He lingered like one entranced. Poor young lad! Chilian began to feel sorry for him.

She walked down to the gate with him, and hoped they would have a nice time when autumn came, if he meant to stay in Salem.

A young man not in love would have called her a bright, merry, chatty girl. He went away with the consciousness that she liked him very much.

Chilian asked her if she did.

She glanced up wonderingly.

"Why--he is nice, and being Polly's brother makes it--well, more familiar. Then we can talk about Anthony. I believe he didn't like him much at first, but he does now."

Oh, how could he put her on her guard! She was not dreaming of love.

Saltonstall's fancy had died out--no doubt this would, too. Lad's love.

Was it worth ruffling up the sunny artlessness? But he would watch the young men closer now that he knew the danger line.

He said simply to himself that he could not give her up to any one else so soon. There would be a long life of joy and satisfaction to her, and he knew she would not grudge him these few years. Then, too, he was quite certain she had not even had an imaginary fancy for these two men--Ben was nothing but a boy.

Anthony Drayton was to join them. Miss Winn was to be Cynthia's companion. Mrs. Stevens had refused to trust her precious self to any wilds, and bear and wolf hunts, though Mr. Giles declared they were not going to take guns along. He was not an enthusiastic hunter. As for Chilian, such sport did not attract him.

The journey was partly by stage, partly on horseback, and one or two days they left the ladies at the tavern where they stopped. Cynthia was charmed and amused at the uncouthness of the people and their dialect in some places, and positive good breeding in others. Anthony unearthed a college chum who was tally man at a sawmill. The new town was really making progress. A small chapel had been started, a schoolhouse built.

And twenty years later it was a pretty town; in fifty years an enterprising city.

"Anthony's going to be a first-cla.s.s fellow. I should like to have such a son. Chilian, you and I should have married and have sons and daughters growing up. But at my time of life I should want them grown up. And smart, as well. I always feel sorry for the fathers of dull lads, when they have plenty of means to educate them. Yes, I should want mine to have a good supply of brains."

Chilian Leverett enjoyed the change very much and the breath of spruce and pine was invigorating. But there was a little nervous feeling about Cynthia. Cousin Giles was somewhat of a lady's man, and he was on the continual lookout that Cynthia should not tire herself unduly, that she be a.s.sisted over the rough places, that she should have the best of everything. He was almost jealous at times.

But Cynthia moved about gayly, serenely, full of merry little quips, seizing the small ridiculous events with such a sense of amus.e.m.e.nt that she inspirited them all. And he could not notice that she paid any more attention to Anthony than either of her seniors. There was such a genuine frankness in all she said and did, a charm of manner that was just herself, and had none of the arts of society, but came from a heart that overflowed with spontaneous warmth, but was not directed to any particular person.

Cousin Giles declared he was sorry to get back to Boston. He could not remember when he had enjoyed such a good time. Then in a business way it had been a success, which added to his satisfaction.

They really had to stay in Boston one night. They would fain have kept Cynthia for a week, but she said she was tired of just changing from one frock to another, and longed for more variety.

"And I'm so glad to get back home again," she cried delightedly. "I've had a splendid time, and I like Anthony ever so much. Cousin Giles was so nice and fatherly. He ought to adopt Anthony and give him his name, and that would always make me think of father. But after all, home is best. Oh, suppose I was a waif, just being handed from one to another!"

She looked frightened with the imaginary lot. She expressed emotions so easily.

"You couldn't have been;" hoa.r.s.ely.

"Cousin Chilian, if you had not been in the world, or if you hadn't been willing to take me--I don't think father knew much about Cousin Giles--why, I must have gone to strangers."

There were tears in her eyes, and a sweet melancholy in her voice.

She had so much to tell Cousin Eunice that it seemed really as if she had taken the journey with them. She put on Jane's faded gingham sunbonnet and gave her voice a queer nasal tw.a.n.g, and talked as some of the women did up there in the wilderness, who thought a city "must be an awfully crowdy place an' she jes' didn't see how people managed to live in it. An' as fer the sea, give her dry land every time."

Then she talked the French-English patois of the emigrants from Canada, and told of their funny attire, and their log huts, sometimes with only one big room, with a stone chimney in the centre, and sawed logs for seats.

"They did that in Salem nigh on to two hundred years ago," said Cousin Eunice.

"How much people do learn by living," remarked the little girl sagely.

Then the olden round began. Being asked out to tea and inviting in return, sewing bees, quilting parties when some girl was making an outfit. And though the elders shook their heads at such a waste of time, they went out to walk in the afternoon and stopped in the shops that were making a show on Ess.e.x Street and Federal Street. There was Miss Rust's pretty millinery parlor--it had a sofa in the front room and a table with an embroidered cover that Cynthia had sent her. They talked of new styles and colors, and were aghast at the thought that royalty sometimes had as many as twenty hats and bonnets. She made pretty old lady caps as well, and she did love to hear the young girls chatter. And Molly Saunders was still baking gingerbread, that had delighted them as school children, and no one made such good spruce and sa.s.safras beer.

One evening at a dance she had a great surprise. Some one said, "Miss Cynthia Leverett, Mr. Marsh."

A rather tall, ruddy, good-looking fellow, with laughing eyes and an unmistakable sailor air, held her dainty hand and studied her face.

"Oh, you don't know me!" in the jolliest of tones. "And I should know you if you had been cast ash.o.r.e on a rocky island and I were looking at you through a spygla.s.s. You haven't changed in the main, only to grow prettier. You were a poor pale little thing then."

"Oh, I can't think!" She flushed and smiled. Something in the hearty voice won her.

"At Dame Wilby's school. And the bad boy who sat behind you--Tommy Marsh."

"Oh! oh! And that day I sat on the floor!" She laughed gayly. She did not mind it a bit now.

"Wasn't it funny? And the way you just sat still with the school in an uproar. You standing up there and 'sa.s.sing' back the old dame! Such a mite of a thing, too. My! but you were a plucky one!" in admiration.

"And you never came to school after that. I ought to get down on my knees and beg your pardon for the sly pinches I gave you, and the times I tweaked your curly hair. I've half a mind to do it."

"Oh, no!" and she made a funny gesture of alarm, and both laughed.

"And I've been over there to India, where you came from, and found some people who knew your father. I've been to sea seven years, three on this last cruise, and when the _Vixen_ is repaired and refitted I'm going out again as first mate. One of these days I shall be a captain."

How proud and strong he looked. Why, one couldn't help liking him.

"I wonder if I might dance with you?"

"Oh, do you dance? I thought sailors--and there are no girls----" and she blushed at her incoherence.

"I think we do a little. Where did you get the Sailor's Hornpipe from?

We're sorry about not having girls, but we make it answer. And when you get in the doldrums, or becalmed, it stirs up your blood. Oh, they are taking their places."

Ben was in the same quadrille. Every time he touched her hand he gave it a pressure that made her cheeks rosier. Altogether it was a delightful evening.

Cousin Chilian came for her. He had found she preferred it.

"Oh, Cousin Chilian, I've had such a funny adventure. Perhaps you can recall the little boy I really hated that week I went to the dame's school. Well, he is a nice big fellow now, and we had a talk, and he has been to Calcutta and seen people who knew father. I want him to come so we can have a good long talk, and won't you ask him? You'll like him, I know. I'll find him and bring him to you, and you can ask him to come while I'm putting on my things."

She hunted him up and he was very pleased to meet Mr. Leverett. She gave them quite a while, for she was chatting with the girls about some weddings on the tapis.

She gave Mr. Marsh her hand and a smile that would have set almost any masculine heart beating. It must have been born with her, though it was pitifully appealing in the childhood days. Now the true, sweet nature shone through it, lending it a fascinating radiance.

Mr. Leverett said he should be glad to have him call while he was in port, and the young man thanked him and said he should give himself the pleasure.

"And when he does come," said the little lady in her half-coaxing, half-imperious way, "can't we have him up in the study? You see, it does very well for half a dozen of us to be down in the parlor, but it gets kind of stiff and not cheerful with just one. And you'll like to talk to him."

He a.s.sented readily. Ben always came up in the study, though now he would rather have been alone with Cynthia. There were some things he meant to say, if he ever had a chance, in spite of youth and guardianship.

Mr. Marsh did not lose much time considering. The very next week he called.

They found him a nice, agreeable, well-informed young man, a true sailor lad, and like many a Yankee boy, he kept adding to his stock of knowledge where-ever he went. He had drawn some useful charts of seaports and islands he knew about, their products and climates, and really his descriptions were as good as a geography.