The three couples were soon afloat--Quincy and Alice, Captain Hornaby and Florence, Harry and Maude.

"Let's have a race," cried Maude. "To that big white rock down there,"

and she pointed to the farther end of the pond. Harry took the lead with short, swift strokes, but the long, steady paddling of Captain Hornaby gained on him steadily, and to Maude's disgust the Captain reached the rock first, Harry being a close second, and Quincy a late third.

Maude was excited. "Let's race back to the boat house. A prize for the first one who reaches it."

"What will be the prize?" asked the Captain.

Maude saw that Harry needed encouragement.

"I haven't anything with me but kisses and only one of them to spare."

Harry shut his teeth with a snap. He was going to win that race.

As they were nearing the boat house Harry was in the lead, the Captain close behind, with Quincy following leisurely. This was a young people's race--married men barred. For some unexplainable reason Captain Hornaby tried to cross Harry's bow. The project was ill-timed and unsuccessful.

Harry had just made a spurt and his canoe went forward so fast that the Captain's boat, instead of clearing his, struck it full in the side and Harry and Maude were thrown into the water. Florence, who really loved her sister despite their many quarrels, gave a loud scream and stood up in the boat. Her action was fatal to its equilibrium, and the Captain and she were soon in the water's embrace.

The accident occurred about two hundred feet from the sh.o.r.e where the water was deep. Captain Hornaby grasped Florence and struck out for the boat house float. She had fainted and did not impede him by struggling.

Harry had essayed to bear Maude ash.o.r.e, but she broke away from him and swam vigorously towards land, Harry in pursuit.

"Don't worry, Alice," said Quincy. "They are not in danger."

"But, Quincy, suppose it had been our boat."

"If it had been," said he, "you would be as safe in my arms as Florence is in those of the Captain, providing you did not struggle."

Harry exerted his full strength and skill to overtake Maude, but she, flushed with the excitement, her thin costume clinging close to her form, reached the bank some twenty feet ahead of him.

"I had to do it," she cried, "and I suppose I must deliver the prize by kissing myself."

Then her exuberant nature gave way, and she sank helpless to the ground.

Harry did not envy the Captain who was carrying Florence in his arms, for was not Maude in his?

In the evening as they sat upon the veranda watching the dying glories of the sun, Quincy said to Maude, "Why didn't you let Harry bring you ash.o.r.e?"

"The idea of it," she exclaimed. "And be under obligations to him--not on your life. Think of poor Florence. If that Captain asks her to marry him she must accept because he saved her life."

Later, when the sun had set, and the moonbeams silvered the surface of the pond, Harry mustered up courage to ask Maude what she meant when she said it was too great a responsibility to go out canoeing with a man who couldn't swim.

"Why, I meant if you couldn't swim it might be a great job for me to get you ash.o.r.e. I knew I could take care of myself all right."

At the other end of the veranda the Hon. Nathaniel and Captain Hornaby were engaged in conversation. The Captain was not asking the Hon.

Nathaniel for the hand of his daughter Florence but, instead, for a loan, giving as his reason that when he threw off his coat his letters of credit to the value of five hundred pounds went to the bottom of the pond.

"I shall have to write home to my brother, the Earl, for other letters, and it will take some time for them to reach me."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'IF YOU WILL GIVE ME YOUR NOTE AT THIRTY DAYS I WILL LET YOU HAVE THE FIVE HUNDRED.'"]

"You are at liberty to remain here until you receive word," said the cautious Hon. Nathaniel.

"I appreciate your great kindness," said the Captain, "but I must visit New York and Chicago at an early day."

"How much will supply your present need?" asked the lawyer.

"I had expected my trip would cost me at least five hundred dollars."

"If you will give me your note at thirty days I will let you have the five hundred. I will bring it down to-morrow night."

On the second day following, the Captain took an apparently very reluctant departure.

A week later Quincy and Alice were in Boston making preparations for their trip to Fernborough.

"I am going to buy the tickets this morning, Alice--we must have seats in a parlour car. How shall we go--to Cottonton or Eastborough Centre?"

"To Eastborough surely," said Alice. "We will drive over the old road.

Do you remember the day that you took me to see Aunt Heppy Putnam after her husband died?"

"Alice, every day I pa.s.sed at Mason's Corner near you was like Heaven to me, and, now, for a week or more I mean to live in Paradise again. What a joy it will be to see the old scenes and faces, hear the familiar voices, and remember the happy days we have had there."

"I'm afraid, Quincy, some of the charm has departed. Things have changed, and, in spite of our resolves, we change with them."

When they alighted at Eastborough Centre, Ellis Smith stood there with his carriage.

"How do you do, Ellis, and how's your brother Abbott? Will you take us to the Hawkins House?" said Quincy. Turning to his wife, he added, "Mrs. Rawkins is a good cook--her rooms are large and clean. We can go a visiting during the day and have quiet times by ourselves when we wish."

His wife nodded her acquiescence with the plan proposed.

"Ellis, can you handle those two big trunks alone?"

"Yes, Guv'nor. I'm a leetle bit heavier built than Abbott."

Quincy drew Alice's attention to the Eagle Hotel.

"There's where we hatched the plot that downed Mr. Obadiah Strout, when he was an enemy of mine. Say, Ellis, drive up by the Poor House, through the Willows, and then back down the Centre Road to Mason Street. That will carry us by some of the old landmarks."

As they pa.s.sed the Poor House they saw "p.u.s.s.y" Mr. Waters, sitting on the piazza and Sam standing in the barn doorway.

"There's where my Uncle James died," said Quincy. "Did I ever tell you, Alice, that he left some money and it went to found the Sawyer Public Library? He made me promise not to tell that he left any, and it has always troubled me to receive a credit that really was not my due."

"But you could have kept the money, couldn't you?"

"Oh, yes. He gave it to me outright."

"Then I think you are ent.i.tled to full credit for the good use you made of it."

"Looking at it that way, perhaps you are right, Alice. Here are the Willows."

"What a lonely place."