"C. Bailey, Junior."

"What is the _C_ for?"

"Clive."

"Do you go to school?"

"Yes, but I'm back for the holidays."

"Holidays," she repeated vaguely. "Oh, that's so. Christmas will come
day after to-morrow."

He nodded. "I think I'm going to have a new pair of guns, some books,
and a horse. What do you expect?"

"Nothing," said Athalie.

"What? Isn't there anything you want?" And then, too late, some
glimmer of the real state of affairs illuminated his boyish brain. And
he grew red with embarrassment.

They had finished their pastry; Athalie wiped her hands on a soiled
and ragged and crumpled handkerchief, then scrubbed her scarlet mouth.

"I'd like to come down here for the summer vacation," said the boy,
awkwardly. "I don't know whether my mother would like it."

"Why? It is pleasant."

[Illustration: "'I'd like to come down here for the summer vacation,'
said the boy, awkwardly."]

He glanced instinctively around him at the dark and shabby bar-room,
but offered no reason why his mother might not care for the Hotel
Greensleeve. One thing he knew; he meant to urge his mother to come,
or to let him come.

A few minutes later the outer door banged open and into the bar came
stamping four men and two bay-men, their oil-skins shining with
salt-spray, guns glistening. Thud! went the strings of dead ducks on
the floor; somebody scratched a match and lighted the ceiling lamp.

"Hello, Junior!" cried one of the men in oil-skins,--"how did you
make out on Silver Shoals?"

"All right, father," he began; but his father had caught sight of
Athalie who had risen to retreat.

"Who are you, young lady?" he inquired with a jolly smile,--"are you
little Red-Riding Hood or the Princess Far Away, or perhaps the
Sleeping Beauty recently awakened?"

"I'm Athalie Greensleeve."

"Lady Greensleeves! I _knew_ you were somebody quite as distinguished
as you are beautiful. Would you mind saying to Mr. Greensleeve that
there is much moaning on the bar, and that it will still continue
until he arrives to instil the stillness of the still--"

"What?"

"We merely want a drink, my child. Don't look so seriously and
distractingly pretty. I was joking, that's all. Please tell your
father how very thirsty we are."

As the child turned to obey, C. Bailey, Sr., put one big arm around her
shoulders: "I didn't mean to tease you on such short acquaintance," he
whispered. "Are you offended, little Lady Greensleeves?"

Atha