ck; but they were
blighted and disappointed, even depressed; he had to land with Ena and
her friends without having seen Miss Child. Still, there was the pier,
crowded with people who had come to wave welcome to the _Monarchic_.
There appeared to be a fearful confusion, and this was Peter's first
return from his first trip abroad; but he knew that the excited throng
would soon be sorted out under letters of the alphabet.

Peter senior had come to meet his returning children and the
distinguished guests Marconi had bestowed on him (a little, dry, thin
man, who looked as though a lost resemblance to Peter might come out
if he were freshened up by being soaked for a long time in warm
water), and he had already secured a tame official to glance
graciously into the luggage. After shaking heartily the small bag of
bones that was his father's hand, and saying "Hello, Dad! How's
yourself? How's mother? How's everything?" Peter was free for a few
minutes to sprint from "B" to "C."

His spirit rose at the comparative dearth of "C's." Not more than a
dozen of the crowded _Monarchic's_ passengers were dancing with
impatience beneath the third letter of the alphabet, and Mr. Rolls,
Jr., walked straight up to tall Miss Child without being beaten back
by a surf of "C's." To be sure, Miss Carroll was under the same
letter, and observed the approach of Peter with interest, if not
surprise; but she was seated on a trunk at some distance key in hand.

"Well, I'm mighty glad to find you!" exclaimed Peter cordially. "I
began to think it must be a trick of dryads to wait themselves ashore
without waiting for the clumsy old ship to dock."

"I was busy packing this morning," replied the alleged dryad, with a
hard, undryadic expression on her "heart-shaped" face.

"You disappeared so early last night, I'd an idea you were doing your
packing then so as to be up with the dawn and get a good look at the
harbour."

"I could see a great deal from our porthole."

"I shouldn't have thought you were the kind of girl to be satisfied
with portholes," said Peter, hoping to wake up one of her smiles. Her
voice sounded rather tired.

"Beggars mustn't be choosers," was the dry reply.

"But dryads may be," he encouraged her.

"I've left my dryadhood hanging up behind the door." She spoke
sharply, almost irritably, it seemed. "I shan't need it in New York."

"Oh, won't you? That's where you're mistaken! There'll be lots of
times when you'd rather