grace and charm. Her odd, high voice instantly
broke in on this reflection.

"I'm going to see Mrs. Quiller and the baby now," she said, with her
sprightly little nod. "So long, Big Bear!"

The little kitchen suddenly looked dull and empty. The sun had gone in.
Old Quiller was sucking tobacco ruminatively, his fit of loquacity over.

Merefleet rose. "Well, I am glad to have seen you, Quiller," he said,
patting the old man's shoulder with a kindly hand. "I must come in again.
You and I are old friends, you know, and old comrades, too. Good-bye!"

Quiller looked at him rather vacantly. The fire of life was sinking low
in his veins. He had grown sluggish with the years, and the spark of
understanding was seldom bright.

"Aye, but she's a bonny lass, Master Bernard," he said with slow
appreciation. "A bonny lass she be. You ain't thinking of getting settled
now? I'm thinking she'd keep your home tidy and bright."

"Good-bye!" said Merefleet with steady persistence.

"Aye, she would," said the old man, shifting the tobacco in his cheek.
"She's been a rare comfort to me and mine. She'd be a blessing to your
home, Master Bernard. Take an old chap's word for it, an old chap as
knows what's what. That young lady'll be the joy of some man's heart some
day. You've got your chance, Master Bernard. You be that man!"

CHAPTER VI

"Say, Bert! We can take Big Bear along in our boat. Isn't that so?"

Merefleet looked up from his paper as he heard the words. They were
seated at the next table at lunch, his American friend and her
excessively English cousin. Merefleet noticed that she was dressed for
boating. She wore a costume of white linen, and a Panama hat was crammed
jauntily on the soft, dark hair. She was anything but dignified. Yet
there was something splendid in the very recklessness of her beauty. She
was a queen who did not need to assert her rights. There were other women
present, and Merefleet was not even conscious of the fact.

"Who?" asked Seton, in response to her careless inquiry.

She nodded in Merefleet's direction and caught his eye as she did so.

"He's the cutest man in U.S.," she said, staring him straight in the face
without sign of recognition. "But he's real lazy. He saw me making
custard at Grandpa Quiller's this morning, and he wasn't even smart
enough to lift the saucepan off the fire. I thought he might have had
spunk enough for that, anyway."

Twenty-four hours earlier Merefleet woul