So I sat on my Bench and looked at the sea and dreamed. It seemed to me that Centuries must have pa.s.sed since I was a light-hearted girl, running up and down that beech, paddling, and so forth, with no thought of the future farther away than my next meal.

Once I lived to eat. Now I merely ate to live, and hardly that. The fires of Genius must be fed, but no more.

Sitting there, I suddenly made a discovery. The boat house was near me, and I realize that upstairs, above the Bath-houses, et cetera, there must be a room or two. The very thought intriged me (a new word for interest, but coming into use, and sounding well).

Solatude--how I craved it for my work. And here it was, or would be when I had got the Place fixed up. True, the next door boat-house was close, but a boat-house is a quiet place, generaly, and I knew that nowhere, aside from the dessert, is there perfect Silence.

I investagated at once, but found the place locked and the boatman gone.

However, there was a latice, and I climbed up that and got in. I had a Fright there, as it seemed to be full of people, but I soon saw it was only the Familey bathing suits hung up to dry. Aside from the odor of drying things it was a fine study, and I decided to take a small table there, and the various tools of my Profession.

Climbing down, however, I had a surprise. For a man was just below, and I nearly put my foot on his shoulder in the darkness.

"h.e.l.lo!" he said. "So it's YOU."

I was quite speachless. It was Mr. Beecher himself, in his dinner clothes and bareheaded.

Oh flutering Heart, be still. Oh Pen, move steadily. OH TEMPORA O MORES!

"Let me down," I said. I was still hanging to the latice.

"In a moment," he said. "I have an idea that the instant I do you'll vanish. And I have somthing to tell you."

I could hardly beleive my ears.

"You see," he went on, "I think you must move that Bench."

"Bench?"

"You seem to be so very popular," he said. "And of course I'm only a transient and don't matter. But some evening one of the admirers may be on the Patten's porch, while another is with you on the bench. And--the Moon rises beyond it."

I was silent with horor. So that was what he thought of me. Like all the others, he, to, did not understand. He considered me a Flirt, when my only Thoughts were serious ones, of imortality and so on.

"You'd better come down now," he said. "I was afraid to warn you until I saw you climbing the latice. Then I knew you were still young enough to take a friendly word of Advise."

I got down then and stood before him. He was magnifacent. Is there anything more beautiful than a tall man with a gleaming expance of dress shirt? I think not.

But he was staring at me.

"Look here," he said. "I'm afraid I've made a mistake after all. I thought you were a little girl."

"That needn't worry you. Everybody does," I replied. "I'm seventeen, but I shall be a mere Child until I come out."

"Oh!" he said.

"One day I am a Child in the nursery," I said. "And the next I'm grown up and ready to be sold to the highest Bider."

"I beg your pardon, I----"

"But I am as grown up now as I will ever be," I said. "And indeed more so. I think a great deal now, because I have plenty of Time. But my sister never thinks at all. She is to busy."

"Suppose we sit on the Bench. The moon is to high to be a menace, and besides, I am not dangerous. Now, what do you think about?"

"About Life, mostly. But of course there is Death, which is beautiful but cold. And--one always thinks of Love, doesn't one?"

"Does one?" he asked. I could see he was much interested. As for me, I dared not consider whom it was who sat beside me, almost touching. That way lay madness.

"Don't you ever," he said, "reflect on just ordinary things, like Clothes and so forth?"

I shruged my shoulders.

"I don't get enough new clothes to worry about. Mostly I think of my Work."

"Work?"

"I am a writer" I said in a low, ernest tone.

"No! How--how amazing. What do you write?"

"I'm on a play now."

"A Comedy?"

"No. A Tradgedy. How can I write a Comedy when a play must always end in a catastrofe? The book says all plays end in Crisis, Denouement and Catastrofe."

"I can't beleive it," he said. "But, to tell you a Secret, I never read any books about Plays."

"We are not all gifted from berth, as you are," I observed, not to merely please him, but because I considered it the simple Truth.

He pulled out his watch and looked at it in the moonlight.

"All this reminds me," he said, "that I have promised to go to work tonight. But this is so--er--thrilling that I guess the work can wait.

Well--now go on."

Oh, the Joy of that night! How can I describe it? To be at last in the company of one who understood, who--as he himself had said in "Her Soul"--spoke my own languidge! Except for the occasional mosquitoe, there was no sound save the turgescent sea and his Voice.

Often since that time I have sat and listened to conversation. How flat it sounds to listen to father prozing about Gold, or Sis about Clothes, or even to the young men who come to call, and always talk about themselves.

We were at last interupted in a strange manner. Mr. Patten came down their walk and crossed to us, walking very fast. He stopped right in front of us and said:

"Look here, Reg, this is about all I can stand."

"Oh, go away, and sing, or do somthing," said Mr. Beecher sharply.

"You gave me your word of Honor" said the Patten man. "I can only remind you of that. Also of the expence I'm incuring, and all the rest of it.

I've shown all sorts of patience, but this is the limit."

He turned on his Heal, but came back for a last word or two.