."

A little colour crept back to Pat's cheeks. "Why!" she exclaimed,
evidently forgetting her troubles for an instant, as Atlas might if some
one lifted up the world to ease his shoulders. "Why, do you know when I
first met you, I had a feeling as if I'd seen you before somewhere--a
long time ago. Did we ever meet when I was a little girl? I seem to
associate you with--with my father, as if you'd been a friend of his?"

"No, I was never a friend of his," said the S. M., quietly. "He wouldn't
know the name of Storm from the name of Adam."

My brain worked wildly as he made this answer. I thought--perhaps I
imagined it--that he looked suddenly as stormy as his name. I remembered
the sheet of paper that had fluttered to me, the day we went to visit
the third class--part of a letter which, rightly or wrongly, I had
attributed to Peter Storm. Could it be possible that he had known about
Larry Moore's wild speculations and other foolishnesses?--that he had
some hold over Moore?--that he had wanted to send him a warning which
would now be too late?

There was nothing to put such wild ideas into my head, except the
sudden, really _very_ odd look in the man's expressive dark eyes--a look
I couldn't help associating with the talk about Laurence Moore.

"But I'm a friend of the house," Mr. Storm was going on to explain.
"There was a story I read once--almost the first after I learned to read
and could enjoy myself with a book. It was called 'Cade of Kidd's
Pines': a great tale for boys."

"Oh, and for girls, too!" cried Pat. "An uncle of mine wrote that book.
It was dedicated to----"

"I've read it!" chipped in Ed Caspian, not to be outdone by any Storm.
"What fellow hasn't? I've given it away for prizes to boys in mission
schools. To my mind it would be a shame to make a common hotel out of
such a place as Kidd's Pines."

"I don't suggest making a common hotel," said the S. M. The two gazed at
each other, the S. M. with a resolutely impersonal look, Caspian with as
rude a stare as his sainted eyebrows would permit. "A good thing,"
thought I, "that you've reconsidered and taken Mrs. Shuster's offer, for
you'd never squeeze one out of Caspian even if you'd accept it--which
you wouldn't!"

While I was thinking, Jack spoke. "Shall we hold a council of war?" he
proposed. "You're all interested in finding some way for Miss Moore and
her father out of their troubles. We're interested, too, but we must
consult Mr. Moore himse