"Well, so am I," replied the judge.

"Some time," said Sylvia, "when you get very--unexpectedly--rich, I wish you'd buy the Tide Mill."

"You do?" grunted the lawyer. "What for, pray? Want to see a bonfire on the water?"

"Oh, dear, no!" Sylvia glanced around at Dunham. "Wouldn't it be tragic, after all its troubles, to see it burned at the stake?"

"She wants to tie blue ribbons around its neck and chuck it under the chin," explained John.

"Ah, I see," said the judge, smiling grimly as he remembered Sylvia's comments on the mill the first day he met her.

"There's Thinkright," cried Sylvia, suddenly breaking from her companions and running fleetly toward the house.

With one accord the two men watched her greet the third by kissing him first on one cheek and then on the other.

"It was only one of yours, Judge," said Dunham. "If I were you I'd call him out."

"I don't grudge it to him," returned the lawyer. "She's making up to him for her mother's lack."

He waited a moment, hoping John would continue on the subject. He had thought often of his niece since his last visit, and in the past days had heard only good words for her; but Thinkright might be expected to be partial to Laura's child, and the Fosters were scarcely judges. He wished very much to learn the opinion of the girl which would be formed by a man of John's world and experience. Dunham kept silent as they pursued their measured walk, and the judge's desire forced the question.

"Well, and how do you find Miss Lacey, now you've had a near view?"

"Oh--Miss Lacey. Yes. Brisk and busy as a little b.u.mblebee. The round peg in the round hole, as you might say."

"H'm," returned the judge. "I'm interested to know how she strikes a man of your sort."

"She's all right, I tell you," returned John argumentatively. "You don't know a good thing when you see it, Judge. Domestic, capable, executive, cheerful,"--John warmed to his subject. His heart had been made soft to-day, and he remembered the row of inappropriate poplars.

"Domestic? That's a pleasant surprise. But how about manners and breeding? I'm aware that what might pa.s.s muster with me might look very different under the lens of the society man. I've only to scratch your legal skin, John, to find a society man. I've always known that."

"Why, I should call her manners mighty comfortable ones," returned the young man. "She's a practical homemaker, that's what she is; and you're a--well, it's unintelligent of you to go on living alone, that's all, with that wrinkled map of Ireland for your only appetizer."

The judge looked thoughtful. "I hadn't got as far as that," he said.

"My habits are pretty hopelessly settled, I'm afraid. I don't think I ought to inflict myself on anybody at this late day."

"Nonsense. I know she wouldn't look at it that way, and perhaps this summer'll do the business. When you get over to Hawk Island and see her"--

"See who!" Judge Trent faced his companion, and his s.h.a.ggy brows moved up and down portentously beneath the overhanging eaves of his brown cap. "You mortal idiot," he thundered, "who are you talking about?"

Dunham's mouth fell open. "Miss Lacey. You said--Miss Lacey! Did you--were you asking about Sylvia?"

"_No!_" roared Judge Trent wrathfully. "I asked about Miss Lacey. What are you doing with Sylvia's name? Miss Lacey I say, and you'd better say so, too!"

John mechanically drew his cap from his pocket, and fanned his heated countenance. Little did Judge Trent suspect how far this young man had rambled and swam and floated and sailed from that port where Sylvia might have been Miss Lacey to him. So it was _her_ manners and breeding upon which her uncle desired a society man's verdict. What if he should describe to the judge the Look, the Idea, and the Potion that awaited his home-coming?

Then there rushed over him the matrimonial bureau zeal with which he had done his best for Miss Martha. The combination reminiscence was too much. If it severed his connection with the law offices at Seaton forever, his self-control must snap, and all at once he threw back his head with a laugh which woke every echo that side the Tide Mill.

A black and towering shadow suddenly appeared at one of the farmhouse windows. Mrs. Lem, with Judge Trent an actuality and the splendid Mr.

Dunham a constantly impending possibility, had been helmeted daily from early morn till set of sun. It was her imposing crest that John's storm of hilarity had brought into view.

The judge's fearful scowl relaxed, and he seized his companion's arm.

"I called you some names, didn't I, Boy," he said, when he could make himself heard. "Overlook it, won't you? I didn't know you were such a fool as not to be able to see when a chapter in a man's life is closed.

Now let's begin at the beginning again. You who know all there is to know about girls, you for whom the exception proves the rule that you can manage them with one hand tied behind you,--what do you think of the exception? Tell me now. What do you think of Sylvia?"

"No, no, Judge," gasped Dunham. "Let me off. I'm exhausted."

"Brace up. I want to know."

"Well," returned John, wiping his eyes, "I think she made a tardy arrival on this planet. She's too late for her century."

"An old-fashioned girl, eh? I rather like that."

"Older fashioned than you're thinking of. She belongs in legends, and all sorts of stories that begin 'Once upon a time.' Do you catch the idea? She's the exact opposite in every respect of that excellent lady we--no, I mean I have just been talking about,--her aunt."

The judge's face fell, though his eagle glance was sharp.

"Yet, it is the Lacey blood that's done it," he said. "You mean she's erratic, visionary, unpractical."

"Yes. I mean that I think her very charming bonnet, if she ever wore one, would have a bee in it."

"John, that's worse than I feared," replied the judge dejectedly.

"Confound Sam Lacey! She's a rather engaging girl with it all?"

"Immensely so. In fact, to such an extent that most people would prefer to follow her moods rather than to revel in the excellent qualities of a good housekeeper."

"What does Edna think?" asked the lawyer.

"Oh, come, come, Judge!" protested Dunham. "If you have the man's standpoint,--a wholly admiring standpoint, I hope you understand,--that ought to satisfy you for one day."

"I shall go back with you to Hawk Island," announced Judge Trent briefly. "Sylvia shall go too. I wish to observe her outside this atmosphere."

Meanwhile Sylvia had borne Thinkright away, in front of the house to the shade of the aeolian pine tree, and pulled him down beside her on a rustic seat.

"Oh, Thinkright, it's ages since you and I sat here last."

"Happy ages, I hope," he answered.

"Yes, I've been living a poem ever since I said goodby to you, until this noon. I've been walking on air,--living in a happy dream; then suddenly a bucket of cold water was dashed over me, and I came to myself."

"Are you sure it was yourself you came to?" asked Thinkright, for he saw the trouble in the eyes he loved. "Sometimes our dreams are nearer the truth than our mistaken waking notions."

"Oh, I wish this were a dream!" returned the girl devoutly; "for I've offended Edna."

"How?"

"If I only knew! I've gone through every incident of my stay, and I can't find a clue. I've been so careful about Mr. Dunham."