young person, who lacked proper respectfor one of his profession and laughed when she shouldn't--but she wasinteresting, he admitted that.
And then he saw her. She was standing just at the outer edge of thegrove, leaning against a tree and looking toward the sunset. She wore asimple white dress and her hat hung upon her shoulders by its ribbons.The rosy light edged the white gown with pink and the fringes of herdark hair were crinkly lines of fire. Her face was grave, almost sad.
John Ellery stood still, with one foot uplifted for a step. The girllooked out over the water and he looked at her. Then a crow, one ofseveral whirling above the pines, spied the intruder and screamed awarning. The minister was startled and stepped back. A dead limb beneathhis foot cracked sharply. Grace turned and saw him.
"Oh!" she cried. "Who is it?"
Ellery emerged from the shadow.
"Don't be frightened, Miss Van Horne," he said. "It is--er--I."
This statement was neither brilliant nor original; even as anidentification it lacked considerable.
"I?" repeated the girl. "Who? Oh! Why--"
The minister came forward.
"Good afternoon, Miss Van Horne," he stammered. "I'm afraid I frightenedyou."
She was looking at him with a queer expression, almost as if shescarcely believed him real.
"I hope--" he began again. She interrupted him.
"No," she said confusedly, "you didn't frighten me. I was a littlestartled when I saw you there behind me. It seemed so odd, because I wasjust thinking--No, I wasn't frightened. What is there to be frightenedof--in Trumet?"
He had extended his hand, but partially withdrew it, not sure how evensuch a perfunctory act of friendliness might be received. She saved himembarrassment by frankly offering her own.
"Not much, that's a fact," he said, in answer to her question. Hewould have liked to ask what she had been thinking that made his suddenappearance seem so odd.
"You came to see the sunset, I suppose?" she said hurriedly, as if tohead off a question. "So did I. It is a beautiful evening for a walk,isn't it?"
She had said precisely the same thing on that other evening, when theystood in the middle of "Hammond's Turn-off" in the driving rain. Heremembered it, and so, evidently, did she, for she colored slightly andsmiled.
"I mean it this time," she said. "I'm glad you didn't get cold from yourwetting the other day."
"Oh! I wasn't very wet. You wouldn't let me lend you the umbrella, so Ihad that to protect me on the way home."
"Not then; I meant the other morning when Nat--Cap'n Hammond--met youout on the flats. He said you were wading the main channel and it wasover your boots."
"Over my boots! Is that all he said? Over my head would be the plaintruth. To cross it I should have had to swim and, if what I've heardsince is true, I doubt if I could swim that channel. Captain Hammondhelped me out of a bad scrape."
"Oh, no! I guess not. He said you were cruising without a pilot and hetowed you into port; that's the way he expressed it."
"It was worse than that, a good deal worse. It might have been my lastcruise. I'm pretty certain that I owe the captain my life."
She looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"Your life?" she repeated.
"I believe it. That part of the channel I proposed swimming was exactlywhere two men have been drowned, so people say. I'm not a very strongswimmer, and they were. So, you see."
Grace cried out in astonishment.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. Then pointing toward the bay, she asked: "Outthere, by the end of that leader, was it?"
"Yes, that was it."
She drew a long breath. Then, after a moment:
"And Nat spoke as if it was all a joke," she said.
"No doubt he did. From what I hear of your brother, he generally refersto his own plucky, capable actions as jokes. Other people call themsomething else."
She did not answer, but continued to gaze at the half-submerged"leader," with the pine bough tied at its landward end to mark the edgeof deep water, and the tide foaming through its lath gratings.
"Your brother--" went on the minister.
"He isn't my brother," she interrupted absently. "I wish he was."
She sighed as she uttered the last sentence.
"No, of course he isn't your real brother; I forgot. But he must seemlike one."
"Yes," rather doubtfully.
"You must be proud of him."
"I am." There was nothing doubtful this time.
"Well, he saved me from drowning. I'm almost certain of that."
"I'm so glad."
She seemed to mean it. He looked at her.
"Thank you," he said drily. "I'm rather glad myself."
"Oh! I didn't mean it exactly that way. Of course I'm glad you weren'tdrowned, but I'm especially glad that--that one of our family saved you.Now you won't believe that Come-Outers are all bad."
"I never believed it."
She shook her head.
"Oh, yes, you did," she affirmed stubbornly. "You've heard nothing goodof us since you came here. Don't tell fibs, Mr. Ellery."
"But I assure you--"
"Nonsense! Does--well, does Cap'n Daniels, or his daughter, say anythinggood of us? Be honest, do they?"
"I hardly think--that is, I shouldn't call their opinions unprejudiced.And, Miss Van Horne, perhaps the prejudice isn't all on one side. Whatdid your uncle say about Cap'n Nat's meeting me the other day?"
"Uncle Eben doesn't know. Nat didn't tell anyone but me. He doesn'tboast. And uncle would be glad he helped you. As I told you before, Mr.Ellery, I'm not ashamed of my uncle. He has been so good to me that Inever can repay him, never! When my own father was drowned he took mein, a little orphan that would probably have been sent to a home, andno father could be kinder or more indulgent than he has been. AnythingI asked for I got, and at last I learned not to ask for too much. Noself-denial on his part was too great, if he could please me. When heneeded money most he said nothing to me, but insisted that I should beeducated. I didn't know until afterwards of the self-sacrifice my fouryears at the Middleboro Academy meant to him."
The minister had listened eagerly to this defense of the man whom he hadbeen led to consider his arch enemy. It was given with spirit and thegirl's head was uplifted and her eyes flashed as she spoke. Ellery'snext remark was uttered without premeditation. Really, he was thinkingaloud.
"So you went away to school?" he mused. "That is why--"
"That is why I don't say 'never done nothin'' and 'be you' and'hain't neither.' Yes, thank you, that's why. I don't wonder you weresurprised."
The young man blushed.
"You misunderstand me," he protested. "I didn't mean--"
"Oh! yes, you did. Not precisely that, perhaps, but pretty near it. Isuppose you expected me to speak like Josiah Badger or Kyan Pepper. Itry not to. And I try not to say 'immejitly,' too," she added, with amischievous twinkle.
Ellery recognized the "immejitly" quotation and laughed.
"I never heard but one person say that," he observed. "And he isn't aCome-Outer."
"No, he isn't. Well, this lesson in English can't be very interestingto you, Mr. Ellery, and I must go. But I'm very glad Nat helped you theother day and that you realize the sort of man he is. And I'm glad Ihave had the opportunity to tell you more about Uncle Eben. I owe himso much that I ought to be glad--yes, glad and proud and happy, too, togratify his least wish. I must! I know I must, no matter how I--Whatam I talking about? Yes, Mr. Ellery, I'm glad if I have helped you tounderstand my uncle better and why I love and respect him. If you knewhim as I do, you would respect him, too. Good-by."
She was going, but the minister had something to say. He stepped forwardand walked beside her.
"Just a minute, please," he urged. "Miss Van Horne, I do understand. Ido respect your uncle. We have a mutual friend, you and I, and throughher I have come to understand many things."
Grace turned and looked at him.
"A mutual friend?" she repeated. "
Oh! I know. Mrs. Coffin?"
"Yes; Mrs. Coffin. She's a good woman and a wise one."
"She's a dear! Do you like her, too?"
"Indeed, I do."
"Has she told you about me--about uncle, I mean?"
"Yes. Why, she told me--"
He began to enumerate some of the things Keziah had told concerning theHammond family. They were all
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