Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words. For once, I think, he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession. And when Mother spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed.

"Roscoe," she said, quickly, "will you draw that window-shade a little more? The light is rather strong. Thank you. Mr. Colton, I am very glad to meet you. I have heard of you often, of course, and I have met your daughter. She has been very kind to me, in many ways. Won't you sit down?"

I drew forward a chair. Our visitor accepted it.

"Thank you, Mrs. Paine," he said. "I will sit. To be honest, I'm very glad of the opportunity. I have been under the doctor's care for the past few weeks and last night's performance is not the best sort of treatment for a tender digestion. The doctor told me what I needed was rest and sleep and freedom from care. I told him I probably shouldn't get the last item till I was dead. As for the rest--and sleep--Humph!"

with a short laugh, "I wonder what he would have said if he had seen me last night."

Mother's face was turned away from him on the pillow. "I am sorry to hear that you have been ill, Mr. Colton," she said.

"Ill! I'm not ill. I have never been sick in my life and I don't propose to begin now. If the crowd in New York would let me alone I should be all right enough. There is a deal on there that is likely to come to a head pretty soon and my people at the office are nervous. They keep 'phoning and telegraphing and upsetting things generally. I'll have to run over there myself in a day or two and straighten it out. But there!

I didn't come here to worry you with my troubles. I feel as if I knew you, Mrs. Paine."

"Knew me? Knew ME, Mr. Colton?"

"Yes. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my daughter has spoken of you often. She is a great admirer of yours. I won't tell you all the nice things she has said about you, for she has probably said them to you or to your son, already."

"You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton. She is a charming girl."

"Thanks. Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I think you're right. And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty good sort of a son, Mrs. Paine. He is inclined to be," with a glance in my direction, "a little too stubborn and high-principled for this practical world, but," with a chuckle, "he can be made to listen to reason, if you give him time enough. That is so, isn't it, Paine?"

I did not answer. Mother spoke for me.

"I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton," she said, quietly.

"I presume you are referring to the sale of the land. I do not know why Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do know that his reason was a good one, and an honest one."

"He hasn't told it to you, then?"

"No. But I know that he thought it right or he never would have sold."

I broke in here. I did not care to hear my own praises.

"Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?" I inquired. "I thought that affair settled."

"It is. No, I didn't come to discuss that. Mrs. Paine, I don't know why your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think, like you, that he wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was right. I know mighty well he wasn't afraid of me. Oh, you needn't laugh, young man. There ARE people in that fix, plenty of 'em. No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.'

That bird is dead. I came, first of all, to thank you for what you did for my daughter last night."

Mother turned her head and looked at him.

"For your daughter? Last night? Roscoe, what does he mean?"

"Nothing, Mother, nothing," I said, hastily. "I was unlucky enough to run the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday afternoon in the fog. Fortunately I got her into the launch and--and--"

"And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward. He hasn't told you, Mrs. Paine? No, I can see that he hasn't. All right, I will. Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the pressure you had better leave the room. This is about what happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel tells it."

I tried to prevent him, but it was no use. He ignored me altogether and went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the voyage across the bay, and my telephone from the lighthouse. The story, as he told it, magnified what he called my coolness and common-sense to a ridiculous extent. I lost patience as I listened.

"Mr. Colton," I interrupted, "this is silly. Mother, the whole affair was more my fault than my good judgment. If I had anchored when it first happened we should have been home in an hour, instead of drifting all night."

"Why didn't you anchor, then?" asked Colton.

"Because I--I--"

I stopped short. I could not tell him why I did not anchor. He laughed aloud.

"That's all right," he said. "I guess Mabel's story is near enough to the truth for all practical purposes. Mrs. Paine," with a sudden change to seriousness, "you can understand why I have come here this morning.

If it had not been for your son's pluck, and cool head, and good judgment I--Mrs. Colton and I might have been--God knows in what state we might have been to-day! God knows! I can't think of it."

His voice trembled. Mother put out a hand and took mine.

"Roscoe," she said, "Roscoe."

"So I came to thank him," went on our visitor. "This isn't the first time he has done something of the sort. It seems almost as if he--But never mind that. I'm not going to be foolish. Your son and I, Mrs.

Paine, have been fighting each other most of the summer. That's all right. It was a square fight and, until this newest freak of his--and he has got me guessing as to what it means--I admit I thought he was quite as likely to lick me as I was to lick him. I've watched him pretty closely and I am a pretty fair judge of a man, I flatter myself. Did he tell you that, a while ago, I offered him a place in my office?"

"In your office? You offered him that? No, he did not tell me. Roscoe!"

reproachfully.

"I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while. Of course I could not accept the offer."

She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in.

"Why not? That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take it.

That is what _I_ said--why not? And I say it again. Paine, that offer is still open."

I shook my head. "I told you then that I could not accept," I said. "It is impossible."

"Why is it impossible? So far as I am concerned I believe you would be a mighty good investment."

"Impossible," I said again.

"Nothing is impossible. We won't waste words. I am going to be plain and I think Mrs. Paine will excuse me. You think you should not leave your mother, perhaps. I understand that reason. It would be a good one, except that--well, that it isn't good any longer. Your mother is much better than she was. Quimby--her doctor and mine--says so. I shall see that she is well looked after. If she needs a nurse she shall have one, the best we can get. Oh, be still and let me finish! You can talk afterward. You're not going so far away. New York isn't the end of the earth; it is only the center, or it thinks it is. You'll be in close touch with Denboro all the time and you can come here whenever you want to. Now will you take my offer?"

"No."

"Young man, if I didn't know there were brains inside that head of yours I should think it was, as the boys say, solid ivory. Confound you! Here, Mrs. Paine," turning to Mother, "you take him in hand. Tell him he must come with me."

"Mother--" I protested. He cut my protest short.

"Tell him," he ordered.

Mother looked at me. "I think, perhaps, you should accept, Roscoe," she said, slowly.

"Accept! Mother!"

"Yes. I--I think you should. I am sure everyone else would think so. I should not wish you to do so if Mr. Colton was merely trying to be kind, to help you from motives of gratitude, or charity--"

"Don't use that word, please," snapped "Big Jim." "When I lose my mind I may take to charity, but not before. Charity! Good Lord!"