Alice reflected. After a few moments' pause she said, "I like the plan and I thank you very much for speaking of it; but I prefer the beach. I love the plash and roar and boom of the water, and it will be a constant inspiration to me. How soon can I go?" she asked, with a look upon her face that a young child might have had in speaking to its father.

This was Alice Pettengill's great charm. She was honest and disingenuous, and was always ready to think that what others deemed it best for her to do was really so. Imitation may be the sincerest flattery, but appreciation of the advice and counsel of others, combined with grat.i.tude for the friendly spirit that prompts it, makes and holds more friends.

Quincy looked at his watch.

"I can get the afternoon train, I think," said he. "I will see Leopold, and then run up and make Aunt Ella a call. She knows the New England coast from Eastport to Newport. Did she speak to you at the wedding?"

"Some lady with a very pleasant voice asked me if I were Miss Pettengill, while we were in the church," replied Alice. "I said yes, and then she told me that her name was Chessman, adding the information that she was your aunt, and that you could tell me all about her."

"I shall be happy to," said Quincy; "but I can a.s.sure you it would be much more enjoyable for you to hear it from herself. I hope you will have that pleasure some day." And again adopting a bantering tone, "I trust, fair lady, I shall not return this time from a bootless errand."

Alice listened again, as she had often done, until she heard the sound of departing wheels, and then she fell to wondering whether her future paths in life would continue to be marked out by this Sir Knight, who was ever at her beck and call, and whether it was her destiny to always tread the paths that he laid out for her.

Quincy was fortunate in finding Leopold at home.

"I'm glad you've come, Quincy," said he; "I was going to write you to-night."

"What's up?" inquired Quincy.

"Please pa.s.s me that package of papers on the corner of the table,"

answered Leopold, being loath to rise from his rec.u.mbent position on the lounge.

Quincy did as requested and took a seat beside Leopold.

"These," said Leopold, "are the proofs of the first writings of a to-be-famous American author. Glad she took a man's name, so I don't have to say auth.o.r.ess. Here," he continued, "are the proofs of the story, Was it Signed? Cooper wishes it read and returned immediately.

Editors wish everything done immediately. They loaf on their end and expect the poor author to sit up all night and make up for their shortcomings. I'm a sort of editor myself, and I know what I'm talking about. This lot," he continued, "will appear in 'The Sunday Universe' a week from next Sunday. I had a copy made for Jameson to work from. Bruce Douglas owes me four-fifty for expenses, necessary but not authorized."

"I will see that you are reimbursed," said Quincy; "want it now?" and he made a motion to take out his pocketbook.

"No," replied Leopold, "I'm flush to-day; keep it till some time when I'm strapped. Last, and most important of all, here are the proofs of the story that is to appear in our monthly. Now, my advice to you is, Quincy, seek the fair author at once, correct these proofs and have them back to me within three days, or they'll go over and she'll be charged for keeping the type standing, besides having her pay hung up for another week."

"She won't mind that," said Quincy, with a laugh. "She's an heiress now, with real and personal property valued at fifty thousand dollars. But what am I to do?" asked he seriously. "I could read the ma.n.u.script, but we have no one at Eastborough who knows how to make those pothooks and scratches that you call 'corrections.'"

"Well, you two young aspirants for literary fame are in a box, are'nt you? I was thinking about that fifty thousand. Perhaps I'd better go home with you and get acquainted with the author," said Leopold with a laugh.

"Well," returned Quincy, "it would be very kind of you in our present emergency, but, strange as it may seem, I came to see you this afternoon about securing a literary a.s.sistant for Miss Pettengill. She has decided to write that book."

"Good girl!" cried Leopold, sitting bolt upright upon the lounge. "I mean, good boy, for it was, no doubt, your acknowledged powers of argument and gently persuasive ways that have secured this consummation of my desire. Let me think;" and he scratched his head vigorously. "I think I have it," said he, finally. "One of our girls down to the office worked so hard during our late splurge that the doctor told her she must rest this week. She rooms over on Myrtle Street. I happened to be late in getting out one day last week, and we walked together up as far as Chestnut Street. She lives nearly down to the end of Myrtle Street."

"No further explanation or extenuation is necessary," said Quincy. "Is she pretty?"

"You're right, she is," replied Leopold, "She's both pretty and smart.

She has a beautiful voice and writes a hand that looks like copperplate.

She's a first-cla.s.s proof reader and a perfect walking dictionary on spelling, definitions, and dates. They treat her mighty shabby on pay, though. She's a woman, so they gave her six dollars a week. If she were a man they'd give her twenty, and think themselves lucky. I'll run over and see if she is at home. At what time could she go down with you to-morrow?" he asked.

"I'll come after her at nine o'clock. Tell her Miss Pettengill will give her eight dollars a week, with board and lodging free."

"All right," cried Leopold, "that's business. While I'm gone just see how pretty those stories look in cold type. I've been all through them myself just for practice."

Leopold dashed out of the room and Quincy took up the proofs of the story, Was It Signed? He became so absorbed in its perusal that Leopold pulled it out of his hand in order to attract his attention.

"It's all right," he said. "She's delighted at the idea of going. She thinks the change will do her good. She can't build up very fast in a little back room, up three flights."

"What's her name?" asked Quincy.

"Oh! I forgot," replied Leopold. "I'll write her name and address down for you. There it is," said he, as he pa.s.sed it to Quincy. "Her first name is Rosa, and that's all right. She's of French-Canadian descent, and her last name is one of those jawbreakers that no American can p.r.o.nounce. It sounded something like Avery, so she called herself at first Rosa Avery; then the two A's caused trouble, for everybody thought she said Rose Avery. Being a proof reader," continued Leopold, "she is very sensitive, so while the name Rosa satisfied her inmost soul, the name Rose jarred upon her sensibilities. Thus another change became necessary, and she is now known, and probably will continue to be known, as Miss Rosa Very, until she makes up her mind to change it again."

"I'm greatly obliged, Leopold," said Quincy, making the proofs into a flat parcel and putting them into his inside overcoat pocket.

"Don't mention it, old fellow," remarked Leopold. "You may be the means of supplying me with an a.s.sistant some day. If you should, don't fail to call my attention to it."

Aunt Ella was at dinner when Quincy arrived. She sent word up by b.u.t.tons for Quincy to come down to the dining-room at once. She was alone in the room when he entered.

"Just in time," said he, "and I'm hungry as a bear."

"That's a good boy; sit down and help me out," said his aunt. "These extravagant servants of mine cook ten times as much as I can possibly eat."

"I don't imagine it is wasted," replied Quincy.

"I think not," said Aunt Ella, with a laugh; "for, judging from the extra plentiful supply, they probably have a kitchen party in view for this evening. But what keeps you away from Eastborough over night?"

"I thought you couldn't eat and talk at the same time," remarked Quincy.

"I can't," she replied. "I'm through eating and I'm going to sit and listen to you. Go right ahead, the servants won't come in. I won't let them stand and look at me when I'm eating. If I want them I ring for them."

Quincy then briefly related the princ.i.p.al events that had taken place at Mason's Corner since the nineteenth, remarking, incidentally, that he had received no word from Lindy.

"Let her alone, and she'll come home when she gets ready," said Aunt Ella. "As to the best place for your young lady to go, I shall have to think a minute. Old Orchard is my favorite, but I'm afraid it would be too noisy for her there, the hotels are so close to the railroad track.

I suppose your family, meaning your mother's, of course, will go to Nahant, as usual. Sarah would have society convulsions at Old Orchard. I should like to see her promenading down in front of the candy stores, shooting for cigars in the shooting gallery, or taking a ride down to Saco Pool on the narrow-gauge; excuse me for speaking so of your mother, Quincy, but I have been acquainted with her much longer than you have."

She went on, "Newport is too stylish for comfort. Ah! I have it, Quincy.

I was there three years ago, and I know what I'm talking about. Quaint place,--funny looking houses, with little promenades on top,--crooked streets that lead everywhere and nowhere,--very much like Boston,--full of curiosities,--hardy old mariners and peaceable old Quakers,--plenty of nice milk and eggs and fresh fish,--more fish than anything else,--every breeze is a sea breeze, and it is so delightfully quiet that the flies and mosquitoes imitate the inhabitants, and sleep all day and all night."

"Where is this modern Eden, this corner lot in Paradise?" asked Quincy; "it can't be part of the United States."

"Not exactly," replied Aunt Ella; it's off sh.o.r.e, I forget how many miles, but you can find it swimming around in the water just south of Cape Cod."

"Oh! you mean Nantucket," cried Quincy.

"That's the place," a.s.sented his aunt. "Now, Quincy, I'll tell you just what I want you to do, and I want you to promise to do it before I say another word."

"That's a woman's way," remarked Quincy, "of avoiding argument and preventing a free expression of opinion by interested parties; but I'll consent, only be merciful."

"What I'm going to ask you to do, Quincy Sawyer, is for your good, and you'll own up that I've been more than a mother to you before I get through."

"You always have been," said Quincy, seriously. "Of course, I love my mother in a way, but I'm never exactly comfortable when I'm with her.

But when I'm with you, Aunt Ella, I'm always contented and feel perfectly at home."

"Bless you, my dear boy," she said. Then, rising, she went behind his chair, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead; then, pulling a chair close to him, she went on: "I haven't spoken to you of her, Quincy, because I have had no opportunity until now. I've fallen in love with her myself. I am a physiognomist as well as a phrenologist. Robert taught me the principles. She's almost divinely lovely. I say almost, for, of course, she'll be still lovelier when she goes to Heaven. Her well-shaped head indicates a strong, active, inventive mind, while her pure heart and clean soul are mirrored in her sweet face. She is a good foil for you, Quincy. You are almost dark enough for a Spaniard or an Italian, while she is Goethe's ideal Marguerite."