frances shook her head with disapproval over her own brown hair and eyes. To be sure the one was curly and the others straightforward and earnest, while her gipsy little face and figure were considered attractive by most people and by those who loved her, very satisfactory indeed.
"Well, this girl came out and we sort of smiled at each other and I asked if that card meant that there were rooms to let. I told her you were seasick, and at the hotel, and my brother and I saw the card and we were looking for lodgings and all the rest, you know. She said yes, there were rooms and she'd call Sister.
"Sister came and she was a love, tall and sweet and just beautiful, only she looked sad and wore a black dress. The younger girl went away but Sister showed us the rooms and they are just what we'd like, I'm sure. There wasn't any messy wool stuff nor ugly vases,—I forgot to mention that in the other place there were eight pair of vases on the mantel, truly, for Roger counted them. These rooms were clean and rather bare, with painted floors and washable rugs and fresh curtains and flowers, just one vase in each room and a clear glass vase at that. The beds had iron frames and good springs and mattresses, for I punched them to see. Aren't you proud to think I knew enough to do that?" Fran interrupted her story.
"Two bedrooms had the furniture painted white and the rest had some old mahogany," she went on.
"How many rooms were there?" inquired Mrs. Thayne, attracted by Fran's enthusiasm and interested by the pleasant picture she was describing.
"On the first floor is the drawing-room, which will be at our disposal," began Frances, evidently quoting "Sister." "It's pretty and sweet, Mother dear, very simple with a little upright piano and quite a number of books and a fireplace. Just behind is a room where we can have our meals. We can use as many bedrooms as we like; there are five and Sister said if we wished, one could be made into an up-stairs-sitting-room. The bathroom was really up-to-date, and lookingveryclean."
"And how much does Sister expect for all this?" inquired her mother.
"Well," admitted Frances, "I asked and she smiled so sweetly and said it depended upon how much service we required and whether we wanted to do our own marketing and perhaps it would be better to discuss the terms after you saw whether you liked the rooms. I told her we were Americans and she said yes, she had thought so. I don't see why," Frances ended reflectively.
Win gave a chuckle. "Easy enough to guess," he remarked. "I imagine English girls of fourteen don't go around on their own hook, engaging lodgings for the family."
"I am almost fifteen," said his sister severely. "And I understood that Mother wanted me to look for rooms, so I did, but of course she will make the final arrangements. I thanked Sister and said I'd try to bring my mother in the morning, for I felt sure she would like the rooms. And Sister said she'd be very glad to have young people in the house and that if you wanted references, Mother, you could apply to some clergyman,—I forget his name,—but I know it's all right. You'll think so, too, the minute you see Sister. I fell in love with her. Oh, her name is Pearce, Estelle Pearce. She gave me her card."
Frances produced it. "You will come and see the rooms to-morrow, won't you, Mother? Win can come too, for that tiny train is very comfortable and the walk to the house is short. Rose Villa, Noirmont Terrace. Isn't that a sweet name?"
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF ST. AUBIN'S]
The moment she entered Rose Villa, Mrs. Thayne heartily agreed with Frances as to its desirability. To Estelle's amazement, she proceeded to engage all the rooms, offering to pay for the privilege of having the whole house for her family.
This was better fortune than Estelle had dreamed of and scarcely two days passed before she realized that a kindly star was favoring her. Frances and Edith became friends on the spot; Nurse, who might have proved a problem, took an instant fancy to delicate Win and started on a course of coddling that luckily amused Win quite as much as it satisfied Nurse. Blunt, downright Roger appealed especially to Estelle, who also found Mrs. Thayne charming.
"Aren't we in luck, little sister?" she confided to Edith. "Even our wildest expectations couldn't have pictured anything more pleasant than this. If they only stop the winter! But where are you going now?"
"On the sands with the others," said Edith happily. "Fran asked me. The boys have gone ahead to the end of the terrace."
Win was singing softly to himself as he stood looking down upon the sandy beach that stretched for miles towards St. Helier's at the left, and on the right, though showing more warm red granite rocks, to Noirmont Point. "Britannia needs no bulwarks, no towers along the steeps," he hummed just above his breath.
"There's a tower right in front of you," commented Roger, between the throwing of two stones.
Win cast a glance at the deserted castle of St. Aubin's, a miniature Castle Elizabeth on its isolated rock off shore, another at the martello tower on the point.
"I was talking to a man about those little towers," he remarked. "One can be rented for a pound a year, and there are thirty-two of them around the island. But they didn't amount to much when it came to actual fighting. The rocks and tides are what makes Jersey safe. That's what I meant by this place needing no bulwarks."
"One of those martello towers would make a fine wireless station," commented Roger. "Why did they build them if they aren't any use?"
"They thought they were going to be," replied Win, looking to see whether the girls were coming. "About two centuries ago there was a battle down in the Mediterranean that was decided by the possession of one of those little towers, so England built a good many. But they weren't much use after all."
"I never knew that before," said Edith, as she and Frances joined the boys.
"England wasn't the only nation that was taken in by them," Win went on. "Italy has a number on her southern coast. For a long time people supposed they were called martello towers from the man who built them, but I found in a book that the name came from a vine that grew over this one in Corsica. Before many moons pass I'm going to get into one of them. Smugglers must have used them and there may be things left behind."
Frances cast a glance at the tower in question. At first inspection it looked like a stony mushroom sprouting from the rocks. Some distance above the base opened a rough entrance and a low parapet encircled the top. To scramble over the exposed rocks to the base of this especial tower appeared a hard climb, to say nothing of the difficulties of ascending. The feat looked beyond Win's accomplishment but Frances said nothing. To argue with Win about whether he could or ought to attempt anything was never wise. Left to himself he would stop within the bounds of prudence but resented solicitude from others.
"Well, where are we going?" she asked.
"Let's take the train into St. Helier's," suggested Win. "We've scarcely seen the town."
Edith looked doubtful. "I ought to ask Sister," she said. "Star thought we were just going on the sands."
"And so we are," replied Roger. "We're taking a train that runs on the sands," he mimicked in a teasing, boyish way. "Why don't you call it a beach?"
"Because itissands," retorted Edith with a pretty flash of spirit that Roger already delighted to arouse. "The tram-line is far beyond the shingle."
[Illustration: "FOR A LONG TIME PEOPLE SUPPOSED THEY WERE CALLEDMARTELLO TOWERS FROM THE MAN WHO BUILT THEM."]
"Shingle!" gasped Roger, staring in that direction. "I don't see any."
"The pebbles, cobbles, beyond the sands," explained Edith.
"Oh, excuseme," chuckled Roger. "I thought they were plain stones.Didn't see anything particularly wooden about them."
Edith looked at him. A few days had made her feel very well acquainted with these friendly young people, but Roger was often surprising.
"Oh, cut it short, Roger," drawled Win. "Run back, will you, and tellMother that we want to go into town. She won't care and I don't believeMiss Estelle will either, but we ought to mention it. Hustle, because Ithink that train is coming."
Roger obligingly bolted back, received a nod of possible comprehension from a mother very much absorbed in an important letter, and arrived just as the others boarded the steam tram, a funny affair with a kind of balcony along one side where people who preferred the air could stay instead of going inside. Edith and Frances exchanged smiles of happiness.
"I haven't been to St. Helier's often," Edith confided. "Just to market once with Nurse, and once to choose curtains with Sister. We thought the drapers' shops quite excellent."
Fran's attention was held for an instant, but after all it seemed only reasonable that draperies should be purchased at a draper's.
"Isn't the beach lovely?" she confided. "It would be fun to walk back."
"We might," said Edith. "Would Win care if we did? Or could he do it too?"
"He couldn't walk so far," said Fran, "but he won't mind if we want to. Win is angelic about not stopping us from doing things he can't do himself."
"Has he always had to be so careful?" asked Edith. She and Frances sat at a little distance from the boys. Roger was peering around into the cab of the tiny engine; Win watched the water as it broke on the beach.
"Always," said Frances. "He was just a tiny baby when they knew something was wrong with his heart. It isn't painful and may never be any worse. Only he must take great care not to get over-tired. Ever so many doctors have seen him and they all say the same thing,—that if he is prudent and never does too much, he may outlive us all. Just now in London, he and Mother went to a specialist but all he told Win was that he must cultivate the art of being lazy. Mother says the worst was when he was too little to realize that he mustn't do things. Now, of course, he understands and takes care of himself. It's hard on Win but Mother says it's good for Roger and me. It does make Roger more thoughtful. He says anything he likes to Win and pretends to tease him, but if you notice, you'll see that he does every single thing Win wants and always looks to see if he's all right. It helps me too, for I'm ashamed to fuss over trifles when Win has so much to bear."
The little tram was traveling at a moderate pace toward town, stopping at several tiny stations where more and more people entered.
"I can't get used to hearing people talk French," said Frances. "It seems so odd when Jersey is a part of England."
"The French spoken here isn't that of Paris," remarked her brother, rising from his seat. "It's Norman French."
"I know I can't understand it easily," confessed Edith, "and Sister has always taken pains to teach me. I'm glad it isn't all my fault."
The train came to a stand on the esplanade of St. Helier's. The four stopped to look over the sea-wall, to the beach far below, across to the long stone piers forming the artificial sea basin and up to Fort Regent overhanging the town like a war-cloud.
"That fort looks stuck on the cliff like a swallow's nest," commentedRoger. "Look, there's a snow-white sea-gull!"
"There's another with a black tail," exclaimed Edith. "Oh, aren't they beautiful!"
"In the United States is a city that put up a monument to the sea-gulls," said Win. "Salt Lake City, ever so far inland. A fearful plague of grasshoppers ate everything green and turned the place into a desert. They came the second summer, but something else came too. Over the Rocky Mountains, away from the Pacific Ocean, flew a great flock of gulls and ate the grasshoppers. Their coming seemed so like a miracle that the city erected a beautiful monument to them."
"Did they ever come again?" asked Edith, greatly impressed.
"No," said Win. "Just that once."
"Without doubt it was a miracle," said Edith so reverently that the three looked at her.
Roger gave a little snort, started to say something, looked again at Edith's rapt face and changed his mind. "Boston ought to put up a monument, too," he remarked at length. "Miracles happen every summer in Boston. The city swelters with the mercury out of sight and then along steps the east wind. In ten minutes, everybody puts on coats and stops drinking ice-water. Some tidy miracle-worker, our east wind."
"Especially in winter," said Win laughing. "I'm afraid a monument to the east wind wouldn't be popular along in January. Shall we come on? Let's go up this street. I've a map, but things look rather crooked, so we'd better keep together."
The quartette started, Roger and Win leading the way. St. Helier's streets are indeed crooked, and paved with cobble stones of alarming size and sonorous qualities. Numerous men and boys tramped along in wooden sabots which made a most unearthly clatter. Even little girls wore them, though otherwise their dress was not unusual. Outside one shop hung many of the clumsy foot-gear, the price explaining their evident popularity.
Signs over shops were as often French as English and sometimes both. At one corner, the party met a man ringing a bell and uttering a proclamation in French. At the next corner he stopped to announce it in English and the interested boys found that he was advertising a public auction. No one else seemed in the least attentive to his remarks.
Fifteen minutes' loitering through narrow, ill-paved streets, crowded with hurrying people and a great number of dogs, brought the four to an open square of irregular shape with a gilded statue at one end. Its curious draperies caught Win's observant eye and he walked around it thoughtfully.
"What a very queer costume!" he remarked as he completed his circuit."What is it doing on a statue of an English king?"
Win spoke aloud, not noticing that the others were beyond hearing, but his inquiry was answered by a gentleman who chanced to be passing.
"It is a Roman statue," he volunteered, "rescued from a shipwreck. The thrifty Jerseymen considered it too good to be wasted, so they gilded it and placed it here in the Royal Square in honor of George the Second."
Win smiled as he turned to the speaker, a tall, thin Englishman in riding dress. His bearing suggested a military training and a second glance showed an empty coat-sleeve.
"This group of buildings may interest you," the speaker added. "They contain the Court House, Parliament rooms and a small public library."
Touching his riding-crop to his hat in response to Win's thanks, he turned into a side street where a young man mounted on a handsome horse sat holding the bridle of another. With interest Win watched them ride away. Even from a distance, something about the younger man struck a chord of recollection in Win's usually reliable memory. He was almost certain that somewhere, at some time, they had met. Yet he could not think of any American acquaintance of that age who would be at all likely to be riding about the island of Jersey, his companion not only an Englishman, but obviously an ex-army officer.
Still, the impression of familiarity was strong and Win was yet wondering about it as he slowly climbed the stairs leading to the public library.
Protesting somewhat, the others followed to look at a rather uninviting room, appealing to them far less than to Win, already on the trail for local history. The attendant proved obliging and after supplying Win with several books brought out a shabby brown volume.
"We have one of your writers on our shelves," he remarked with a smile, offering the book to Frances.
"Poems of Oliver Wendell Holmes," she read aloud. "Haven't you any other American authors?" she demanded in amazement. "And how did you know I was an American?"
The librarian shook his head. "I have often thought we should have more American books," he replied, "but they are so extremely dear as compared with those published on this side of the Atlantic that we have not afforded them. How did I know your nationality? By the way you speak."
Frances looked disgusted. She said little more, but soon persuaded the reluctant Win to postpone his investigations and come down again into the Royal Square.
"Now, Sis, what's the matter with you?" Win inquired on seeing her flushed face.
"Oh, you didn't hear that man say he knew I was an American by the wayI talked," sniffed Frances indignantly.
"Anybody would think you didn't want to be one," commented Roger bluntly.
"I wouldn't be anything else," retorted Frances, "only I don't care to have fun poked at the way I talk."
Win's glance traveled from his sister's annoyed face to Edith's, which wore a look of perplexity.
"We're polite," he remarked. "Here's Edith, who wouldn't be anything but English."
"No," said Edith gravely. "One always feels that way about one's country. But I understand what Frances means. And I see why people know you are not English. It isn't so much your pronunciation, but you put words in odd places in the sentence and some of your expressions are most unusual," she ended apologetically. "I like them. It is interesting to hear things called by new names. Just now Fran said 'poke fun' when she meant 'criticise,' and Roger says a thing is 'fine and dandy' when I should call it 'top-hole.' That is the difference, is it not?"
The others laughed and Edith's attempt to bridge a dangerous situation ended successfully. Presently their whereabouts absorbed their attention for Win had left the map behind him on the library table.
For a time they wandered at random, following one narrow street after another, seeing interesting shop windows, but presently discovered that they did not know where they were.
"The esplanade must lie at our left," said Win. "If we keep turning in that direction we shall surely strike it."
"Look at that candy," exclaimed Roger, attaching himself to aconfectioner's window. "Here's a chance to acquire some choice English.What is black-jack, Edith? Looks like liquorice. Bismarck marble,Gladstone rock, toffy,—what's toffy?"
"It is sweets made of treacle instead of sugar," explained Edith, turning surprised eyes upon him.
"Sweets! treacle!" exclaimed Roger after a petrified instant. "Bring me a fan! Give me air!"
"Why," said Frances, a sudden light dawning on her. "Treacle! I never knew before what Alice in Wonderland meant by her treacle well. It's molasses, Edith. There are some chocolate peppermints!"
Without stopping for further speech Frances dashed into the shop. Presently she emerged, carrying a white paper bag, or "sack" as Edith designated it, and with an odd expression of face.
"Joke?" inquired Win. "What did you ask for?" he demanded, accepting a piece of candy.
"I got what I wanted," said Fran evasively. "It's always possible to walk behind a counter and help yourself if you don't know the names of things."
Later she drew Edith aside. "What do you call these?" she asked confidentially.
"Peppermint chocolate drops," replied Edith. "What else could they be?"
Turning constantly to the left did not bring them to the sea. Instead they walked a long distance only to find themselves in a poorer part of the town, with increasing crowds of children inclined to follow. Their appearance seemed a source of interest to older people as well and presently Win was induced to inquire his way to the boulevard.
To his surprise the reply came in French, but between his own knowledge and that of Edith, they made out that they were traveling inland instead of toward the shore. This sounded impossible unless they had completely lost all sense of direction.
But a second inquiry brought the same answer, so they followed the offered advice, coming at last to the bay of St. Aubin's more than a mile below St. Helier's, fortunately near one of the tram stopping-places. Edith was good for a walk home and Roger would have gone also if challenged, but both Win and Frances were tired so Edith did not propose to return by the beach. Indeed, the tide was now so high that they would have been forced to go part of the way by the road.
"School for us to-morrow," said Frances dismally. "But I think we should plan to do something very interesting every holiday all winter."
"We will take a tea-basket and lunch out of doors," replied Edith happily. "There are beautiful spots to visit in Jersey."
Win looked up suddenly. "Fran," he asked, "did you notice those gentlemen who rode out of the square while we were looking at the statue? Had you ever seen the younger one before?"
Fran shook her head. "I noticed only the one who spoke to you," she replied. "I was looking at their horses."
"All the same," mused Win thoughtfully, "I've seen that young fellow before and it must have been in the United States, for I know I should remember encountering him over here."
"You would certainly smile if you could see the school I am going to," Frances wrote to her chum, Marjorie Benton, "but when I think of you and the other girls back at the dear old Boston Latin, I feel more like crying.
"First I must tell you about Edith Pearce, the girl in the house where we are staying. She has long flaxen hair which hangs over her shoulders in the most childish way, though she's our age. Her eyes are gray with dark lashes and when she looks at you they are like surprised stars. And she has the most beautiful complexion in the world, just pink and white. She is lovely to look at and I feel like a tanned, homely gipsy beside her. She's sweet too, but very easily shocked and I'm afraid she's not only good but pious. She can never take your place so don't worry, only, as I have to be here, I might as well have some fun with her.
"I go to school with Edith and it is as unlike the Latin School as the North Pole and Boston Common. There are about thirty boarders, some of them little bits of things—Edith calls them 'tinies'—who have been sent home from India where their parents couldn't keep them any longer. About fifty day-scholars attend, from kindergarten age up.
"I'm the only American and I can tell you I was well stared at. At first the girls couldn't believe it, insisted that I must be Scotch or at least Canadian, so now I wear a little United States flag pin all the time. Gracious, but things are different, especially clothes! Mine are the prettiest in school, if I do say it, and Edith thinks so too. She says my 'frocks' are 'chic.'
"Most of the girls, even the big ones almost eighteen, wear their hair hanging and havesuchdresses,—frocks, I mean. They fit like meal bags, and being combinations of many colors, look perfectly dreadful. And yet the girls are very nice, some of them from really important families.
"To cap the climax, most of them sport ugly black mohair aprons which they call 'alpaca pinnies.' Marjorie, can you imagine what they look like? I told Mother if she wanted me to be English to the extent of wearing a pinafore, I should lie down and die and I'm thankful to say that she simply grinned. But many of the girls have wonderful yellow or red-gold hair and stunning peachy complexions, so they aren't such frights as you'd think.
"Instead of going around from one class to another as in any sensible school, the girls stay in one room and teacher after teacher,—I mean mistress, comes to them. I get so everlastingly tired sitting still. Never before did I realize what a rest it was to walk from class to class and get a chat on the way. The only exceptions to this rule are preparation, when we sit at desks under the eye of a monitress, and gymnasium work.
"Marjorie, when I first beheld that gymnasium teacher, I nearly fainted. Her molasses-colored hair was frizzed hard in front and pinned in a round bun at the back of her head. She had on tight-fitting knee trousers, not bloomers, believe me. Over these she wore a white sweater of a very fancy weave. Over this was a weird tunic of alpaca with two box-plaits in front and three in back. This fell an inch or so below her knees, and every time she bent over or stretched up, those queer tight trousers showed. Her shoes were ordinary ones with heels. The girls wear either their usual frocks or an arrangement like this. I can tell you my pretty brown gym suit was the event of the day when I appeared in it.
"Everybody wears slippers at school, puts them on when she first comes and no wonder, because the English shoes are the worst-looking and clumsiest things ever invented by man. Edith's feet look twice as big in her boots as in slippers. You'd think by their appearance that English feet were a different shape from ours, but they are not; it is only the shoes. They make them so thick and stout that they last for years. Edith was plainly shocked when I told her I had a new pair every few months. She thinks mine suitable only for the house. Well, I will admit that English girls can out-walk me.
"The other mistresses aren't so queer as the gym teacher but look more like other people except that they wear too much jewelry. Everybody wears a great deal and you know what we think at home of ladies who appear on the street with rings and chains and lockets. Edith and her sister Estelle don't dress so, but Mother says they are quite exceptional.
"As for lessons, we have to study. They expect a lot of grammar and parsing, and dates in history and solid facts in geography and all that. Mother approves; she thinks the English system much less faddy than at home. We have Bible instruction in regular lessons. I'll admit that these English girls know more than I do about things in books, but they haven't any idea what's going on in the present world. They didn't know much about the Panama canal and the tolls. Win howled when I said I explained it to them and vowed he'd give a dollar to have heard me. And several didn't know who was president of the United States. Imagine that, when we're the most important republic in the world! I knew their old king.
"We begin school at half-past eight and have prayers and a Bible exercise. Different classes follow until eleven when a gong rings and everybody rushes into the garden, a lovely place with box-edged beds and a sun dial and gravel walks. There are myrtles and geraniums, great big bushes of them, and japonicas and heavenly wall-flowers andtreesof lemon verbena and fuchsias up to the eaves. This is solid truth, and in November, too.
"In the garden we find a table with jugs of milk,—notice my English, please—and biscuit, that is, crackers, and we gobble and faith, we have reason! Studying so hard makes one famished. Then recreation follows for half an hour and we play ball or tennis. Some of the girls are splendid players. School again until two, when we day-scholars leave.
"Three afternoons a week, we have to go back for gym work and English composition, which is beastly. On Wednesday there is no school.
"Do you want to know what I've learned in one week of school in Jersey?
"Well, I can speak three sentences in French. I'll write you in French next time.
"I know that Amos and Hosea and Isaiah were all prophets and said thatIsrael was a very bad place.
"I know that Paleolithic man was probably the first inhabitant of GreatBritain.
"I know how few people like to join mission study classes.
"And I know that I love you."
Fran finished her letter, directed and sealed the envelope, affixed a stamp, sniffing slightly at the head of King George instead of George Washington, and ran down-stairs.
"Do you know where Edith is?" she asked of Nurse.
"She is out in front, Miss Frances," replied Nurse. "Are you going for a walk?"
"Just to the beach. We'll be back for tea."
Edith stood at the gate and the two ran down to the shore. The tide, half-way out, left bare a tremendous expanse of wet sand, iridescent under the sun's rays. The water showed wonderful shades of blue, green and turquoise, and in the edge of the retreating waves walked hundreds of gulls, searching for food.
The girls started up the beach toward St. Helier's, chatting happily as they watched the water and the birds. Little sandpipers appeared and some huge gray cormorants.
Presently a handsome collie ran up to them, dropped a stone before Frances and stood looking at her, his head cocked on one side, all but speaking.
"You darling," said Frances, picking up the pebble. "Does he want to be played with? Well, he shall."
She threw the stone down the beach and the collie shot after it at full speed, his beautiful tawny coat shining in the sunlight.
"Twice before," said Edith, "when I've been on the sands, he has begged me to throw stones for him to chase. He's a thorough-bred. Such fine markings! He looks like one of the Westmoreland sheep dogs. You've heard of them, haven't you? They are so intelligent about taking care of sheep and they understand everything their masters want. We saw one once that separated and brought to his master three sheep out of a big flock and the man didn't say one word, only motioned to him. He wants you to throw it again."
"I can't throw stones for you all night," said Fran at last. "You take a turn, Edith."
Edith threw a pebble picked up at random. The collie raced for it and after a sniff, returned without it.
"He wants his own stone and no other," laughed Frances. "See, he's hunting all about. There, he's found it!"
For a good mile down the beach the collie accompanied them, till both were tired of play. Convinced that they would throw his stone no longer, the dog reluctantly left them. Looking back, they saw him accosting a young man, who promptly yielded to the mute coaxing.
"I wonder whose dog he is," said Edith. "He didn't seem to belong to any one we passed. I fancy he's here on his own."
"We really ought to go over to Castle Elizabeth soon," observed Frances. "Doesn't it look like a huge monster stranded out there in the harbor?"
"Sister is afraid of the tides," replied Edith. "A soldier was drowned there the other day, trying to cross the causeway after the tide had turned. Look, Fran, I believe that must be his funeral up on the road now. It is a military one at any rate."
Frances looked with interest. First marched a guard of soldiers, two by two, then a band with muffled drums, playing the Dead March. After the band came a gun-carriage drawn by four horses and bearing the coffin, over which was draped the English flag. Several barouches followed with officers in uniform, and then the rest of the regiment, walking very slowly, their guns reversed.
As the procession approached, every man on the route uncovered and did not replace his hat until it had passed, a mark of respect which struck Frances forcibly. "They have better manners than we have," she acknowledged half to herself.
Edith looked surprised. "Men always uncover on meeting a funeral," she remarked. "This was a private, but if he had been an officer, his helmet and sword would be on the flag, and directly behind the gun-carriage, his orderly would lead his riderless horse. A military wedding is so pretty, Frances. I saw one once in Bath Abbey. The officers were all in full uniform and after the ceremony they formed in the aisle, two lines going way down out of the church and at a signal, drew their swords and crossed them with a clash above their heads and the bride and groom came down this path through the glittering swords. I was just a tiny then, but I decided I'd marry a soldier so I could have the arch of swords."
"It must have been very pretty," Frances agreed. "Why, what are those?See, like immense horseshoes in the water."
"The bathing pools," explained Edith. "They show only when the tide is very low. They keep back water for bathing."
"And a good job, too, when you have a tide that goes out of sight," commented Frances approvingly, as she looked at the two huge masonry walls near St. Helier's, set in the expanse of wet sand. "Look at the boys sailing boats."
"Sometimes there are real races with little model yachts," said Edith. "There's a club of the young officers and some of the townspeople and they have the prettiest little miniature boats with keels about a metre long, rigged exactly like real racing yachts. It's great sport to see them. But ought we not to go back?"
The girls turned for they were already far from home. To their surprise they were presently greeted again by the collie who tore up to hail them rapturously.
"Still chewing your stone?" Frances inquired. "Come along. I suppose we'll have to take you part way back."
The collie flew for the pebble as though for the first time of the afternoon. Before they had gone more than a quarter of a mile, a pretty young lady came up.
"I'm afraid my bad Tylo has been bothering you," she said apologetically. "He is forever coming on the sands and badgering people into playing with him."
"Oh, we liked to play," said Frances, smiling. "I think he's a brick.What did you call him?"
"Tylo," replied the young lady. "After the dog in the 'Blue Bird,' you know."
Edith also smiled. Their new acquaintance was looking from one to another, a charming and rather mischievous expression lighting a sweet face.
"You're a little sister compatriot," she said to Edith; "but I fancy this little lady comes from across the ocean."
"Yes, I do," said Frances, "but how did you know?"
The young lady laughed merrily. "Oh, I've knocked about a good bit. And I happen to have known one American boy very well. Indeed, we really grew up together in Italy and England. 'Brick' is rather an American word, isn't it? I've surely heard my friend use it. Americans seldom find their way to Jersey. Are you stopping long?"
"Perhaps all winter," replied Frances.
"There are many delightful excursions to make in the island," said the young lady. "Come along, Tylo. We must go home to tea. Oh," she added to the girls, "when you go on picnics, don't forget to look for caves."
With another smile and a charming little nod, she left them.
"I wonder who she is," said Frances, frankly looking after her. The erect lithe figure was crowned by a finely poised head and a wealth of beautiful fair hair, prettily arranged. Something in her face suggested possibilities of good comradeship, and her dress, while simplicity itself, betrayed a French origin.
"She looks nice enough and ladylike enough to be an American," thoughtFrances approvingly and with a sudden stab of homesickness.
"I wish she'd told us her name," she went on aloud, "and who theAmerican boy was. Perhaps we might know him."
"He can scarcely be a boy now if they grew up together," observedEdith. "Wasn't she sweet? I hope we'll see her again."
"And what did she mean by caves?" Frances continued, pursuing her train of thought. "That sounded very interesting and mysterious."