r was he hers. In a way it seemed impossible.

He tried to analyze his feelings. It seemed as if he should have been
crushed, grief-stricken, broken. He was inclined to reproach himself
because he was not. Of course there was a sadness about it, a regret
that the wonder of those days of love and youth had passed. But the
sorrow was not bitter, the regret was but a wistful longing, the sweet,
lingering fragrance of a memory, that was all. Toward her, Madeline, he
felt--and it surprised him, too, to find that he felt--not the slightest
trace of resentment. And more surprising still he felt none toward
Blanchard. He had meant what he said in his letter, he wished for them
both the greatest happiness.

And--there was no use attempting to shun the fact--his chief feeling,
as he sat there by the car window looking out at the familiar landscape,
was a great relief, a consciousness of escape from what might have
been a miserable, crushing mistake for him and for her. And with this
a growing sense of freedom, of buoyancy. It seemed wicked to feel like
that. Then it came to him, the thought that Madeline, doubtless, was
experiencing the same feeling. And he did not mind a bit; he hoped she
was, bless her!

A youthful cigar "drummer," on his first Down-East trip, sat down beside
him.

"Kind of a flat, bare country, ain't it?" observed the drummer, with
a jerk of his head toward the window. "Looks bleak enough to me. Know
anything about this neck of the woods, do you?"

Albert turned to look at him.

"Meaning the Cape?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Indeed I do. I know all about it."

"That so! Say, you sound as if you liked it."

Albert turned back to the window again.

"Like it!" he repeated. "I love it." Then he sighed, a sigh of
satisfaction, and added: "You see, I BELONG here."

His grandparents and Rachel were surprised when he walked into the house
that noon and announced that he hoped dinner was ready, because he was
hungry. But their surprise was more than balanced by their joy. Captain
Zelotes demanded to know how long he was going to stay.

"As long as you'll have me, Grandfather," was the answer.

"Eh? Well, that would be a consider'ble spell, if you left it to us, but
I cal'late that girl in New York will have somethin' to say as to time
limit, won't she?"

Albert smiled. "I'll tell you about that by and by," he said.

He did not tell them until that evening after supper. It was Friday
evening and Olive was