and then, it's not likely that Bert could find the time."

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way," he said, looking serious, "only mother
and the girls are afraid of the water, that is all."

When conversation lagged Frank begged that she would sing for him, and
suggested selections from Moody and Sankey; and despite her brother's
sarcastic remark that it wasn't a revival meeting they were holding, she
not only played and sang all those time-worn melodies, but a lot of
others from older collections. When retiring-time came, Frank asked that
she conclude with "Ben Bolt."

"I shall not need to recall that song to remind me of you," he said in a
low voice as he spread it on the music rack in front of her, "but I
shall always feel its mood when I think of you."

"Does that mean that you will think of me as sleeping 'in a corner
obscure and alone' in some churchyard?" she responded archly.

"By no means," he said, "only I may perhaps have a little of the same
mood at times that Ben Bolt had when he heard of the fate of his sweet
Alice."

It was a pretty speech and Frank imagined she threw a little more than
usual pathos into the song after it; but then, no doubt his imagination
was biased by his feelings.

When they stood on the platform the next morning awaiting the train, he
said quietly:

"May I send you a few books and some new songs when I get home, Miss
Page? I want to show you how much I have enjoyed this visit."

"It is very nice of you to say so," she replied, "and I shall be glad to
be remembered, and hope you will visit us again."

When the train came in he rather hurriedly offered his hand and with a
"Permit me to thank you again," as he raised his hat, turned away to
gather up the satchels and so as not to be witness to her leave-taking
from her brother.

It was a tactful act that was not lost upon her.

CHAPTER XIII

SOUTHPORT ISLAND

In summer Southport Island, as yet untainted by the tide of outing
travel, was a spot to inspire dreams, poetry, and canvases covered with
ocean lore. Its many coves and inlets where the tides ebbed and flowed
among the weed-covered rocks; its bold cliffs, sea washed, and above
which the white gulls and fish-hawks circled; the deep thickets of
spruce through which the ocean winds murmured, and where great beds of
ferns and clusters of red bunch-berries grew, were one and all left
undisturbed, week in, week out.

At the Cape, where Uncle Terry, Aunt Lissy, and T