very
vividness of his idea of her that had stood in the way of his guessing
the truth. But if the Beeman were really Cousin Tom, then he could,
of course, put everything right and--more immediate cause for
rejoicing--Polly could cook!

"Oh, come down to the kitchen and get Cousin Jasper something to eat,"
he begged. "He is almost starved. It is half past eight and he had
lunch at twelve."

He gave Tom Brighton a rapid account of what had happened that day--of
the letter, of Cousin Jasper's increasing agitation, of his final
desperate call for help on his own responsibility.

"Poor Oliver, what a day you have had, while the rest of us were
enjoying ourselves at the fair!" said Cousin Tom. "Polly and I
happened to come home early before the storm, so that your message
found us and we came at once."

"And he is starved himself," put in Polly. "He has not had anything to
eat any more than Cousin Jasper."

It was wonderful to watch Polly making short shrift of the remains of
his own awkward preparations, to see her skillful manipulation of the
gas burners and her marvelous dexterity with the egg beater. And this
slim, eager, shy Polly, with her crinkled brown hair and her freckled
nose, this was really Eleanor Brighton. Oliver sat down limply upon
one of the kitchen chairs to contemplate the wonder of it anew.

"I did not know who you were, myself, that first day," she said,
"though Daddy guessed at once and even suspected that you were
planning to go away. Janet told us all about it this afternoon, how
Cousin Jasper made such a mistake and thought that he could force you
to meet a girl that you were sure you wouldn't like. I would have done
just the same myself if my father had tried to make me meet you, only
he is too wise for such a thing."

But Oliver could only shake his head and marvel that he had not
guessed.

Later, after Cousin Jasper and Oliver had feasted on the supper of
Polly's providing, they all gathered about the table in the library
and Cousin Tom unlocked the battered old strong box that he had
brought in from the car.

"As I am the family lawyer," he explained to Oliver--"yes, bees are
only a hobby, and my real business is the law--I have in my possession
most of the records belonging to this affair. I have gone into the
whole matter of Anthony's claims from the very beginning and I am
prepared to fight him for every inch that he demands."

He began taking papers from the box, fat rolls of le