of
her refusal to come in his place, and had followed him. "She is most
worthy of respect and--and"--his voice trailed away into silence. "Give
her a hand up, too, Sylvia," he added after a moment, "and we'll all
let bygones be bygones together. What do you say?"

"It's easier to have you with me, Uncle Calvin," returned Sylvia
naively.

The judge felt the embarrassment of guilt. This was the result of his
leaving Martha to bear the heat and burden of Hotel Frisbie alone. Hers
had been the hours of tears and anxiety. He had kept on the even tenor
of his legal way, troubling himself about nothing, and his negative
misdemeanors were less heavily visited upon him. Compared to himself
Martha was innocent; and it was the way of the world that such should
suffer always with the guilty, and sometimes even in their place. He
told himself, however, that his tenure on the situation was too light
to be risked. He took ignoble refuge in generalities.

"Don't rely too much on first impressions, Sylvia. Your Aunt Martha has
grieved about you. Remember, 'to err is human, to forgive divine.'
Moreover,"--the speaker's lips twitched again,--"what will Thinkright
say if you refuse her standing-room on our cloud? Consider well!"

Sylvia smiled through bright drops.

"Now, then, change seats with me," continued the judge, "and I'll row
you in."

At the same moment Thinkright, having been absent for hours on some
errand, was being greeted on his return by Mrs. Lem, who came out to
the doorstep to meet him.

"Guess who's come," she said.

He looked up inquiringly. "Is Miss Derwent back again?"

"No. You'd never guess who it is this season o' the year. It's Judge
Trent."

"Where is he?"

"Went down to the basin to find Miss Sylvy."

"Oh, did he?" Thinkright smiled in his interest.

"Yes. Kind of a touchin' meetin', I expect," remarked Mrs. Lem, lifting
her pompadour and sighing sentimentally. Judge Trent had surprised her
in a state of sleek and simple coiffure; but no sooner had his high hat
disappeared down the hill than she flew into the bedroom and remedied
the modest workaday appearance of her head; nor would the pompadour
abate one half inch of its majestic proportions until he took his train
back to Boston. She hoped she knew what was due to the lord of all he
surveyed.

"How long has he been gone?" asked Thinkright.

"Oh, the best part of an hour, I should say."

"Then he must have found her," remarked the other,