It was Max Deland who had entered the garden, and now, with a defiant air, stood staring at the group of playmates, as if daring them to disagree with him.

His cap was tilted at a saucy angle, his hands were thrust into his pockets, and his feet, wide apart, were firmly braced.

He looked as if ready to quarrel with anyone who chanced to differ with him.

"Do you mean to say, Max, that you'd do such a thing?" Sprite asked.

"I don't say I would, and I don't say I wouldn't," Max said in a sullen voice.

"Well, _would_ you?" Princess Polly asked, but Max looked disagreeable, and in a few moments had turned and left them, as abruptly as he had come.

For a moment Polly, Rose and Sprite sat very still, each looking into the faces of the others.

"What made him so cross?" Sprite asked, "and if he _did_ feel cross, and couldn't help it, then I should have thought he would have stayed away."

"So should I," said Polly and Rose, and "so should I," echoed Sprite.

Outside the garden wall eager ears were listening, and the ears belonged to a little figure that crouched close by the gateway, just out of sight of the three playmates, yet quite near enough to hear all that had been said.

It was Gwen Harcourt.

She had been a bit too saucy to Max Deland, had called him a "sissy,"

and what boy would bear that? Max had returned the favor by calling her a "Tom-boy," and then he had made a horrid face, and raced off up the beach.

Then Gwen was sorry. She liked to play with Max, and while he could run away, and laugh as he went, Gwen was ready to cry.

He was quite as fond of Gwen as she was of him, but he was a great tease, and beside that, he liked to hear her calling to him to return.

It flattered his vanity.

"Come back, Max! Come _back_!" she had shouted.

"Max dear, I take it back. You're not a sissy. Max! Oh, Max, I'm sorry!"

Max heard, but he chose to keep right on, and at last he reached the Sherwood house, and pausing for breath near the gate, had overheard the three friends talking about the boy who had run away from his home at Cliffmore.

A few moments later he had chosen to enter, especially because he was feeling rather cross with Gwen, and as Gwen was not at hand to quarrel with, he entered the garden to sneer at what his playmates were saying.

Gwen had followed him, and the time that he had spent in the garden had given her the chance to catch up. Six little stone steps led down from the garden to the beach, and Max ran down, pushed the gate wide, and sprang out onto the hard white sand.

Gwen crouched at his left, but he shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked to the right down the beach. She was pert and willful with all the others, but with Max she was humble indeed.

"Max, here I am, and I'm sorry I teased you. Do be nice to me now, won't you? I won't ever call you 'sissy' again."

"Guess you won't!" Max said, in anything but a pleasant tone. "I wouldn't let you say it if I was here, but I've 'bout decided to run away to sea!"

"Oh, Max, Max! I don't want you to, and just think! What would your mother say?"

Gwen meant it rightly, but it did not please Max.

"There you go!" he cried. "That's the same as saying 'sissy' again. I guess I can go where I want to. A man can do as he likes without asking."

Again Gwen blundered.

"Oh, but Max, you're not a man. You're just a boy, and I wish you wouldn't talk as if you meant to go 'way off somewhere."

Just a boy! That was aggravating. Max felt sure that in a moment more she would call him a _little_ boy, and that would indeed be too much for any boy to ever overlook.

Gwen laid her hand on his arm, intending to coax him to stay, but Max was too angry to be easily pacified.

"See here!" he cried, roughly brushing her hand from his arm. "You heard me say I'd _'bout_ decided to run away to sea, but you don't _know_ whether I will or not, so look out and not be a tell-tale, for if I do go, and ever come back, and find out you told, I'd never speak to you!"

Before Gwen could get over her surprise, and grasp the meaning of what he had said, he was off at top speed down the beach.

She started to follow, but he turned and shouted: "Don't you dare to tag on!"

Poor Gwen! Max was the only playmate with whom she had ever been gentle. She had treated him far better than she had ever treated the girls at Avondale, or the new acquaintances at Cliffmore, and now he was going to run away, and she was not to ever mention it!

She reached home very tired, and also very unhappy.

At lunch she refused to eat, but that was not unusual. She often did that to attract the attention of the other boarders.

As usual Mrs. Harcourt commenced to fuss, and to question her.

"What is it, dear?" she asked.

"Is there nothing that looks tempting?"

Then glancing at those who sat opposite, she said: "Gwen's appet.i.te is so very dainty and capricious, she rarely cares for what is served here."

The guests were a bit tired of that speech, as they had heard it at every meal during the Summer.

"You're too tired to eat, darling," Mrs. Harcourt said. "Did you play too hard with Max this morning?"

At the mention of Max, Gwen burst into tears, and ran from the table, dropping her napkin on the floor, and walking upon it in her flight.

Mrs. Harcourt was really alarmed. She wondered what Max had done to so upset Gwen. Perhaps he had struck her. He had a terrible disposition, while Gwen had the temperament of an angel. So thought Mrs. Harcourt as she left the dining room, her own lunch untasted, to follow Gwen, and coax from her the reason for her distress.

The cause of any disturbance that led Gwen to shed tears was attributed to the outrageous temper of the other child, or children, as the case happened to be, and Mrs. Harcourt never dreamed that sometimes Gwen showed a temper that was rather far from angelic.

Max was not at lunch, but that caused no surprise, because he often was absent at one o'clock, returning at six for dinner with an appet.i.te that seemed more befitting a brawny tramp than a boy who was always well fed.

On this day, however, he did not appear at dinner, and when seven, and eight, chimed forth from the hall clock, and still no Max in sight, Mrs. Deland was frightened.

"Do keep up your courage, Mrs. Deland," said a man who happened to stand near her.

"Your small boy will come prancing in before long, just as he always does. He usually remains out until you are nearly wild, and then he comes crawling in by the back door, and wonders why the chef isn't on hand to cook a separate dinner for him."