e gurgled. "I'm to give him a good scare, in the shape of
a lecture--with a thrashing promised if he cuts up any more. He's to
give his word, on pain of a lot of things, not to give any of this
little performance of his away to a soul. Then he's to be forbidden the
premises while Miss Peyton is on them. I understand."

"Well, now, look here," warned Jeff. "I give you leave, but, mind you, I
trust your discretion, too. You never can tell what these Willie-boys
will do. Dignity's your cue. Be stern as an avenging fate, but don't get
to cuffing him round and batting him with language just because you're
bigger. You----"

"Look here," expostulated Just, aggrieved, "you picked me out for this
job; now leave it to me. I'll have the boy saying 'sir' to me before I
get through."

Just ran down to the boat-house, got out a slim craft, launched it, and
was about rowing away when he bethought himself of something. He pulled
in to the landing, made fast his painter, and ran like a deer up to the
house. He was back in five minutes.

"Don't believe I'll go by boat, after all," he whispered to Jeff,
standing in the summer-house door. "It might be simpler not to have a
boat to bother with. I'll just leave the _Butterfly_ tied there, and put
her up when I get back."

He was off before Jeff could reply. Jeff started toward the boat to put
it up, but stopped, considering.

Lucy would think it that of her admirer, and would be all the more sure
to keep her appointment. He left it as it was, swinging lightly on the
water, six feet out. It was a habit of Just's to moor a boat at the
length of her painter, to prevent her bumping against the rough old
landing.

Lucy, coming swiftly down the path fifteen minutes later, saw the boat
and hastened her steps. She did not observe that this was a slimmer,
longer craft than the boat George Jarvis was using. She reached the
landing and looked about. Of course he was in the summer-house. She went
to it, her skirts, which she had of late been surreptitiously
lengthening, held daintily in her hand.

As she came close, a figure appeared in the doorway. Before she could be
frightened by the realisation that it was not Jarvis's slender young
frame which confronted her, Jeff accosted her in the mildest tones
imaginable:

"It's only Jefferson Birch. Don't be scared. Fine night, isn't it?"

"Y-yes," stammered Lucy, in dismay. She stood still, her skirts gathered
close, as if she were about to run.