"Always thoughtful, Cousin Miles!" said Mr. Belleville. "Always the prop of the family! so unchanged!"

Mr. Merryweather's reply was inarticulate, and its tone caused his wife to begin hastily a series of inquiries for the visitor's family.

The twins and Jack Ferrers walked slowly down the slip in the rain. No one spoke till they reached the float; then Gerald said slowly: "Sapolio--Saccarappa--Sarcophagus--_Squedunk_!"

"Feel better?" asked his brother, sympathetically.

"There is one thing," said Gerald, still speaking slowly and emphatically, "that I wish, in this connection, distinctly understood.

Indoors he is safe: hospitality--salt--Arabs--that kind of thing. But if in the immediate proximity of the cleansing flood"--he waved his hand toward the lake--"he continues to patronize the parents, in he goes! I have spoken!"

"I should not presume to restrain my half-hour elder!" said Phil. "Jack, I'm afraid we shall have to put this curled darling in your tent. It's only for the night, fortunately."

"Oh! of course! delighted!" said Jack, somewhat embarra.s.sed.

"Very, very, very, eh?" said Phil. "Oh! what's the use of making believe, with any one we know so well as you? It's a nuisance, and we don't pretend it isn't."

"Mark my words, John Ferrers!" broke in Gerald. "We mean to be civil to this youth. He is our second cousin, and we know it. He is also a blooming, blossoming, burgeoning a.s.s, and he doesn't know it. They seldom do. We mean, I say, to be civil to him, barring patronage of the parents. He has been our thorn, and we have borne him--at intervals, mercifully not too short--all our lives. But we aren't going to pretend that we love him, because we don't. No more doesn't he love us.

"The love that's lost between us Is not the love for me; But there's a flood both fair and broad, In which I'd duck my charming Claud As gladly as could be!"

"Are you ready?" asked the Chief.

"Oh! no, Pater! not just yet. My rudder has got fouled with the cargo."

"Somebody lend me a safety-pin, please! my mainsail is coming loose."

"Has anybody got any ballast to spare? just one pebble!"

These cries and many others resounded from the float, where the campers were gathered, and were putting the last touches to their toy boats.

Finally Mr. Merryweather declared that there should be no more delay.

The boats were carefully placed in the Ark, a great white rowboat manned by the Chief and Phil, who proceeded to row out leisurely to a white-flagged buoy at some distance from the sh.o.r.e. Gerald and Jack in one canoe, Gertrude and Peggy in another, were stationed at either side of the course; while Margaret and Claud Belleville, in a Rangeley boat, were so placed as to take the time of the various boats as they came in.

This arrangement was not satisfactory to all the campers, but when protests were made in the family council the night before, Mr.

Merryweather had calmly remarked that it was impossible to please everybody, and that the visitors should be given the post of honor.

Gerald muttered that he did not see why Margaret should be butchered to make a Claudian holiday; to which his father replied that the matter was settled, and perhaps he, Gerald, would better be seeing to the lanterns.

"Aren't you a little hard on the boy?" asked Mrs. Merryweather, when she and her husband were left alone together.

"He needs something to bite on!" was the reply. "He is going through a kind of moral teething."

This regatta was the first that Margaret had ever seen, and she was greatly excited.

"Tell us when we are just right!" she cried to the Chief as she pa.s.sed the Ark. "Oh! anchor by the red flag? yes, I remember, you told me before. Now, Mr. Belleville, will you throw out the anchor, please?"

"Must I?" rejoined Mr. Belleville. "It seems a pity! So charming to row about a bit, don't you think? oh! well, if you insist!"--as he met Margaret's horrified gaze. "Here goes!"

The anchor splashed overboard, and the young man laid down his oars.

"You take this _au grand serieux_, I see, Miss Montfort, like my good cousins themselves. I confess I never can attain their perennial youthfulness, try how I will. I feel a Methuselah, I give you my word I do. Oh! very, very, very!"

"I don't understand you," said Margaret, simply. "We are here to take the time, as the boats pa.s.s the line. There is no other object in our being here."

"No other? Alas! poor Claud!" sighed Mr. Belleville. "Now, to me, Miss Montfort, the sailing of toy boats is the smallest possible factor in this afternoon's pleasure. It is not, believe me, the childish sport that I shall remember when I am far away."

"Oh!" said Margaret, vaguely, her eyes on the white boat.

"You do not ask what it is that I shall carry with me across the ocean?"

Claud's voice dropped to its favorite smooth half-tone, what he was fond of describing to his friends as "_ma mi-voix caressante_."

"There is a glamour, Miss Montfort, a magic, that does not always put itself into words. The perfect day, the perfect vision, will dwell with me--"

"Oh, look!" cried Margaret, starting forward, eagerly, "they are giving the signal. Gerald repeats it. Oh, they are off! Look, look, Mr.

Belleville! What a pretty sight."

It was, indeed, a pretty sight. The fairy fleet started in line, their white and brown sails taking the breeze gallantly, their prows (where they had prows) dancing over the dancing ripples. One or two proved unruly, turning round and round, and in one case finally turning bottom side up, with hardly a struggle. But most of the little vessels kept fairly well within the course, heading, more or less, for the sh.o.r.e.

Margaret was enchanted.

"How wonderfully they keep together!" she said. "Oh! but now they begin to separate. Look, there is a poor little one wobbling off all by itself. I wonder--I am afraid it is Peggy's. Yes, I am sure it is. Poor Peggy! Oh! the first three are going much faster than the rest. I wonder whose they are. How prettily they sail! Did you ever see anything prettier?"

"I see something infinitely prettier," said Mr. Belleville, fixing his eyes on his companion. But Margaret, wholly unconscious of his languishing gaze, was watching the race with an intensity of eagerness that left no room for any other impressions.

The three forward boats came on swiftly, their prows dipping lightly, their paper sails spread full to the breeze. Shouts came ringing over the water, from the other boats, and from the sh.o.r.e, where the rest of the campers were gathered in an excited knot.

"_Jollyc.u.mpop!_"

"_Come-at-a-Body!_"

"Good work, _Jolly_! Keep it up!"

"The _Whale_ is gaining. Hit her up, Spermaceti!"

"_Jollyc.u.mpop_ has it! _Jollyc.u.mpop!_"

"The _Jolly is_ first," cried Margaret; "but the _Come-at-a-Body_ is very, very close. Which do you think will win, Mr. Belleville?"

"Which do you wish to win?" asked Mr. Belleville.

"Oh, how can I tell? One is Gertrude's, the other Gerald's."

"There can be little doubt in that case, I imagine," said Claud Belleville, with a peculiar smile. "As a matter of simple gallantry--dear me, how unfortunate!"

As he spoke, his oar slipped from his hand, and fell with a splash into the water. The _Come-at-a-Body_ was nearest to the Rangeley boat. The oar did not absolutely touch the tiny vessel, but the shock of the disturbed water was enough to check her gallant progress. She paused,--wavered,--finally recovered herself, and went bravely on. But in that pause the _Jollyc.u.mpop_ crossed the line triumphantly, amid loud acclamations.

"The little Gertrude wins!" exclaimed Mr. Belleville, recovering his oar with graceful composure. "We can hardly regret an accident which contributes even slightly to give the victory where it so manifestly belongs, can we, Miss Montfort?"

But Margaret Montfort turned upon him, her fair face flushed with anger, her gentle eyes full of fire.