"Nothing that Love should accomplish would surprise me in the least,"

was the response. "Well, what is your hope then,--the thing you referred to a few minutes ago?"

Sylvia's eyes looked across the water. "I'd better not tell you yet,"

she replied. "It isn't your problem. It's mine."

"Very well," agreed Thinkright. "Just keep remembering 'Thy will be done,'--His great Will for good. His great Will that all shall be on earth as it is in heaven; that all shall be good and harmonious; and then your own little will and its puny strength won't get in the way, and you will find yourself helping to carry out your Father's designs."

Sylvia took a deep breath. "That is what I want to do. Once I should have been so happy, so contented to float in my boat with cushions and a good story!"

"Well," Thinkright smiled, "I hope you're not going to lose that ability. It has its place."

Sylvia turned her curly head until she met his shining eyes. "I'm too strong now to play all the time," she said.

Her companion patted her arm. "Mrs. Lem says you are a regular busy bee."

"Yes, but she did perfectly well without me."

Her companion met her gaze for a silent moment and speculated as to what its gravity might mean.

"Are you thinking again of the stage, Sylvia?"

"No, no!" she exclaimed vehemently, for instantly a vision of Nat rose before her. "I"--she hesitated, looked out again to the water and back at her cousin. She was sorely tempted to tell him, but the old motive restrained her in time. That was not the way for the solution to come, merely by making herself a heavier tax upon Thinkright's simple fortunes.

"Then you have some definite idea of what you would like to do?" he asked.

His manner was quiet, but there was a note of mental exultation within him at the healthful symptom.

"Yes, but it isn't time yet to tell you of it."

He put his arm around her. "Very well. What more can we wish to be sure of than Omnipotence and Omnipresence. You know that it is only good that is constructive. Evil is destructive, and in the end even destroys itself. So long as you want only good you are safe in the everlasting arms and are blessed." The speaker changed his position and his tone.

"This is rest enough now for me, little girl. I must be up and doing, for we want to get that boat of yours out of dry dock."

It was about a week later that Sylvia made her first visit to Hawk Island. Thinkright sailed her over. It was the longest trip she had made by water, and the changing aspect of mainland and islands from each new viewpoint delighted her.

The landmark which most interested her was the dark clump of trees by which she had always distinguished Hawk Island. It began to spread and alter in form as they approached, until it became a low forest, cresting the hill which gradually rose some seventy feet above the water. At last they entered a still cove which made a natural harbor in the island's side, and there Thinkright moored his boat. As soon as they stepped out upon the sh.o.r.e Sylvia saw a girl hurrying toward them down the sloping gra.s.s, and waving her hand. She wore a short dark skirt and a white waist and no hat.

"We've been watching you with the gla.s.s," she said, greeting them.

"Your note came last night. I'm so glad you had such a perfect morning."

Her cheeks were brown and her eyes danced with good cheer. "Why, Miss Sylvia, your aunt told me; yet I was not prepared to see such a change.

There's nothing like Cas...o...b..y, is there?"

Sylvia's gaze clung to the vivacious face, and she had a realization of the small part which time plays in our mental processes. It seemed to her that transforming years had pa.s.sed since that evening when she shivered outside the door of the Mill Farm, and heard this same laughing voice within.

"Miss Lacey is watching for us." Edna took Thinkright's arm, and they began to walk up the path through a green meadow. Snowdrifts of daisies whitened the field. "The dear things are lasting so much longer than usual this year," said Edna, as Sylvia exclaimed over their charm. "We have the last of things out in this exposed spot, you see, and I think it's quite as pleasant as having the first of them the way you do in your sheltered nook."

The breeze freshened as they ascended, and at last they stood on the crest of the green ridge.

To the south of the island the pointed firs made a dark, irregular sky-line against the azure. Here there were no trees, nothing to obstruct the illimitable stretches of water and picturesque sh.o.r.e. It was a nearer and more overwhelming view of what had taken Sylvia's breath when she discovered the mighty sea on that first day, driving to the Mill Farm.

How far away seemed that day and the sore heart whose resentment embittered all the beauty; when her hand was against every man because she believed every man's hand to be against her.

As the three stood there, watching, in silence, Edna saw the blue eyes fill, and her heart warmed toward her guest, although she could not guess at the flood of feeling that forced those bright drops from their fountain.

CHAPTER XIX

A NOR'EASTER

Anemone Cottage was built partly of boulders taken from the sh.o.r.e. Its roomy porch was supported by pillars of the same stone. The bluish tint of balsam firs stood out against the darker foliage of the evergreens that surrounded it, and such trees as cut off the superb view from the piazza had been removed, leaving vistas which were an exaltation to the beholder.

The beauty of the place sank into Sylvia's heart, and as Miss Martha appeared on the porch to meet the guests, the light of hospitality shone in her face, and the girl forgot that it had ever been difficult to greet her aunt warmly.

"Your sail has given you sharp appet.i.tes, I'm sure," said Miss Martha, "and dinner is just going to be put on the table."

They all moved into the living-room. It ran the full width of the cottage and had a wide, deep fireplace opposite the door. A round centre-table covered with books and periodicals, an upright piano, and numerous armchairs as comfortable as they were light, furnished the room.

"How charming!" exclaimed Sylvia, looking from the rugs on the floor to the cushions in the window-seats.

"Yes, it is," said Edna. "It's a fine port in a storm, but in all decent weather we scorn it."

Sylvia went to a window. A rocky path led between the symmetrical firs down toward the sh.o.r.e where far below boomed the noisy surf.

"And how is the boat, Sylvia?" asked Miss Martha.

"It's a joy," replied the girl, looking around brightly.

"Oh, yes, your boat," said Edna. "I'm going to invite myself over on purpose to row with you. Miss Lacey has told me all about it and its mysterious name."

Her eyes twinkled at Sylvia.

"It is--very mysterious," returned the latter, laughing.

Miss Lacey gave a quick nod. "I'm going to ask Judge Trent what it means when he comes," she declared.

"Fie, Miss Martha! How indiscreet!" laughed Edna. "Can't he have a little undisturbed flirtation with his best girl?"

She was surprised at the suddenness and depth of Miss Lacey's blush, but the little woman bustled out to the dining-room and shortly announced dinner.

It seemed to Sylvia that she had never been so hungry and that food had never tasted so delicious. She remarked upon it somewhat apologetically, and Edna laughed at her. "My dear girl, it's the way of the place," she said. "Of course we eat nothing prosaic here. These potatoes grew at the Mill Farm, these lobsters were swimming this morning. This lamb, I'm afraid, was skipping around only a few days ago on Beacon Island. This salad grew just over the fence from that daisy field we pa.s.sed through this morning,--and so on."

For dessert they had a deep huckleberry pie.

"How's this, Sylvia, eh?" asked Thinkright, after the first juicy mouthful. "I thought Mrs. Lem was pretty good at it."