playing 'Babes in the
Wood.'"

"You seem very comfortable," Randy was as stiff as a wooden tobacco
sign.

"We are," Becky said. "Mr. Dalton waved his wand like the Arabian
nights----"

"My man did it," said Dalton; "he's down there in the car."

Randy felt a sense of surging rage. The Pavilion was his. It was old
and vine-covered, and hallowed by a thousand memories. And here was
Dalton trespassing with his tables and chairs and his Canton teapot.
What right had George Dalton to bring a Canton teapot on another man's
acres?

Becky was pouring tea for him. "Two lumps, Randy?"

"I don't want any tea," he said ungraciously. His eyes were appraising
the flame of her cheeks, the light in her eyes. What had Dalton been
saying? "I don't want any tea. And there's a storm coming."

All her life Becky had been terrified in a storm. She had cowered and
shivered at the first flash of lightning, at the first rush of wind, at
the first roll of thunder. And now she sat serene, while the trees
waved despairing arms to a furious sky, while blackness settled over
the earth, while her ears were assailed by the noise of a thousand guns.

What had come over her? More than anything else, the thing that struck
against Randy's heart was this lack of fear in Becky!

IV

Of course it was Dalton who took Becky home. There had been a sharp
summons to Kemp, who came running up with raincoats, a rush for the
car, a hurried "Won't you come with us, Randy?" from Becky, and Randy's
curt refusal, and then the final insult from Dalton.

"Kemp will get you home, Paine, when he takes the tea things."

Randy wanted to throw something after him--preferably a tomahawk--as
Dalton went down the hill, triumphantly, shielding Becky from the
elements.

He watched until a curtain of rain shut them out, but he heard the roar
of the motor cutting through the clamor of the storm.

"Well, they're off, sir," said Kemp cheerfully.

He was packing the Canton teapot in its basket and was folding up the
chairs and tables. Randy had a sense of outrage. Here he was, a
Randolph Paine of King's Crest, left behind in the rain with a man who
had his mind on--teapots---- He stood immovable in the arched opening,
his arms folded, and with the rain beating in upon him.

"You'll get wet," Kemp reminded him; "it's better on this side, sir."

"I don't mind the rain. I won't melt; I've had two years in France."

"You have, sir?" something in Ke