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Title: The Spanish Chest

Author: Edna A. Brown

Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6998]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 20, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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[Illustration: "WHAT IS IS THIS TINY DOTTED LINE ACROSS THE
GROUNDS?" WIN INQUIRED]





THE SPANISH CHEST

BY

EDNA A. BROWN

ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GOSS AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS


DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF FLORENCE AND CLARA

who shared a winter spent in the Channel Islands and
have now gone on a longer journey.

 This little book I wrote for thee
 Thy friendly eyes will never see.
 It was not meant for critics' reading,
 Nor for the world that scans unheeding.
 For there are lines washed in with tears,
 As well as nonsense, mocking fears.
 Alas! thine eyes will never see
 This little book I wrote for thee.




THE SPANISH CHEST




FOREWORD


Once upon a time a clever Japanese artist drew a sketch of a man
who sat industriously painting, when, to his great amazement, all
the little figures on his canvas came to life and began to walk
out of the picture.

Something like that happened to this book. Books grow, you know,
because somebody thinks so hard about the different characters
that gradually they turn into lifelike people, who often insist on
doing things that weren't expected. When this especial book began
to grow, two persons who hadn't been invited, came and wanted to
be in the story.

The author politely remarked that they were grown-up and couldn't
expect to be in a book for young people.

They said that they were not so very grown-up, only twenty-three
and a half and that they still knew how to play.

Connie said that her home was in the Island of Jersey where the
story was going to be, and if she came in, she could make things
much more pleasant for the other characters.

Max said that the story would go to smash without him, because he
should be needed at an important moment.

So, because they looked most wistful and promised very earnestly
to behave as though they were nice children, and not be silly, the
author said they might have a share in the story.

Connie at once offered to lend her collie. So that is how the
beach dog happens to be in the book.



CONTENTS


CHAPTER

    I.  AT ROSE VILLA
   II.  FRAN ENGAGES LODGINGS
  III.  ST. HELIER'S
   IV.  THE BEACH DOG
    V.  MONT ORGUEIL
   VI.  A RACE WITH THE TIDE
  VII.  MR. MAX
 VIII.  RICHARD LISLE'S LETTER
   IX.  CHRISTMAS IN JERSEY
    X.  THE BUN WORRY
   XI.  THE MANOR CAVE
  XII.  WIN VISITS THE LIBRARY
 XIII.  ABOUT THE SPANISH CHEST
  XIV.  IN THE VAULTS
   XV.  THE HAUNTED ROOM
  XVI.  THE MANOR GHOST
 XVII.  THE DOTTED LINE
XVIII.  ROGER THE MAROONED
  XIX.  AT CORBIERE
   XX.  WIN WONDERS
  XXI.  THE TWO CHAINS
 XXII.  THE CHEST ITSELF




ILLUSTRATIONS

"What is this tiny dotted line across the grounds?" Win inquired

The Village of St. Aubin's

"For a long time people supposed they were called Martello towers
from the man who built them"

Above and behind towered the ruined castle of Orgueil

"Look there is a Jersey cow among the cabbages"

"He'll come for us! He means us to climb this rock and wait"

A most interesting little Church almost on the water's edge

The old Norman gateway leading to Vinchelez Manor

They came upon the loveliest of little beaches

Plémont is the spot where the cable comes in from England

Win's plan of the Manor cellars

What was undoubtedly the Spanish Chest




THE SPANISH CHEST




CHAPTER I

AT ROSE VILLA


The silence in the little drawing-room had lasted for some moments
before being broken by the man seated in the big wicker chair. His
dress indicated a clergyman of the Church of England, his face
betrayed lines of kindliness and forbearance, but its present
expression showed a perplexity not unmixed with disapproval.

"I suppose, Miss Pearce," he said at length, "there is no use in
trying further to dissuade you from your plan, and of course it
may work out for the best. But--you will excuse me, my dear, for I
have daughters of my own--you seem too young to undertake a
lodging-house. Now a position as governess in a nice family--"

Estelle Pearce interrupted him quickly.

"There is Edith, you know. Should I try teaching, it would mean
separation from her. And I _must_ keep Edith with me. We have only
each other now. No, Mr. Angus, I thank you from the bottom of my
heart for your interest in us, but I am sure it is best to try my
plan. You see I have the house on my hands. When we came to
Jersey, Father leased it for the winter and I can't afford to
forfeit thirty pounds. And there is Nurse as well as Annette.
Surely Nurse lends dignity to any family. But I am older than you
think," she ended with a smile and a pretty blush. "I am twenty-
four, Mr. Angus."

A kindly look came into the eyes bent on her slender, black-robed
figure. "You do not look it, my dear," her visitor said after a
pause. "Well, with two good servants, the plan may be successful.
Much depends on what class of lodgers comes your way. I am told
that Americans are rather desirable inmates, that they pay well
and are not exacting. If you could let your rooms to some refined
American ladies, things might adjust themselves very satisfactorily.
To be sure, few Americans visit the Channel Islands; they are
given to wandering farther afield. But I will speak of your plans to
the postmaster and one or two others. It might be advisable to
put a card in the circulating library at St. Helier's. Rest assured
that both Mrs. Angus and I will do all we can for your father's girls.
Lionel and I were good friends at Oxford though we saw so little of
each other afterwards. I did not think when he wrote me scarcely
six weeks ago that it was to be Hail and Farewell.

"I must go," he added quickly, seeing that Estelle's eyes were
brimming. "Where is Edith? I hoped to see her also."

"She has gone to the sands," replied Estelle. "It is dull for her,
moping here, so I sent her for an errand and told her to run down
and see whether the tide had turned. She begins school on Monday."

Mr. Angus took his leave, and still looking doubtful, went down
the steps of Rose Villa, a quaint little house, covered with
tinted plaster, as is the pretty custom of the Channel Islands,
and appearing even to a masculine ignorance of details much more
neat and attractive than its neighbors.

So Mr. Angus thought, as he turned from his puzzled survey of its
exterior, to walk slowly down the short street at the end of which
glittered the waters of the English Channel.

The tide was on the turn but the expanse of sandy beach lay yet
broad. Far toward St. Helier's the curve of the port showed the
high sea-wall, for this same innocent-looking tide that ebbs and
leaves behind miles of sandy stretches and rocks, can return with
force sufficient to dash over even the lofty breakwater and
surprise the placid Jerseymen at times, by scattering large stones
in the esplanade.

But here at St. Aubin's the curve of Noirmont Point sheltered the
little town from the full force of the waves. Dr. Angus looked
from the end of Noirmont Terrace straight down to the sands and
saw in the distance the sunset air filled with wheeling gulls, a
group of boys playing football on the wide level, and somewhat
nearer, a slender girl of fourteen, dressed in black, with long
fair hair floating over her shoulders.

She was walking slowly and the kind clergyman attributed her
leisurely pace to dejection, but as a matter of fact, Edith was
feeling quite happy and much interested in the tiny bright yellow
snail shells the beach was providing for entertainment. She had
been spared all that was possible of the depression and sorrow of
the past weeks. Daddy had been poorly for years and Edith could
not remember him as ever well and strong. His loss affected her
more because it grieved Estelle, the only mother she had known.

There had been a few sad confused days when nothing seemed real,
and strangers had been kind in a way that Estelle accepted with a
sort of resentful patience, plain even to Edith. But since then,
life had been rather cheerful, with a great deal of attention from
Nurse, and Estelle's time almost wholly given to her. It was
gratifying to share Sister's confidence and to help arrange the
rooms attractively for the possible delightful people who ought to
come to lodge with them.

That they might not be delightful, Sister would not admit for a
moment, so of course they would be. St. Aubin's itself was far
more desirable as a place of residence than the noisy Exeter
street where Edith had spent much of her life. Far back in the
past she could just remember a charming Surrey village with a
pretty vine-covered church where Daddy used to preach. She could
recall exactly how her fat legs dangled helplessly from the high
pew seat. Directly behind sat a stout farmer with four sons. The
boys made faces at Edith on the sly; their mother sometimes gave
her peppermints.

Edith's thoughts had wandered rather far afield, though still
alert for any gleam of the yellow shells, when she arrived
opposite Noirmont Terrace and reluctantly left the sands. A light
shone from the drawing-room and she knew that Annette would be
bringing in supper, and Sister would be found poring over a little
account book with a "don't speak just now" look in her eyes.

But Estelle proved to be waiting at the open door and as Edith
began to run on catching sight of her, she thought that Sister
somehow looked happier.

"Did you meet Mr. Angus?" Estelle inquired. "He went toward the
sands."

"I saw him in the distance," replied Edith. "Why, Star, you look
like--like a star," she ended laughing. "Was Mr. Angus agreeable?
Did he say you oughtn't to take people?"

"I think he doesn't wholly disapprove now," answered Estelle
gently. "And he is going to do what he can toward sending pleasant
lodgers. Wouldn't it be nice if some dear old ladies should come
and want to stay with us all winter?"

"Just ladies?" queried Edith. "Do they have to be old?"

"I shouldn't take gentlemen," said Estelle. "Nurse wouldn't
approve, and ladies would be pleasanter. Perhaps there might be a
young mother and some ducky little children. How would you like
that?"

"Much better," responded Edith. "I don't want any fussy old freaks
with false fronts and shawls. They'd expect to be read aloud to
and waited on within an inch of their lives. I'd like some babies
to take down to dig and paddle. Do say you'll have children,
Sister."

"Well, as a matter of fact, I think we'll have to take the people
who want to come," replied Estelle sensibly. "Let's just hope that
somebody very nice will think we'd be nice to stay with. Come in
now, Edith. Annette has shrimps for supper and after we are
finished, we will put a card in the window and see what happens
next."

But the little white card that most modestly announced "Lodgings"
remained in the drawing-room casement for a week, and every day as
Edith came from school, she looked anxiously to see whether it was
gone. Its absence would mean that some one had looked at the rooms
with approval.

One afternoon as she came up the Terrace, the sight of an unknown
face at an upper window sent a thrill down her back. The card was
yet in evidence but the presence of strangers indicated that some
one had felt attracted by Rose Villa. Yes, there was a cab at the
door.

As Edith entered quietly a voice struck her ear, struck it
unpleasantly, an English voice, high-pitched and rather
supercilious.

"I should require to see your kitchen, Miss Pearce, and your
servants. I am most particular. In fact, I must be free at any
time to inspect the scullery. There must be a definite arrangement
about Marmaduke's meals. He likes a light breakfast with plenty of
cream, and for dinner a chop or a bit of chicken. His dinner must
be served with my luncheon. Then for tea--"

"I am afraid my servants would be unwilling to cook especially for
a dog," interposed Estelle's voice, courteous but with a chilling
tone Edith had never suspected it possessed. "It is useless for
you to consider the lodgings."

"Oh, your rooms are very passable," said the voice. "Small, of
course, and underfurnished, but some pictures and antimacassars
would take off that bare look. And Marmaduke is adorable. Your
cook would soon be devotion itself. Why, at my last lodgings--"

"I really cannot undertake the care of a pet animal," said Estelle
firmly. "I hope to have other lodgers and his presence might be
objectionable to them. You will excuse me now, as I have an
engagement. I will ring for Nurse to show you out."

"Well, really, Miss Pearce," began the voice, but Nurse appeared
on the scene so promptly that one might have suspected her of
being all the time within hearing distance. Edith scuttled into
the drawing-room, just avoiding a very large, over-dressed person,
who came ponderously down the stairs, a moppy white dog festooned
over one arm. Her face was red and perspiring and she seemed to be
indignantly struggling with feelings too strong for words. Edith
could not suppress a stifled laugh as she was ushered from the
house in Nurse's grandest manner.

Emerging from her refuge, Edith saw Estelle on the landing, her
face pale except for a tiny red spot on either cheek, her eyes
unnaturally bright.

"My word, Star!" said Edith, giggling, "didn't you get rid of her
finely? What a fearful person!"

"She was impossible," said Estelle. "Oh, Nurse," she exclaimed
impetuously, seeing the old family servant still lingering in the
hall, "do you suppose only people like that will want lodgings?"

"No, indeed, my lamb," replied Nurse, casting a glance of
satisfaction after the cab disappearing from the terrace. "Don't
you fret, Miss Star, and don't you take the first people who come.
Just bide your time, and there'll be some quality who will be what
you ought to have."

"Mr. Angus thought Americans might be rather desirable," said
Estelle hesitatingly. To prepare Nurse for such a possibility
might be wise.

Nurse pursed her lips significantly. "Well, it's not for me to
disagree with the reverend gentleman," she remarked. "And I
haven't been in contact with Americans. No doubt they're well
enough in their country, but I hope, Miss Star, it'll be some of
our people that want to come. Now an elderly couple or some
middle-aged ladies would be quite suitable and proper, but
Americans--Well, I don't know."

Nurse shook her head dubiously as she left the room. Edith came to
put her arms about Estelle.

"What a fearful woman that was!" she repeated, drawing her sister
toward the window. "Poor Star, I'm sorry you had to talk to her.
Rooms underfurnished, indeed! And you tried so hard not to have
them crowded and messed with frightful crocheted wool things.
She'd want a tidy on every chair and extra ones for Sunday. And
you've made things so pretty, Star!"

"We think so, don't we!" replied Estelle, kissing her little
comforter. "Somebody may yet come who will agree with us. We won't
give up hope."

Estelle was silent for a moment. She did not want Edith to suspect
how very necessary it was that those rooms should prove attractive
to somebody.

"Is that the Southampton boat just rounding the point?" she added.
"She's extremely late."

"They must have had a rough passage," agreed Edith, looking at the
steamer ploughing into the smooth water of St. Aubin's bay. "Let's
put a wish on her, Star. Let's wish, _hard_, that she has on board
the nicest people that ever were and that they're coming straight
out here and say they'd like to spend the winter with us!"




CHAPTER II

FRAN ENGAGES LODGINGS


"I positively refuse," said Mrs. Thayne, "to go out again to-day.
And I wish you wouldn't go either, Wingate," she added to her older
son. "That steamer trip was frightful. What a night we did have!
As for you two," she went on to Frances and Roger, "I suppose you
won't be happy until you are off for an exploring expedition, but
I don't see how you can feel like it."

"Why, Mother, I wasn't seasick," said Roger, a handsome,
mischievous-looking boy about twelve. "I slept like a log till I
heard Win being--hmm--unhappy. That woke me but I turned over and
didn't know anything more till daylight."

"I shouldn't have been sick if you hadn't begun it, Mother,"
observed Frances, turning from the window overlooking the
esplanade. "I feel all right now. Mayn't Roger and I go down on
the beach or take a car ride?" she asked, eagerly.

"I don't imagine there are any electric cars on the island," said
Mrs. Thayne.

"But out here is a funny little steam tram marked St. Aubin's,"
interposed Frances. "It's going somewhere. Look at the dinky cars
with a kind of balcony and that speck of an engine."

"That's a pony engine for sure," drawled Win, joining his sister
at the window. Except that he was thin and fragile no one could
have known from Win's clever, merry dark face, how greatly he was
handicapped by a serious heart trouble. But the contrast between
his tall, loosely-knit figure and Fran's compact little person
brought a wistful expression into Mrs. Thayne's observant eyes.
Win was seventeen and had never been able to play as other boys
did. Probably all his life would be different, yet he was so
plucky and brave over his limitations.

"There's the _Lydia_ down in the harbor," exclaimed Frances. "My,
didn't she wiggle around last night!"

  "Lydia, Lydia, why dost thou tremble?
     Answer me true.
  Traveler, traveler, I'll not dissemble,
     'Tis but the screw.

  Lydia, Lydia, why this commotion?
     Answer me quick.
  Traveler, traveler, 'tis but a notion.
     You must be sick!"

drawled Win, following the direction of his sister's glance.

"Win, how bright of you!" she exclaimed. "I wish I could think of
things like that. But, Mother, mayn't we go out and take that
little train wherever it's going?"

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mrs. Thayne. "Take care of Fran,
Roger, and don't get separated. You might notice any attractive
places offering lodgings. We don't want to stay in this hotel all
winter and the sooner we are settled the better."

"Come along, Fran," exclaimed Roger. "That infant train is getting
a move on."

The two tore impetuously from the sitting-room. "Such energy!"
Mrs. Thayne remarked with a sigh. "Will you lie down here, Win?"

"No, I think I'll write a bit," replied her son. "I'm not so done
up as you are, Mother."

"Why Roger wasn't ill after the strange combination of food he ate
at Winchester last evening is a miracle," remarked Mrs. Thayne.
"Were you planning to write to Father?"

"I will," replied her son. "Mother, do go and rest. You look like
the latter end of a wasted life. But I hope the kids will light on
some lodgings. I've had enough of hotels. Nothing on earth is so
deadly dull and so deadly respectable as a first-class English
hotel."

"Why, of course it is respectable," said Mrs. Thayne, looking
rather puzzled.

"Thunder, yes! But it's so _fearfully_ proper! That head-waiter
down-stairs, with his side-whiskers and his velvet tread and his
confidential voice--why, when he came to take my order, I wanted
to pull his hair or do something to turn him into a human being."

Mrs. Thayne smiled. Much as she loved Win, she did not always
understand him. Shut out from active sports, Win had early taken
refuge in the world of books and his quick perceptions were often
those of a mature mind.

When his mother had gone into her room, Win settled himself by the
west window overlooking the bay where Castle Elizabeth rose on its
rock in the middle distance. Win looked at it approvingly,
promising himself later the fun of finding out its history and
present use. Just now, he would devote himself to getting the
family journal up to date for Father, on duty with the _Philadelphia_,
somewhere near Constantinople. It was to be on the same
side of the Atlantic that the Thaynes had come to England and
a slight attack of bronchitis on Win's part had resulted in this
additional trip. Jersey was reported to possess a mild climate as
well as good schools where Roger and Frances might have new and
probably interesting experiences. Win himself was not equal to
school routine, but there would doubtless be some tutor available
to give him an hour or two every day, a pleasant and easy task for
some young man, for Win was always eager to study when health
permitted.

Deep in his heart was the ever-present regret that he could not
enter Annapolis nor follow in the footsteps of his father, but if
an elder brother had any influence, Roger was going into the naval
service. At present, Roger showed no inclination to such a future,
and was but mildly interested in his father's career, but Captain
Thayne and Win shared an unspoken hope that a change would come
with the passing years.

For some time after finishing his letter, Win sat with eyes on
Castle Elizabeth, idly speculating about the coming winter. This
old-world island, with its differing customs and ancient
traditions seemed a place where most interesting things might
happen, a land of romance and fairy gold, offering possibilities
of strange adventure. Just because Win was debarred from most
boyish fun, his mind turned eagerly to deeds of daring. Visions of
pirates, smugglers, and buried hoards often danced through his
brain, and the least suggestion of any mystery was enough to
excite his keen interest. That hoary old castle on its island
proved a source of many romantic ideas to Win, who presently fell
into a day-dream.

The sun set in crimson splendor behind the castle towers and Win's
reverie changed to genuine slumber from which he was roused by the
reappearance of Mrs. Thayne.

"I'm sorry I waked you," she said. "I didn't notice that you were
asleep."

"Why, I didn't know I was," said Win lazily. "I must have been
dreaming and yet I thought I was awake. It was such an odd dream
about a young man or rather a boy, in queer clothes ornamented
with silver buttons and wearing his hair in curls over his
shoulders. I was following him somewhere through a passage, very
dark and narrow. Then suddenly we were in a room with a big
fireplace and books around the walls. It was a beautiful old room
but I never remember seeing a place like it. Some other people
came, all men, also in queer clothes and very quiet and serious.
On a table was food of some kind and this boy I had been following
began to eat but the others stood about, apparently consulting
over something. Then I woke. Wasn't it a crazy dream? Oh, the
reason we were in that passage was because something was lost. I
don't know what it was nor how I knew it was lost but we were
trying to find it."

"That was odd. You must have read something that suggested it,"
Mrs. Thayne began, just as Fran and Roger came into the room,
bursting with suppressed excitement. For a few moments they talked
in a duet.

"Mother, it's lovely over at St. Aubin's, ever so much nicer than
here," Fran began breathlessly, her brown eyes sparkling. "And
such a funny little train running along the esplanade!"

"You couldn't believe there was such a beach," put in Roger. "Why,
the tide goes out forever, clear to the horizon! Fellows were
playing football down there, two games. How much does this tide
rise, Win?"

"This book I've been reading says forty feet," replied his
brother.

"And the houses!" Fran went on breathlessly, "all colors, cream
and brown and blue and pink."

"Oh, draw it mild, Sis," interrupted Win. "I should admire a pink
house."

"It's out there," said Frances, "and what's more, it's very
pretty!"

"That's right," corroborated Roger. "Wouldn't a pink house look
something fierce at home? But here it's swell and kind of--of
appropriate," he ended lamely.

"And flowers, Mother," Frances took up the tale. "_Hedges_ of
fuchsia, real live tall hedges, not measly little potted plants.
Geraniums as tall as I am, and ever so many roses and violets. Oh,
and we've found some lodgings. You're to see them to-morrow."

"Frances!" exclaimed her horrified mother. "You haven't been in
strange houses, inspecting rooms?"

"Why, you told us to look for them, didn't you, Mother?" replied
her astonished and literal daughter. "Roger was with me. It was
perfectly all right."

"I simply meant you to notice from the outside any attractive
houses that advertised lodgings," explained Mrs. Thayne. "Well--"
she ended helplessly, "I suppose there's no harm done."

"Why, no," Frances agreed. "What could happen? Let me tell you
about them. We took the baby cars and got off at St. Aubin's
because that especial train didn't go any farther. It's lovely
there, Mother, and plenty of lodgings to let. We walked along and
saw one house that looked pleasant, so we went up and rang and a
maid showed us into a parlor. We knew right off we didn't want to
come there, because the place was so dark and stuffy and there
were fourteen hundred family photographs and knit woolen mats and
such things around. I was going to sit down but just as I got near
the chair,--it was rather dark, you see,--something said 'Hello!'
and there was a horrid great parrot sitting on the back of the
chair. I jumped about a foot."

"You screamed, too," said Roger.

"I may have exclaimed," admitted Frances judicially. "It was not a
scream. If I had yelled, you would have known it. Well, a messy
old woman came who called me 'dear,' but when I said I didn't
believe my mother would care for the rooms, she got huffy and said
she was accustomed to rent her rooms to ladies, only she
pronounced it _lydies_.

"We left that place," went on Frances, paying no attention to the
look of silent endurance on her mother's face, "and walked some
distance without seeing anything we liked. But suddenly we came to
a tiny street going down to the sea. There were only six houses
and one had a card in the window. They faced the bay and just big
rocks were on the other side of the street. Now, listen."

Frances went on dramatically. "The house with the card was the
dearest thing, all cream-color and green, with a pink rambler rose
perfectly enormous, growing 'way up to the eaves, and a rough roof
of red tiles and steep gables. The windows were that dinky kind
that open outward and had little bits of panes. Everything was
clean as clean, the steps and the curtains and the glass. While we
were looking, the door opened and a girl came out. She was about
my age, Mother, but _so_ pretty, with gray eyes and yellow hair
and _such_ a complexion. I'd give anything to look like her."

Frances shook her head with disapproval over her own brown hair
and eyes. To be sure the one was curly and the others straightforward
and earnest, while her gipsy little face and figure were considered
attractive by most people and by those who loved her, very satisfactory
indeed.

"Well, this girl came out and we sort of smiled at each other and
I asked if that card meant that there were rooms to let. I told
her you were seasick, and at the hotel, and my brother and I saw
the card and we were looking for lodgings and all the rest, you
know. She said yes, there were rooms and she'd call Sister.

"Sister came and she was a love, tall and sweet and just
beautiful, only she looked sad and wore a black dress. The younger
girl went away but Sister showed us the rooms and they are just
what we'd like, I'm sure. There wasn't any messy wool stuff nor
ugly vases,--I forgot to mention that in the other place there
were eight pair of vases on the mantel, truly, for Roger counted
them. These rooms were clean and rather bare, with painted floors
and washable rugs and fresh curtains and flowers, just one vase in
each room and a clear glass vase at that. The beds had iron frames
and good springs and mattresses, for I punched them to see. Aren't
you proud to think I knew enough to do that?" Fran interrupted her
story.

"Two bedrooms had the furniture painted white and the rest had
some old mahogany," she went on.

"How many rooms were there?" inquired Mrs. Thayne, attracted by
Fran's enthusiasm and interested by the pleasant picture she was
describing.

"On the first floor is the drawing-room, which will be at our
disposal," began Frances, evidently quoting "Sister." "It's pretty
and sweet, Mother dear, very simple with a little upright piano
and quite a number of books and a fireplace. Just behind is a room
where we can have our meals. We can use as many bedrooms as we
like; there are five and Sister said if we wished, one could be
made into an up-stairs-sitting-room. The bathroom was really up-
to-date, and looking _very_ clean."

"And how much does Sister expect for all this?" inquired her
mother.

"Well," admitted Frances, "I asked and she smiled so sweetly and
said it depended upon how much service we required and whether we
wanted to do our own marketing and perhaps it would be better to
discuss the terms after you saw whether you liked the rooms. I
told her we were Americans and she said yes, she had thought so. I
don't see why," Frances ended reflectively.

Win gave a chuckle. "Easy enough to guess," he remarked. "I
imagine English girls of fourteen don't go around on their own
hook, engaging lodgings for the family."

"I am almost fifteen," said his sister severely. "And I understood
that Mother wanted me to look for rooms, so I did, but of course
she will make the final arrangements. I thanked Sister and said
I'd try to bring my mother in the morning, for I felt sure she
would like the rooms. And Sister said she'd be very glad to have
young people in the house and that if you wanted references,
Mother, you could apply to some clergyman,--I forget his name,--
but I know it's all right. You'll think so, too, the minute you
see Sister. I fell in love with her. Oh, her name is Pearce,
Estelle Pearce. She gave me her card."

Frances produced it. "You will come and see the rooms to-morrow,
won't you, Mother? Win can come too, for that tiny train is very
comfortable and the walk to the house is short. Rose Villa,
Noirmont Terrace. Isn't that a sweet name?"

[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF ST. AUBIN'S]




CHAPTER III

ST. HELIER'S


The moment she entered Rose Villa, Mrs. Thayne heartily agreed
with Frances as to its desirability. To Estelle's amazement, she
proceeded to engage all the rooms, offering to pay for the
privilege of having the whole house for her family.

This was better fortune than Estelle had dreamed of and scarcely
two days passed before she realized that a kindly star was
favoring her. Frances and Edith became friends on the spot; Nurse,
who might have proved a problem, took an instant fancy to delicate
Win and started on a course of coddling that luckily amused Win
quite as much as it satisfied Nurse. Blunt, downright Roger
appealed especially to Estelle, who also found Mrs. Thayne
charming.

"Aren't we in luck, little sister?" she confided to Edith. "Even
our wildest expectations couldn't have pictured anything more
pleasant than this. If they only stop the winter! But where are
you going now?"

"On the sands with the others," said Edith happily. "Fran asked
me. The boys have gone ahead to the end of the terrace."

Win was singing softly to himself as he stood looking down upon
the sandy beach that stretched for miles towards St. Helier's at
the left, and on the right, though showing more warm red granite
rocks, to Noirmont Point. "Britannia needs no bulwarks, no towers
along the steeps," he hummed just above his breath.

"There's a tower right in front of you," commented Roger, between
the throwing of two stones.

Win cast a glance at the deserted castle of St. Aubin's, a
miniature Castle Elizabeth on its isolated rock off shore, another
at the martello tower on the point.

"I was talking to a man about those little towers," he remarked.
"One can be rented for a pound a year, and there are thirty-two of
them around the island. But they didn't amount to much when it
came to actual fighting. The rocks and tides are what makes Jersey
safe. That's what I meant by this place needing no bulwarks."

"One of those martello towers would make a fine wireless station,"
commented Roger. "Why did they build them if they aren't any use?"

"They thought they were going to be," replied Win, looking to see
whether the girls were coming. "About two centuries ago there was
a battle down in the Mediterranean that was decided by the
possession of one of those little towers, so England built a good
many. But they weren't much use after all."

"I never knew that before," said Edith, as she and Frances joined
the boys.

"England wasn't the only nation that was taken in by them," Win
went on. "Italy has a number on her southern coast. For a long
time people supposed they were called martello towers from the man
who built them, but I found in a book that the name came from a
vine that grew over this one in Corsica. Before many moons pass
I'm going to get into one of them. Smugglers must have used them
and there may be things left behind."

Frances cast a glance at the tower in question. At first
inspection it looked like a stony mushroom sprouting from the
rocks. Some distance above the base opened a rough entrance and a
low parapet encircled the top. To scramble over the exposed rocks
to the base of this especial tower appeared a hard climb, to say
nothing of the difficulties of ascending. The feat looked beyond
Win's accomplishment but Frances said nothing. To argue with Win
about whether he could or ought to attempt anything was never
wise. Left to himself he would stop within the bounds of prudence
but resented solicitude from others.

"Well, where are we going?" she asked.

"Let's take the train into St. Helier's," suggested Win. "We've
scarcely seen the town."

Edith looked doubtful. "I ought to ask Sister," she said. "Star
thought we were just going on the sands."

"And so we are," replied Roger. "We're taking a train that runs on
the sands," he mimicked in a teasing, boyish way. "Why don't you
call it a beach?"

"Because it _is_ sands," retorted Edith with a pretty flash of
spirit that Roger already delighted to arouse. "The tram-line is
far beyond the shingle."

[Illustration: "FOR A LONG TIME PEOPLE SUPPOSED THEY WERE CALLED
MARTELLO TOWERS FROM THE MAN WHO BUILT THEM."]

"Shingle!" gasped Roger, staring in that direction. "I don't see
any."

"The pebbles, cobbles, beyond the sands," explained Edith.

"Oh, excuse _me_," chuckled Roger. "I thought they were plain
stones. Didn't see anything particularly wooden about them."

Edith looked at him. A few days had made her feel very well
acquainted with these friendly young people, but Roger was often
surprising.

"Oh, cut it short, Roger," drawled Win. "Run back, will you, and
tell Mother that we want to go into town. She won't care and I
don't believe Miss Estelle will either, but we ought to mention
it. Hustle, because I think that train is coming."

Roger obligingly bolted back, received a nod of possible
comprehension from a mother very much absorbed in an important
letter, and arrived just as the others boarded the steam tram, a
funny affair with a kind of balcony along one side where people
who preferred the air could stay instead of going inside. Edith
and Frances exchanged smiles of happiness.

"I haven't been to St. Helier's often," Edith confided. "Just to
market once with Nurse, and once to choose curtains with Sister.
We thought the drapers' shops quite excellent."

Fran's attention was held for an instant, but after all it seemed
only reasonable that draperies should be purchased at a draper's.

"Isn't the beach lovely?" she confided. "It would be fun to walk
back."

"We might," said Edith. "Would Win care if we did? Or could he do
it too?"

"He couldn't walk so far," said Fran, "but he won't mind if we
want to. Win is angelic about not stopping us from doing things he
can't do himself."

"Has he always had to be so careful?" asked Edith. She and Frances
sat at a little distance from the boys. Roger was peering around
into the cab of the tiny engine; Win watched the water as it broke
on the beach.

"Always," said Frances. "He was just a tiny baby when they knew
something was wrong with his heart. It isn't painful and may never
be any worse. Only he must take great care not to get over-tired.
Ever so many doctors have seen him and they all say the same
thing,--that if he is prudent and never does too much, he may
outlive us all. Just now in London, he and Mother went to a
specialist but all he told Win was that he must cultivate the art
of being lazy. Mother says the worst was when he was too little to
realize that he mustn't do things. Now, of course, he understands
and takes care of himself. It's hard on Win but Mother says it's
good for Roger and me. It does make Roger more thoughtful. He says
anything he likes to Win and pretends to tease him, but if you
notice, you'll see that he does every single thing Win wants and
always looks to see if he's all right. It helps me too, for I'm
ashamed to fuss over trifles when Win has so much to bear."

The little tram was traveling at a moderate pace toward town,
stopping at several tiny stations where more and more people
entered.

"I can't get used to hearing people talk French," said Frances.
"It seems so odd when Jersey is a part of England."

"The French spoken here isn't that of Paris," remarked her
brother, rising from his seat. "It's Norman French."

"I know I can't understand it easily," confessed Edith, "and
Sister has always taken pains to teach me. I'm glad it isn't all
my fault."

The train came to a stand on the esplanade of St. Helier's. The
four stopped to look over the sea-wall, to the beach far below,
across to the long stone piers forming the artificial sea basin
and up to Fort Regent overhanging the town like a war-cloud.

"That fort looks stuck on the cliff like a swallow's nest,"
commented Roger. "Look, there's a snow-white sea-gull!"

"There's another with a black tail," exclaimed Edith. "Oh, aren't
they beautiful!"

"In the United States is a city that put up a monument to the sea-
gulls," said Win. "Salt Lake City, ever so far inland. A fearful
plague of grasshoppers ate everything green and turned the place
into a desert. They came the second summer, but something else
came too. Over the Rocky Mountains, away from the Pacific Ocean,
flew a great flock of gulls and ate the grasshoppers. Their coming
seemed so like a miracle that the city erected a beautiful
monument to them."

"Did they ever come again?" asked Edith, greatly impressed.

"No," said Win. "Just that once."

"Without doubt it was a miracle," said Edith so reverently that
the three looked at her.

Roger gave a little snort, started to say something, looked again
at Edith's rapt face and changed his mind. "Boston ought to put up
a monument, too," he remarked at length. "Miracles happen every
summer in Boston. The city swelters with the mercury out of sight
and then along steps the east wind. In ten minutes, everybody puts
on coats and stops drinking ice-water. Some tidy miracle-worker,
our east wind."

"Especially in winter," said Win laughing. "I'm afraid a monument
to the east wind wouldn't be popular along in January. Shall we
come on? Let's go up this street. I've a map, but things look
rather crooked, so we'd better keep together."

The quartette started, Roger and Win leading the way. St. Helier's
streets are indeed crooked, and paved with cobble stones of
alarming size and sonorous qualities. Numerous men and boys
tramped along in wooden sabots which made a most unearthly
clatter. Even little girls wore them, though otherwise their dress
was not unusual. Outside one shop hung many of the clumsy foot-
gear, the price explaining their evident popularity.

Signs over shops were as often French as English and sometimes
both. At one corner, the party met a man ringing a bell and
uttering a proclamation in French. At the next corner he stopped
to announce it in English and the interested boys found that he
was advertising a public auction. No one else seemed in the least
attentive to his remarks.

Fifteen minutes' loitering through narrow, ill-paved streets,
crowded with hurrying people and a great number of dogs, brought
the four to an open square of irregular shape with a gilded statue
at one end. Its curious draperies caught Win's observant eye and
he walked around it thoughtfully.

"What a very queer costume!" he remarked as he completed his
circuit. "What is it doing on a statue of an English king?"

Win spoke aloud, not noticing that the others were beyond hearing,
but his inquiry was answered by a gentleman who chanced to be
passing.

"It is a Roman statue," he volunteered, "rescued from a shipwreck.
The thrifty Jerseymen considered it too good to be wasted, so they
gilded it and placed it here in the Royal Square in honor of
George the Second."

Win smiled as he turned to the speaker, a tall, thin Englishman in
riding dress. His bearing suggested a military training and a
second glance showed an empty coat-sleeve.

"This group of buildings may interest you," the speaker added.
"They contain the Court House, Parliament rooms and a small public
library."

Touching his riding-crop to his hat in response to Win's thanks,
he turned into a side street where a young man mounted on a
handsome horse sat holding the bridle of another. With interest
Win watched them ride away. Even from a distance, something about
the younger man struck a chord of recollection in Win's usually
reliable memory. He was almost certain that somewhere, at some
time, they had met. Yet he could not think of any American
acquaintance of that age who would be at all likely to be riding
about the island of Jersey, his companion not only an Englishman,
but obviously an ex-army officer.

Still, the impression of familiarity was strong and Win was yet
wondering about it as he slowly climbed the stairs leading to the
public library.

Protesting somewhat, the others followed to look at a rather
uninviting room, appealing to them far less than to Win, already
on the trail for local history. The attendant proved obliging and
after supplying Win with several books brought out a shabby brown
volume.

"We have one of your writers on our shelves," he remarked with a
smile, offering the book to Frances.

"Poems of Oliver Wendell Holmes," she read aloud. "Haven't you any
other American authors?" she demanded in amazement. "And how did
you know I was an American?"

The librarian shook his head. "I have often thought we should have
more American books," he replied, "but they are so extremely dear
as compared with those published on this side of the Atlantic that
we have not afforded them. How did I know your nationality? By the
way you speak."

Frances looked disgusted. She said little more, but soon persuaded
the reluctant Win to postpone his investigations and come down
again into the Royal Square.

"Now, Sis, what's the matter with you?" Win inquired on seeing her
flushed face.

"Oh, you didn't hear that man say he knew I was an American by the
way I talked," sniffed Frances indignantly.

"Anybody would think you didn't want to be one," commented Roger
bluntly.

"I wouldn't be anything else," retorted Frances, "only I don't
care to have fun poked at the way I talk."

Win's glance traveled from his sister's annoyed face to Edith's,
which wore a look of perplexity.

"We're polite," he remarked. "Here's Edith, who wouldn't be
anything but English."

"No," said Edith gravely. "One always feels that way about one's
country. But I understand what Frances means. And I see why people
know you are not English. It isn't so much your pronunciation, but
you put words in odd places in the sentence and some of your
expressions are most unusual," she ended apologetically. "I like
them. It is interesting to hear things called by new names. Just
now Fran said 'poke fun' when she meant 'criticise,' and Roger
says a thing is 'fine and dandy' when I should call it 'top-hole.'
That is the difference, is it not?"

The others laughed and Edith's attempt to bridge a dangerous
situation ended successfully. Presently their whereabouts absorbed
their attention for Win had left the map behind him on the library
table.

For a time they wandered at random, following one narrow street
after another, seeing interesting shop windows, but presently
discovered that they did not know where they were.

"The esplanade must lie at our left," said Win. "If we keep
turning in that direction we shall surely strike it."

"Look at that candy," exclaimed Roger, attaching himself to a
confectioner's window. "Here's a chance to acquire some choice
English. What is black-jack, Edith? Looks like liquorice. Bismarck
marble, Gladstone rock, toffy,--what's toffy?"

"It is sweets made of treacle instead of sugar," explained Edith,
turning surprised eyes upon him.

"Sweets! treacle!" exclaimed Roger after a petrified instant.
"Bring me a fan! Give me air!"

"Why," said Frances, a sudden light dawning on her. "Treacle! I
never knew before what Alice in Wonderland meant by her treacle
well. It's molasses, Edith. There are some chocolate peppermints!"

Without stopping for further speech Frances dashed into the shop.
Presently she emerged, carrying a white paper bag, or "sack" as
Edith designated it, and with an odd expression of face.

"Joke?" inquired Win. "What did you ask for?" he demanded,
accepting a piece of candy.

"I got what I wanted," said Fran evasively. "It's always possible
to walk behind a counter and help yourself if you don't know the
names of things."

Later she drew Edith aside. "What do you call these?" she asked
confidentially.

"Peppermint chocolate drops," replied Edith. "What else could they
be?"

Turning constantly to the left did not bring them to the sea.
Instead they walked a long distance only to find themselves in a
poorer part of the town, with increasing crowds of children
inclined to follow. Their appearance seemed a source of interest
to older people as well and presently Win was induced to inquire
his way to the boulevard.

To his surprise the reply came in French, but between his own
knowledge and that of Edith, they made out that they were
traveling inland instead of toward the shore. This sounded
impossible unless they had completely lost all sense of direction.

But a second inquiry brought the same answer, so they followed the
offered advice, coming at last to the bay of St. Aubin's more than
a mile below St. Helier's, fortunately near one of the tram
stopping-places. Edith was good for a walk home and Roger would
have gone also if challenged, but both Win and Frances were tired
so Edith did not propose to return by the beach. Indeed, the tide
was now so high that they would have been forced to go part of the
way by the road.

"School for us to-morrow," said Frances dismally. "But I think we
should plan to do something very interesting every holiday all
winter."

"We will take a tea-basket and lunch out of doors," replied Edith
happily. "There are beautiful spots to visit in Jersey."

Win looked up suddenly. "Fran," he asked, "did you notice those
gentlemen who rode out of the square while we were looking at the
statue? Had you ever seen the younger one before?"

Fran shook her head. "I noticed only the one who spoke to you,"
she replied. "I was looking at their horses."

"All the same," mused Win thoughtfully, "I've seen that young
fellow before and it must have been in the United States, for I
know I should remember encountering him over here."




CHAPTER IV

THE BEACH DOG


"You would certainly smile if you could see the school I am going
to," Frances wrote to her chum, Marjorie Benton, "but when I think
of you and the other girls back at the dear old Boston Latin, I
feel more like crying.

"First I must tell you about Edith Pearce, the girl in the house
where we are staying. She has long flaxen hair which hangs over
her shoulders in the most childish way, though she's our age. Her
eyes are gray with dark lashes and when she looks at you they are
like surprised stars. And she has the most beautiful complexion in
the world, just pink and white. She is lovely to look at and I
feel like a tanned, homely gipsy beside her. She's sweet too, but
very easily shocked and I'm afraid she's not only good but pious.
She can never take your place so don't worry, only, as I have to
be here, I might as well have some fun with her.

"I go to school with Edith and it is as unlike the Latin School as
the North Pole and Boston Common. There are about thirty boarders,
some of them little bits of things--Edith calls them 'tinies'--who
have been sent home from India where their parents couldn't keep
them any longer. About fifty day-scholars attend, from kindergarten
age up.

"I'm the only American and I can tell you I was well stared at. At
first the girls couldn't believe it, insisted that I must be
Scotch or at least Canadian, so now I wear a little United States
flag pin all the time. Gracious, but things are different,
especially clothes! Mine are the prettiest in school, if I do say
it, and Edith thinks so too. She says my 'frocks' are 'chic.'

"Most of the girls, even the big ones almost eighteen, wear their
hair hanging and have _such_ dresses,--frocks, I mean. They fit
like meal bags, and being combinations of many colors, look
perfectly dreadful. And yet the girls are very nice, some of them
from really important families.

"To cap the climax, most of them sport ugly black mohair aprons
which they call 'alpaca pinnies.' Marjorie, can you imagine what
they look like? I told Mother if she wanted me to be English to
the extent of wearing a pinafore, I should lie down and die and
I'm thankful to say that she simply grinned. But many of the girls
have wonderful yellow or red-gold hair and stunning peachy
complexions, so they aren't such frights as you'd think.

"Instead of going around from one class to another as in any
sensible school, the girls stay in one room and teacher after
teacher,--I mean mistress, comes to them. I get so everlastingly
tired sitting still. Never before did I realize what a rest it was
to walk from class to class and get a chat on the way. The only
exceptions to this rule are preparation, when we sit at desks
under the eye of a monitress, and gymnasium work.

"Marjorie, when I first beheld that gymnasium teacher, I nearly
fainted. Her molasses-colored hair was frizzed hard in front and
pinned in a round bun at the back of her head. She had on tight-
fitting knee trousers, not bloomers, believe me. Over these she
wore a white sweater of a very fancy weave. Over this was a weird
tunic of alpaca with two box-plaits in front and three in back.
This fell an inch or so below her knees, and every time she bent
over or stretched up, those queer tight trousers showed. Her shoes
were ordinary ones with heels. The girls wear either their usual
frocks or an arrangement like this. I can tell you my pretty brown
gym suit was the event of the day when I appeared in it.

"Everybody wears slippers at school, puts them on when she first
comes and no wonder, because the English shoes are the worst-
looking and clumsiest things ever invented by man. Edith's feet
look twice as big in her boots as in slippers. You'd think by
their appearance that English feet were a different shape from
ours, but they are not; it is only the shoes. They make them so
thick and stout that they last for years. Edith was plainly
shocked when I told her I had a new pair every few months. She
thinks mine suitable only for the house. Well, I will admit that
English girls can out-walk me.

"The other mistresses aren't so queer as the gym teacher but look
more like other people except that they wear too much jewelry.
Everybody wears a great deal and you know what we think at home of
ladies who appear on the street with rings and chains and lockets.
Edith and her sister Estelle don't dress so, but Mother says they
are quite exceptional.

"As for lessons, we have to study. They expect a lot of grammar
and parsing, and dates in history and solid facts in geography and
all that. Mother approves; she thinks the English system much less
faddy than at home. We have Bible instruction in regular lessons.
I'll admit that these English girls know more than I do about
things in books, but they haven't any idea what's going on in the
present world. They didn't know much about the Panama canal and
the tolls. Win howled when I said I explained it to them and vowed
he'd give a dollar to have heard me. And several didn't know who
was president of the United States. Imagine that, when we're the
most important republic in the world! I knew their old king.

"We begin school at half-past eight and have prayers and a Bible
exercise. Different classes follow until eleven when a gong rings
and everybody rushes into the garden, a lovely place with box-
edged beds and a sun dial and gravel walks. There are myrtles and
geraniums, great big bushes of them, and japonicas and heavenly
wall-flowers and _trees_ of lemon verbena and fuchsias up to the
eaves. This is solid truth, and in November, too.

"In the garden we find a table with jugs of milk,--notice my
English, please--and biscuit, that is, crackers, and we gobble and
faith, we have reason! Studying so hard makes one famished. Then
recreation follows for half an hour and we play ball or tennis.
Some of the girls are splendid players. School again until two,
when we day-scholars leave.

"Three afternoons a week, we have to go back for gym work and
English composition, which is beastly. On Wednesday there is no
school.

"Do you want to know what I've learned in one week of school in
Jersey?

"Well, I can speak three sentences in French. I'll write you in
French next time.

"I know that Amos and Hosea and Isaiah were all prophets and said
that Israel was a very bad place.

"I know that Paleolithic man was probably the first inhabitant of
Great Britain.

"I know how few people like to join mission study classes.

"And I know that I love you."

Fran finished her letter, directed and sealed the envelope,
affixed a stamp, sniffing slightly at the head of King George
instead of George Washington, and ran down-stairs.

"Do you know where Edith is?" she asked of Nurse.

"She is out in front, Miss Frances," replied Nurse. "Are you going
for a walk?"

"Just to the beach. We'll be back for tea."

Edith stood at the gate and the two ran down to the shore. The
tide, half-way out, left bare a tremendous expanse of wet sand,
iridescent under the sun's rays. The water showed wonderful shades
of blue, green and turquoise, and in the edge of the retreating
waves walked hundreds of gulls, searching for food.

The girls started up the beach toward St. Helier's, chatting
happily as they watched the water and the birds. Little sandpipers
appeared and some huge gray cormorants.

Presently a handsome collie ran up to them, dropped a stone before
Frances and stood looking at her, his head cocked on one side, all
but speaking.

"You darling," said Frances, picking up the pebble. "Does he want
to be played with? Well, he shall."

She threw the stone down the beach and the collie shot after it at
full speed, his beautiful tawny coat shining in the sunlight.

"Twice before," said Edith, "when I've been on the sands, he has
begged me to throw stones for him to chase. He's a thorough-bred.
Such fine markings! He looks like one of the Westmoreland sheep
dogs. You've heard of them, haven't you? They are so intelligent
about taking care of sheep and they understand everything their
masters want. We saw one once that separated and brought to his
master three sheep out of a big flock and the man didn't say one
word, only motioned to him. He wants you to throw it again."

"I can't throw stones for you all night," said Fran at last. "You
take a turn, Edith."

Edith threw a pebble picked up at random. The collie raced for it
and after a sniff, returned without it.

"He wants his own stone and no other," laughed Frances. "See, he's
hunting all about. There, he's found it!"

For a good mile down the beach the collie accompanied them, till
both were tired of play. Convinced that they would throw his stone
no longer, the dog reluctantly left them. Looking back, they saw
him accosting a young man, who promptly yielded to the mute
coaxing.

"I wonder whose dog he is," said Edith. "He didn't seem to belong
to any one we passed. I fancy he's here on his own."

"We really ought to go over to Castle Elizabeth soon," observed
Frances. "Doesn't it look like a huge monster stranded out there
in the harbor?"

"Sister is afraid of the tides," replied Edith. "A soldier was
drowned there the other day, trying to cross the causeway after
the tide had turned. Look, Fran, I believe that must be his
funeral up on the road now. It is a military one at any rate."

Frances looked with interest. First marched a guard of soldiers,
two by two, then a band with muffled drums, playing the Dead
March. After the band came a gun-carriage drawn by four horses and
bearing the coffin, over which was draped the English flag.
Several barouches followed with officers in uniform, and then the
rest of the regiment, walking very slowly, their guns reversed.

As the procession approached, every man on the route uncovered and
did not replace his hat until it had passed, a mark of respect
which struck Frances forcibly. "They have better manners than we
have," she acknowledged half to herself.

Edith looked surprised. "Men always uncover on meeting a funeral,"
she remarked. "This was a private, but if he had been an officer,
his helmet and sword would be on the flag, and directly behind the
gun-carriage, his orderly would lead his riderless horse. A
military wedding is so pretty, Frances. I saw one once in Bath
Abbey. The officers were all in full uniform and after the
ceremony they formed in the aisle, two lines going way down out of
the church and at a signal, drew their swords and crossed them
with a clash above their heads and the bride and groom came down
this path through the glittering swords. I was just a tiny then,
but I decided I'd marry a soldier so I could have the arch of
swords."

"It must have been very pretty," Frances agreed. "Why, what are
those? See, like immense horseshoes in the water."

"The bathing pools," explained Edith. "They show only when the
tide is very low. They keep back water for bathing."

"And a good job, too, when you have a tide that goes out of
sight," commented Frances approvingly, as she looked at the two
huge masonry walls near St. Helier's, set in the expanse of wet
sand. "Look at the boys sailing boats."

"Sometimes there are real races with little model yachts," said
Edith. "There's a club of the young officers and some of the
townspeople and they have the prettiest little miniature boats
with keels about a metre long, rigged exactly like real racing
yachts. It's great sport to see them. But ought we not to go
back?"

The girls turned for they were already far from home. To their
surprise they were presently greeted again by the collie who tore
up to hail them rapturously.

"Still chewing your stone?" Frances inquired. "Come along. I
suppose we'll have to take you part way back."

The collie flew for the pebble as though for the first time of the
afternoon. Before they had gone more than a quarter of a mile, a
pretty young lady came up.

"I'm afraid my bad Tylo has been bothering you," she said
apologetically. "He is forever coming on the sands and badgering
people into playing with him."

"Oh, we liked to play," said Frances, smiling. "I think he's a
brick. What did you call him?"

"Tylo," replied the young lady. "After the dog in the 'Blue Bird,'
you know."

Edith also smiled. Their new acquaintance was looking from one to
another, a charming and rather mischievous expression lighting a
sweet face.

"You're a little sister compatriot," she said to Edith; "but I
fancy this little lady comes from across the ocean."

"Yes, I do," said Frances, "but how did you know?"

The young lady laughed merrily. "Oh, I've knocked about a good
bit. And I happen to have known one American boy very well.
Indeed, we really grew up together in Italy and England. 'Brick'
is rather an American word, isn't it? I've surely heard my friend
use it. Americans seldom find their way to Jersey. Are you
stopping long?"

"Perhaps all winter," replied Frances.

"There are many delightful excursions to make in the island," said
the young lady. "Come along, Tylo. We must go home to tea. Oh,"
she added to the girls, "when you go on picnics, don't forget to
look for caves."

With another smile and a charming little nod, she left them.

"I wonder who she is," said Frances, frankly looking after her.
The erect lithe figure was crowned by a finely poised head and a
wealth of beautiful fair hair, prettily arranged. Something in her
face suggested possibilities of good comradeship, and her dress,
while simplicity itself, betrayed a French origin.

"She looks nice enough and ladylike enough to be an American,"
thought Frances approvingly and with a sudden stab of homesickness.

"I wish she'd told us her name," she went on aloud, "and who the
American boy was. Perhaps we might know him."

"He can scarcely be a boy now if they grew up together," observed
Edith. "Wasn't she sweet? I hope we'll see her again."

"And what did she mean by caves?" Frances continued, pursuing her
train of thought. "That sounded very interesting and mysterious."




CHAPTER V

MONT ORGUEIL


To find a tutor for the boys proved less easy than Mrs. Thayne
anticipated. There seemed a dearth of available young men in
Jersey and she had about decided to send Roger to the best school
and let Win work as he chose by himself, when Mr. Angus heard of a
young Scotchman, already acting as secretary to a gentleman in St.
Helier's and who could give the boys his afternoons.

Such an arrangement was not ideal, but Win took an instant liking
to the tall raw-boned person, who announced himself in a
delightful manner as "Weelyum Feesher."

Roger promptly dubbed him Bill Fish and refused to speak of him by
any other term, causing his mother to live in terror lest Mr.
Fisher should in some way learn of the disrespectful abbreviation.
Roger was not at all enthusiastic about Bill Fish but liked still
less the two schools he visited. To accept the tutor seemed the
lesser of two evils.

The chief drawback proved that the boys were occupied at just the
time when the girls were free, with the exception of Wednesday, a
holiday for all.

The result was that Edith and Frances were thrown much together.
Frances found it fortunate that she had a companion of her own
age, for the island ladies soon called upon Mrs. Thayne and drew
her into numerous social engagements. The little community had a
strong army and navy tinge and naturally welcomed Mrs. Thayne. She
would have taken far less part in the various festivities had she
been leaving her daughter alone, but the two girls proved so
congenial and Mrs. Thayne was so well satisfied with Edith as a
companion for Frances that she felt free to indulge her own social
instincts and enjoy the pleasant circle so invitingly opened.

Whenever they went out, the girls kept a close watch for the "collie
lady" and the "beach dog." Twice Tylo came to hail them on the
sands, once apparently entirely alone. The other time he merely
greeted them and bounded away to rejoin two riders on the road.
One was his lady, her companion a slender young man of distinctly
foreign aspect, dark and distinguished-looking. Their horses were
walking slowly, the riders engaged in deep conversation and the
beach dog's mistress did not see the eager faces of the girls.

They talked a good deal about her, wondering who she was, where
she lived and whether they would ever know her. After seeing her
on horseback, they fell more and more under the spell of her charm
and began to picture her the heroine of all sorts of stories.

Day-dreams and romantic stories however, had but a small place in
a world so busily filled with lessons of various kinds. One
Tuesday evening, Frances was openly groaning over the need of
writing an essay upon Julius Caesar.

"Wouldn't you like him better if you saw something he did?"
inquired Win, hearing her lamentations. "There's a castle in
Jersey, part of which he built."

Fran's eyes opened incredulously and Roger whistled. "Is that one
of Bill Fish's yarns?" he demanded.

"Ante-dates him," replied Win. "It's Mont Orgueil, over the other
side of the island. Let's have a picnic there to-morrow, take our
lunch and stay all day. Mother, you must come. Don't say you've
promised to make calls."

"I can go perfectly well," said Mrs. Thayne. "Only there is
Roger's appointment with the dentist in the afternoon. He'll have
to keep that, but there will be plenty of time for the picnic if
we start early."

"Think of having an outdoor picnic in December," exclaimed
Frances. "We'll take Edith, of course."

"Of course," assented her mother. "And Estelle, if she will go. I
wish she would. She shuts herself up so closely and seems to
shrink from seeing people, but perhaps she will go to Orgueil just
with us."

Even Edith could not persuade her sister to join the party though
Estelle was touched by their regret, evidently genuine.

"If you only would, Star," begged Edith. "You would enjoy it. You
don't know how funny and nice they are to go with."

"I couldn't, little sister," said Estelle gently. "You go and tell
me about it afterwards."

Edith was not satisfied but all persuasion proved useless. She had
a vague idea that Star was worried. Just why, Edith did not see,
since the plan of letting lodgings had come out so pleasantly.
Everything was going smoothly at present; why should Star borrow
trouble from the future?

Mont Orgueil is reached by a miniature railway leading from St.
Helier's to the fishing village of Gorey. By this time the young
people were all well accustomed to the absurd little narrow gauge
tramways with their leisurely trains. But if the train into St.
Helier's crawled, the one to Gorey snailed, to quote Roger. Time
was ample to note the pretty stuccoed houses, pink, cream or
brown, with gardens and climbing vines that even in December made
them spots of beauty. They passed under the frowning cliffs of
Fort Regent and saw several lovely turquoise-blue bays with
shining sandy beaches. Farther on farms succeeded the villas,
stone farmhouses with tiled or thatched roofs, some with orange or
other fruit trees trained against their southern walls. Suddenly
Frances rose to her feet.

"What on earth are those?" she demanded. "Just look at those
cabbages on top of canes."

The others looked and saw something answering exactly to Fran's
graphic description.

"Oh, yes" said Mrs. Thayne, "those are the cow cabbages of Jersey.
They are common in the interior of the island. It's a peculiar
kind of cabbage growing five or six feet high. The farmers pick
the leaves on the stalk and leave just the head on top. These
stalks are made into the canes we have seen in shops."

"I saw them," said Win, "but I didn't realize what they were.
Look, there's a Jersey cow among the cabbages."

"The Jersey cattle are so pretty," said Frances admiringly.

"They are very valuable," said Edith. "The farmers coddle them
like children."

Gorey proved a picturesque village with many schooners and boats
of different kinds drawn up on the beach and in every direction
fish nets drying. Above and behind towered the ruined castle of
Orgueil, rising more than three hundred feet sheer from the sea.

Mrs. Thayne sent Roger to find and engage a donkey which Win
mounted without protest, after one glance at the climb before him,
though he insisted on swinging the boxes of luncheon before him on
the little animal's neck. Its owner was dismissed, Roger agreeing
to pull the beast up the hill.

Mont Orgueil forms the crest of a lofty conical rock and looks
down like a grim giant upon the blue waters that stretch away to
the coast of France. Tier after tier the fortifications mount the
cone, crowned at the apex by a flagstaff.

At the castle entrance, gained after a steady climb, a small boy
appeared, sent by the castle keeper to act as guide. He tied the
donkey to an iron post and led the way into the interior.

"This is the oldest part," he began shyly. "They do say this tower
was built by Julius Caesar."

"Gracious, that's some story!" whistled Roger, looking with all
his might.

"I believe it is true," said Mrs. Thayne. "Win, you were reading
about the castle before we started."

"Yes," said Win. "That's straight about Caesar. That's why I
wanted Fran to see it. And most of the place was built a thousand
years ago. Is it ever used now!"

[Illustration: ABOVE AND BEHIND TOWERED THE RUINED CASTLE OF
ORGUEIL]

"In summer the signal service is quartered here," replied the boy.
"This is the well, ninety feet deep."

As he spoke, he dropped a pebble over a low parapet. Some seconds
later came a hollow splash.

The guide showed them a cell where condemned prisoners were once
kept, a ruined chapel with a very old crypt, and above the chapel
a room reached by winding stairs. The girls entered with a
simultaneous shriek of delight.

"What a love of a room!" said Edith.

"Mother, isn't this too sweet for words?" demanded Frances.

"This is the Cupola room," explained their guide. "Charles the
Second stopped here during his exile from England."

"Prince Charles!" exclaimed Win, his imagination fired at once.
"Oh, I read that in the guide book, but this--his room--"

Win's voice trailed into silence. To read a fact in a book was
different from standing under the very roof that had once
sheltered bonnie Prince Charlie. He looked about him, trying to
picture to himself those far past days.

The ceiling rose in a huge dome and one immense window framed a
wonderful view. From a little sally-port leading to a platform one
could look sheer down to the rocks or across fourteen miles of
tossing water to beautiful France. By using a little imagination
the girls agreed that they could detect the spire of the cathedral
of Coutances easily visible in clear weather.

"In the French revolution the governor of Jersey signalled to the
army of the Vendée by means of a flagpole held in place by
chains," said Mrs. Thayne.

"Yes," said their small guide. "The chains are still on the wall
but the pole is new. The naval men use it in summer."

"Do they sleep here?" asked Win.

"Down in the chapel, sir."

"I'd stay here," said Win. "Say, how much would you rent this room
for?"

"Three and six a week, sir, with the platform thrown in," replied
their small guide so gravely that they all looked to see whether
he was really in earnest.

"That's cheap enough, considering the view," said Mrs. Thayne,
smiling.

Fascinated by the picturesque old castle, Win wandered off by
himself, deciphering the inscriptions placed on the many doors.
There is no guard in the guard-room, no stores are kept in the
storeroom, and the chapel never hears a sermon save those preached
by its own stones to those who have ears to hear. But the sunlight
falling on the green platforms, the pigeons cooing on the walls,
the blue sea stretching to the shining cliffs of France, the
glamour of old-world romance struck impressionable Win. Dreamily
he recalled that whether Caesar built the tower or not, no
reasonable doubt exists that Orgueil was occupied if not built by
the mighty Prince Rollo, grandfather of William the Conqueror.
Over the main entrance to the castle-keep his coat of arms
survives the centuries. For centuries to come, Orgueil will remain
gathering more legendary charm as the slow years pass.

Win shook off the feeling of awe gently creeping over him and
joined the others, investigating a tiny cell where Prynne the
Puritan leader was confined for three years. Roger was immensely
impressed by the ruins of a secret staircase, connecting a dungeon
where the criminals were executed, with the keep and sally-port.

"There's a many secret stairs in the old Jersey houses,"
volunteered their guide, noticing his interest.

"Where can we see them?" demanded Roger at once, but this their
small informer could not tell.

"Gentry lives in those houses," he volunteered. "They'se not open
to trippers."

"To what?" demanded Roger.

"Visitors, strangers like," explained the boy.

"I like that," said Roger, flushing indignantly.

"Hush, Roger," interposed his mother. "No offense was meant. What
are these chains? They seem very old."

"They were used long time ago to hang criminals. They do say they
put 'em there alive and left 'em to the corbies."

"Corbies? Oh, crows," interpreted Win. "Nice custom! Mother, look
at the heaps of rocks exposed by the tide."

"There's more this side," said their guide, turning a corner of
the rampart with Roger close at his heels. The rest were about to
follow when suddenly Mrs. Thayne gave an exclamation.

"Listen!" she said. "That must be a skylark."

From somewhere in the blue above fell a rain of happy music, so
liquid and so sweet that it scarcely seemed to come from any
earthly bird.

"Where is it?" asked Frances excitedly, peering into the air and
dropping on her knees the better to look up. Mrs. Thayne did the
same and both stared into the sky, trying to detect the tiny spot
of feathered joy, the source of all this melody. Presently Edith
and Win joined them.

Back around the corner came Roger and the guide, both stopping
short at sight of the rest of the party down on their knees on the
daisy-starred turf.

"Whatever are they doing?" ejaculated the boy.

"Oh, it's a skylark!" exclaimed Frances enthusiastically. "Come
and see."

Mouth open in amazement, their small guide stood rooted to the
spot. "A skylark!" he muttered, staring at the four in their
attitude of devotion. "Lookin' at a skylark!" he repeated as
though unable to credit the testimony of his own eyes.

Win burst out laughing and rose to his feet. "Take this," he said,
producing a shilling. "Thank you for showing us about. We'll stay
a while longer and eat lunch here."

The boy pocketed the coin and withdrew, his face still a picture
of incredulous astonishment over the actions of this singular and
apparently insane group of excursionists. At last sight, he was
still slowly shaking his head and murmuring, "Lookin' at a
skylark!"

[Illustration: "LOOK, THERE IS A JERSEY COW AMONG THE CABBAGES."]




CHAPTER VI

A RACE WITH THE TIDE


After luncheon, time passed too quickly. Before it seemed
possible, Mrs. Thayne declared the hour had come for Roger to keep
his appointment with the dentist in St. Helier's.

"Let him go alone, Mother," said Win. "He's no kid. We want you to
stay with us."

"Of course he could go alone," agreed Mrs. Thayne, "but I ought to
consult the dentist myself and do an errand or two. There's no
reason why you and the girls should cut short your stay. This is a
lovely place to spend the afternoon and the day too perfect to
hurry home. Just be back for dinner."

"Let Roger return the donkey," suggested Win. "I sha'n't need him
going down hill and very likely we shall strike across beyond the
village."

Mrs. Thayne departed, Roger clattering ahead on the donkey, and
the three were left in the meadow by the castle entrance, a meadow
starred with most fascinating pink-tipped English daisies.

"Just see the dears and then think that it's really winter,"
sighed Frances. "I can't believe that at home everybody is wearing
furs and the ground is frozen. It doesn't seem possible that
Christmas is so near."

Win was lying flat on the close-cropped turf, his attitude
indicating that he contemplated a nap. After a glance at his
prostrate figure, the girls wandered to a little distance, seeking
the pinkest daisies. Presently they were surprised by the sudden
arrival of a beautiful collie, who poked a cold nose into Edith's
face.

"O-oh!" she exclaimed. "Go to Frances. She's the one who likes
dogs. I prefer nice soft little pussy-cats."

"It's the beach dog," said Frances. "Do you suppose his lady is
with him?"

Edith looked eagerly about. The elevated castle meadow commanded a
rather extended view but in no direction was any one visible.

"I don't see her anywhere. Come here, Tylo. Oh, Fran, let's read
the plate on his collar. Perhaps it will have her name."

Hot and panting from a run, Tylo willingly lay down by the girls
and made not the least objection to having his collar examined.
The unusually long plate bore considerable lettering.

"Laurel Manor, St. Brelade's," read Frances in excitement. "Here's
some French, Edith."

"It's Italian, Fran. 'Palazzo Grassi, Via Ludovisi, Roma.' Just
two addresses and no name!" Edith ended in disappointment.

"Oh, but wait!" exclaimed Frances. The light struck the plate at
such an angle as to make visible to her some additional lettering,
not engraved but apparently scratched with a knife. Though small,
the words were extremely neat and legible and the girls deciphered
them eagerly.

"Connie--her dog.

"Max--his mark."

"Her name must be Connie!" Edith declared, turning excited eyes
upon her companion. "Speak, Tylo! Is your mistress called
Constance?"

Tylo vouchsafed no answer, only pricked his ears, hearing
something inaudible to the girls. The next instant came a distinct
though faint whistle.

The beach dog departed at once, tearing down over the meadow in a
graceful curve to leap a hedge into a shady lane beyond.

"Well, we've learned a little," sighed Frances. "His mistress is
called Connie and she lives at Laurel Manor. The rest ought to be
easy. Let's go down to the shore. I want to explore that point of
rocks."

"But Win's asleep," said Edith hesitatingly. "Ought we to leave
him?"

"It's all right," said Frances. "He couldn't scramble on the rocks
and it's splendid for him to sleep in this fine air. I'll leave a
note telling him where to look for us."

Edith supplied a blunt pencil and Fran wrote her message on a bit
of paper torn from the luncheon box, pinning it carefully to her
brother's coat where he could not fail to see it. Then they ran
down to the cove beyond Orgueil.

The water, far on the horizon, showed only as a gleaming line of
light, leaving bare heaps and piles of rocks, inextricably turned
on end in some prehistoric upheaval. In places the rocks were
continuous, in others separated by spaces of wet sand.

Over the rocks grew masses of vari-colored seaweed, brown, yellow,
blue-green, even pink. Footing proved both slippery and
treacherous, but offered the fascination of exploring an unknown
region. As they walked farther out, curious shell-fish were
clinging to the stone.

"These are ormers and limpets," said Edith. "I saw them the day
Nurse and I went to market. What a huge winkle!"

Fran stared at this new specimen. "Is that a winkle?" she demanded
in disgust. "I call it a plain snail. Why, all my life, I've read
about winkles and thought I'd like to eat some but I'd die before
I'd eat a snail. Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Edith turned so quickly that she almost fell on the slippery weed.
Frances was fairly dancing with excitement, wholly however of
pleasure.

In the hollowed rock lay a pool of clear sea water, at first sight
filled with bright-hued flowers, pink, purple, orange. The next
glance showed them to be living organisms.

"Sea-anemones!" breathed Edith softly. "I never saw anything so
beautiful."

The anemones were pulpy brown bodies varying in size from a pea to
a tomato. From their anchorage on the rock they stretched waving
tentacles of soft iridescent hues, transforming the little pool
into a marine fairyland. Between the anemones a bright yellow
lichen-like growth almost covered the warm red granite, and tiny
yellow, rose, and black and white striped snails were set like
jewels on this background. Two or three sharp limpet shells waved
feathery seaweed fans.

A long time passed and the girls still lingered. They discovered
that most of the pools boasted anemones, some not unlike an
ordinary land daisy with light-colored tentacles stretching ray-
shaped from a yellow centre. When touched with an empty shell, the
anemone would close over it, folding both the shell and itself
into a tight brown ball, then open slowly and drop the shell. The
only food the girls had with them was some sweet chocolate, so
they experimented with this, watching the lovely living sea-
flowers seize upon fragments held within reach of their feelers.

"I suppose it will give them frightful pains," remarked Frances at
last, rising from her cramped position. "Goodness! the tide is
coming!"

"Yes, but it's far out," replied Edith, casting a glance at the
line of water, still distant a full half-mile. "Look, Frances,
here's a tiny pink crab."

For a moment Frances again bent over the aquarium but soon started
to her feet.

"Let's go back, Edith. We're a long way from shore and you know
how very fast the tide comes in."

"Oh, is that crab gone? I thought you would mind where he went,"
said Edith as she reluctantly rose. "I wanted to take him to Win."

The two began to retrace their way, at first over piles of red
rock covered with seaweed, farther on over stretches of sand
surrounding rock islands.

Just as they left the last of the solid rock a big wave came
curling lazily along its side. For a second the water clung to it
like fingers, then withdrew.

"Fran, we must run," said Edith quietly, but her face had grown
pale.

Frances made no reply. Both ran as fast as they could across the
stretch of level hard sand. Before they reached the first rock
island, long fingers of foam again darted past at one side.

Neither girl spoke. Automatically they seized hands and redoubled
their efforts. One island after another was left behind, then
Edith, looking over her shoulder, saw that the tide was gaining.
Its next incoming heave would overtake them.

"We'll have to climb these rocks!" she gasped.

"_No!_" said Fran, giving her hand a tug. "Keep on. No matter if
we do get wet. We _must_ get nearer in. These rocks will be
covered."

Edith kept pace. They seemed to have reached a higher ridge of the
beach since presently the water, instead of pursuing directly,
passed on either side, stretching shorewards.

Too terrified to consider what this would mean when the tongues of
water should meet before them, the girls pressed on blindly.

Suddenly there came a shout from shore, now measurably nearer.
Down the beach sped a galloping horse, his rider waving to attract
their attention.

Fran's quick wits grasped the situation. "He'll come for us!" she
exclaimed. "He means us to climb this rock and wait."

This seemed what the rider meant for as they scrambled up the
ledge, he ceased to call and merely urged his horse to greater
effort. Edith reached the top without accident, but Frances
slipped and soaked both feet.

The horse, a beautiful chestnut thoroughbred with tossing mane,
came at quick speed. In the distance, his rider looked a mere boy,
but as he approached, the girls saw that he was a young man of
twenty-three or four, with a fine, clean-cut face, who sat his
horse as though a part of it.

Arriving by their rock, the chestnut checked himself in full
gallop and turned almost in his stride.

"Give me your hand," said the young man to Edith. "Step on my
foot. Swing round behind me and hold on any way you can."

Edith instantly obeyed. "Here," he added to Frances, "scramble up
in front. Quick! There's no time to lose. Steady on, Saracen!" he
added as the horse jumped and snorted at touch of the water
curling about his heels.

They were perhaps a quarter-mile from shore and the return was
made at a fast pace, yet as they came up above tide mark, the
waves were lapping the shingle and only a rock here and there
remained uncovered.

During the hurried trip the young man had spoken only to his
horse, words of encouragement uttered in a pleasant voice, and
both girls were still too stunned by the sudden peril and their
equally sudden rescue to realize their very unconventional
situation; Edith with both arms around the stranger, her cheek
pressed into his shoulder; Fran sitting on the saddle-bow, held in
position by his left arm while his right hand clasped the reins.

Once in safety, Saracen stopped of his own accord, looking around
as though, now the hurry was over, he would like to know what sort
of unaccustomed load he had been carrying.

"Right we are!" said the young man cheerily. "Now I wonder if you
can slide down."

Still speechless, Frances did so. The young man swung himself from
the saddle and turned to lift Edith from her perch as though she
was a little child. Again on firm ground, she began to utter
incoherent thanks.

[Illustration: "HE'LL COME FOR US! HE MEANS US TO CLIMB THIS ROCK
AND WAIT"]

"I think you must be strangers to the island," he said rather
gravely, "else you would know that the Jersey tides come in as
rapidly as they ebb. This isn't a safe coast to experiment with."

"It was the anemones," began Frances. "We never saw any before and
forgot to watch the water."

The young man smiled. "Those anemones!" he said. "I was once in a
similar fix for the same reason. Better remember that the only
safe time to watch sea anemones is when the tide is just going
out. There's a place up here where the farmer's wife is a friend
of mine. I think you'd better let me take you over to Mother Trott
and she'll dry you out."

"I'm not wet," said Edith. "Frances fell, that's why she's
drippy."

"Oh, but Win!" Frances exclaimed. "He'll find that note saying
we're on the rocks and he'll see the water and be frightened. My
brother," she added to the stranger, who was looking at her
inquiringly. "He's in the meadow."

The young man's clear gray eyes grew rather stern. "And what is
this brother doing while his little sister gets into danger?" he
asked.

"Oh, it's not his fault. He was asleep and he _mustn't_ be
frightened," Fran began. She spoke rapidly, her explanation
banishing from the inquirer's face all look of disapproval.

"I'll go and tell Win," said Edith. "I'm not a bit wet. You go on
to the farm, Frances. Which house is it?"

"Do you see the long low one with the vines about half a mile up
the hill?" replied their rescuer. "That's it."

"If Win's still asleep, for goodness' sake don't wake him,"
directed Frances as Edith set off toward the castle. "Perhaps I
can get dry and be there before he need know what has happened."

"Would you be willing to ride in front of me again, Miss Frances?"
asked the young man, as Edith vanished around the wall. "We could
reach the farm much more quickly."

Without demur, Frances consented. She felt queerly shaken and ill
and to her consternation, as Saracen crossed the highroad and
entered the farm lane, a sudden burst of sobs overcame her. She
struggled bravely to control herself.

"That was a beastly experience," said the pleasant voice, "but you
were so near shore when Saracen and I saw you, that you'd probably
have made it with merely a wetting."

"We haven't really thanked you," said Frances incoherently. "I do
--so much--Mother--"

"Thank Saracen. He did it. It's nothing at all, and you mustn't
let it trouble you. Hello, Tylo. Been off again on your own?"

Obedient to touch, his horse stopped at the cottage gate. Frances
slid from her perch and the young man dismounted, throwing the
reins to the beach dog, whose sudden reappearance did not surprise
nor interest Frances, as ordinarily it would have done.

"Come round to the back," said her companion, opening the gate.
"Mother Trott will probably be in her kitchen. She'll put you to
rights in no time. No mess too bad for her to take on."




CHAPTER VII

MR. MAX


Frances accompanied her guide along a pebbled path neatly edged
with big scallop-shells measuring fully six inches across. Beside
the walk stretched garden borders still gay with geraniums,
japonicas and other hardy plants in full bloom. As they passed the
front door of the cottage with its whitewashed steps gleaming in
the afternoon sun, a roughly outlined heart surrounding some
initials caught Frances' attention. The design was carved in the
stone top of the door-frame and looked very old.

"That's a pretty custom of the island," said her companion,
noticing Fran's glance. "The people who first made a home had
their initials cut over the door. Many of the Jersey farmhouses
have several sets of initials on the door-stones."

Around the corner of the house lay a neat kitchen garden full of
vegetables in thrifty green rows, a patch of the curious cabbages
and in a field just over a fence, was tethered a pretty, soft-eyed
Jersey cow. Beside the entrance stood a bench glittering with
shiny copper pails and milk-cans.

Without stopping to knock, the young man stepped directly into a
clean, low-ceiled kitchen, where white sand was scattered on the
stone floor.

"Are you there, Mrs. Trott?" he inquired.

Hastily setting down the pan of potatoes she was peeling, a
pleasant-looking stout woman rose to her feet with a curtsy.

"If it isn't Mr. Max!" she exclaimed, her voice expressing both
surprise and delight.

"And as usual seeking help, Mrs. Trott. This young lady, Miss
Frances, has been unlucky enough to be overtaken by the tides--"

"Poor dear!" interrupted Mrs. Trott. "Bess!" she called, "come you
down. Ah, 'tis the tides that make the Jersey heartaches. Ye did
quite right to bring her, Mr. Max. Bess, be quick!"

A rosy-cheeked girl of seventeen came clattering down the tiny
stair, to smile at the visitors and drop an awkward, blushing
curtsy to each.

"Why, Bess, you're quite grown up," said the young man, smiling
back at her.

"A year does make a differ, sir," said Mrs. Trott. "Lead the young
leddy up the stair, Bess, and dry her feet and give her your
Sunday socks and shoon. Mr. Max, you'll drink tea? Sure, now, and
taste my fresh wonders. The young leddy'll be down directly and a
cup of tea will set her up."

"Indeed, I could do with some tea, Mrs. Trott, and I've not had
any wonders since--"

Frances did not hear the end of the sentence for she was following
Bess up the narrow, winding stone stairs to emerge in a little
room with slanting caves and dormer windows in its thatched roof.
The place was bare but spotlessly clean and through the open
western casement shimmered the blue sea.

"Sit down, Miss," said Bess in a soft voice with curious musical
intonations that made up for imperfect pronunciation.

With a sigh of relief, Frances sank into the straight chair. The
reaction from her late adventure was still upon her. Before she
knew what was happening, Bess approached with a basin of water and
a towel, and knelt to unfasten the soaked shoes.

"Oh, I can do that for myself," Frances protested with the
independence of an American girl.

"Sit ye still, Miss," said Bess pleasantly. "'Tis bad for the
nerves to race the tides. It shakes one a good bit."

Her deft fingers made short work of their task. Presently, Frances
was comfortable in white cotton stockings and black slippers far
too large and wide.

"Twill serve," said Bess, smiling at the way they slid around on
Fran's slender feet. "Dry at least. Now come ye down and drink
your tea. 'Tis not lately we've seen Mr. Max. Mother'll be rarely
pleased."

Frances had it on her tongue's end to inquire into the identity of
her rescuer, but the difficulty of keeping on those heavy leather
shoes with their big silver buckles distracted her attention. She
came carefully down the stair to find Mr. Max seated on the big
black oak settle, his hat and riding-crop beside him and Mrs.
Trott arranging her table before the fire.

"Come, Miss, to your tea," she exclaimed. "Bess, fetch the cream."

Frances tried to protest, feeling already under great obligations
to these total strangers, but Mr. Max promptly rose to give her a
seat.

"Tea will do you good, Miss Frances," he said with a most engaging
smile. "Try Mrs. Trott's wonders. Have you ever eaten a Jersey
wonder?"

"It looks like a doughnut," said Frances, taking a fried cake from
the proffered plate.

A sudden, mischievous grin crossed the young man's face. "A plain
New England doughnut disguised by an old-world name," he said.

"New England!" repeated Frances, stopping with the cake halfway to
her mouth. "How do you know about New England doughnuts?"

Mr. Max seated himself, looking boyishly amused.

  "'Land where our fathers died,
    Land of the Pilgrims' pride,'"

he quoted, seriously enough but with gray eyes dancing with fun.
"Oh, I know the whole thing. Shall we sing it together?"

"Are you really an American?" Frances demanded in utter amazement.
"Then how--what--You don't talk--But that accounts for it."

She stopped, feeling suddenly shy of questioning him. "Well," she
added after a second, "that's the reason I didn't feel a bit
strange about coming with you. It seemed all right--just as though
you were somebody I knew."

"Thank you, Miss Frances," said her companion. "That is a very
lovely way to express your appreciation. Yes, we are fellow-
countrymen, though I have spent much of my life in Europe. In
fact, my first visit to the United States was when I was around
your age. Since then I've put in four years at Yale and one in
Washington. Now, I'm attached to the American Embassy in Paris and
came over here to spend the Christmas holidays with old friends.
Jersey has seen me many times before this. That's how I happen to
know about the sea anemones and the tides."

Mrs. Trott came bustling back with jam, followed by Bess with a
covered jar. "And how's Miss Connie?" she inquired.

"She seems very well," replied Mr. Max. "Your tea is as good as
ever, Mrs. Trott. Clotted cream, Bess? You know my weak spots,
don't you?"

"They do be saying that the Colonel fails since his lady died,"
went on Mrs. Trott, regarding her table anxiously. "Couldn't you
fancy an egg now, Mr. Max, or a bit of bacon?" as he raised a
protesting hand.

Frances also declined. She did not feel hungry but after Mrs.
Trott had brought water to dilute the strong tea, she drank it
willingly.

Neither did Mr. Max eat enough to satisfy his hostess. After a few
moments he rose and looked at his watch.

"I think I'll ride over to the Manor and exchange Saracen for
another horse and the trap and give myself the pleasure if I may,
Miss Frances, of driving you and the others back to St. Aubin's.
Your boots will hardly be dry for you to wear on the train. I'd
really like to do so," he added, seeing that Frances looked
disturbed. "You know it is the business of the American Embassy to
look after its fellow countrymen in a foreign land, so this is
only my plain duty."

"Best let him, Miss," said Mrs. Trott approvingly. "Mr. Max do
always take thought for others. But where happens Miss Connie to-
day?"

"Oh, Miss Connie's gone to a tea-fight of some kind," replied Mr.
Max, giving Frances another mischievous glance. "She said I
couldn't go, so I annexed her dog and her father's horse and went
out on my own. I shall be back before long."

Frances gave an anxious thought to Edith, concluded that she
probably found Win asleep and was following instructions not to
wake him. This conjecture proved correct for Edith soon came
hurrying down the path.

"I took the first note and left one saying we were at this
cottage," she explained. "Are you all right, Fran? Do you think
you've caught a chill?"

Frances explained that they were to be driven home and Mrs. Trott
pressed tea and wonders upon Edith, who accepted both gratefully.

"Is it far to the Manor--to where Mr. Max is going?" Frances
inquired of Mrs. Trott.

"Not for a good horse, Miss, though 'tis beyond St. Aubin's. I'm
thinking you must have marked the place, a big old stone house
with many a laurel tree about it and open to the cliffs beyond."

"Oh, we know it," said Fran eagerly. "There are iron gates with a
coat of arms and the grounds are lovely."

"That's Laurel Manor, Miss," assented Mrs. Trott.

The girls looked at each other in delight. In one afternoon they
had learned where lived the mistress of the beach dog and what her
name.

"'Tis good to lay eyes on Mr. Max again," Mrs. Trott went on. "A
pity he and Miss Connie couldn't content themselves with each
other. 'Tis not to our liking to have our young leddy takin' up
with a foreign prince."

"Oh, please tell us about it," demanded Frances. "We met Miss
Connie on the beach and we think she's perfectly lovely. Is she
really to marry a prince?"

"He's not a prince of a royal house," replied Mrs. Trott. "He's an
Eyetalian and in that country, they tell me, there's a different
kind of royalty. I don't rightly know, Miss, but I'm thinking they
are Romish princes."

"Is Miss Connie marrying a Catholic?" inquired Edith in great
interest.

"That's the question," said Mrs. Trott, reflectively resting both
hands on the table. "I could see Mr. Max didn't want to talk, but
we hear considerable through the housekeeper at the Manor. This
young man that they say Miss Connie's tokened to is the son of one
of these princes. But his mother was an Englishwoman and a
Protestant and so when two boys had been baptized as Catholics,
the third son,--Miss Connie's young man,--was brought up in his
mother's faith, our English church.

"I suppose," Mrs. Trott went on meditatively, "they thought he'd
never succeed to his father's title and position, bein' the third
son. But the oldest, Prince Santo-Ponte, or some title like that,
was killed in a motor mishap--they say he was racin' something
shameful,--and soon the next brother died of pneumonia. So that
leaves the Protestant son the heir. And the story is that he's to
be made to turn Catholic."

"But they can't make him if he won't," protested the shocked
Edith. Both she and Frances were listening eagerly to this
romantic story. Their wildest flights of imagination concerning
Miss Connie fell short of the truth,--if this was truth.

"I don't know, Miss, I don't know," said Mrs. Trott doubtfully.
"Turn the young leddy's boots, Bess,--don't ye scent the smell o'
scorchin'? 'Tis hard on the poor fellow. There's his father urgin'
him to do it for the sake of the family, and there's a title and a
great fortune waitin' when he does. They'll be tellin' him it's
his duty as they tell't the Princess Alix, own granddaughter of
Queen Victoria, when she married with the Czar of all the Russias.
'Twas the Greek church she went over to."

"But will Miss Connie marry the prince if he does give up his own
church?" asked Edith eagerly.

Again Mrs. Trott shook her head. "There's no mention of any
weddin'," she admitted, "and it may be they're not even tokened,
but the prince has been visitin' a sight of times at the Manor.
Now, I'm thinkin' it's a good sign Mr. Max is here again. The
Colonel, Miss Connie's father, loves him like a son. Why, he and
Miss Connie grew up together, brother and sister-wise. The way of
it was that Mr. Max's mother died when he was but a tiny and Mrs.
Lisle, Miss Connie's mother, about took him for her own. He's fair
lived with them. Many's the time he and Miss Connie have run in
here for their tea or to dry their feet. You see I was parlor-maid
at the Manor before I married Trott. That was when Mr. Eichard was
living Miss Connie's brother. He was near fifteen years older and
he died in South Africa, poor lad! Ah, when he was killed it nigh
broke the Colonel's heart. Well, I've often helped out at the
Manor when extra service was needed. Far rather would I see Miss
Connie wedded to Mr. Max."

"But how did Miss Connie happen to know the prince?" asked
Frances.

"In Rome. Till her mother died, they spent part of every winter
there, but the Colonel can't bear the place now and they stop here
the season. I keep hopin' Mr. Max will get her yet. Such a pretty
well-mannered boy he always was and never above passin' a friendly
word with us all.

"I suppose," Mrs. Trott concluded, "when you come to think of it,
Mr. Max is a foreigner, too, but the best I can say is that he's
just like an honest English gentleman."

Frances flushed, choking back a hot comment. She had so quickly
felt a bond of kinship with this young American. Yet, in spite of
her momentary anger, she realized that Mrs. Trott was paying the
highest compliment in her power. Well, pride in her own country
could teach Frances to value like loyalty in another.

"What is his other name?" she inquired.

"I couldn't rightly tell you, Miss. He was but a wee lad when he
first came to the Manor. He calls the Colonel, uncle, and we
forget he isn't really of the family. Yet his father has been
here, too. He's famous for something very wise indeed. Could I
speak the name, you might know, for he's well-spoken of outside
our island."

At this moment, Win appeared, strolling up the lane and looking
annoyed to find the girls so far in the opposite direction from
the railway. Nor did his vexation lessen on hearing their
adventures, softened and smoothed though the version was. In fact,
self-controlled Win was inclined to be decidedly cross and to
disapprove emphatically acceptances of further favors from a
stranger. Fran was still arguing when a smartly-appointed trap
drawn by a shiny horse turned into the lane.

"Now, you can see for yourself," declared Fran. "He's an American
and a gentleman and it's all right for us to let him drive us
home."

"As if we couldn't hire a carriage in Gorey," Win retorted, but
with a second glance at the driver, his attention was distracted.

"Oh-h!" he said in perplexity, "that's the fellow who was in the
Royal Square that morning. Now, where in the wide world have I
seen him before?"

Thinking hard, Win stared with puckered brows. Suddenly his face
cleared. "Why, he's that young chap Father introduced me to the
time he took me to Washington," he said accusingly to Fran. "Why
didn't you tell me?"

"How on earth could I know?" demanded Fran, but her brother had
turned with a smile to greet the trap just drawing up by the gate.
Mr. Max looked at Win with a puzzled glance which gradually
changed to a look of recognition.

"I do know you, don't I?" he said. "Well, I never suspected when I
was detailed to entertain Captain Thayne's son for an hour or so,
that we'd meet again in Gorey village. Why, that makes us old
friends!"

Win grasped the cordially offered hand and having bestowed Edith
and Frances in the seat behind, climbed up beside Max, his face
beaming. With many thanks to Mrs. Trott and promises to come
again, they drove off.

"Hasn't this been the most exciting afternoon?" Frances confided
to Edith. "We've learned the collie lady's name and met the boy
she told us of, and heard about her Italian prince. Look at Win!
He's crushed on Mr. Max,--I can tell by the way he's looking at
him. I should think Miss Connie would much rather marry an
American."

"Perhaps he hasn't asked her," said Edith sensibly. "Perhaps, if
she really is engaged to the prince, she did it before Mr. Max
came back from America and he couldn't help himself because it was
too late."

Max's back did not look as though it belonged to a specially
unhappy person and the expression of his face as he talked
pleasantly with Win was not that of a young man whose enjoyment in
life has been seriously darkened, but it pleased the girls to
fancy him as a blighted being, so keenly had Mrs. Trott's rather
injudicious confidences appealed to their youthful ideas of
romance.




CHAPTER VIII

RICHARD LISLE'S LETTER


"Why, I've met Miss Lisle several times," said Mrs. Thayne after
hearing Fran's account of the exciting end of the picnic. "She's a
charming girl and her father is the finest type of an English
gentleman. At the lawn party this afternoon she spoke of meeting
two girls on the beach and asked if one wasn't my daughter."

"Oh, I do hope I can know her," said Frances happily. "I think
she's the sweetest thing I ever saw. But, Mother, do you suppose
what Mrs. Trott said about her and the Italian prince is true?"

"That was a bit of gossip which Mrs. Trott should not have
repeated to girls of your age," commented her mother, "but since
you have heard it, I suppose it will do no harm to say that Prince
Santo-Ponte undoubtedly does visit at the Manor, though I do not
believe that any engagement exists between him and Miss Lisle. As
for Mr. Max, as you call him, his father is Professor Rodney
Hamilton, the noted scientist. Max has been much with the Lisles
and to all purposes is the son of the house."

"The day when I really meet Miss Connie will be the happiest of my
life," declared Frances solemnly. Later, her amused mother learned
that Edith was equally smitten.

In his quiet way, Win was most anxious to see more of Max and it
was partly with this wish in mind that he set off one morning
shortly after the picnic at Orgueil, to stroll on the road leading
past the Manor. On so pleasant a day he might encounter the young
people riding or walking.

When Win reached the Manor gates, no one was in sight, and he
sauntered past, not caring to intrude on private grounds. One
longing glance he cast at the chimneys above the laurels, twelve
that he could count from that angle. What a rambling old structure
the Manor house must be! Surely in its existence stretching back
through the centuries, many interesting things had happened under
that roof. What fun it would be to try to find them out!

Absorbed in pleasant thought, Win walked farther than he realized,
lured by the blue sea and a most interesting little church almost
on the water's edge. The doors proved locked, but Win resolved to
come again when he could gain admittance, for from outward
appearance the building was extremely old.

On turning, Win was soon aware that he had overtaxed his strength
and was in no shape to walk to St. Aubin's. Pleasant as the sky
still was, a strong sea breeze had risen, bringing difficulties
for a person who required very favorable conditions for any
prolonged exercise. Only slow progress was possible and when he
again reached the iron gates of the Manor, he was really too tired
to go on. Choosing the sunny slope of the hedge, he sat down to
rest.

Before long, voices approached on the other side of the laurels,
voices speaking in French, and Max came through the arch,
accompanied by a gardener carrying tools.

"Why, Win," he said. "You're not stopping at the gate, I hope. The
house is just beyond."

[Illustration: A MOST INTERESTING LITTLE CHURCH ALMOST ON THE
WATER'S EDGE.]

Win smiled. "I sat down to get my breath," he explained. "I've
been for a stroll and the wind knocked me about a trifle."

Max looked at him keenly. "It's a bit cool to stop there," he
said. "Come up to the house. We'll slip into the library and you
can rest properly."

Win demurred, thinking he would detain Max from his business.

"Uncle only asked me to direct Pierre about some planting around
the cottages," Max replied. He added some words in French to his
companion, who nodded and struck off toward the shore. "I'll not
stop for you," Max went on, taking Win's arm. "There isn't a
person at home, and you will have the library to yourself."

Win yielded at once. Aside from the pleasure of seeing Max again,
the suggestion of books acted as a magnet.

They crossed the beautiful Manor lawn,--green as in June,--not
toward the main entrance but in the direction of some big French
windows opening on the terrace. The casement yielded to Max's
touch and the two entered a room that would have made Win gasp
with pleasure had he been less exhausted. He received only the
impression of spacious beauty and countless books, as he was
established on a big old settle beside a fireplace where cheery
flames were flashing. Before he knew precisely what was happening,
Win found himself tucked among comfortable cushions.

"There, go to sleep now," said Max, flinging over him a soft blue
Italian blanket. "I've an idea this thing belongs in Connie's
room, but since she left it here we will make use of it. There's
no one at home and the only person likely to come is Yvonne, one
of the maids. If she appears to look after the fire, just tell her
you are my friend."

Max departed and Win soon fell into a reverie. He did not sleep
immediately but as his physical discomfort lessened under the
influence of rest and quiet, he began to look about him.

The three rooms composing the library were very high and opened
into one another by arches. From floor to ceiling the books
climbed, rank on rank, on the upper shelves in double tiers, in
some places overflowing window seats. Narrow stained-glass
casements threw pleasant patches of color on the polished floor.
Age had blackened the oak ceiling and the handsome wall paneling
where books did not conceal it. Here and there hung portraits,
evidently of the family, judging from certain recurring
resemblances. Their quaint costumes dated from the days of the
Stuart kings.

The utter quiet of the place, the time-faded bindings, the old
pictures, the spots of crimson and blue light, the faint odor of
leather, mingled with the scent of fresh flowers from some
invisible source, all had their effect upon Win, who sank into a
state of mind where he was neither awake nor quite asleep. His
last wholly conscious thought was for the curious coat of arms
above the fireplace, a shield that bore the date 1523.

An hour later, Win came to full consciousness and at the same time
to a sense of familiarity with his surroundings. "Of all queer
things!" he thought as he sat up and looked around him. "The first
day I was in Jersey I dreamed of this room or of some room like
it. That man up there in the picture is mighty like the old Johnny
that was around. I've been dreaming about him now, only I can't
remember what."

Try as he might, Win could not recall that dream, a fantastic
jumble of persons and an impression, almost painful, of a
fruitless search.

"This is a house where anything might have happened," his thoughts
ran. "How I wish I could have a chance at these books!"

Shelves framed even the ancient fireplace, their contents within
easy reach of Win's settle. His eye ran idly along the titles, a
History of the World, an edition of Defoe, some old hour-books.
Tucked in with these were two volumes of very modern philosophy,
their bright cloth bindings looking curiously out of place. With
their exception, nothing in sight looked less than a century old
and examination proved most to be even older. Many bore marks of
ownership by Lisles dead and gone.

His enthusiasm thoroughly aroused, Win examined volume after
volume, lingering over the quaint bookplates. Finally he took down
a book unlettered on the back, but with a rubbed leather binding
that showed marks of use. It proved a very old copy of the Psalms,
a book that some one had once read often, for its pages were worn
not only by time but by constant turning.

Opening to the front, Win searched for a bookplate. There was
none, but in fine handwriting appeared: "Richard Lisle His Valued
Book." As Win replaced the volume a paper slipped from its pages.

Picking it up, he glanced idly at the single sheet which seemed a
page perhaps lost from some letter written long before, possibly a
leaf from a diary. The penmanship was like the autograph in the
Psalter, the ink, though faded, perfectly legible on the yellowed
paper.

The extract began in the middle of a sentence. Win, who started to
decipher it from mere curiosity, ended by reading it five or six
times. It ran as follows:

"having fed my Prince and Eased him after his hard Flight we took
Counsel anent his Refuge.

"That he should lye at ye Manor looked not wise. Ye Castel seemed
ye better Place.

"Lest he be curiously viewed of Many we did furnishe Other garb
and a Strong Bigge Cloake. And those who knew did safely lead him
through ye Towne.

"Ye honoured Relicks my Sonne and I did place in ye Spanish Chest
and convey by Lantern light to that safe Place beyond ye Walls. So
shall they Reste till happier Times shall Dawne.

"Strange that this Day should bring such Honour to Mine House."

Win's eyes grew interested and excited as he studied this message
from the past. For whom was it meant and why had it lain all these
years in the old Psalter? Did the Manor family know of its
existence? The prince, the castle, the town, mentioned by a Lisle
of Laurel Manor, must refer to events of island history.

After thinking a few minutes, Win drew out his notebook and made a
careful copy. Surely that was not abusing Max's hospitality and
could do no harm. If he discovered anything interesting in looking
up the matter in some history of Jersey at the public library, he
would share his knowledge. Or there surely must be books of that
kind here at the Manor. Perhaps he would be permitted to come
again and investigate this fascinating room more thoroughly. He
wished he knew Max better. If he only did, he could show his find
at once and ask for an opinion. Well, that might come later.
Anyway, it would be great fun to study the enigmatic paper and see
what he could make of it.

When Max came quietly a few minutes later, Win made no mention of
his discovery. Surprised to find it so late, he thanked his host,
and declared himself entirely fit to walk back to Rose Villa.

"Come again," said Max as they parted at the gates. "I know you
liked the library and that will please Uncle Dick. You must come
when he's at home and he'll show you all his special treasures."

Win went on with a happy face. That meant he would certainly have
another opportunity to browse in that fascinating old book-room,
and perhaps become so well acquainted with the Manor family that
he could share his puzzle with somebody who would be equally
interested in finding out what it meant.




CHAPTER IX

CHRISTMAS IN JERSEY


Fran's "happiest day" soon dawned, for not long after the Orgueil
picnic, she and Edith were walking down one of Jersey's lovely
lanes. Enclosed by high ivy-covered earthen banks, it ran, a
straight white road between green walls, and so narrow that at
regular intervals, little bays were provided that carriages might
pass. Evergreen oaks, often growing from the banks themselves, and
drooping vines made the lane a bower of beauty even on a December
afternoon. The girls had stopped to admire the old Norman gateway
leading to Vinchelez Manor, when suddenly around a corner, bounced
the beach dog. Close behind came Constance Lisle and Maxfield
Hamilton.

[Illustration: THE OLD NORMAN GATEWAY LEADING TO VINCHELEZ MANOR]

"We've been to call on your respective mother and sister,"
declared Connie, "and were desolated not to find the little ladies.
What luck to meet you! Max, you don't need an introduction, do
you, after playing Lord Lochinvar with both girlsat once?"

At this sweeping characterization, they all laughed and walked
along together, Tylo galloping ahead or falling behind as his
sweet will led.

"I'm giving a treat to the Sunday-school children after
Christmas," Connie confided, as at the end of a brisk walk, they
came to the parting of the ways. "I should like you girls, if you
will, to help me with the kiddies. The brothers are invited too,
if they would fancy it."

"Win would like to help," Frances said quickly, her face lighted
with pleasure at this request. "He's very good at things like
that, but Roger's only twelve, you know."

"Oh, Roger can hand buns," said Connie at once. "No harm if he
does tread on a few. I shall count on you then next week Thursday,
three days after Christmas. Take care not to stir abroad on
Christmas eve for that's when the Jersey witches hold their
meeting at the rock up by St. Clement's."

She waved a laughing adieu and the girls went back to Rose Villa,
bubbling over with pleasure and anticipation.

It was fortunate for Frances that she did have this expectation of
a visit to the Manor to buoy her spirits, for the season scarcely
seemed Christmas. Warm weather and plentiful flowers did not
appeal to one accustomed to the holiday in wintry Boston, but not
the weather alone disturbed Fran. For some foolish reason she
disliked intensely the differences of celebration that marked this
holiday in another land. Her state of mind both worried and
distressed Mrs. Thayne.

"Why, little daughter, don't you see the fun of having Christmas
under strange conditions?" she asked one evening, when she went to
investigate a sound of woe from Fran's room.

"No, I don't see any fun in it," replied Frances stubbornly. "I
could stand Thanksgiving, even though I had to go to school,
because Miss Estelle knew it was an important day to us and had a
turkey for dinner and put little American flags around. But
Christmas here in St. Aubin's, without Father, is too impossible."

Mrs. Thayne was silent for a moment. Then she sat down on the bed
and took Frances in her arms.

"Listen, now," she said. "I want you to think about somebody else
for a moment. There's Edith. Just remember how sad this season
must be for her and Estelle. Yet Estelle goes about with a smiling
face that gives me a heartache because her eyes are so pitiful.
She's planning hard to make things pleasant for us and to have it
seem Christmas to Edith. I know some of her plans, Fran. Then,
even if Father isn't with us, we know he is well and that it is
only a question of time before the _Philadelphia_ is where we can
be nearer. Win is always self-controlled and naturally he and
Roger don't miss the home conditions as you do, but their
enjoyment is going to depend largely upon their sister. Why, Fran,
you usually like new experiences and here they are looming thick
and fast."

"That's just the trouble," sobbed Fran. "I don't want them all
piled on top of Christmas. I want to be with Grandmother and the
cousins. I can't believe it is Christmas when it's so green and so
hot."

"Many nice things are going to happen," her mother went on. "Just
think what fun you and Edith will have helping Miss Connie with
her school treat. You are going to find that very English."

Frances smiled. "Oh, I won't be a pig, Mother," she said at last.
"Miss Connie is a dear and of course we must make the boys have a
nice time."

"The climate agrees so well with Win that I am very thankful to
spend Christmas here," replied Mrs. Thayne. "To-morrow, Nurse is
going into town to the French market and I think you will like to
go with her."

Win and Edith joined the marketing expedition next morning and
even Frances was impressed with the holiday spirit overhanging the
place. They left Nurse carefully inspecting fat geese in a
poulterer's stall and started to explore.

Any number of plump chickens and ducks hung about, together with
little pigs decorated by blue rosettes on their ears, a touch that
struck Win as extremely funny. In the vegetable market were heaped
huge piles of potatoes, scrubbed till their pink skins shone,
great ropes of red onions braided together by their dried tops,
turnips, artichokes, garlic, winter squashes, white and purple
cabbages, celery and egg plant and many varieties of greens and
early vegetables. The stalls themselves were prettily arranged and
fragrant with nice smells but their keepers were the great
attraction. Many were in charge of old women dressed in white
peasant caps and clean starched aprons above full wool skirts and
wooden sabots. Little tow-headed grandchildren, comical replicas
in miniature, smiled shyly or dropped bobbing curtsys as the girls
stopped to speak.

Fruit stalls proved even more fascinating with the hothouse
grapes, red, white, and dark purple, showing a hazy bloom. Fresh
figs and dates abounded, alternating with baskets of Italian
chestnuts and oranges, forty for a shilling. Every stall seemed to
have vied in decorations with its neighbor, being bowers of myrtle
and laurestinus. One sported a shield showing three leopards in
daffodils against a green background.

"Look at the English coat of arms," said Frances, catching sight
of it.

"That's not English," said Edith. "Those are the leopards of
Jersey, the old Norman insignia."

"I can't understand," observed Frances as they sauntered on, "why,
when Jersey belongs to England, it has a different coat of arms
and government and everything."

"Because the islands are all little self-governing communities,"
supplied Win. "It's a privilege they have always had, and even
England wouldn't dare take it from them now. Jersey is desperately
jealous of Guernsey. They say that even a Jersey toad will die if
it is taken to Guernsey."

"Neither will Guernsey flowers blossom here," Edith added. "Oh,
there's Miss Connie!"

The little lady of Laurel Manor was standing before one of the
flower-stalls, chatting in French with a very clean, rosy-cheeked
old woman in a white cap. Behind Constance stood a servant
carrying a basket and as the girls watched she purchased an
enormous bunch of daffodils, a sheaf of calla lilies, and a
quantity of narcissus.

"Isn't she sweet in that soft green suit," commented Edith
admiringly.

Turning from the stall, Connie saw and hailed them. "Have you seen
the fish-market?" she asked after greeting them gayly. "Oh, you
must not miss that. I always go there."

She led them past a long bench where sat several nice white-capped
old women beside huge baskets of spotlessly washed eggs or round
rolls of fresh, unsalted butter wrapped in cool green cabbage
leaves. Some of them nodded and smiled and once Connie stopped to
ask after a sick child. Everybody spoke in French and seemed most
kind and cordial.

Arrived at the fish-market, conger eels as big as Win's wrist, and
four or five feet long, crabs two feet across the shells, lobsters
blue rather than green, enormous scallops, huge stacks of oysters,
cockles and snails, the so-called winkles, greeted the astonished
eyes of the young people. In other directions were heaped piles of
smelts, plaice and unknown fish.

"These are what I dote on," said Constance, calling their
attention to piles of tiny crabs, neatly tied by the claws into
bunches. Most were alive, but owing to the fact that all chose to
walk in different directions, the bunches remained fairly
stationary. One might purchase two, four, six or a dozen,
according to the size of one's appetite.

"I'm so glad we met," said Connie, when in addition they had made
the round of the flower market and exclaimed over its treasures of
color and fragrance. "I thought of you this morning and wondered
if you young people wouldn't like to help decorate the church.
There are never too many helpers and we have ordered such lovely
greens and flowers. Several of us are to be at the church at two
this afternoon and you'll be very welcome if you care to come.
It's pretty work and we always have a nice time."

"Indeed, we should like to help," said Frances promptly. "Is it
Mr. Angus's church at St. Aubin's?"

"No, the one I mean is a tiny stone church not far beyond the
Manor. Just take the highroad inland from the village and turn
once to the left,"

"Oh, I know," said Win quickly. "It stands almost on the shore."

"That's it," said Connie. "I'll expect you then."

Win declared himself quite equal to helping with the decorations
that afternoon. When they arrived, the beach dog lay in the porch,
thumping his tail by way of welcome, so they knew his mistress was
already within. For a few moments, the three lingered to look at
the quaint French inscriptions on the churchyard stones, but
finally entered rather shyly. They were not given one moment to
feel themselves strangers.

"I'm delighted to see you," exclaimed Constance, coming down the
aisle with a long vine trailing after. "So glad you came. Rose,"
she called to a pretty young girl working near by, "here are some
helpers for your windows. Oh, you know Rose LeCroix, don't you?
She goes to your school. Win," she added quickly, "won't you come
and help struggle with this tiresome pulpit?"

Win followed at once, glad to see Max already busy over the
designated task, but Constance sent him to seek a certain wire
frame reputed to exist in the sacristy. Win found himself twining
myrtle wreaths around the pillars of the stone pulpit, yet
stealing constant glances at the interior of the old church.

Part of it was very ancient, with round Norman pillars and a
rounded vault, speaking of very distant days. Everything save pews
and choir stalls was of granite, its rosy color making the stone
seem warm rather than cold. Vines, holly and flowers heaped about
the interior emphasized by their ephemeral beauty the solemn
enduring majesty of the church itself. Ten or twelve young people
were working more or less steadily to the accompaniment of much
gay conversation.

"Oh, Max, that's the wrong frame," Constance said suddenly.

Win turned to see her sorting lilies where she knelt on the
chancel steps.

"This isn't Easter, ducky," she added. "We want a star, not a
cross."

Max smiled at Win, an indulgent, rather amused smile, and when the
proper frame had been substituted, came back to the pulpit.

"Tell me," said Win, indicating the stone vault. "What are those
little pointed things up there?"

"You mean the limpet shells?" asked Max, looking up.

"Are they shells?" said Win in amazement. "They looked it, but I
couldn't imagine how shells could be scattered about up there."

"Some thousand years ago when the original builders quarried this
stone from the Jersey shore, they didn't trouble to scrape off the
limpets that clung to it. Nobody has removed them since; now it
would seem sacrilege to do so."

"A thousand years!" repeated Win in awe. He stopped work for a
moment to look at the pointed shells on the roof.

"Does jar a fellow and makes him feel mighty transitory and
insignificant, doesn't it?" commented Max, with a friendly glance
of understanding. "I think there's no place quite like this
church. The Manor lies in its parish and Uncle Dick would know if
a single limpet was knocked off. The only time I ever saw him
really angry was once when some Americans--I'm an American, too,
you know, so I can tell this story--tried to bribe the verger to
scrape one down for them. There was rather a row and Uncle was in
a fine fizz.

"There's one interesting thing common to all these old churches,"
Max went on, seeing that Win appreciated the place. "The island is
divided into twelve parishes. From the church of each there was
originally a road, leading directly to the sea. In feudal times, a
criminal was safe if he took sanctuary in the church and by the
old custom, after he had abjured his crime, he could go down by
this one road to the shore and leave the island. But if he strayed
never so little aside, he lost the benefit of the sanctuary and
was liable to the law. Just imagine some old robber or cut-throat
marching down his path to the sea, escorted by the churchwardens,
with other men watching his every step, ready to seize him if he
swerved. Some of these sanctuary roads are still the main
highways."

"I think the island history is so interesting," said Win. "I
suppose it is a fact that Prince Charles did take refuge here?"

"No doubt of it," Max replied, looking critically at the almost
completed pulpit decorations. "Indeed, there is a story that he
was entertained at Laurel Manor. Ask Uncle about it," he added,
not noticing Win's start of interest. "He's awfully keen on that
legend. I suppose it is very likely true though I don't know that
there is any real proof. There, do you think her ladyship will
approve our efforts? Excuse me,--Connie wants her star put in
place."

Left alone, Win stood thinking hard. So Prince Charles was reputed
to have visited Laurel Manor! What if that chance letter were the
proof? If so, was there not more in its message than confirmation
of the prince's stay? One thing was certain--he _must_ get
acquainted with Colonel Lisle.

So many industrious hands soon completed their task. After the gay
workers departed, Connie lingered for a last look.

"Come and see it to-morrow morning," she said to the three.
"Probably you'll wish to go into town at eleven, but come here for
the early service at six."

Edith looked doubtful. "Sister planned to go to St. Aubin's," she
said.

"I couldn't come alone," said Frances, her disappointment showing
in her face.

"I'll come with you," offered Win so unexpectedly that his sister
frankly stared.

"Good!" said Constance. "There'll be no music and only candle-
light, but you'll love it. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

That very evening Fran was forced to admit that a Jersey Christmas
had its compensations. The doors of the back parlor, mysteriously
locked for days, were opened and in the room, gay with holly,
mistletoe, and laurestinus, appeared a most delightful little
Christmas tree, itself rather foreign in appearance since it was a
laurel growing in a big pot. Real English holly concealed the base
and merry tapers twinkled a welcome.

Estelle had spent much time and thought, coupled with anxious
fears lest these young Americans whose lives seemed so sunny,
might not care for so simple a pleasure. Their appreciation, not
in the least put on for the occasion, quite repaid her.
Inexpensive little gifts adorned the tree, each bearing a number.

"Draw a slip," commanded Roger, appearing before his mother with a
box. "Take a chance and see what you'll get."

When all the slips were distributed, Roger as instructed by
Estelle, took a gift at random from the tree and called its
attached number.

"Who has eight?" he demanded.

"Here," said Win, giving up his slip in exchange for the tiny
package, and presently laughing heartily over an absurd mechanical
mouse. Ridiculous misfits in the presents made the distribution
all the funnier, and the rejoicing was great when Roger, who
didn't believe in washing his hands without being told to do so,
drew a wee cake of soap. He took it good-naturedly and considered
as an added joke, Estelle's hasty and shocked assurance that it
was not meant especially for him.

Strange to say, some packages appeared on that tree of which
Estelle was ignorant, conveyed by Roger to the proper persons.
Edith was rendered speechless with joy over several lovely gifts,
and tears filled Estelle's eyes. Nor were Nurse and Annette
forgotten. The Thaynes had certainly lived up to the American
reputation for generosity.

Then Nurse brought a big bowl filled with darting blue flames. The
courageous shut one or both eyes, stuck in a fearful finger and
extracted a fig or a fat raisin. Egg-nog and roasted Italian
chestnuts completed Estelle's entertainment save for the holiday
dinner of roast beef and plum pudding to follow on the morrow.

Unexpected by Estelle, her plans were supplemented by a group of
parish school-children, led by the old organist, who came through
the streets, singing Christmas carols: "God save you, merry
gentlemen," "Good King Wenceslaus" and "As Joseph was a-waukin'"

In fascination Fran lingered on the steps long after the singers
were gone, pleased with her distribution of pennies from her
mother's purse and biscuit provided by Estelle. Far in the
distance she could hear their voices. Yes, after all, an English
Christmas had its points.

Next morning, Nurse's call seemed incredibly early to Frances,
though she found the whole household awake and exchanging
greetings. Mrs. Thayne decided to accompany Win and Fran, and
Roger alone remained in bed.

The stars still shone brightly, making it seem the middle of the
night, save for the hurrying groups bound for church, some still
singing carols or hymns.

"It's like October weather at home, isn't it, Mother?" said
Frances as they walked on through the crisp, clear air. "See,
there are lights in the windows and people leaving lanterns in the
porch."

The moment she entered, Frances understood what Connie meant by
not missing that service for "anything in the world," and Win felt
it even more keenly, being by nature more impressionable.

The utter quiet, broken only by a distant wash of waves,--waves
that sometimes broke over the stones in the churchyard,--the
candles in the chancel, throwing into high relief Constance's
Christmas star and touching with light the jonquils banking steps
and altar rail; the dusk in the nave of the church half-revealing
scattered groups of people as they knelt in silence under the
arched vault where clung the limpets dead a thousand years,--all
contributed to the age-old Christmas miracle.

"I feel as though I'd never realized what Christmas meant before,"
thought Win, and somewhat the same feeling came to Frances as her
eyes became accustomed to the gloom and she discerned among the
kneeling figures her fellow-workers of the day before. Half-way
down the nave was the family from the Manor, Constance and Max on
either side of a tall gray-haired gentleman. Fran recognized him
as the one who had spoken to Win that day in the Royal Square.

Win recognized him also, knew him to be Colonel Lisle and was
quickly reminded of that curious old document, as yet a mystery.
How he hoped Miss Connie's school treat would afford an
opportunity to meet the owner of the Manor and to take some step
toward the solution of that puzzle.

As the service began, Frances stole a glance at the windows banked
with glossy laurel and holly, over which she and Edith had worked
with Rose LeCroix and her sister Muriel. Just because she had
helped do something for that little church in a foreign land, Fran
experienced a sudden blessed feeling of belonging a bit. A
pleasant glow crept into her heart, a sense of the spirit that
makes the world akin at Christmas.




CHAPTER X

THE BUN WORRY


"I have helped you very nicely all the morning, Connie, and I hope
you appreciate my goodness. But as for messing about the lawn with
a bun worry in full blast,--thank you, Maxfield is not on. One
doesn't want to let one's self in for everything."

"Your goodness isn't such as to alarm me," sighed Constance,
casting a worried glance about the Manor green. "You're in no
danger of acquiring saintship. Dad has balked, too. What'll I do
alone?"

"Being on toast yourself, why do you want to have me there?" said
Max mischievously. "Aren't all the Sunday school mistresses coming
to help and didn't you ask those nice American kiddies?"

"I did, and that's another reason why I want you," retorted
Connie, flying to adjust to her better satisfaction the basket of
narcissus decorating the chief table. "Max, I don't know where to
have you. Since you came from the States, I can't make out whether
you are English or American. Here you are shying either at an
English school treat or at some nice American children. Which is
it?"

"Neither, I think," Max replied after a survey of the close-
clipped lawn, boasting that velvety turf which only centuries of
care can perfect. Great groups of laurel proudly proclaimed the
right of the Manor to its name; carefully trimmed hedges of yew
and box protected borders already gay with spring flowers, and
beyond the grounds shimmered the sea. Max's glance was one of
affection, for this was the scene of many happy boyhood days.

"I think I'd shy just as quickly at an American tea-fight," he
said at length. "As for being neither English nor American, I love
both countries. I would certainly be loyal to my own, but I would
also take up arms for England, if the time ever came that she
needed me and the two duties didn't conflict."

"You're a duck," said Constance promptly. "Come, take up arms and
carry a basket of buns for me this afternoon."

"Too many petticoats coming," said Max. "I'm afraid of those
freaks from the rectory. But I'll agree to furnish a substitute
who will more than take my place. The kiddies will be thrilled to
a peanut. Come now, let me off?"

"I suppose so," agreed Constance. "Don't bother about letting me
down softly. Trot off and do anything you think you have to do.
Here are the Marqué children already. And there come the Thaynes."

"I will perform a vanishing act," said Max quickly. "Connie, I
really am booked for an hour with Uncle Dick, but I'll send that
substitute. Watch for him."

Constance looked after him suspiciously, but Max was already half
across the sunken garden, whistling to Tylo as he went.

"Are we too early, Miss Connie?" asked Frances as they came up.

"Just on the dot," replied Connie, greeting them all. "The
children are arriving. We will play games first and then have tea.
Excuse me, please, while I go and speak to the Reverend Fred."

Constance departed to greet the curate thus disrespectfully
designated, a youthful individual of rather prepossessing
appearance. Just behind him appeared Rose and Muriel LeCroix and
other girls whom Frances knew at school.

Soon the children came thick and fast, shy youngsters propelled by
older brothers and sisters, independent groups, a few babies in
arms, a scattering of older people.

Two white-draped tables by the yew hedge were the target for the
children's eyes as they wondered what those linen-covered baskets
concealed. There would be tea of course, buns in plenty, possibly
cake.

Presently the children, poked and pulled into line were started
playing London Bridge, two of the biggest girls forming the
bridge.

For a moment Frances stood apart, watching the marching, shouting
youngsters, scrubbed till they shone, clothed in clean though
often clumsy garments and heavy shoes. No great poverty was
indicated by their apparel, and some, evidently of French origin,
were dressed with real taste and daintiness. These were also
remarkable for a more vivacious appearance than the stolid little
Anglo-Saxons. Some few were of striking beauty.

As one game succeeded another, the children grew less stiff and
self-conscious. The Reverend Fred was joining in the sport with
conscientious zeal, as were his two sisters and Edith and Miss
Connie. Fran caught the contagion and found herself flying about
the Manor lawn, tying a handkerchief over one child's eyes to lead
in Blindman's Buff, helping another group play King of the Castle,
finally organizing a game of Drop the Handkerchief.

With amused surprise she saw Roger actually helping Muriel LeCroix
with a number of the smallest children, and this fact so impressed
Frances that she failed to note Win's absence.

Her brother was not far away. Had Frances been nearer the opening
in the hedge, leading into the sunken garden in its season full of
roses, she might have seen an interesting picture, for with great
glee, Win was helping prepare for appearance Max's promised
substitute.

Down in the rose-garden, where an old sundial marked "only the
sunny hours," the afternoon shadows grew long. The older people,
somewhat exhausted by strenuous play, seated the children in a big
circle ready for tea. From the Manor emerged Yvonne, Pierre, and
Paget, Constance's old nurse, armed with shiny copper cans, to
fill cups for distribution.

Frances seized a basket of buns and for a time was so occupied
with playing Lady Bountiful to a host of little hands, now rather
grimy, that it seemed quite natural to be sharing in this unusual
festivity. But as she was hurrying back to the table to refill her
empty basket, she met Edith on a similar errand. Suddenly it
struck her as very odd that she should be helping.

"This is the funniest affair I ever saw," she confided merrily.

"Why?" asked the puzzled Edith, lifting grave eyes to look at her.
"Don't you give the Sunday school children treats in America?"

"Oh, yes," admitted Frances, "but we'd never fill them up on weak
tea and buns. They'd expect ice-cream and cake."

Edith looked much shocked. "Ices are very dear," she remarked,
"and not fitting for these children. Would you really serve ices
in winter?" she asked incredulously.

"On the very coldest day of the year," asserted Frances
emphatically. "Oh, America is so _different_, Edith! Why there's
scarcely a town so tiny that you can't buy ice-cream any time of
the day or any time of year."

"It must indeed be different," Edith agreed. Basket refilled, she
returned to her charges.

For a minute Frances lingered, looking around at the circle of
hilarious children, each with a mug, more or less precariously
clasped, each stuffing big plummy buns; looked at the older people
so anxiously attending to them. Yes, it was very different, very
English, but also very interesting.

As Frances passed the entrance to the sunken garden, her basket
filled this time by solid-looking pieces of cake, she heard her
name.

"Fran," came Win's voice, "call Tylo. Get him to come out on the
lawn."

Frances called. She could see no one in the garden, only hear
amused voices trying to induce Tylo to answer the summons.

"He won't start," said Win again. "Ask Miss Connie to whistle for
him, Fran."

On receiving Fran's message, Constance looked puzzled.

"I'd as soon Tylo would stop away," she said. "The kiddies may not
fancy him begging for their cake. Still, I'll call."

At the summons from his mistress, Tylo instantly came, causing a
sudden silence among the chattering children, silence succeeded by
wild shrieks of pleasure.

The beach dog emerged from the garden wearing a wreath of roses
around his neck, with an open pink silk parasol fastened to his
collar and tipped at a fashionable and coquettish angle over his
head and holding firmly in his mouth the handle of a basket filled
with as varied an assortment of English "sweets" as Max could
secure in his hasty gallop into St. Helier's.

Connie, too, gave an exclamation of laughter. "Oh, look at my best
Paris brelly!" she groaned. "Max stole that. Yvonne never gave it
to him."

Fully conscious that he held the center of the stage, Tylo
advanced, waving his tail and casting amiable glances upon the
children as they came crowding around, buns and cake forgotten. He
seemed perfectly to understand what was expected and held the
basket until the last sugar plum was secured by little searching
hands, then employed to caress the bearer. Max's substitute
certainly scored the greatest hit of the Manor "bun worry."

From their seclusion in the rose-garden, the two conspirators
watched Tylo's successful appearance.

"Let's come in and wash," said Max, seeing that no further
responsibility remained to them. "Or are you keen on a bun worry?
I like them, like them awfully, you know, but somehow, I'm afraid
Uncle Dick may be lonely. I feel it's my duty to look him up."

Win would have seen through this flimsy excuse without the
betrayal of Max's merry eyes, but the proposal chanced to be what
he most wished to do. Very gladly he followed Max through the
gardens to a side entrance to the house, where they went up to
Max's room, a high oak-paneled chamber that would have been sombre
were it not for three sunny mullioned casements overlooking the
sea. Cases crowded with books stood by the fireplace, fishing
rods, cricket bats and oars decorated the walls.

"Those aren't mine," said Max, noticing Win's glance as he stood
drying his hands; "only the skiis and racquets. This was Richard's
room, Uncle Dick's only son. He was a subaltern in the British
army, just twenty when he was killed in the charge on Majuba Hill.
They have always given me his room at the Manor. I fancy Uncle
liked to have it occupied by a boy again."

"Colonel Lisle himself must have done some fighting," observed
Win. "How did he lose his arm?"

"For years he was an officer in India. He lost his arm defending
the Khyber Pass against the Afghans."

Max took his guest down the main staircase to the great entrance
hall, with its high raftered roof, and stone floor half covered by
valuable Oriental rugs. Suits of shining armor lent glints of
light; curious spears, ancient swords and firearms, many of them
very old, were fastened on walls dark with age. Win stopped to
look at the carved mantel over the great fireplace, sporting the
leopards of Jersey, the Lisle coat of arms and the date 1509.

"Imagine living in a house built all those centuries ago," he
sighed. "This is older than the library, isn't it?"

"Somewhat," replied Max. "The wing here is the oldest part of the
house. Let's come to Uncle's study. I fancy he'll be there."

Colonel Lisle was lounging near the fire, but appeared very
willing to put aside his book and welcome the two.

"And have you had tea, Uncle?" Max inquired. "We haven't, and I
could do nicely with a cup."

"With all those gallons of tea on the lawn, it is a pity if an
able-bodied young gentleman couldn't secure one cup," said the
Colonel smiling. "Now you mention it, I believe I have had none
either. Ring the bell by all means and order it. I was absorbed in
verifying some points of old Norman law," he added to Win. "Our
islands have an interesting history."

"Win is pleased that Prince Charles has left his mark on Jersey,"
observed Max, giving the bell-pull a vigorous twitch. "Tell him,
Uncle, about his stopping here."

"Such is the legend handed down from father to son," replied the
Colonel. "The story goes that the prince was brought to the Manor
immediately after landing in Jersey. Just where he landed and how
he was conveyed here is not known, but his stay was short. The
owner of the Manor at that date, another Richard Lisle,--he whose
portrait hangs in the library,--was an ardent Royalist who would
have risked everything to serve his prince. Authorities agree that
Charles spent the period of his stay in one of the castles, some
say Orgueil, others Elizabeth. Probably the Manor roof sheltered
him but for a few hours. I should very much like to see the legend
of his stop in this house authenticated beyond question. Max tells
me you are fond of books," the speaker continued. "After tea, I
will show you some of our special treasures."

Win's face, already alight with interest, grew even more responsive
to this offer, yet as the tea came, he felt unaccountably stupid
and idiotic. Utter disgust with himself filled his mind to think he
couldn't get to the point then and there of telling his kind host
about that letter he had discovered.

Max noticed that Win was ill at ease, attributed it to shyness or
perhaps awe of the Colonel, who was, as Max put it, "a bit
impressive till a fellow knew him," and tried to help matters by
talking nonsense that amazed Win and evidently amused the Colonel.
Gradually, as he saw that Max was not in the least afraid of the
dignified owner of the Manor, Win began to feel less tongue-tied.

Presently came a sound of gay voices, a tap at the door and
Constance, the girls, and Roger entered.

"The tea-party is gone and in its place is peace," said Connie.
"Daddy dear, I want you to meet Frances and Edith. And this is
Roger. Max, why didn't you have tea with us and the kiddies?"

"Because of buns," said Max. "My bun-eating days are past."

"Not so long past!" retorted Constance with a mischievous smile.
"Not so many years ago that I bribed you with a penny bun to steal
a tooth for me out of a skull in the Capuchin church! He did it,
too," she added to the girls, laughing delightedly at this charge.
"You haven't been in Rome? The Capuchin monks have a church there
with some holy earth brought from Jerusalem. Years ago,--they
don't do it now, because modern sanitary laws have invaded Rome,--
the monks who died were buried in this earth. Only of course as
the centuries passed, there wasn't room for them all, so the monks
longest buried had to get up and give place to others. Their bones
were arranged in nice neat patterns on the walls, and the skulls
heaped in piles. It was a tooth from one of these skulls that I
fancied. Max ate the bun and stole the tooth for me, but Daddy
wouldn't let me keep it and made Max put it back."

"Oh, how could you ever want such a thing, Miss Connie!" exclaimed
Edith, shuddering with horror.

"I wonder, why did I?" said Constance reflectively. "It certainly
doesn't appeal to me now. Mother was shocked; she disinfected
everything that tooth had touched. Are you through tea, Daddy? I
want to take the girls into the library."

Once again in the old book-room, Win recovered his self-possession
in admiration of its treasures of illuminated missal and
manuscript. His interest pleased his host, who ended by cordially
inviting the boy to visit the Manor library whenever and as often
as he chose to come. Win's genuine delight over this permission
touched the Colonel, who from his own physical handicap, guessed
that life was not always smooth for Win.

Win's pleasure arose not merely from the enjoyment of the library
itself but because he would surely grow better acquainted with the
Manor family and have a more favorable opportunity to show his
discovery in the old Psalter.

He was very quiet on the way home and scarcely spoke while Fran
was giving her mother a graphic account of the afternoon. Win
hardly knew she was talking until his attention was caught by a
dramatic remark.

"Miss Connie told us something so exciting, Mother," Fran was
saying. "Roger asked her if there was a ghost. He blurted it right
out and I was quite mortified, because you know if they did have
one and were sensitive, it would have seemed impolite. But Miss
Connie said right away that the Manor had all modern improvements,
including a well-behaved and most desirable ghost. Then she and
Mr. Max looked at each other and laughed. She said the haunted
room was above the library and promised to give us a chance to
investigate some day. I wanted dreadfully to ask about secret
stairs,--you remember what that boy at Orgueil said--but perhaps
when we are looking for the ghost there will be a chance to speak
of the stairs."

"Indeed, you've had a most interesting afternoon," agreed Mrs.
Thayne, "the discovery of a haunted room at the Manor being not
the least."

"And what have you done all by yourself, _poor_ Mother?" said
Frances, suddenly sympathetic and affectionate.

"Part of the afternoon I was out and since then I have been
talking with Estelle. If she only felt she could, it would be so
much better for her to go more among people, for the constant
effort to be brave when she is so much alone, is very wearing. She
seems so pathetically grateful that we chanced to come to her this
winter instead of other less congenial lodgers. Sometime I hope
she will speak frankly of just how they are situated and whether
she has plans beyond this season, for I might be able to further
them. And I hope, too, I shall succeed in placing the something
familiar that always strikes me in Estelle. Have you ever noticed
it, Fran? To my surprise, Win said the other day that Estelle
reminded him of some one."

"No," said Fran. "I never noticed it. But I might ask Edith
whether they have any relatives in the United States."

"That could do no harm," assented Mrs. Thayne thoughtfully. "Since
Win spoke of it also, the resemblance must be to some one we know
over there."

Frances and her mother went away but Win sat thinking for some
moments. The mention of secret stairs recalled to him, though he
could not say why, that odd dream twice experienced since he came
to Jersey, of a search in a narrow unfamiliar passage, with
unknown companions, for something unspecified.

With a start he finally roused himself and went upstairs. Before
going to bed he read again the copy of Richard Lisle's letter.

"There's more to this than just the coming of the prince," he
thought. "That's a fact, but if that 'safe place' can be
discovered, I'll warrant we shall find the Spanish Chest and
whatever 'relicks' Richard and his 'Sonne' put into it."




CHAPTER XI

THE MANOR CAVE


A few days after the school treat, Maxfield Hamilton was
sauntering slowly across the Manor grounds. The January sky above
shone blue as in a New England June, gay crocuses starred the
short green grass, snowdrops and bluebells were already budded.
From heights unknown floated the song of a skylark; in the holly
hedge sat an English robin.

Max heard the skylark but did not notice the robin as he stopped
at the gates to look down to the sea, stretching to shining
horizons under the afternoon sun. His face was thoughtful and
rather sober.

The robin gave a little cheep and Max turned to discover the bird
almost at his elbow, a tiny scrap of olive feathers and bright red
breast, considering him with soft wise eyes, head on one side.

"Hello, old chap," Max remarked. "What do _you_ think of this
world?"

From the tone, the robin might have inferred that the speaker's
opinion was anything but favorable. Considering him for a second,
he concluded him inoffensive and began to peck at the glowing
holly berries.

Max wandered slowly through the gates and across the Manorhold to
the shore, distant at this point about a quarter of a mile. Two or
three stone cottages with picturesque straw-thatched roofs lay
near the cliffs, property of the Manor and usually occupied by
employees.

With the thoughtful expression still on his face, Max passed the
cottages to stop on the edge of the cliffs already showing yellow
with gorse. Should the tide serve, he had it in mind to revisit a
haunt of his boyhood. A moment's scrutiny showed him right in
thinking that the tide was on the ebb and he started rapidly down
a rough, rather slippery path. As he rounded an outlying rock he
came full on Roger Thayne.

Sprawled flat on the sloping cliff, Roger was watching so intently
the doings of a spider that he did not look up until a shadow fell
squarely across the web.

"That you, Roger?" said Max. "Alone? Where are Win and the girls?"

"I don't know," replied Roger, flushing uncomfortably. "That is, I
don't know where the girls are."

"Win's not ill, I hope?"

"No, he isn't." Roger rolled over to look at his visitor. The
young face wore a pleasant smile and the gray eyes were friendly,
but somehow Roger had a suspicion that Mr. Max wasn't the sort to
approve outright truancy.

"Win's all right," he added evasively. "He's studying or
something."

A queer little expression crossed Max's lips. "Then since you have
a holiday,--well-deserved, no doubt,--come on exploring with me."

Roger was on his feet in a second, the arrow of reproof glancing
off unnoted. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Oh, just down here a few rods. We may have to hold up for the
tide. It won't be low water for some time yet."

The faint path presently ended in piles of red granite, still wet
from the sea, in places slippery with vraic, as the Jerseymen call
the seaweed used as fertilizer for their land.

"We shall have to stop a bit," said Max, after a short steep
descent. As he spoke he sat down and began to crush a bit of vraic
between his fingers.

"This seaweed is one of the biggest assets the farmers have," he
said to Roger. "You'll enjoy being here in February when the great
vraic harvest comes. The farmers go down to the shore with carts
and a sort of sickle. At low tide the southern shore is black with
people cutting the seaweed from the rocks. The carts are used to
carry it up beyond tide-mark. Men, women and young people all turn
out and it's one of the sights of the island. The harvest lasts
for several weeks and for the first few days there is a continual
picnic with dancing and all sorts of jollifications."

"But I've often seen men gathering seaweed on the beach," said
Roger. "It isn't February yet."

"They are gathering the loose weed that is washed ashore. Any one
may take that between the hours of sunrise and sunset, but he must
stop at sound of the sunset gun. The cutting from the rocks is
regulated by a hallowed custom. In June there's a second harvest
when only the poor people may cut the vraic for a few weeks. After
they have had their turn anybody may cut it till the last of
August."

As he concluded, Max threw away the seaweed and picked up one of
the abundant black flint pebbles. For some moments he amused
himself by striking sparks from it with the back of a knife blade.

"I haven't lost the knack," he remarked. "By the way, have you
found any flint knives? They turn up occasionally, though more
often inland than in a place like this. They are relics of the
days when the Druids were in Jersey. You've seen the burial
mounds, haven't you,--the Dolmens?"

"I have," said Roger briefly. "In Bill Fish's company. Liked the
stones all right enough, but Bill can't talk, you know. He
expounds."

Max grinned. "Bad Writ, that," he agreed. "Come along. We can get
through now."

[Illustration: THEY CAME UPON THE LOVELIEST OF LITTLE BEACHES]

Climbing carefully around a slippery projecting rock, its base yet
submerged, they came upon the loveliest of lovely little beaches,
in shape almost a semi-circle, the water forming the bisector and
the frowning red cliffs the arc. Near the centre of the half-
circle stood two tall pinnacles of red granite. Behind them yawned
an entrance about five feet high and under this Max bent his tall
head. Roger followed and uttered a whistle of pleasure and
amazement.

They stood in a large cave, floored by fine bright yellow sea
sand, broken irregularly by out-croppings of rose-pink rock, sand
and rock alike wet and glistening. Away to the back of the cave,
Roger saw that the floor rose higher. The roof was iridescent with
green and yellow lichens; pebbles of jasper, cornelian and agate
strewed the sand.

In the twelve years of his existence, Roger had never seen
anything like this and surprise rendered him inarticulate.

"Some cave!" he commented at length. "Look, Mr. Max, what are
these?"

"Oh, haven't you met any sea-anemones? The pools are full of them.
Jolly little beggars."

Roger was naturally less enthusiastic over the charming water-
gardens than the girls when they chanced upon them, but he was
considerably interested in the numerous and varicolored snails,
their shells bright green or delicate pink, truly entrancing to
pick up and examine. By the time Roger finished a somewhat minute
inspection his companion was out of sight.

"Hello!" he shouted in some concern.

"Right-oh!" came a quiet reply.

Bather abashed by the startling echoes he had evoked, Roger
climbed over fallen rocks to the back of the cave. There the floor
rose sharply, affording a level apparently beyond reach of the
tide, for some tiny land plants had found a lodging, ferns waved
from the crannied vault and there was no sign of any marine
growth.

"This used to be a favorite resort of mine," said Max, who was
sitting on the high ledge, some five feet wide. Beyond, the cave
ended in a mass of stone and rubble.

Roger's eyes grew wide. "What a dandy place!" he exclaimed.

"Not much compared with the Plémont caves," replied his companion.
"You'll probably go there before leaving the island. There are
five or six of them and one has a waterfall dividing it into two
distinct caves. Plémont is the spot where the cable comes in from
England, crawls out of the ocean like a great dripping hoary old
sea-serpent to trail through a cleft to the station on the cliff
above. This is a rat-hole beside those caves."

"I'll take steps to go there," said Roger earnestly. "Say, does
the water ever come up here?"

"I don't think so. Even at the spring tides, it would probably not
reach within two feet of this ledge. Only a rip-snorter of a
tempest could endanger goods stored here, or even anybody who
chose this cave to hide in."

"Some hiding-place," admitted Roger.

"So I've found it. When I was about your age, I came down here
because I was annoyed with the world in general and stopped
between two tides."

"Really?" gasped Roger. "Did you get wet?"

"Not a bit. I'll admit that things seemed spooky when I'd waited
so long that I couldn't get out. I took solid comfort in the ferns
and in a sea pink that had put out a scared little blossom right
where we are sitting. I was shut in the better part of six hours
and time proved a bit slow. I remember coming to the conclusion
that perhaps the people I'd left behind weren't so utterly
unreasonable after all. I fancy it's a rather sure sign that when
you can't rub along with anybody, the trouble isn't altogether
with them."

Roger looked at him suspiciously but Max's gaze was bent on the
cave entrance, arching over a wonderful view of blue sea.

"Do you like to live in Paris?" he asked hastily.

"I'd rather stop in Rome where my father is," Max replied,
suppressing a smile over the sudden change of subject. "But Dad
runs up occasionally. I feel as though I'd be more use in Rome
because there I know everybody who is anybody, you see, and it
would be a help to the Embassy. Dad thinks I may be able to work a
transfer after a year or so. If the Ambassador to Italy remarks to
the State Department at Washington that Maxfield Hamilton seems a
likely young chap with both eyes open and that he wouldn't mind
having him on his staff, why Max may receive a document telling
him to pack his little box and attach his person to the Embassy at
Rome."

Roger laughed. "Then you don't like Paris?"

"Oh, yes," said Max thoughtfully. "I've had a jolly time socially.
I can't imagine anybody in my circumstances not enjoying himself.
But it's not where I most want to be. It's up to me to make good
so emphatically that they'll hand me on to Rome with a word in my
favor."

"I expect they will," said Roger.

"Not if I don't buckle down," said Max half to himself. "Something
happened last October that gave me a jolt and it has been hard to
stick to work. I came over here for the holidays determined to get
myself in hand again. I think I've succeeded, old chap, so I'd
better go back and dig in. A man mustn't whine, you know, if it
looks jolly final that he isn't going to have everything he wants.
I've wasted time enough. I must go back to Paris now and keep my
mind on my job."

"I bunked Bill Fish this afternoon," admitted Roger suddenly.

"No doubt he was a frightful bore," commented Max without showing
the least surprise. "Probably I'd have done the same in your
place. The only disadvantage about shying at disagreeable things
like tutors is that one hardly ever gets rid of them after all.
I'm becoming convinced that the only way to get round a difficulty
is to hit it in the head and walk over its flattened corpse."

Roger grinned. "Shall I bat Bill Fish?" he asked.

"Bill Fish might be worse. Don't blame you for feeling him a
freak, but the schools in Jersey are footy affairs. If you want a
fair sample of a school you'd have to try England proper. We've
messed about here long enough. Let's take a swim."

"Does the cave end here?" asked Roger, looking at the pile of
broken stone beyond the shelf.

"I suppose so. It's the only one on the Manor lands so Connie and
I liked to come. Uncle Dick wouldn't permit it unless a grown
person was with us to watch the tide. How about a dip? No one can
see us."

Max left the ridge to saunter toward the entrance, stopping to
investigate more than one pool of anemones. "By the way," he
added, "I wouldn't tell the girls of this cave. They'll be keen on
searching for it afternoons when they are free and you aren't, and
may get into a mess with the tides. Really it's not quite safe."

[Illustration: PLÉMONT IS THE SPOT WHERE THE CABLE COMES IN FROM
ENGLAND]

"All right," agreed Roger, sliding from the shelf. As he did so, a
sudden current of warm air struck him, quite unlike the rather
damp, salty atmosphere of the cave. His curiosity was sufficiently
aroused to cause him to stop and look back, but Max had already
begun to undress and there seemed no possible place for a sweet
land breeze to find entrance.




CHAPTER XII

WIN VISITS THE LIBRARY


Max's abrupt departure two days later was a great disappointment
to Win, who admired him greatly and coveted a closer acquaintance.
That he should cut short his stay on the plea of work to be done
seemed reasonable to the others but his going quite upset Win. Nor
was this disappointment lightened by a period of semi-invalidism
when all exertion was difficult and patience very far to seek. Not
for some weeks after Max left was Win able to take advantage of
the Colonel's prized invitation to use the Manor library.

He made his first visit, fully determined to broach the discovery
of Richard Lisle's letter to either the Colonel or his daughter,
whichever should appear, but Yvonne, who admitted him with a
smiling welcome, reported neither at home.

Nor did fortune favor his second attempt. The Colonel was in St.
Helier's and Constance entertaining a group of young people on the
lawn. Win dodged these visitors and from the library windows
looked down upon a lively set of tennis. Players and spectators
alike seemed to know one another extremely well. The inference Win
drew was correct, that for some reason, the little lady of the
Manor chose just now to crowd her life with social engagements and
gay festivities.

Time had been when Win didn't care to watch others play games he
could not share, but Win was learning that every life has its
compensations; when one is debarred from one thing, he is sure to
have another in its place. Without envy Win watched them for a
time before turning to the books.

His third visit was made on a morning in early February when
walking was rather difficult owing to a penetrating rain. Wintry
weather seemed to have visited the Island, but the cold was
deceptive, for though a heavy coat was acceptable, plenty of
flowers were in blossom, even a number of surprised-looking roses.

On reaching the Manor, Win was admitted by cordial Yvonne, who at
once conducted him to his sanctuary. The room was empty, but a
cheery fire glowed on the hearth, and on the long bare black oak
table stood an enormous copper bowl full of fresh daffodils,
making a spot of light and beauty in the sombre room.

Win spent a few moments warming his hands at the fire and
considering thoughtfully the back of the old Psalter in which was
shut Richard Lisle's letter. Perhaps opportunity would favor him
to-day, some chance be provided to show that discovery to either
Miss Connie or her father.

That its contents referred to Prince Charles was established
beyond doubt by the existing legend of his entertainment at the
Manor, but the letter said much more than that. Only some one
thoroughly familiar with the Manor and its possessions could
interpret further. As the rain beat on the terrace outside, Win
chanced to look up at the portrait near the fireplace, and
instantly recalled that curious dream.

"I dreamed all that stuff just because I've always been crazy to
go treasure-hunting," he thought, "and because that old Cavalier
was the last thing I saw before I went to sleep. Well, I might go
and read for a while."

With a glance of admiration at some fine old armor passed on the
way, Win went into the farther room to settle himself on the
comfortable window seat with a fat history of the island of
Jersey.

Fully an hour passed before the sound of low voices penetrated his
consciousness. Gradually he became aware that two people were now
occupying the seat before the smouldering fire. One was Constance
Lisle, the other some one Win had never seen before, a dark
distinguished-looking young man, evidently of foreign blood.

Connie was leaning back in the corner of the old settle, her white
dress and the neighboring bowl of daffodils standing out as high
lights in the shadowy surroundings. Her companion, beside her, was
bending slightly forward, his face turned eagerly toward hers.

Had he wished to listen, Win could not distinguish the low words.
That fact absolved him from the necessity of making his presence
known, for leave he could not without passing through the room.
Presently the young man raised his voice and Win realized that he
was speaking in Italian.

For the moment, interest in the present dismissed the past. Win
had heard the girls' chatter about their adored Miss Connie and
the romance attributed to her by Mrs. Trott, but boy-like, paid
very little attention to what he considered the foolish fancies of
sentimental kids. Now he was startled into sudden interest.

That stranger must be Miss Connie's Italian prince. Very handsome
and very much of a gentleman he looked and most earnest their
conversation. Yet even to an inexperienced observer, it was not
that of two happy young people, entering a sunny stretch of life,
but of a boy and girl confronted with some stern and very present
problem. Connie's hands were clasped too tightly, there was a
sense of strain in the poise of her head. Her companion's pose was
one of perplexity and doubt.

Win remembered what else he had heard of that rumored engagement,
not much to be sure, save that strong pressure was being put upon
the last of the Santo-Pontes in order to secure the estates and
title of a great Roman house to the church of his ancestors.

Presently Win realized that he had no right even to look on. He
turned his face to the storm and again buried himself in his old
volume.

A long time later he heard his name and Constance strolled alone
through the arch from the other room. She looked pale and tired
but otherwise composed.

"I didn't know you were here, Win," she said as she came to his
chosen window.

"I've been stuck in this book for ages. Miss Connie, I've found
the most interesting thing ever."

"What is it?" Connie inquired listlessly, wondering, but not
particularly caring whether Win knew of her interview with Louis
di Santo-Ponte. She looked sweet and wistful as she stood leaning
against the window seat, her mind down in the town where the boat
for St. Malo was getting up steam. "Tell me about it, Win," she
added, recalling her wandering thoughts. She liked Win as she
liked most young people.

"Come and see," said Win, replacing his history in its case.
Connie accompanied him to the fireplace in the main room.

"Did you ever look at that book?" he inquired, indicating the worn
old Psalter.

"There are several thousand books here that I never looked at,"
said Connie promptly. "Max is the one who browses in this part of
the library. Ah, he's been here lately, reading his horrid old
German philosophers." With an air of disgust she pointed to the
blue-bound modern volumes.

"What is this book that interests you so much!" she went on,
taking It from the shelf. "Oh, an old copy of the Psalms. Look at
its odd type."

"It isn't the book that interests me," said Win, "but this paper.
I found it accidentally. Do read it, Miss Connie, and see what you
make of it."

After her first perusal, Constance grew as excited as Win. With
the deliberate purpose of putting her troubles from her mind, she
concentrated her attention on this discovery.

"The prince of course refers to Charles, because it is an
historical fact that he took refuge in Jersey," began Win.

"Yes, and there's the legend that he was entertained here at the
Manor," exclaimed Connie. "Why Dad will be crazy about this, for
it proves that story!"

"I hoped he'd be pleased," said Win happily.

"Oh, he will!" replied Connie. "Charles was just a boy, only
sixteen, at the time he fled from England."

"Ever since I saw two letters in the British Museum, Charles the
Second has seemed a very real person to me," said Win smiling. "Do
you know them, Miss Connie? One is from Queen Henrietta Maria to
Prince Charles, expressing great regret that the prince has
refused to take the 'physick' prescribed for him, and hoping that
he will consent to do so on the following day, for if he didn't
she should be obliged to come to him and she trusted he would not
give her that 'paine.' She had also requested the Duke of
Newcastle to report to her whether he took it or not and so she
'rested.'

"But what I liked best," Win went on, "was the letter Prince
Charles wrote. He evidently didn't reply to his mother, but sent a
note to the Duke of Newcastle in which he flatly refused to take
the 'physick' and advised the Duke not to take any either!"

Connie laughed. "That does seem a touch of real boy nature,
doesn't it? But I'm afraid Prince Charles was rather a rotten
young cub, not worth the affection expended on him nor the good
lives laid down in his cause. The Richard Lisle who wrote this
letter was my great-great--oh, I don't know how many times
removed--grandfather! It's plain that Prince Charles came here to
the Manor, was fed and provided with a change, and escorted to the
castle, probably Orgueil. But what the 'relicks' are and what the
'safe place,' I can't tell. Nor do I know what is meant by the
Spanish chest. If there was anything of that description around
the Manor I'd jolly well know it."

"Would Colonel Lisle know?" asked Win eagerly.

"I wonder, will he?" mused Connie after a pause spent in close
scrutiny of the document. "We'll ask. Anyway, he'll be awfully
interested because here it is in black and white that Prince
Charles was brought to the Manor. Win, it's storming desperately
and I'm bored to death. I'm going to send Pierre to St. Aubin's to
tell your mother that you won't be back for luncheon. We'll show
Dad your find and bring our united minds to bear on the problem."

Win was sorely tempted. The walk through the storm had taxed his
strength. Should he struggle back, the chances were that he would
be too tired for any lessons after his arrival.

"Your tutor won't matter, will he?" asked Connie. "You're not
expected to be so regular as Roger."

Wingate grinned. "I was thinking how angry Roger will be if he
finds himself the sole object of Bill Fish's attention this
afternoon. Thank you, Miss Connie. I want mightily to stay. I
ought not to have come up here today when it was storming, but
since I'm here the wisest thing is to wait for a time. And I'm
wild to know what your father thinks of this paper. I will send a
note to Mother if I may."

"I'll write, too," said Constance, "and I shall tell her that
we'll keep you all night if the rain continues. I need somebody to
play with me, Win. I'm jolly glad you did brave the storm."




CHAPTER XIII

ABOUT THE SPANISH CHEST


Roger's state of mind at finding himself destined to be the sole
object of Bill Fish's ministrations that afternoon was laughable.
He vowed to Frances that he also would take French leave and
bitterly denounced Win for absconding, declaring it a "put up
job."

"Perhaps Mr. Fisher won't come," consoled Frances. "The storm has
really grown much worse since morning."

"Indeed he will," said Roger darkly. "Fishes like water. I only
hope he'll wipe his fins when he comes in. The last rainy day he
dripped all over the room. I was 'most drowned before we finished.
But it was mean and sneaky of Win to go up to the Manor this
morning. He might have known that I wanted help with my
arithmetic."

"Perhaps I can help," offered Frances. Luncheon just over, the
unwelcome Mr. Fisher was due in twenty minutes.

"Oh, you may try," conceded Roger ungraciously. "But if Win stays
up there all night, I'll pay him out."

"Mother thinks from Miss Connie's note that they were doing
something very interesting and she really wanted him," Fran said
lazily, her face pressed against the pane. "How angry and gray the
water looks."

"I've a great mind to bunk," said Roger gloomily. "It's not fair
for me to work alone all the afternoon."

"Edith and I have been at school all the morning," said the peace-
making Frances. "And Win does work when he can; he never really
shirks, Roger."

"He _likes_ to study," grumbled Roger. "I don't."

"There are so many things you can do that Win can't," reminded his
sister.

"Don't preach," retorted Roger, but Fran's comment recalled to his
mind the conversation with Max in the cave. Boy-like, Roger would
not admit even to himself any repentance for his short-comings on
that occasion, but the recollection served to smooth his present
ruffled feelings. Win had worked alone with Bill Fish all that
afternoon and Roger remembered most distinctly how Mr. Max looked
when he said he was going back to Paris and waste no more time.

"Win is having fun, I'm sure," said Fran at length. "Miss Connie
promised Edith and me that we shall come up and sleep in the
haunted room some night if we like."

"What's it haunted by?" demanded Roger.

"She wouldn't tell us. Says if we know, we'll be sure to see
things. But she is going to have a bed put up for herself and come
in with us, so I'm sure it's nothing very dreadful. I'm so glad we
came to Jersey just so we could know Miss Connie."

"Some girl," admitted Roger. "But she can't hold a candle to Mr.
Max. He's a corker."

"He is nice," Frances agreed. "But show me your arithmetic. And
would you like me to sit in the room? Perhaps Mr. Fisher won't be
so fierce if I am there."

"I would not," was her brother's concise reply. "He isn't fierce
either; he's merely flappy. I tell you he _is_ a fish. He looks
exactly like one of those flatfish we catch down in Maine. Eyes
both on one side."

Nothing more unlike the tall, angular Scotch tutor could possibly
have been mentioned, but Fran suppressed a laugh as she inspected
Roger's problems in mathematics.

"Me doing arithmetic!" he groaned. "And Win having the time of his
life at the Manor!"

If not exactly experiencing such bliss, Win was thoroughly
enjoying himself. After luncheon in the charming old Manor dining-
room with a cheerful fire dispelling all gloom caused by the rain
on the windows, the three adjourned to Colonel Lisle's study,
where Win placed upon the table his discovery. The Colonel read it
with great interest.

"Well, that is a valuable document, Win," he admitted. "It is
evidently a page from a letter that Richard Lisle, fourth, wrote
to some one and never sent. I am the ninth Richard, so you see how
far back that was. Of course it refers to the Prince of Wales,
afterwards Charles II of England. It is a curious fact in the
history of the Channel Islands that Guernsey sided with the
Parliament in its dispute with the king, while Jersey remained
royalist to the core. I am under great obligations to you for
discovering this paper, for it proves beyond doubt the legend that
I have always wished to see substantiated, that Prince Charles
came to Laurel Manor."

"Don't you make out, Daddy, that they gave him other clothes and
took him to the castle?" asked his daughter.

"Without doubt. Orgueil, or possibly Castle Elizabeth. I believe
that the consensus of opinion now favors Elizabeth as having been
the prince's refuge."

"What do you make of the rest of it, sir?" asked Win, who was
still beaming with happiness over the Colonel's appreciation. "It
says in so many words that they put something in a chest and hid
it until the trouble was over."

"That much is plain," replied his host thoughtfully. The paper was
spread upon his desk and the young people sat on either side.
Win's attention was distracted for a moment by his view of the
Colonel's distinguished face, the face of an high-bred English
gentleman. With all the impetuosity of his American birth and
training, Win felt the charm of this gentleman of other race and
another generation. He admired the Colonel's complete repose, his
courteous ways and softly modulated voice. They were not in the
least effeminate and the empty sleeve and the little bronze
Victoria cross bore witness that the Colonel was a very gallant
officer.

"I think," began Constance, "that Great-great-grandfather Dick and
his 'Sonne' put the prince's clothes and perhaps some other things
in a chest and hid them. Dad, did you ever know of anything
answering to the description of 'ye Spanish chest'?"

The Colonel thoughtfully smoothed his gray mustache. "There is the
box that came from the Armada," he remarked. "But that cannot be
the one referred to, since that belonged to your mother, my dear,
and comes from her side of the house."

"Mummy was Irish," Connie explained to Win. "I'll show you that
box. It really was washed up on the coast of Ireland and has been
in her family for centuries. No, of course, it couldn't be that."

"A Spanish chest does not necessarily mean a relic of the Armada,"
went on the Colonel. "There might possibly be a box of Spanish
workmanship, but I know of none in the Manor to which that
description could be applied. That big black oak chest in the
upper hall is English. The one in my room is Flemish."

"Oh, those are both too big, anyway," declared Constance. "Even
men in a hurry wouldn't take a box as big as those to pack a suit
of clothes in. No, it was something that could be easily carried
and concealed. It takes four servants to move those great arks."

"Then, if there isn't anything in the Manor that answers the
description, don't you believe the chest and the things in it are
still hidden?" Win asked rather shyly, but with keen interest.

The Colonel smiled kindly. "Sorry to quench your enthusiasm, Win,"
he said, "but I doubt it. Prince Charles landed in Jersey in 1646
if my memory serves. Subtract that date from this year of our
Lord. I'm afraid that chest, whatever it was, has long since
emerged from its hiding-place. According to the document here, it
was concealed only till 'happier times should dawne.' Prince
Charlie came to his own again, you remember. This Richard Lisle
died somewhere where about 1675. He lived to see the Restoration,
so surely he or his son brought to light again the things that
there was no longer reason to conceal."

"But, Daddy," said Constance quickly, noticing the look of
disappointment on Win's expressive face. "People forget. Let's
think of all the possibilities. It says some place outside the
walls. And they needed a lantern."

"There is the cave, daughter, at the edge of the Manor estates,
but you know all about that. Why, I know that cave myself, I was
going to say, every grain of sand in it."

"That's true," admitted Connie. "And of course in all the
centuries, numbers of people have been there."

"Considering the brisk trade in smuggling that was done in Jersey
during the 1700's, I think the chances of finding anything in the
Manor cave are very small," agreed her father. "There is one
thing, though, we might look at."

As he spoke, he rose and produced his keys. Swinging back a
portrait on hinges, he disclosed a small safe built into the wall.
Win was silent through interest in this novel way of concealing a
strong-box, but Constance jumped up.

"What are you looking for. Daddy? Oh, the plans of the Manor."

"You see," said the Colonel to Win as he sat clown again, a
discolored roll of papers in his hand, "the original Manor house
has been added to from time to time. Let us see what it comprised
in the days when Richard Lisle read his Psalter and wrote his
letter. It is possible that something then outside the wall may
now be inside the house."

"There's a number of queer things about this old place," said
Connie, sharing Win's look of expectation. "Max and I have run a
good many of them to earth, but there may be something yet.
Certainly we never stumbled on any Spanish chest."

The two young people helped the Colonel spread the plans and
arrange paper-weights to keep them flat.

"This comprises not only the house itself but the grounds," he
began. "They run as you see to the cliffs of the bay. The cave is
there."

"I never knew that," said Win. "Is it large?"

"Nothing like Plémont or even La Grecq," Constance replied. "Those
are the show caves of Jersey. There are many as big as ours. It's
a rather rough walk, Win, and the cave is accessible only at low
tide. I did say something about it once to Edith and Frances, but
they didn't understand, and after they were caught by the tide, I
thought it would be better for them not to know of it. You see one
can get shut in till the next low water. There's no danger because
the vault is so high that the tide doesn't fill it. In fact, Max
deliberately stopped there once."

"Was he shut in?" asked Win.

"No," said the Colonel smiling. "He was annoyed with me and took
that method of expressing his displeasure. I fancy he was a trifle
surprised that no fuss was made over his exploit. You see, I knew
he was perfectly safe. Connie, I think that path is possible for
Win some day when the weather and tide both serve. Well, this is
the extent of the original house. It includes this wing where we
are and the main portion. These shaded partitions show distinctly
where later additions have been made."

"What is this tiny dotted line across the grounds?" Win inquired.

"That? It is a footpath toward the shore and the gardener's
cottage. I should say that the present path curves more, but that
is its direction in general."

Win was puzzled by this explanation. Why should only one of the
Manor paths be marked? That it was the sole one existing at the
time the plans were drawn seemed scarcely possible.

"That 'safe place,' if it was outside the walls in those days
would probably have been somewhere underground," commented Connie,
after the map had been exhaustively discussed. "That might mean
that it is now in the cellars somewhere. Dad, have we your
permission to explore all the subterranean caverns?"

"If there are any that you haven't already investigated," said the
amused Colonel. "I didn't suppose there was a square inch of the
place that you and Max hadn't by heart."

"I thought so, too," said Constance, "but if Win's theories are
correct, there must be something we have overlooked. What do you
say about an exploration, Win?"

"Oh, I should like nothing better," said Win eagerly. "It will be
great sport to hunt for that chest. And it's so interesting to
look around a house that has been in the same family for
centuries."

"There has been a Richard Lisle of Laurel Manor for over four
hundred years," said the Colonel rather sadly. "I am the last of a
long line."

"The only solution," said Constance quickly, "is for your unworthy
daughter to marry some perfectly insignificant person, who will as
a part of the marriage contract, take the name of Lisle."

"The man who marries my daughter," replied the Colonel with gentle
dignity, "will have an honorable and, I trust, an honored name of
his own to offer her."

"Else he will never get her," commented Connie with charming
impertinence. "Daddy dear, if I could find a man one half as nice
as you are, I'd marry him on the spot! Win, we'll arrange to head
an exploring expedition. It's too cold and spooky in the cellars
to do it this afternoon. We'll plan for a time when Roger and the
girls can share the sport. I wish Max was here, too. He would
simply dote on it"

"I wish he was!" sighed Win. "I was dreadfully disappointed when I
heard he had gone. I think he's about right."

A sudden very charming smile broke over Connie's face. Up to that
time, it had been rather serious. "If we don't solve the problem
before the Easter holidays," she said, "Max will be keen on
running it down. I hope he can come then. He took so long at
Christmas that I'm afraid they'll dock him at Easter, and I shall
be completely desolated if that happens."

"I think he will come," said the Colonel. "In fact he told me he
might be able to get away for an occasional week-end. With a fast
car it is not so far to Granville or even St. Malo and he need
waste no time waiting for the steamer."

Constance suddenly sat up straight. "Max mustn't neglect his
duties," she declared. "Either he has a very indulgent chief or he
is hedging."

Her attitude was so comically severe that Win laughed, and her
father looked up with a smile.

"I can't be responsible for what Max tells his chief," he
remarked, "but I know enough about the diplomatic service to feel
sure he is giving satisfaction."

Constance still looked stern. "It's all right, of course, if he
really earns his week-end," she conceded, "but I won't have him
shirking. In October he was so serious and quiet that I didn't
know what to think of him, but at Christmas he was the same dear
boy he used to be. Didn't you think he was just like his old
self?"

The Colonel thus appealed to, returned her smile. "There were
moments," he gravely replied, "when I doubted whether either one
of you was more than sixteen."




CHAPTER XIV

IN THE VAULTS


When Win finally appeared at Rose Villa, driven down in a closed
carriage, the tale he related was of sufficient interest to banish
from even Roger's mind the resentment he considered but just,
after his long afternoon with Mr. Fisher. Those hours had been
profitable, did Roger only choose to admit the fact, for the tutor
had managed to galvanize into life the dry bones of an epoch in
history. Roger would not acknowledge it even to himself, but on
that stormy day he came rather near liking Bill Fish.

"That's a most exciting discovery, Win," said Mrs. Thayne when the
tale was concluded. "But I'm afraid I agree with Colonel Lisle
that the chances of finding anything are small, though you will
have fun exploring. It is very kind of the Colonel and Miss Connie
to permit such a troop to invade the Manor."

"I think they are just as interested themselves," Win replied.
"The Colonel was immensely pleased to have that legend confirmed."

Mrs. Thayne looked at him rather wistfully, wondering how much of
the interest displayed by the Manor family was due to sympathy
with Win. No doubt they liked him, for people always did. Well,
she was glad that this unusual experience was coming his way.

"I'm crazy to see that cave!" Frances was saying. "Don't you
remember, Edith, when we first met Miss Connie on the beach, she
said something about looking for caves? I suppose she was thinking
of this one."

"I've been in it," Roger suddenly announced. "Mr. Max took me.
It's a very decent cave but there's only one place where a box
could be hidden, on a sort of ledge above the water. We climbed up
and if there had been so much as a snitch of a chest about, it
couldn't have escaped us."

"You've been _in_ the cave?" demanded Frances, pouncing upon him.
"When did Mr. Max take you? Where were the rest of us? Why didn't
you tell us?"

Roger looked uncomfortable. He had never mentioned that
expedition, not even to his mother during a very serious
conversation on the sin of truancy.

"Oh, I met him on the cliff," he said evasively. "He showed me the
cave and we went swimming. He is a corking swimmer."

"But why didn't you tell us about it?" persisted Frances.

Roger saw no way out. Being a truthful individual he blurted forth
the facts.

"Because Mr. Max told me not to. He said it wasn't safe and he was
afraid you girls would go fooling around and get caught by the
tide. It isn't a fit place for girls, either!" he added largely.

"It is!" retorted the exasperated Frances. "If it wasn't, Miss
Connie wouldn't have been there."

"I'd wager that Miss Connie did everything Mr. Max did," chuckled
Win. "But the Colonel said to-day that the cave was out of the
question so far as any hidden chest was concerned,--that it
couldn't have escaped discovery all these years. I don't really
expect to find anything, Mother, but it will be great fun to look.
I've always wanted to search for hidden treasure, you know. And
Miss Connie seemed as interested as I was. She has appointed next
Wednesday afternoon to explore the vaults. We are all to come at
three and stay for tea afterwards. At first she suggested that we
have it in the cellars, said it would be nice and cobwebby and
befitting a treasure hunt, but then she remembered that Yvonne was
afraid of spiders and wouldn't fancy taking the tea things down,"
he ended with a laugh.

Win was tired that evening and went upstairs early. When Roger
clattered into the adjoining room half an hour later, his brother
called.

"Oh, you, Roger," he said, "come in here a jiff."

With a terrific yawn, Roger appeared in the doorway. Win was in
bed, a lighted lamp on a table by his pillow.

"Could I get down to that cave?" he asked.

"You could get down," Roger remarked judicially. "It's rather
steep but there's only one bad rock. Still," he added, "if you
waited till the tide was even lower, yon could walk round that.
When we came back from our swim, that bit of cliff was out of
water. It would be some tug crawling up, but you could take it
easy."

"I'd give a good deal to get down there," said Win thoughtfully.
"How was it inside? Much climbing? Any place where a box could be
tucked out of sight?"

Roger proceeded to describe the interior of the cave, arousing
Win's interest still more.

"I don't suppose there's hide nor hair of that chest around," he
admitted, "but all the same, I want to take a look. The tide is
full every morning now and it will be the end of the week before
we can get down. As soon as we can, I wish you'd do the pilot
act."

"Oh, I'll show you," assented Roger, again yawning prodigiously.
"I don't take any special stock in this hidden chest, but the cave
is fine and I'll like to take a whack at the Manor cellars. Are
you going to burn that lamp all night?"

"I am going to read for a while," said his brother, taking a book
from under his pillows. "Shut the door into your room if it annoys
you."

"It doesn't," answered Roger. "I can see to undress by it better
than with my candle. Ridiculous to have only candles in bedrooms!
Mother would give me Hail Columbia if I read in bed the way you
do."

Win suppressed a sigh. "Mother knows I read only when I can't
sleep," he said shortly. "You may not believe it, but I'd much
rather sleep."

Wednesday afternoon found an expectant quartette walking up the
Manor road, slowly because Win paused occasionally to regain
breath, but there were so many lovely things to look at that no
delay seemed irksome. To begin with were fascinating cottages with
neat little box-edged gardens and straw-thatched roofs; curious
evergreen trees with stiff jointed branches known locally as
monkey-puzzles; there were pretty children, some of whom waved
hands of recognition; there were skylarks singing in the blue
above, their happy notes falling like musical rain; there were big
black and white magpies and black choughs, rooks and corbies, now
known to the young people by their English names. And always there
were glimpses of the ever-changing, changeless sea.

Roger, who had gradually forged ahead, remained leaning over a low
cottage wall until the others came up. In the yard sat a woman
milking one of the pretty, soft-eyed Jersey cows, but what held
Roger's fascinated attention was her milk-pail.

Instead of the ordinary tin receptacle familiar to Roger during
country summers, she had an enormous copper can with a fat round
body, rather small top and handle at one side like a bloated milk-
jug. Over the top was tied loosely a piece of coarse cloth and on
this rested a clean sea shell. Streams of milk directed into the
shell slowly overflowed its edges to strain through the cloth and
subside gently into the can.

"That's something of a milk pail," observed Roger approvingly.

"It's just like the hot-water jugs Annette brings in the morning,"
said Frances, "only ten times bigger. Wouldn't it be lovely for
goldenrod and asters? I'm going to ask Mother to buy one."

"Pretty sight you'll be walking up the dock at Boston with that on
your arm," jeered Roger. "It will never go in any trunk and you'll
have to carry it everywhere you go. You needn't ask me to lug it,
either."

"It can be crated and sent that way," said Frances calmly.

"Those hot-water jugs make me tired," Roger went on as they
continued their walk. "I'm sick to death of having a quart of
lukewarm water in a watering-pot dumped at my door every morning.
Think of the hot water we have at home, gallons and gallons of it,
steaming, day or night!"

Edith looked politely incredulous. "How can that be?" she asked.
"Do you keep coals on the kitchen fire all night?"

"Coals!" snorted Roger. "All we have to do is to turn a faucet and
that lights a heater and the water runs hot as long as you leave
it turned on. No quart pots for us!"

"But surely," said Edith, "only very wealthy people can have
luxuries like that."

"We're not made of money but we have it," retorted Roger. "Even
workmen have hot-water heaters in their houses."

From Edith's face it was plain that she frankly didn't believe him
and Win tried to make matters better.

"You see, Edith," he explained, "it is much more difficult in the
United States to get satisfactory servants and so we have all
sorts of clever mechanical devices that make it easier to manage
with fewer maids."

Edith's brow cleared. "Oh, I see," she said. "I thought there must
be some reason. Of course, if we needed them, we would have such
arrangements in England."

"England," declared Roger bluntly, "in ways of living is about two
hundred years behind the United States!"

"Roger!" exclaimed the shocked Frances.

"Cut it out!" ordered Win.

"It's true, anyway," retorted the annoyed Roger, "and there's
another thing. We licked England for keeps in the Revolutionary
War!"

"Only because you were English yourselves!" flashed Edith before
Roger's scandalized family could remind him of his forgotten
manners.

This retort disconcerted Roger and delighted Win.

"You've hit the nail on the head, Edith," he declared approvingly.
"England could never have been beaten except by her own sons. And
England's navy has always ruled the seas."

"How about Dewey wiping out the Spanish fleet at Manila?" demanded
Roger still huffily,

"That reminds me," said Win coolly. "I believe it was an English
admiral who backed Dewey up at Manila when the Germans tried to
butt in. After that battle somebody wrote a poem about it and
wrote the truth, too. This is what he said:

  "'Ye may trade by land, ye may fight by land,
    Ye may hold the land in fee;
    But go not down to the sea in ships
    To battle with the free;
    For England and America
    Will keep and hold the sea!'"

As Win concluded, Edith's high color lessened and Roger looked
less pugnacious. Presently, each stole a sly glance at the other,
both were caught in the act and simultaneously laughed. So the
party reached the Manor without disruption by the way.

Constance, with a soft green sweater over her frock, came to meet
them.

"All ready for the fray? Leave your hats in the hall. You will
need your woollies for we are going where sunlight never comes.
There's good store of candles and two lanterns. Anything else
needed, Win?"

"A hammer perhaps," suggested Win. "We may want to sound walls."

"A hammer there shall be," and Constance rang the bell to order
it. "Dad says he will come down if we make any startling
discovery, but being an elderly person, he's a bit shy of damp."

Provided with lights and the hammer, the gay party started, filing
through a kitchen so fascinating with its red-bricked floor and
shining copper cooking utensils that Fran found it hard to pass.
Several maids and a jolly cook smiled on them as they vanished
down the cellar stairs.

"I suppose you want to see the oldest part of the Manor vaults,"
Connie said to Win as she led the way with a candle in a brass
reflector. "We shall come back through here."

To Edith and Frances it seemed that they traversed numberless dark
rooms, dry but chilly, some stored with vegetables and barrels,
while others were empty or showed dusky apparitions of old lumber.
Constance stopped at last.

"We are under the library now, Win. This is the original cellar
and you can see how much rougher the workmanship is than in the
newer parts."

Walls were rough and floor uneven, indeed, a part of it was
composed of an outlying ledge of the Jersey granite. Obedient to
suggestion, Roger and the girls began to inspect the walls for
traces of some former exit; Roger by himself, the girls, rather
fearfully, together. Win stood looking at the ledge in the floor.

"That settles there being any hiding-place underneath," he
remarked.

"Yes," said Connie, "but the paper said 'beyond the walls,' you
know. So wouldn't it more likely be in one of the cellars not
built at that time?"

"Well, probably," assented Win. "But I was looking at the way this
rock runs." He produced a pocket-compass. "It's much thicker at
this end and the direction is approximately north and south. What
is to the east, Miss Connie?"

"Nothing at all. That wall is still the outer one."

"And the wall farthest from the water?" asked Win quickly.

Constance nodded.

"Then it is the western wall I want," said Win, turning toward it.

Somewhat mystified, Connie watched him make a minute examination,
tapping with the hammer on its entire length.

"I suspect that it's frightfully thick," she said as he stopped,
looking disappointed.

"What is on the other side?" he inquired. "Is this whole partition
now included in the house?"

Constance led the way to the opposite side of the wall. There lay
a large apartment, dimly lighted, but of better workmanship and
finish. Win went immediately to the eastern side of this cellar
and bestowed upon the partition stones the same minute inspection.

"This wall must really be several feet through," he observed to
the watching Constance.

"Probably. But I don't see, Win, what you are trying to get at."

"I hardly know myself, Miss Connie. It's just an idea I had. This
would have been the wall nearest the cave. You see I'm not used to
having a cave as a sort of household annex, so I can't help
thinking it may figure yet in this business."

Connie shook her head. "Perhaps it did once," she said. "Only that
cave is more or less common property; many people know of it. We
can be sure of one thing; that nothing will be found in it now.
How about this floor?"

Win left the wall to inspect by aid of his lantern the huge,
roughly-squared blocks forming the cellar floor. Damp, dark and
numerous they showed under the light.

"It's possible that any one might conceal some cavity," said
Connie. "But that one would surely differ in some way from the
others. Let us spread out and inspect them. Anybody who finds a
flag in any way peculiar, speak."

Constance herself began to peer at the stone flooring, not at all
because she expected to find anything in the least unusual, but
because she did not want disappointment to fall upon Win too
quickly. If he really searched thoroughly, he would be better
satisfied to acknowledge the quest as useless.

Among the many scenes those centuries-old walls had looked upon,
it is a question whether they had witnessed so gay a sight as the
five young people, wandering slowly up and down the uneven floor,
looking for some stone raised higher or sunken lower than the
others, more carefully fitted; perhaps, though this could scarcely
be hoped, provided with an iron ring for a handle.

Nothing happened. No two of the many flags were alike, yet none
seemed of sufficient distinction to mark it as worth further
investigation. All looked as though they had never been moved.

The other and more recent cellars received scanty attention. Of
lesser age, they were also cleaner, drier and better lighted.

"Our adventure seems fruitless" sighed Connie as they stood at
last among bins and bottles near the kitchen stairs. "Why, where
is Win?"

Both Frances and Roger started back, ashamed to have forgotten him
if only for a moment. Suppose poor Win had had one of his attacks
alone back there in that shadow-filled vault!

Win was found in the original cellar of the old Manor, not pacing
the floor or tapping the stones, but meditatively staring at one
of its walls, not the one he had devoted so much attention to, but
the northern boundary.

"What luck?" asked Connie as they came in, relieved at sight of
him.

"None," said Win, turning to her with curiously bright eyes. "But,
Miss Connie, do you think your father would show me those plans
again!"

"Why, of course he will. Has some idea struck you?"

"I don't quite know," said Win. "But I should like to see the
plans and perhaps some other day, you'll let me come down here
again for a few moments."




CHAPTER XV

THE HAUNTED ROOM


"There is a letter for you, Miss Edith," said Nurse as the girls
came in from school, the next Saturday. "It is for Miss Frances,
too."

"For us both?" exclaimed Frances. "Where from?"

"Pierre brought it from the Manor," replied Nurse.

"I can't get over there being no telephones in the houses here,"
remarked Frances, snatching off her hat. "Imagine having to send a
man with a note instead of just taking down a receiver and
talking. Not to have telephones is so very English."

"The English don't hold much with new inventions, Miss," Nurse
agreed. "What was good enough for those before us does us very
well."

"I know it!" sighed Fran, "but think of the _convenience_ of a
telephone."

Edith was holding a dainty square note bearing the inscription:

  "Miss Edith Pearce,
   Miss Thayne,
   Rose Villa.
   À la main de Pierre."

"From Miss Connie, of course," said Edith delightedly. Each took a
corner of the enclosed card and with several little squeals of
amused pleasure, Frances read it aloud.

  "Miss Lisle presents her compliments to Miss Pearce and Miss
   Thayne and requests them to grant her the favor of attending
   a meeting of the Society for the Suppression of Ghosts to be
   held in the haunted room of Laurel Manor this evening at ten.

   Notes:

  Dinner 7:30.
  Beds provided at 9:45 (Ghost _not_ guaranteed to appear).
  Very best nighties because of looking pretty for spooks.
  Breakfast any old hour."

Screaming with delight, Edith ran to find Estelle, Frances for her
mother.

"But I don't know that I want you to sleep in a room that has the
reputation of being haunted, Edith," protested Estelle. "Will Mrs.
Thayne permit Frances to go?"

"Oh, Sister, there's some joke about it," pleaded Edith. "There
must be, because Miss Connie always laughs whenever the ghost is
mentioned. And would her father let her sleep in that room if it
was anything to frighten people? Oh, Star, it will be such fun!"

Up-stairs, Frances was besieging her amused mother. Two minutes
later, the girls met in the hall, dancing with glee, for each
might go were the other permitted.

"Dinner at the Manor, too!" sighed Frances. "What bliss!"

Neither Estelle nor Mrs. Thayne had much peace from then until it
was time to start. Finally the hour arrived and the family
assembled in the hall to see them off, Win interested and Roger
openly envious. "I'd like a chance at that ghost just once," he
vowed. "I'd settle him."

"Perhaps later, Miss Connie will invite you boys," said Edith.
"Why, here's Pierre. Oh, he's come for our bags."

To have a servant sent for their light luggage again struck
Frances as most charmingly English, and two very happy girls waved
farewell to Rose Villa as they turned out of the terrace.

In the great hall of the Manor, Constance greeted them,
ceremoniously enough, but with mysterious smiles and twinkles. In
person she conducted them to a pretty guest-room near her own
apartments.

"We won't invade the ghost's domain until time for bed," she
announced gayly. "You'll find a bath adjoining and would you like
Paget to do your hair or fasten your dinner frocks?"

"We will help each other," said Edith, as full of twinkles as
Connie herself.

"Then I will dress and come for you in about half an hour."

"Isn't Miss Connie the dearest thing!" said Edith enthusiastically
as the door closed. "I never saw anybody just like her before."

"Mother thinks her charming," replied Frances, brushing her curly
hair. "Edith, do you suppose we shall ever know the truth about
that story of the Italian prince?"

"It doesn't seem as though it were true," observed Edith. "Or at
least, as though she cared very much if she had to break her
engagement, for she is always so gay and happy."

The face that was looking just then from the mirror in Connie's
room did not precisely correspond to these adjectives, but the
young mistress of the Manor was the daughter of a brave soldier
and the descendant of a long line of gallant gentlemen. Those slow
weeks since Christmas that Constance crowded with gayety were
bringing gradual healing. The heart under the fluffy frock she
slipped on to-night was not so heavy as the one under the white
gown worn that day when she stood by Win in the Manor library and
watched the boat for St. Malo leave the harbor.

Frances and Edith were ready when she came for them, also prettily
dressed in white.

"Nice little English flappers," Constance remarked approvingly.
"Why, what is the matter with Frances?"

"I don't know what a flapper is," confessed Frances, sure however,
that it could be nothing very dreadful.

Constance laughed and patted the brown cheek. "Merely a jolly
little English school girl with her hair down her back. Yours is
tidily braided but Edith looks the typical flapper."

She took a hand of each and three abreast they went down to the
hall where Colonel Lisle was standing in a soldierly attitude
before the fire. He greeted them with charming courtesy, offered
Fran his arm and conducted her to the dining-room.

Both girls were supremely happy, Edith quietly so, Frances fairly
radiating enjoyment in the stately room with its fine old
portraits and windows open to admit the sweet odors of myrtle and
daffodils.

"Don't think the Island winters are all as mild as this," the
Colonel was saying as Yvonne removed the soup plates. "I have seen
both snow and hail in Jersey and sometimes we have extremely cold
weather. But you were asking, Frances, why French is the official
language here. The Channel Islands came to the English crown with
William the Conqueror, and have always remained one of the crown
properties. So while the islanders are English they have French
blood in their veins and each island has retained its peculiar
historic customs, the official use of French being one. When
Normandy was regained by France, the islands remained with England
and though Jersey was frequently attacked and sometimes invaded by
the French they never held more than a portion of it temporarily.
Indeed, so much was a Norman or French invasion feared, that the
islanders inserted in the Litany an additional petition: 'From the
fury of the Normans, good Lord, deliver us!'"

"We have seen the tablet in the Royal Square, marking the spot
where Major Pierson fell in the battle of Jersey," said Edith, who
shared Win's liking for history.

"Ah, in 1781. That was the last French invasion. Speaking of the
Royal Square," the Colonel went on, "there is a curious custom
connected with the Royal Court there, that might interest you. Any
person with a grievance relating to property has a right to come
into a session of the court and call aloud upon Rollo the Dane.
The Cohue Royale,--the Court,--_must_ listen and _must_ heed. That
is a very ancient relic of Norman rule in the Island. Oh, no, it
is seldom resorted to. One does not lightly call Prince Rollo to
one's aid. That is the final appeal when all other justice fails."

Yvonne, who was waiting upon the table, reappeared from a brief
absence with a beaming face.

"It is Monsieur Max who arrives," she said confidentially to
Constance.

"Max!" exclaimed Connie. "Why, how nice! Sha'n't he come directly,
Dad? Tell him not to dress, Yvonne."

"By all means, tell him to come as he is," said the Colonel, his
face lighting with pleasure at this news.

"Pardon, m'sieur," said Yvonne. "Monsieur Max already hastens to
his room and says the dinner shall not delay, that he shall be
fast,--ver' queeck."

"Max can be fast," said Constance smiling. "Well, we will dawdle
over our fish. I never thought of his coming," she went on,
watching Yvonne as she deftly laid another place beside Frances.
"This must be one of the week-ends he promised. I wonder why he
didn't warn us?"

"I suppose there was no time to do so," said the Colonel. "Max
knows he is welcome at any hour."

Max was "queeck." The fish was only just finished when he came
quietly into the room, dressed for dinner and looking not in the
least as though he had recently stepped from a steamer. Edith and
Frances watched eagerly. If they were still in deep ignorance
concerning Miss Connie's Italian prince, this was surely their
chance to discover how matters stood between their adored little
lady and Mr. Max.

Disappointment awaited them, for nothing could have been more
commonplace than the greeting exchanged. Even the fancy of
fourteen years could not construe Constance's "Hello, old boy!"
and Max's nonchalantly offered hand into the slightest foundation
for a romance. So far as outward appearances went Max was much
more affectionate towards the Colonel, who did not disguise his
marked pleasure at seeing him.

With gay words for both girls, the newcomer slid into his seat.
"I'm as hungry as a hunter, Connie," he announced. "Soup, Yvonne?
Anything and everything that's going. Oh, it was rather a rough
crossing, but it merely gave me an appetite. Where are the boys?
Couldn't they come to this exclusive dinner? Or am I butting in
myself?"

"You are," replied Constance mischievously, "but for Dad's sake,
we will forgive you. The boys are not here for the simple reason
that they were not invited. Having fortified ourselves with strong
meat, the girls and I are going to brave the Manor ghost to-
night."

Darkness had fallen and with it a sense of the eerie over Fran.
She was distinctly relieved to hear Max laugh at this announcement.

"Do you really want to see the ghost?" he asked, turning to her.

"Crazy to," was Fran's prompt reply. "I wouldn't dare stay alone
in that room, but with Miss Connie and Edith, I sha'n't be afraid.
Indeed, I want dreadfully to see the ghost."

"You know yourself, Max, that it doesn't materialize every time it
is invoked," began Constance.

"I know it," said Max. "I only wanted to ascertain how keen the
spook-hunters are. I slept in that room once for two weeks when
the house was full and became much attached to his ghost-ship."

"So I told the girls," replied Constance with equal gravity.

Edith and Frances were looking at each other in puzzled
bewilderment but Max suddenly changed the subject. His eye had
fallen upon Grayfur, the big cat that had purred himself into the
room in the shelter of Yvonne's skirts.

"Hello, old chap!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Do you like
cats, Frances?"

"No," confessed Frances. "I love dogs. Edith is the one who likes
pussies. She is always bringing stray kittens home."

For some reason this statement seemed to amuse Max. To the
surprise of the girls, he and Constance exchanged a smile.

Ten o'clock struck before Edith and Frances found themselves,
after a happy evening, again in the pretty guest-room.

"Miss Connie, I am afraid you weren't ready to come up," said
thoughtful Edith. "Didn't you want to stop longer with your father
and Mr. Max?"

"Max doesn't leave until Tuesday morning," Constance replied. "Dad
will love to have him all to himself for a good talk and smoke,
and if Max has anything especial to say to me, there will be
plenty of opportunities. I'm quite glad to come up."

When she came for them, the girls were ready and the little
procession started, three kimonoed figures each bearing a lighted
candle along the echoing halls to the haunted room above the
library. Electricity had not trailed its illuminating coils above
the first floor of the house so the big apartment looked spooky
and shadowy enough, the candles placed on the mantel, quite lost
in immense distances. Three white cots stood side by side in its
centre.

"First, we will fasten the door securely," said Constance, suiting
the action to the word. "Then we will take this electric torch and
look about a bit."

Careful inspection showed the room undoubtedly tenantless, the
handsome old-fashioned furniture offering no hiding-place for any
intruder. Like the library below, its walls were of paneled oak,
with three large portraits set into the wood-work. One, a Lisle of
Queen Elizabeth's time, looked down benignly, attired in doublet
and ruff.

"Miss Connie, how shall we know what to look for or expect?" asked
Frances when the three were settled in their beds, lights out and
the room illuminated only by the moon.

"It wouldn't be wise to tell you," said Constance mysteriously.
"All I'll say is that it is nothing at all disturbing or
frightful. The few people who have seen or heard anything never
knew at the time that it was a ghost."

"But you will tell us in the morning?" asked Edith.

"Yes," replied their hostess. "I will tell you then, whether you
see anything or not, and very likely you will not. But if you want
to have the creeps and would truly enjoy them, I'll tell you
something that really happened to me once in Italy."

"Oh, do, do!" begged both girls in unison. "That would be simply
perfect," added Edith, sitting up in bed, her fair hair floating
about her shoulders and turning her more than ever into the
likeness of an angel.

"Some years ago, when I was about your age," began Constance
slowly, "Dad and Mother and I were traveling in southern Italy,
and Max was with us. He was with us a great deal, you know. We
stopped one night at an old hotel that had once been a monastery,
though it was different from the usual monasteries because it was
a place where sick monks came to be cured and to rest.

"The location was wonderful, on a cliff overlooking the sea and
though the place had been altered for the purposes of a hotel, it
was still a good bit churchly. The partitions between the cells
had been knocked out and additions built, but the hotel dining-
room was the old refectory with stone walls and floor, and the
wonderful garden was much as the monks left it. Such roses you
never saw and such climbing vines and flowering trees. Oh, there's
no place like Italy!"

Constance stopped. The moonlight falling across her bed touched
her face into almost unearthly beauty.

"We had connecting rooms that night," she went on. "Dad and Mother
took the corner one with two beds. Next was a tiny room where I
was to sleep and Max's was beyond mine. All were originally cells
opening on a terrace, covered with roses and passion-flowers and
looking down to the sea, which was shining with little silver
ripples.

"We'd had an especially happy day and I was so keyed up with
enjoyment that I couldn't go to sleep right away, but lay looking
out at the flowers and the waves. Mother went through to see that
Max was all right and then came back to kiss me. She closed the
door into his room, but left open the one from mine into hers.

"I remember hearing Mother and Dad laugh a little about something
and I suppose I went to sleep, because I woke very suddenly with a
start, all awake in a minute."

Connie paused, this being the proper moment for a thrill. "What do
you think I saw?" she asked impressively.

"Oh, I can't imagine!" gasped Frances, shivering in delighted
anticipation. "Do go on!"

"Have you chills down your spine!" laughed Constance. "In the
moonlight right beside my bed, I saw a monk, dressed in white, the
usual robe of the Dominicans. He had a wise, kind face, with a
pleasant expression, and as I looked at him, he took my wrist very
gently, and put his finger on my pulse."

"Oh-h!" said Edith, pulling the covers about her more tightly.
"Oh, Miss Connie, what did you do?"

"That frightened me," said Connie. "Up to that time, I noticed
only his pleasant, gentle look, but it seemed as though a bit of
ice touched me and I gave a scream that brought Mother and Dad up
standing. Of course, when they came hurrying in, nobody was
visible. I made a big fuss, presumably because I wanted to be
petted and coddled.

"I told them about the monk and Dad at once thought that Max had
been playing a joke on me. He stepped into Max's room, intending
to be severe, but Max was sound asleep and besides, the door into
his room squeaked so that he couldn't possibly have opened it
without waking us all.

"Then they said I had the nightmare. Perhaps I did," said
Constance with a smile, "but I can see yet the kindly face of that
old monk. I didn't want to stay in my room, so Dad told me to go
in with Mother and he'd take my bed. We all settled ourselves
again.

"I was asleep or nearly so, feeling so comfy and safe in my bed
close to Mother's when suddenly she sat up straight and said
'Richard!' in such an odd, startled tone. I woke and heard poor
Dad piling out of bed again to come into our room. Mother sat
there looking very troubled and holding one wrist in the other
hand. She didn't say anything more,--neither of them did,--but I
knew perfectly well that the old monk had been feeling her pulse."

"And what happened in the morning?" demanded Frances breathlessly.

"Nothing at all," said Constance cheerfully. "In the morning
everything was beautiful and lovely as in no other country but
Italy. Mother and I merely agreed that we had an odd dream. We did
not stay a second night, for we were on our way back to Rome."

"Did you ever hear anything more about the monk?" asked Edith.

"Years after," said Connie dreamily, "we met some Americans in
Switzerland who told us of a similar experience in this hotel.
Later, I learned that Dad found out at the time that the place was
reputed to be haunted by an old monk physician who turns up at
intervals and feels people's pulses, and is often seen pottering
about the garden in broad daylight. Monks are such a common sight
in Italy that the hotel guests stop and converse with him,
thinking him a gardener and never suspecting that he is a ghost."

"But the Manor ghost isn't like that?" asked Edith, who wanted
reassurance.

"Not a bit," said Constance. "As for that, there was nothing so
very frightful or repellent about the monk. Don't you think we
should go to sleep now and give his spookship his innings?"

The girls agreed and silence fell over the big room with its three
white beds. Outside the open casements a vine waved within Fran's
line of vision, tapping gently against a window pane.

Presently a slight sound caught Fran's wakeful ear, as of steps on
a somewhat unfamiliar stair where it was necessary to grope one's
way. Touching Edith's shoulder, she sat up in bed. They had
entered the haunted room by a door now locked, opening on a big
stone staircase; these steps seemed upon muffled wood.

Next moment there came a sudden convulsive sneeze that sounded in
her very ear. Frances gasped but Constance sat up laughing.

"No fair!" she exclaimed.

For a second there was absolute silence, then somebody laughed,
extremely close at hand, though yet behind a partition. The laugh
was followed by the soft sound of retreating footsteps.

"What happened, Miss Connie?" begged Edith.

"No ghost," said their hostess merrily. "I had forgotten. That was
clever of Max."

Silence again followed for a period, succeeded by the sound of
music in the garden below the windows, soft and very sweet.

"Oh, is _that_ the ghost?" demanded Frances in great excitement.

"Your mother will bless me for letting you stop awake all night,"
said Constance. She sat up, wrapped a white robe about her and
stuck her feet into slippers. Upon the music came the sudden
unearthly miaow of a cat.

The noise sounded directly in the room and all three girls jumped.
Constance laughed again.

"I might have known Max did not come into that passage for
nothing," she sighed. "Where's that electric torch?"

Having turned on the flash-light, Connie approached the large oil
painting set into one side of the gloomy room, its base about a
foot above the floor. She touched a knob on its frame and the
portrait became a door opening outward and revealing a narrow,
dusty winding stair descending to the floor below. On its top step
sat the big cat, just opening its mouth for another howl.

"Come in, Grayfur," said Constance. "Max brought you, didn't he?
If he hadn't sneezed and given himself away, he'd have opened the
door a crack and let you in."

"Is it a secret stair?" asked Frances, her eyes big with
excitement. "Where does it go? Wouldn't Roger be crazy over it?"

"We will let him go up it," answered Connie, swinging the portrait
into place again. "The passage comes out below in the library. Max
thought he would provide one ghost anyway."

Putting the cat into the hall, she locked the door again and then
stuck her pretty head from the window.

"Max," she said severely, addressing the unseen musician, "you are
spoiling your fiddle and breaking your promise. You said you
wouldn't be silly. Go to bed now like a good boy."

The fiddle responded with two ear-splitting squawks.

"Stop it!" commanded Constance. "There goes a string and it serves
you quite right. You'll have the bobbies coming to investigate if
you don't leave off."

The unappreciated serenader appeared squelched by this threat, for
complete silence followed.

"Nothing more is at all likely to happen tonight," said Constance,
coming back to bed. "And I hope Max will go properly to his room.
Now go to sleep, girlies, and in the morning, I'll tell you how
the Manor ghost disports itself."




CHAPTER XVI

THE MANOR GHOST


In spite of a firm intention to remain awake, Frances soon fell
into quiet slumber and knew nothing more until the next morning.
February dawns in England are dark, but when she finally opened
her eyes, the room was faintly lighted by the coming sun and her
watch told her that it was after eight.

Edith still seemed asleep, but from the bed at the left, Connie
smiled back at her. For some reason known only to herself, their
gay little hostess had decreed that Frances should take the centre
bed.

"Awake?" she whispered. "How's Edith? Is she still off?"

As though she heard her name, Edith stirred, turned over and
finally rose on one elbow.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Constance. "We needn't get up unless
you like. When we are ready, Yvonne is to bring us breakfast in my
sitting-room. We'll wash and put on boudoir caps and eat _en
negligée_."

At this delightful programme both girls became wide awake in an
instant.

"And you will tell us about the ghost?" asked Frances.

"I will," replied Constance, sitting up and gathering her pretty
kimono about her, a lovely white Japanese crepe embroidered in
gold with fire-eating dragons of appalling size. One stretched
across the front as she fastened the folds. The girls also rose
and put on their dressing-gowns. Unlocking the door, Constance
looked into the hall.

"I'll just see that the coast is clear before the procession
forms," she remarked. "Daddy's rooms are down-stairs but Max's is
on our way. I'm quite sure though that he and Dad are already out,
for Dad likes to attend early service and Max has probably gone
with him like a dutiful young man."

As the three started, Edith turned to glance searchingly around.

"What are you looking for?" asked Frances.

"For the pussy," replied Edith, hurrying to overtake them. "I
thought there was one in the room."

"Miss Connie put it out," said Frances, laughing. "Wake up,
Edith!"

As Edith spoke, Constance stopped to look at her rather oddly,
then went on quickly.

"When you are ready, come to my sitting-room," she said on
reaching their door. "It is at the end of this hall."

When the girls appeared ten minutes later, Constance was yet
invisible. In the sitting-room a table stood before a couch piled
with pillows, and two cushioned chairs opened luxurious arms.

"Isn't this the dearest room," said Frances appreciatively as she
settled herself. "I suppose this is Miss Connie's own especial
place where no one comes without an invitation."

In some respects the room was very unlike the sanctum of the
average girl. While not lacking in the daintiness bestowed by
fresh flowers, gay chintz and white draperies, it contained a
number of objects not often seen in a boudoir. On a teakwood stand
in one corner, against the background of a valuable Oriental rug
in shimmering greens and blues, sat a curious Indian idol.
Constance's desk might once have been used by some Italian
princess in the days of Dante, and above it hung a beautiful
silver lamp that could well cause envy in the breast of Aladdin.
Pictures and ornaments alike spoke of wanderings in distant lands
and from their unusual individuality indicated a wide range of
interest in their possessor.

The door into the adjoining bedroom opened and Constance came out
attired in a lounging-robe that made both girls gasp with
admiration.

"Oh, Miss Connie," Frances exclaimed, "what a beautiful kimono.
And what color is it?"

"Guess," said Constance merrily. "For a long time I didn't know
myself what to call it."

"It isn't blue nor gray," said Edith admiringly.

"Nor green nor violet," added Frances reflectively, "and yet it is
all of them. I've seen something like it but I can't think what."

"I suppose only an Oriental artist could conceive such a
combination," said Constance, ringing the bell for Yvonne and then
curling into a little heap on the couch. "Dad brought it to me
from Paris and I keep it for very special occasions. I couldn't
make out what color it was but I loved it the minute I opened the
box and I knew you girls would. I've thought very seriously of
having it made into an evening coat, for it is too lovely to be
used only in my room. But about its color. One day this Christmas
vacation I was feeling a bit poorly, so I had tea up here and let
Dad and Max come. I slipped on this robe to receive them in state
and the minute Max saw it, he told me what it was like. The thing
is in plain sight."

The girls glanced about the room. Edith's eyes lingered for a
second on a brass bowl full of blue hyacinths, but passed on.

"I have it!" exclaimed Frances, noticing a slight inclination of
Connie's fair head toward the open casement. "It's the color of
the ocean!"

"Right!" said Constance. "The moment Max said so, I knew it. He
did it very prettily, too, with some remark about the 'lady from
the sea.' The silk really does change and shade as the water under
storm and sun."

There came a tap and Yvonne, bearing a most tempting tray, entered
with a smiling "_Bon jour, mes demoiselles._" Fruit, a fat little
chocolate pot sending forth a delicious odor, and flanked by
delicate china and shining silver, whipped cream, marshmallows,
French rolls, sweet unsalted butter and raspberry jam, made the
girls feel hungry at the mere sight. Dainty green and white
snowdrops, tucked here and there by Yvonne's artistic fingers
added the final touch.

"I think this is the greatest fun," said Frances. "Do you always
have your breakfast this way?"

"Bless you, no," replied Constance. "This is an occasional Sunday
morning indulgence. Every other day of the week, I am up, dressed
and in my right mind to breakfast with my Dad. He'd think the
world was coming down about his ears if his Connie wasn't there to
pour his coffee. I warned him that we were going to have a debauch
this morning and he won't care anyway, because he has Max. What
did you mean, Edith, about a cat? Did you dream of Grayfur?"

"Why, no, it wasn't Grayfur," said Edith, dropping a marshmallow
into her chocolate and watching it dissolve. "I thought Mr. Max
succeeded in carrying out his joke. He must have come back much
later and put another pussy in from behind the portrait. I woke
some time in the night, oh, hours after, because the moonlight was
'way across the room, and sitting in it, washing its face, was the
prettiest little half-grown kitten. It was a perfect beauty, white
with a plumy tail. I spoke to it very softly so as not to wake
either of you, and it looked at me and purred but would not come.
I watched it chase its tail for a little and then it jumped in a
big chair and curled itself up to sleep. I suppose it must have
gone out when the door was opened this morning. May we see it
again, Miss Connie? It was much prettier than Grayfur. But do tell
us now about the ghost. We are in such a hurry to hear."

"You know practically all there is to know," said Constance
whimsically.

Both girls stared at her. "What do you mean!" asked Edith. "Is it
a joke? Isn't there any ghost?"

"You know better than I do," replied Constance, tasting her
chocolate critically. "Did you have sugar, Frances? Why, you've
seen the ghost, Edith, which is more than I can say."

Edith's face was a picture of surprise. "_Seen_ it!" she repeated.
"Why, I saw nothing at all."

"I told you, didn't I, that the people who saw the ghost never
knew it at the time? This is the legend. About a century ago, the
Richard Lisle, then owner of the Manor, married a very charming
young wife. He was madly in love with her and was inclined to be
rather jealous. The story runs that he couldn't bear to have her
lavish affection on anything but him, was jealous of her dog and
her horse and even of her flower-garden. Winifred Lisle had a
very pretty white Persian kitten--"

Constance stopped, for Edith's spoon fell with a clatter. "You
don't mean that darling purry little pussy was the _ghost!"_ she
exclaimed.


"Listen to the story," Constance went on smiling. "Dick Lisle
objected to even this wee kit since it took some of his Winifred's
time and attention and he gave orders that it was never to be
admitted to the room where they spent the evening, presumably the
library. The kitten disappeared and Winifred mourned for it.
Months later, its little corpse was found on the secret stairs
behind the portrait."

"Then Mr. Max didn't put a cat into the room?" asked Frances
eagerly.

"I think not, unless he took the trouble to bring a white kitten
with him from Paris. Max is quite capable of doing it for a joke,
but he could not know, you see, that we were planning to sleep in
that room last night. And there is no white kitten about the
Manor."

"Isn't that the oddest story!" said Edith in deep interest. "Why,
Miss Connie, I'm as sure as I am of anything that I saw that pussy
playing in the moonlight. It was the sweetest little thing and I
did wish it would come and cuddle by me in bed. Is it really a
ghost? How do you account for it?"

"I don't account for it," said Constance. "You can consider it a
pretty dream if you wish. I never saw it and I have a fancy that
it is because I am not fond of cats. When Frances said she did not
like them, I knew that she would not see the little ghost kit
either, and so I wanted you to take the bed nearest the
moonlight."

"That's the most interesting thing that ever happened to me," said
Edith. "I'm so glad I saw it."

"Whether it is imagination or dream, I rather like to think of the
kitten ghost playing so gayly with its tail on moonlight nights,"
said Connie. "No, only three or four people have seen it. The room
is not often used, and like Edith, they supposed it a kitten that
had somehow got in. Well, is the Manor ghost satisfactory?"

"I think it's the dearest thing I ever heard of," said Edith
happily. "But do you suppose that Winifred's husband shut it in
there deliberately?"

"We'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Cats are always poking
about in odd places. The door in the library may have been open a
crack and the kit gone in to investigate. Once I accidentally shut
a kitten into a drawer in the linen closet. Luckily Paget happened
to open it within an hour and she was surprised enough to find a
pussy there. Now for the rest of the morning. I heard Frances say
that she wanted to hear a church service in French just to see
whether she could follow. If you like, I'll get Max to take us
into town and we will find a French church to attend."

"That would be lovely," declared Fran enthusiastically. "I really
believe I could understand quite a little now."

"Thank you, Miss Connie," said Edith. "I'm afraid I ought to go
home. Fran can stay just as well as not, but Sister depends upon
me to go to church with her. I always do, you know."

Edith colored and looked uncomfortable, feeling that perhaps she
was being ungracious.

"You're a good little sister," said Constance quickly. "And you
would not care so much as Frances because you have always spoken
French. I imagine Dad will go to St. Aubin's and he'll take you
home. I'll make Max go with us."

Max was perfectly willing to play escort, but looked dubious when
Constance declared her intention of stopping at a tiny French
church just inside the town of St. Helier's. "Have you ever been
here?" he demanded.

"No," admitted Constance. "Of course we might go to the Convent of
St. André. I forgot, though, they wouldn't let you in. Frances
only wants to hear a sermon in French and this will answer very
well."

Max still looked disapproving. "You won't like it," he said. "It's
a queer, non-conformist sect of some kind. There's a place the
other side of town where they have the Church of England service
in French. Let's go there."

"Why not stop here?" persisted Constance. "More exciting when one
doesn't know what's coming next."

"One may get more than one bargains for," commented Max. "Connie,
I have a premonition that we'll land in some mess."

Connie made a delightful little face. "Come in," she said to
Frances. "I was under the impression that we invited Max to escort
_us._"

When Frances returned home from church, she was distressed to find
Win in bed.

"He overdid yesterday," said Mrs. Thayne in reply to her anxious
questioning. "I can't discover exactly what happened, but he and
Roger were out together and Win walked too far. That's all he will
admit. No, he isn't as badly off as sometimes, and says he only
needs a rest. Come up in his room, Fran, to tell your adventures."

To Fran's eyes Win looked decidedly ill when she saw him lying
against his pillows, but he evaded all inquiries and demanded to
know about the Manor ghost.

"That wasn't the end of our experiences," Frances went on
laughing, when the events of the night had been thoroughly
discussed. "We had a funny time in that little church. Mr. Max
didn't want to go there in the beginning, but Miss Connie
insisted. Inside, it didn't look much like a church for it was a
great bare room, with not many people present. The usher made us
sit rather far front, so we had a good view of the minister, who
was a little man with black hair that stood straight up, and his
manner was very excited.

"The service seemed unusual for different people kept getting up
and talking. I couldn't understand much and Mr. Max looked annoyed
and Miss Connie amused. Finally a boy about my age began to speak.
He wore the oddest vest and trousers of rose-pink sateen plaided
with purple. We could see distinctly because the minister made him
come out in front and face the people. Well, the clothes he had on
were enough to make any one smile, but when he finished speaking,
the minister bounced out of the pulpit and kissed him on both
cheeks! He did, honest!" Fran insisted in answer to Roger's
whistle of incredulity.

"I don't know what would have happened next, for the service was
really very strange, but when the minister kissed that boy, Mr.
Max gave a little grunt and took up his hat. I was sitting between
them, and he leaned forward and said in such a disgusted tone, 'My
word, Connie, _will_ you come?'

"I think Miss Connie was trying not to laugh but I guess she'd had
enough herself for she rose and we went out very quietly so as not
to disturb anybody.

"When we reached the street," Frances went on, "Mr. Max was so
funny. He didn't say a word, only stalked along looking quite
cross. Miss Connie sat down on a wall and laughed till she cried.
Then she told Mr. Max to smile and show his dimple. But he
wouldn't. I don't see how he could help it when she was so pretty
and sweet. Well, after she laughed some more, she begged him
please to look affectionate.

"At that he couldn't help smiling, and then he asked Miss Connie
if she was ever going to stop getting herself and him into
scrapes. She called him 'old boy' and said she was sorry,--she
wasn't really," Fran interpolated with a wise nod,--"and promised
to stick to the Church of England service ever after. Mr. Max
inquired how much I understood and when I told him only a little,
he said it was lucky. That was certainly a very peculiar church,"
Frances ended reflectively. "I'm quite sure that Mr. Max wanted to
come out long before we did, and that Miss Connie persisted in
staying just to tease him."

Win was smiling over his sister's story, but though he evinced
interest both in the Manor ghost and in the amusing experience
Connie had furnished with her little French church, the point that
most impressed him was Max's presence at the Manor.

"I wish I could see him," he observed. "I want so much to ask a
question or two. Did Miss Connie tell him about the paper I found
and how we explored the vaults and sounded the walls?"

"She did," assented Frances. "We talked about it after dinner. Mr.
Max was as interested as could be and said he was going down
himself to take a look."

"Mother," said Win suddenly. "I really need to see him. Don't you
believe he'd come in for a minute if he knew I was used up so I
couldn't get to the Manor?"

"Indeed, I do," assented Mrs. Thayne. "Write a note, dear. Roger
shall take it for you."

Roger, who for some reason haunted his brother's room in a subdued
mood not at all common to his usual attitude toward life, was very
willing to act as messenger. Toward night, Max appeared at Rose
Villa.




CHAPTER XVII

THE DOTTED LINE


"Sorry you are laid by, old man," Max said cheerfully as he was
shown into Win's room. "Better luck soon."

"It's good of you to come," replied Win, grasping the hand so
cordially offered and relieved to see that the pleasant young face
bore no expression of the sympathetic pity Win so often read in
older countenances.

"Well, my being here is as much of a surprise to me as to any
one," said Max, sitting down by the bed. "On Friday I expected to
spend my Sunday in Paris. But it chanced that I successfully
engineered a rather ticklish job for the Embassy, and the Chief
was pleased. As a figurative pat upon the head he gave me the
week-end off. You should have seen the way my car went to
Granville! Jean drove till we were clear of Paris and then I took
the wheel and things began to hum. From the tail of my eye I could
see Jean devoutly crossing himself whenever we hit the earth, but
we made the boat and didn't so much as run down a hen. I did
wonder that we weren't held up anywhere for exceeding the speed
limit, but the mystery was explained when we reached the Granville
pier."

Max stopped with a mischievous laugh. "The Embassy has several
official machines," he explained, "and of course they are so
marked they are easily recognizable. I always use my own car, and
am authorized to sport the Embassy insignia when on official
business. I forgot to remove it before starting and that was why
not a single gendarme did more than salute as we tore past. Good
joke, so long as it ended well, but if we'd come a cropper on the
way, there'd have been rather a row and Max would have stood for
an official wigging, to say the least. Lucky for us that nothing
went wrong. What's done you up, old fellow?"

Win looked at him wistfully. "Just exploring the Manor cave," he
said with a sigh. "I did so want to see it, and I made Roger take
me. I managed to get down all right, but it took over an hour to
climb the cliff. The kid is wild because he thinks he's half-
killed me."

"Oh, say, that's a shame," said Max. "I wish I'd known that you
wanted to go. Pierre and I could have rigged a rope somehow and
helped you get back."

Win's face just then was pitiful. Max's eyes grew very gentle but
he did not utter one word of sympathy. "I've been led a lively
pace since I reached the Manor," he went on. "Between Connie's
ghost hunt and the extraordinary church she chose to attend this
morning and your discovery in the library, my existence hasn't
lacked variety. Gay Paris is quiet beside this! But there's
nothing in the world I'm so keen on as hidden treasure. I'm pretty
sure I have a special talent for hunting it down. To be sure the
only time I ever tried, I made a giddy ass of myself and got into
a jolly mess, but I wonder will I succeed with this. Connie thinks
you've the tail of an idea. Can't you put me on?"

"That was what I wanted to see you for," replied Win, his self-
possession quite restored. "Please open the lower drawer of that
desk. Right on top is a roll of tracing paper."

"Why, this is a copy of the Manor plans," said Max, as he spread
out the thin sheet.

"Yes," said Win. "Colonel Lisle let me trace them. Tell me, does
anything about them strike you as odd?"

Max considered the plan carefully. "I can't say it does," he
admitted after a minute survey. "Give me a lead."

"That dotted line," said Win, pointing to it with Max's pencil,
"according to Colonel Lisle, marks the path down to the cottages
on the shore, only the path curves more now than it did when the
plan was first made. Don't you think it strange that it was the
_only_ path put on the plans? Even the state driveway isn't
indicated."

"That, I suppose, wasn't made then."

"But surely," persisted Win, "there was some driveway to the main
road. Why should this especial path be marked? It couldn't have
been the most important, even at that time."

"That does seem true," replied Max thoughtfully.

[Illustration: WIN'S PLAN OF THE MANOR CELLARS.]

"Now look at the point where the dotted line comes to the house,"
Win went on, tracing its course as he spoke. "This is the very
oldest vault of all, under the library, you know. On the plan, its
northern wall is continued flush by the northern side of the
addition made later, and this dotted line runs parallel to it,
but--it runs _inside_ the foundations."

"So it does," Max agreed. "But isn't that due to clumsy drawing?
There's an axiom, you know, about it being impossible for two
bodies to occupy the same space. Two lines couldn't occupy the
same location on a plan."

"Yes," said Win, "but if this is a _path_, what is it doing
_inside_ the house?"

There followed a second of silence and then Max gave a low
whistle. "I'm on," he announced. "Clever reasoning, Win."

"There's another thing, too," said Win, lying flushed and pleased
against his pillows. "I spent a lot of time on that dividing
partition wall. I'm sure there is no space in it unless it is so
thick that even a hollow place wouldn't sound any different. But
after I looked again at the plans, I saw that what I should have
put my time on wasn't that wall at all, but the northern one,
indicated here as parallel to the dotted line. Mr. Max, I'm quite
certain that the old original cellar extends farther to the north
than this newer part. I mean that the north wall of the new cellar
isn't on a line with the old one, not in reality, though here it
is intended to look so."

"You mean," said Max, bringing intelligent brows to bear on this
explanation, "that this was an underground passage rather than a
surface path and that its northern side is the one flush with the
original cellar?"

"That's exactly it," said Win. "I think there is a passage running
along outside that northern wall down to the cave and the beach.
There seems a space on the plan that isn't accounted for in any
other way, and that explains why this dotted line runs inside the
foundations."

"But, old chap," said Max kindly, "I know that cave from top to
bottom. Truly there is no exit. I've spent hours in exploring the
place."

"But when I was on the ledge at the back, there was a draught of
fresh warm air from somewhere," Win pleaded. "And Roger said he
noticed it when you took him there. Behind the ledge is a big pile
of stones and rubble. Couldn't that air get in somehow?"

"It must, since you felt it," agreed Max sensibly. "If I can
possibly manage it, I'll make an investigation. But I am booked to
sail on Tuesday morning. It may have to stand over until the
Easter holidays. I will take a squint at the cellar though this
very evening. Did you sound that north wall?"

"No, I didn't," Win admitted. "I spent all my time on the west
one. Not until I studied the plans again, did it fully dawn on me
that perhaps that line was a passage instead of a path. If that is
true, it is the other wall that will bear investigation."

Max still surveyed the plans, his fine young face intent on this
problem. He glanced up to meet a very wistful look from Win.

"On the whole, let's wait until Easter," he suggested. "Then
you'll be feeling more fit and can come down in the vaults with
me."

"I wish you'd inspect that wall," Win replied. "If you find it
does sound hollow, will Colonel Lisle let us punch a hole?"

"Sure," said Max encouragingly. "I know jolly well he will. Uncle
Dick will be game for any investigation. Only he'll have to be
convinced that I'm not pulling his leg. If that north wall
resounds like a tomb, I'll tow Uncle down to hark for himself.
Why, man, we're getting on swimmingly! That was a mighty clever
idea of yours about the dotted line. Connie'll be keen on it too,
and anyway she owes me one after getting me into such a beastly
mess as she did to-day. I didn't even use unkind language about it
either. If the sea is decent tomorrow, I'll trot her down to the
cave to see where your fresh air comes from."

"Perhaps it can be felt only when the wind is from a certain
direction," observed Win.

"That's more than likely. Yesterday it was south, wasn't it? Very
probably it takes a south wind to strike in there. I'm afraid we
can't hope for that to-morrow because there seems a storm brewing,
on purpose probably to give me a rough trip on Tuesday."

"Weren't you glad of the chance to come?" asked Win.

"I was," said Max expressively, "not only because I always like to
get back to the Manor, but because I was pleased with myself to
think I'd scored with this especial bit of work, a job of
smoothing down an elderly ass who was inclined to be a trifle
footy. You see when I decided to go in for the diplomatic service,
Dad told me that he would use his influence only to get me an
appointment, a try-out. After that it was up to me; if I received
promotion it would be because I earned it, not because I was his
son. He makes me an allowance because one really couldn't manage
on the salary of an attaché, but so far as my profession goes, I
stand absolutely on my own merits. So Max is feeling proud of
himself just now!" he added whimsically. "So's my Dad, if my
telegram reached him."

"He must be proud of you," said Win rather soberly. "I so much
hope that Roger will condescend to go to Annapolis. You see I
can't, and Dad would like one of us in the navy."

"Roger will wake up to a sense of his privileges some day," said
Max. "Do you know, Win, some of the finest work in the world has
been done by the fellows who were handicapped. Prescott, for
instance, writing all his histories, blind in one eye and
sometimes half crazed by pain; Milton, too, dictating to his
daughters, and Scott, producing so much when he was old and
burdened with grief and trouble. And Stevenson, who was ill half
his life."

"But they were geniuses," said Win.

"They were also too courageous in spirit to yield to
circumstances. To come down to more ordinary people, I think Uncle
Dick is mighty fine. He is crippled, useless for the work he
expected to grow old in; he saw his only son die for England. You
have seen enough of him to know what he is and what he means not
only to Laurel Manor but to the Island. I respect and admire him
tremendously and I shall owe much of whatever success I score, to
him as well as to Dad. There are careers open to you, Win. You are
clever and have a fine mind. Roger defers to your opinion. Through
your influence, he may accomplish far more than he might alone."

"I don't amount to very much with Roger. Still, I did make him
square things with Fisher that day he played truant and went off
with you," admitted Win with the ghost of a smile. "Mother only
lectured him for bunking, but I persuaded him to apologize and to
put in the next Wednesday doing the work he skipped."

"Good for you!" said Max cordially. His gray eyes were very kind
and friendly as he rose to leave.

"I hope you'll feel more fit to-morrow," he said, shaking hands.
"If I possibly can, I'll run in and make a report; if not, I'll
drop a line when I get home to the lurid lights of Paris."

"Shall you drive back with the Embassy insignia on your car?"
inquired Win smiling. He looked much brighter and happier than
before his visitor came.

Max laughed. "I fancy not," he said as he gathered hat, gloves and
riding-crop. "I'm rather anxious to be on my good behavior. No,
I'll let Jean drive which will be prudently slow, and I'll
meditate about your hidden chest and the dotted path and other
things back at the Manor."

"I believe Mr. Hamilton did you more good than the doctor,"
declared Mrs. Thayne, entering Win's room after his caller had
mounted Saracen and ridden away. "You look fifty per cent
brighter."

"He's a crackerjack," said Win briefly. "He's promised to do some
investigating on his own account and I feel sure that he can
induce Colonel Lisle to let us try an experiment if it is needed.
But, Mother, there's something I've been meaning to tell you all
day, not about the Spanish chest or anything to do with it. You
know we spoke once of how Miss Estelle reminded us of some one at
home. This morning instead of sending a servant with my breakfast,
she brought it herself, and when she was arranging things, I
remembered whom it is she looks like. It is your friend, Mrs.
Aldrich."

"Win, you're right," said Mrs. Thayne suddenly. "Estelle _is_ like
Carrie Aldrich, and not in looks alone, but in manner. Now how can
that possibly be? Of course it is only a chance resemblance but it
must exist since you notice it, too. I wonder whether Fran ever
carried out her intention of asking Edith whether they had any
relatives in the United States. She spoke of doing so."

"What good would that do, if Mrs. Aldrich is the person Estelle
resembles?" asked Win. "Haven't you known her all her life?"

"I met her at school," replied his mother, "when we both were
young girls and then knew her intimately. Of later years, we have
seen less of each other, though we have always kept up the
friendship. There seems no possible connection between Carrie
Aldrich and Estelle and the likeness must be only in our minds.
They say, you know, that every person in the world has a double
somewhere."

"I'd like mighty well to be Mr. Max's double if I could only
choose," muttered Win to himself.




CHAPTER XVIII

ROGER THE MAROONED


No word came from the Manor the next day, only a big bunch of
fragrant lilies for Win and some jelly of which Paget alone knew
the secret recipe. Early Tuesday morning Max's prophesied storm
arrived in earnest and the young people at Rose Villa saw the
Granville boat leave her pier amid sheets of driving rain. Her
decks looked dreary and deserted, for all the passengers were
inside.

"I suppose Mr. Max is on board for he was obliged to go," observed
Frances, as the steamer disappeared in low-hanging banks of fog
drifting continually nearer shore.

"Yes," agreed Win, who was dressed and about, though still looking
ill. "There will be some word when he gets back to Paris. It
stormed so yesterday that he probably couldn't go into the cave as
he planned."

"Life seems very tame after all the interesting things that
happened last week," sighed Frances, gathering her French grammar
and other school books. "Rain or no rain, there will be school,
and English rain seems somehow _wetter_ than American. You'd
better eat that jelly, Win. According to Nurse, it is the elixir
of life and warranted to cure every ill known to man."

Win smiled as he watched his sister and Edith down the steps, and
waved a listless hand as they turned inquiring faces under bobbing
umbrellas at the end of the terrace. He looked enviously after
Roger, a tall slim clothespin in black rubber coat and boots,
sou'wester pulled firmly over his head, tramping sturdily toward
the beach, evidently on some definite errand. Win would have liked
mightily to be swinging along with him through the storm, but the
fun of facing a tempest was not for Win.

For a few moments he stood idly by the window, wondering whether
Connie knew what Max had possibly discovered in his inspection of
cave and vaults. Then he turned with a sigh, reminding himself
that with the weather what it was, and in this land of few
telephones, there was no chance of hearing anything from the
Manor.

Gradually the stormy morning passed, somewhat dully for Win, who
still felt unfit to study or even to occupy himself with a book,
and lay upon the couch while his mother read aloud.

Frances returned from school, ravenously hungry and quite rosy
with the rain that had beaten in her face.

"Mother, I am nearly starved!" she announced.

"Why, it is time for luncheon," said Mrs. Thayne, awakening to a
realization of that fact. "But where is Roger? He can't have taken
the whole morning just to deliver that message for Estelle."

"He could easily, Mother," said Win. "Why, if I had a chance to
get out in this storm, I feel sure it would take me forever to do
the simplest errand. He'll come home when he's hungry."

The gong for luncheon sounded and the three sat down to Annette's
delicious scallops, daintily creamed in their own big shells, her
French bread and perfect chocolate. Still Roger did not come.

Nurse took the plates, and brought dessert; fruit, clotted cream
with plum jam, and a special glass of egg-nog for Win.

"Shall we put Mr. Roger's lunch to the fire?" she asked of Mrs.
Thayne.

"I don't see why he doesn't come. He can't have gone to the Manor
and if he had, they would have sent word if he were staying. No,
you needn't keep it warm, Nurse. Unless he has some very good
excuse when he comes, he may lunch upon bread and milk. It's
really very naughty of him to go off like this when he had lessons
to learn."

"It's queer where he can be," observed Fran. "He started on his
errand just after Edith and I came out and saw Annette buying
scallops of the fish-woman. He's crazy about them you know, and he
asked particularly if they were for luncheon, and told her to be
sure to get plenty."

"Oh, I don't suppose anything has happened," said Mrs. Thayne
quietly, for she did not wish Win to worry.

When Roger was still missing half an hour later, Mrs. Thayne
sought Estelle.

"Whatever can have happened?" said Estelle helplessly. "I can't
think. Did he have any money?"

"Why, perhaps a few pence, not much anyway," replied Mrs. Thayne.
"You think he went into St. Helier's and had to walk back? That's
possible. Fran, it's not storming so hard now. Put on your rain-
coat and run out to the end of the terrace. Perhaps with the
field-glasses you can make out whether he is coming down the beach
or is anywhere in sight."

Frances returned with the report that there was practically no
beach, owing to the high tide, and no foot-farers on the narrow
strip that was visible in the fog.

Neither Estelle nor Mrs. Thayne knew what was best to do. Estelle
suggested the police and then the rector, but neither seemed to
Mrs. Thayne likely to offer a solution.

"We will wait a while," she said with an anxious glance at the
clock just striking two. "Don't do or say anything to let Win
think I am worried, Fran. Let me take your coat. I'll go down to
the beach myself. I really think that Roger should be punished for
causing us such anxiety."

Had his mother only known, Roger was already enduring considerable
self-inflicted penance for getting into a predicament which made
it impossible for him to return.

Delivering Estelle's message at a cottage by the shore had taken
but a few moments and with most of the morning before him, Roger
set out along the beach, glorying in the force of wind and rain.
True, there were lessons to be prepared for Bill Fish, who would
come cheerfully swimming in at the appointed hour, but there was
surely time for a stroll toward Noirmont Point.

The tide was far out and wet hard sand stretched in every
direction, very pleasing to stamp over, and retaining little trace
of any footprint. Only gray gulls and drifting fog banks
distinguished the immediate surroundings.

As Roger tramped on, he noticed that the fog grew steadily thicker
and that his path included occasional seaweed-covered rocks, but
not until a black mass loomed up before him, did he realize that
he had left the true beach and was walking straight out to sea.
The bulk he had encountered was not the martello tower on Noirmont
Point but the old castle of St. Aubin's, at high tide an island in
the bay.

No thought of any danger in his position struck Roger. He had
always intended to investigate that island but somehow had never
yet done so. Here it lay before him.

Climbing the rocks upon which the castle stands, he made a careful
survey of its outside and finally gained access to the interior,
much disappointed to find nothing at all remarkable, though St.
Aubin's castle is not wholly a ruin and was once rented and
occupied for a season by an eccentric Englishman.

Nothing was now visible save swirling fog and for the first time,
Roger realized what that fog meant. He hastily made his way to the
little beach, where the tide, still out, would permit him to cross
to the mainland. To start in the right direction was simple
enough, for he very well knew which side of the castle faced the
shore, but he had taken scarcely twenty steps down the sand when
he saw that he had no certainty of keeping his bearings once the
island was left behind.

Roger was only twelve, but he was possessed of common-sense and
self-reliance. Though the youngest of the family he had been so
thoroughly impressed with the necessity of considering "safety
first" in regard to Win, that in an emergency of any kind he was
usually level-headed. He stopped where he was, searching his
pockets for the compass Captain Thayne had given to each of his
three children.

Roger's pockets yielded a strange and varied assortment of
objects, presumably of value, but no compass. He looked
irresolutely behind where the castle was just visible as a darker
spot in the fog. Nothing at all could be distinguished ahead.

From the lighthouse on the point came the tolling of a bell, but
its warning tones were so scattered and disguised by the fog, that
its sound was of no use as a guide.

For several moments Roger stood where he was. The distance to
shore was not great if he was only certain of going straight
ahead. To swerve from that direction meant wandering out to meet
the cruel Jersey tide, presently coming in like a hunter on its
prey. To remain where he was meant anxious hours for his mother
and for Win, about whom Roger was already so much concerned.

Having weighed the alternatives, he took five steps forward and
stood absolutely surrounded by the whirling mist. A sort of horror
came over him, a keen realization of his helplessness before one
of the great elemental forces of nature. The risk was too great!
There was a chance that he might keep in the right direction with
nothing to guide him, but it was only a chance. Worried as his
mother would doubtless be, better that she endure a few hours of
anxiety than lasting grief.

Turning squarely about, Roger retraced his footsteps, already
faint, to the castle, where he perched forlornly on a high rock. A
little later, he heard for he could not see, the low hiss and
gurgle of the coming tide. Roger was a big, strong, brave boy, but
at the sound, he could not suppress a few tears, and they were not
wholly for his own plight.

Mrs. Thayne returned from her fruitless expedition to the beach,
looking still more distressed.

"I can't imagine where Roger is," she said anxiously to Frances.
"Of course, there may be some good excuse for this performance,
but I don't see what it can be. He knows that he is not to go into
town without permission and it seems as though he would have come
home for luncheon unless he was in St. Helier's. If he really has
been disobedient and played truant again into the bargain, I shall
ask Mr. Fisher to punish him."

"Oh, Mother," said Frances, "Roger wouldn't deliberately frighten
us, especially when he's been so upset over Win."

"But where _is_ he?" said Mrs. Thayne again. "Thank goodness!
Here's Mr. Fisher."

She hurried down to intercept the tutor at the door. Lingering at
the head of the stair, Frances heard her name called from Win's
room.

"Is Mother dreadfully troubled?" he asked as she entered. "I think
Roger went back to the cave and has been shut in."

"Oh, I hope not," said Frances. "Mother's annoyed but it seems to
me he must be all right. When he gets ready he will turn up with
some wonderful tale of adventure."

"I suspect he's in some scrape," said Win. "Might not be such a
bad idea to appeal to the police after all. I only wish I wasn't
such a helpless stick," he added rather bitterly.

"Mr. Fisher has gone down to the beach," reported Frances from the
window. "I'm glad he's come, for Mother will feel better to have
him to consult."

Both were silent for a moment, thinking of Roger, blunt, loyal,
impulsive Roger, hoping that nothing serious had befallen him.

Presently Mrs. Thayne came, her face expressing a calm she did not
feel. "Mr. Fisher thinks there is no cause for us to worry," she
remarked placidly. "He is going to take what he calls a 'turn
about the town.' Frances, suppose you go on reading to Win while I
sew a little."

Frances took the book Win held out to her, and Mrs. Thayne's
fingers twitched the needle through her embroidery, both ears
alert for sound of returning steps. The clock struck three and
then four. Nothing happened. Roger did not come and Mr. Fisher did
not reappear.

Over on St. Aubin's tiny island, Roger watched the water creep
steadily up the rocks, up and up until it broke almost at the
foundations of the castle. Cruel, cold, and gray it looked and
hungry and chilly was the boy who watched. Once a gull flew so
close that he could almost touch it as it vanished like a ghost
into the fog.

At intervals Roger inspected his watch, counting the moments till
the tide should cease to make. At last the water stopped climbing
the rocks, remained stationary, fell an inch. The next wave broke
still farther below.

But unless the fog should lift, ebb tide would only duplicate
Roger's predicament of the morning. Toward four he saw that the
mist was gradually growing lighter; saw water visible fifty feet
from the island. Presently a breeze sprang into being, the most
welcome wind Roger had ever known. Before it the fog thinned, grew
filmy, dispersed in shreds of trailing vapor. Noirmont Point and
St. Aubin's village came gradually into distinct view, and with
them a man walking along the sand.

Water ten feet deep and many wide still barred Roger from the
shore and he could not make himself heard above the slow heave of
the rollers lazily breaking on the beach. Was there no way to
attract the saunterer's attention?

Finding a long branch, relic of some storm-wrecked tree, Roger
tied his handkerchief to it and waved vigorously. After a time,
the man on the beach noticed the flag and stood looking toward it.

A bright idea struck Roger. At home he had belonged to a troop of
boy scouts and knew the signals. He would experiment on this
stranger.

Just by chance, Mr. Fisher at one time had been a scout-master and
instantly realized that Roger, marooned on St. Aubin's island, was
trying to send a message. Hastily improvising a flag, he
responded.

Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Thayne, still nervously sewing, heard
Mr. Fisher run up the steps and Estelle hurry to the door. A few
brief seconds sufficed to give the explanation Roger had so
painstakingly signaled.

"I didn't stop to rescue him, Mrs. Thayne," explained Mr. Fisher,
"because his one thought was for you and Win, not to let you worry
a moment longer."

"Can't you get a boat and row out for him?" asked Estelle, seeing
that Mrs. Thayne was unable to speak. "Poor dear boy, he must be
cold and famished."

"I'm off to Noirmont Point," replied Mr. Fisher briefly. "It
shouldn't take long to pull over and back, provided that I pick up
a boat quickly."

In spite of the tutor's best efforts, darkness had fallen before
the marooned prisoner was returned to his anxious family, who sat
around to see him eat everything pressed upon him. Roger was pale
and very subdued. Strangest of all, he had come up Noirmont
Terrace pressed close to the side of the obnoxious Bill Fish and
not in the least resenting the hand that rested on his shoulder.

Having consumed all the food in sight, he yielded without protest
to his mother's desire that he should go to bed in order to ward
off possible chill. When Mr. Fisher, heartily thanked, had taken
his departure, Mrs. Thayne started for Roger's room. On its
threshold she stopped for the boys were talking.

"I hated it like time out there," said Roger, now reposing
luxuriously in bed. "But I hated worse to have you and Mother
worried. I didn't purposely go over to the island, Win."

"I know you didn't," said his brother. "I was sure that something
you couldn't help had happened."

"It did," sighed Roger. "I guess I'll never again do anything that
worries Mother, now I know how it feels to worry over somebody
myself. And I say, Win, Bill Fish is all right! To think of his
knowing the scout signals! And he pulled out for me himself in a
heavy old dory that weighed a ton. Why, Bill Fish isn't so bad!"

"And have you just found that out?" asked Win laughing. "I've
known it all the time."




CHAPTER XIX

AT CORBIÉRE


Not until Friday did Win receive the longed-for letter from Paris.
He tore it open eagerly.

"DEAR WIN," it ran, "I've just arrived in town and am wishing I
was back in Jersey. As the steamer sailed, I looked over at St
Aubin's and thought of you. You couldn't see me of course, both
for fog and because I was in the wheel-house with the pilot, Jim
Trott, a fellow from Gorey village.

"Probably you thought that we didn't get into the cave on Monday
on account of the weather. It was beastly, but I decided to try,
and when Connie knew my plan, she insisted on going with me.
Pierre came too, with a lantern and we went down without much
trouble.

"Pierre and I tackled your stone pile at once and we pitched
quantities aside, but couldn't finish because Connie, who was
watching the tide, called a halt too soon. But we cleared enough
rocks away to feel rather sure there is an opening of some kind
beyond; just possibly the passage you are so keen on, more
probably connecting with another cave. The Jersey cliffs are
honey-combed with them. How's that for exciting news?

"Connie haled us out before there was really any need and of
course the tide did not serve for us to go again. When I come at
Easter, I'll finish the job if necessary. After playing ball with
several tons of stone, we then explored the vaults, armed with a
hammer and a long line.

"Well, old fellow, I pounded that north wall inch by inch and I
can't conscientiously say I struck anything that sounded at all
hollow. But still, it's not like tapping on plaster or wood; one
couldn't reasonably expect the same result for the stone is
probably some feet thick. And if the whole wall is the side of the
tunnel, naturally it would all sound alike, so that test doesn't
really prove or disprove anything.

"The discovery Connie and I did make, and to my mind it is rather
important, is that you are right in thinking that there is a
discrepancy between the walls of the oldest vault and the adjacent
cellar. Outside the house, the foundation wall runs flush the
length of the library and the wing beyond; inside, that same
foundation wall doesn't jibe. According to our measurements, there
is a difference of over a metre, almost four feet, in the length
of the partition at right angles to the north wall as reckoned on
either side. This certainly bears out your theory of a passage
running along that wall.

"We looked very carefully but could not detect that there had ever
been any opening, but all the masonry is so rough that perhaps we
couldn't expect to find it.

"Uncle Dick is interested but sceptical, says the difference in
measurement may be accounted for by walls built at different
times. When he thinks it over a little, he will see that no Lisle
in his senses,--and the Lisles possess sense,--would have put four
extra feet of solidity into a wall which had no earthly reason to
need such treatment. But he said that when I came at Easter, we
may have a mason and knock a hole wherever we choose. Messing
about in the cellar is a harmless amusement that may keep us out
of mischief and provide employment for some deserving workman.
Before that date, I trust you will succeed in getting Uncle Dick
into a less doubting frame of mind. Easter is but a month away and
if all goes well, I'll surely be back and we will hunt that
Spanish chest to its lair.

"Had no adventures coming here. Jean seemed relieved when I told
him to drive. When I reached my rooms, I found a note directing me
to report for duty to-morrow prepared to show some important
American from the western States the sights of Paris. That means a
gay and giddy day. I only hope I sha'n't have to interpret while
he buys hats for Madam and the young ladies at home. Once I was
let in for that and it was pretty sickening. I've often wondered
what the ladies thought of those hats. I also hope he won't be
keen on climbing the Eiffel tower, for that's one of the things
that's not done in Paris.

"I must go to bed for it is after two and my day to-morrow, or
rather to-day, may include an evening as well.

"Till Easter then adieu, and all best wishes,

"M. R. HAMILTON."

This letter naturally afforded Win a great deal of satisfaction
and his interest and pleasure were shared by the others. To wait a
whole month to solve the mystery of the Spanish chest when so
distinct a clue appeared already in his hand, was a trial of
patience. Naturally Colonel Lisle would not be likely to go ahead
in the matter until Max returned to inspire action by his youthful
enthusiasm, and it was only fair that Max should be in at the
finish. Win wondered whether Connie shared the Colonel's
scepticism. This proved not the case, only that Connie and her
father were going to London for a week or two and the little lady
of the Manor had other ideas to occupy her pretty head.

"We may even run over to Paris," she announced during a farewell
call at Rose Villa. "Max has been begging us ever since he was
sent there, so it's possible we may cross for a few days and plan
so that we come back together at Easter."

"Wouldn't it be jolly to go around Paris with Mr. Max," said Win
almost enviously. "I haven't forgotten how dandy he was to me in
Washington. Dad took me along when he was calling on some official
and then found he was in for a morning's conference. The Secretary
sent for a young man, who proved to be Mr. Max and told him to
look after me. I was only fifteen, but Mr. Max took as much pains
to give me a good time as though I'd been somebody really
important."

"That's like Max," said Connie briefly, her eyes showing pleasure
at Win's tribute. "I think he's detailed for service such as that
more often than the other young men of the Embassy because he gets
on so well with all sorts of people. It's a real gift and a very
valuable one for a prospective diplomat. But you are celebrating
one of your great national days this week, aren't you?"

"Yes, Washington's birthday," said Frances. "Luckily it comes on
Wednesday, so we have a holiday. We were going to have a picnic at
Corbiére and invite you, Miss Connie."

"Indeed, I wish I could be there," said Constance with genuine
regret in her voice, "but I'll be in London. We'll keep up our
spirits by remembering that it's only a brief time to Easter and
then we are to start again on the trail of the Spanish chest."

Estelle consented to join the holiday celebration, and when the
twenty-second dawned bright and sunny, Rose Villa was the scene of
an animated flurry. In the dining-room, Edith, Frances and Estelle
were putting up the lunch, while Win collected painting traps for
the picture he hoped to sketch, and Roger departed to bring the
pony and cart engaged for the day.

Corbiére Point was distant about four miles and all except Win and
his mother proposed to walk, since the little carriage could take
lunch baskets and wraps.

Roger appeared with a plump stubborn Welsh pony, attached to a
funny little cart which he gayly informed them was a "gingle."
Neither Edith nor Estelle, who were familiar with the term as used
in Cornwall, thought it odd but Roger considered it most absurd.

Even the short legs of a tiny pony could cover the ground more
rapidly than the walking party, and when the pedestrians reached
their destination, no sign of Win, his mother, pony or gingle was
visible.

"Oh, what a wonderful view!" exclaimed Estelle stopping short.

Before them lay Corbiére lighthouse, built on a bold rock, at
flood tide an island, but at this hour approachable from the
mainland by a causeway. In the foreground stretched an expanse of
jagged red reefs and shining pools with a single martello tower
rising in dignified grandeur. At the right lay a hill, its summit
crowned by one stone cottage with a thatched roof, and down the
hill a narrow road wandered to disappear in a cleft between two
gigantic red granite boulders sprinkled with glittering quartz and
partly covered with gray and bright orange lichens. Green grass
and turquoise blue sea with a single white sail dipping to the
horizon completed the color scheme. Near at hand hovered several
of the sea-crows, _corbiéres_, which have given the point its
name.

Estelle's soft eyes grew wide and a pretty pink flush came into
her usually pale cheeks as she gazed into the distance. Roger and
the girls were looking for the rest of the party.

The thatched cottage seemed utterly without life, windows blank
and no sign of any domestic proceedings.

"It must be deserted," said Edith as they strolled on.

"Here's a shed with something black in it," said Roger. "I can
just see its head. It's a goat."

"It's a black stocking hung to dry," declared Edith.

"Stocking, nothing," replied Roger. "I know it's a goat."

The two hung over the gate and deliberately stared into the little
shed. "No goat ever stopped still for so long," persisted Edith,
when three full minutes had passed without motion in the shed.

"I'll go in and see," began Roger, about to climb the gate. A
sudden exclamation from Frances deterred him.

"Goodness, here's a black cat! Where did it come from?"

Upon the doorstep now sat a perfectly motionless black cat.

"Look at the black hens!" added Edith, bursting into laughter.

At either corner of the stone cottage two coal black hens were
visible, also like statues, and possessing bright yellow eyes.

"_And_ a black dog in a barrel!" Frances fairly shrieked.

"Well, a dog has some sense!" said Roger, whistling and calling.
Strange to say, the dog neither stirred nor lifted its head. Nose
on its paws it remained absolutely still.

"This is a bum lot of animals," observed Roger. "I never saw a dog
before that wouldn't at least bark at strangers."

"It's probably dumb as well as deaf," commented Frances.

"But it might at least _move_," expostulated Roger. "Perhaps it's
paralyzed."

"Perhaps this cottage and everything about it is enchanted,"
suggested Edith. "Miss Connie said something, don't you remember,
about a place where the Jersey witches hold their meetings?"

"That is 'way the other end of the island," retorted Roger, "down
at St. Clement's."

There was something uncanny about that collection of dusky,
motionless animals and the three were conscious of real relief
when the two hens at last walked off in quite a hen-like, not to
say human manner. But cat, dog and goat remained as though
petrified.

"Mother's calling," said Frances. "Come along, Roger. Lunch!"

Roger postponed his intention of stirring up the dog to see
whether it was stuffed or paralyzed, and they turned in the
direction of the call.

Luncheon was already spread on the grass in shelter of a big rock,
the Stars and Stripes forming the table decoration. At sight of
the flag, Roger and Fran stopped and saluted gravely as their
father had taught them.

"Mother!" exclaimed Roger, his eyes widening. "Is that a chocolate
layer-cake? Where did it come from?"

"I made it," said Mrs. Thayne. "Miss Estelle said I might and
Annette was quite pleased to watch me, and see how an American
cake was constructed."

No doubt that the young people were frankly happy, though spending
this holiday in so unusual a fashion. After luncheon, Win prepared
to sketch the lighthouse and the other three proposed to visit it.

As they ran down the hill toward the causeway and the heap of
picturesque red rocks bared by the water, Mrs. Thayne settled
herself with her embroidery and Estelle produced her netting.

After a few moments spent consulting with Win as to the exact
angle desirable for his sketch, Mrs. Thayne felt for her watch,
remembered that she did not bring it and looked at Estelle.

"Will you tell me the time?" she asked. "Win's hands are full with
his palette and block."

"Certainly," said Estelle. "It's just two."

As she replaced her watch, a sudden look of interest crossed Mrs.
Thayne's face.

"What a curious chain you have, Estelle," she remarked. "Is it an
old one? May I take it a moment?"

"It belonged to my grandmother, my mother's mother," replied
Estelle, unfastening the chain and holding it out to Mrs. Thayne.
"I think it is very old for I never saw another like it."

Mrs. Thayne examined the trinket carefully. It was hand-made, of
pale yellow gold, and the links, instead of being round, were
rectangular, yet so fastened in a series of three as to produce
the effect of a round cable.

"It is an awkward thing to use," said Estelle, "because sometimes
those links get turned and it is very difficult to work them into
place."

Mrs. Thayne looked up, a curiously intent expression on her face.
"Estelle," she said abruptly, "have you any relatives in America?"

"Not that I know of," Estelle replied, surprised by the sudden
question, "though I suppose it is quite possible. Grandmother's
sister married a young man who went out to the colonies, somewhere
near Toronto, I think. We have known nothing of them since
Grandmother died and that was before I was born. I think Mother
completely lost touch with Great-aunt Emma. It is easy, you know,
when one belongs to a different generation and has never seen
one's aunt."

"Then you don't know whether your Great-aunt Emma had children?"
asked Mrs. Thayne, twisting the odd chain reflectively between her
fingers.

"Oh, yes," said Estelle. "I do happen to know that. There were
two, a girl and a boy. Now I think of it, I recall that the girl
married and went to the States. I do not know how one speaks of
your counties, but it was not the city of New York,--perhaps New
Yorkshire?"

"New York State," put in Win so abruptly that his mother jumped.
To all appearances he had been completely absorbed in his
painting.

"But you don't know the name of the man she married?" Mrs. Thayne
asked.

"I do not," replied Estelle. "But I could find out, for it will be
among Father's papers. I think he had a hazy idea of writing some
time to Canada to get in touch if possible with Mother's
relatives. But it was never done, and I should hesitate to do it,
--especially now."

"Lest they might think you were seeking aid," Mrs. Thayne thought,
with a tender appreciation of Estelle's proud independence, but
she kept her inference to herself.

"Do you know whether your grandmother's sister who went to Canada
also possessed a chain like this?" she asked.

"Why, yes," said Estelle, laying down her work and looking out to
sea. "I know she did. Great-grandfather Avery once bought two just
alike in Paris and gave one to each of his daughters. This came to
me through Mother."

Mrs. Thayne started to speak but caught Win's eyes fixed upon her
inquiringly. Something in their expression checked the words she
was about to utter.

"After all, better be sure," she thought. "It is a very curious
old trinket, Estelle," she said, returning the chain. "Some time
when you think of it, I wish you would look in your father's
papers and find the married name of that cousin who went to New
York State."




CHAPTER XX

WIN WONDERS


"Mother," said Win solemnly, "I shook in my shoes this afternoon.
Didn't you notice the lurid mixture of colors I was daubing on my
block? And all because I knew you were having psychic thoughts and
I was so afraid you would say what I thought you were thinking and
startle Estelle. I wanted so much to know myself just what you
were driving at with your watch-chains that I almost chewed my
tongue off trying not to speak."

"I know it," said Mrs. Thayne. "I felt you quaking, Win, and
decided to keep still. After all, the only sensible way was to
find out definitely that name. Estelle is so proud and so
reluctant to accept help that one must move carefully in trying to
smooth her pathway."

The two were alone in Mrs. Thayne's room after the happy picnic at
Corbiére. Through the open window floated the occasional sound of
voices from the end of the terrace where Roger, Edith, and Frances
stood watching the steamer for Southampton round Noirmont Point.

"And now that I do know the name, I am still uncertain what is
best to do," reflected Mrs. Thayne. "But you asked about the
chain, Win. The moment I saw that one of Estelle's I knew that I
had seen a similar one in the United States. For a time I could
not place it, and really it is a thing of unusual workmanship and
not likely to be largely duplicated. Then it came to me in a flash
that Carrie Aldrich often wears a chain like that and once told me
that it had belonged to her mother."

"But I never knew that Mrs. Aldrich was English," said Win
wonderingly. "I thought she'd always lived in Boston."

"I knew that she was a Canadian," replied his mother, "but she was
educated in the United States and married an American. To trace
her ancestry never occurred to me. She is so thoroughly and
completely American that one would never think of her forefathers
as being anything else.

"I can hardly keep silent," she went on. "When I think of Carrie
alone in that huge house in Boston, with her big income and her
still bigger heart and only her charities to fill it and to occupy
her time, and then think of Estelle, so proudly trying to support
herself and Edith in a land where self-support for women is not
easy,--why, Win, it seems as though I must tell her on the spot.
And yet, if I do, I am quite sure Estelle will just shut herself
up in the armor of her pride and refuse to make herself known.
Taking both the testimony of the chains and the very pronounced
family resemblance, there can be no reasonable doubt of the
identity."

"I think Estelle would refuse," said Win slowly. "She's foolishly
proud. She thinks, Mother, that you pay more than the house is
worth and so she does her level best to make it up to us in other
ways."

"I believe I will write to Carrie," mused Mrs. Thayne. "She'd be
interested and anxious to see the girls. I'm sure she doesn't
realize that she has any cousins in England."

"Mother," said Win with deliberation, "why don't you ask Mrs.
Aldrich to come over and visit us for a little? You'd like to have
her and so would we. Probably she has nothing especial to keep her
at home and might be glad to be let out of a month or two of
winter."

"That's a bright idea, Win!" exclaimed his mother. "Only I suppose
she has several pet charities that she will feel she can't leave
at short notice."

"In that case," replied Win, "probably you'd better write her
about the girls, only do tell her to come and see for herself. It
strikes me that nothing but knowing each other would ever really
bring them together."

"Win, you are so like your father," said Mrs. Thayne
affectionately. "Your minds work alike. I find I'm growing to
depend more and more upon your judgment."

In the dusk Mrs. Thayne could not see the flush that spread over
her son's thin face. To be likened in any way to Captain Thayne
was praise indeed for Win.

"I only wish I could take more off your shoulders, Mother," he
said briefly, "instead of being a great lazy lump that the whole
family has to take thought for."

"Here's Annette with letters," said Mrs. Thayne. "Why, I did not
expect mail until tomorrow."

Some moments passed until Win was aroused from his own
correspondence by a sudden surprised exclamation from his mother.

"Never say you don't believe in special providences. This seems
almost incredible, but here is a note from Mrs. Aldrich, written
from London! She's come over to attend some charity congress and
wants me to run up for a few days."

"Then it is meant that you should, Mother," said Win, smiling.
"That coincidence hasn't happened for nothing. You can tell her
about the girls much more convincingly than it could be written,
and bring her back with you to see them. It will all be natural
and Estelle will never suspect."

"I'll do it," said Mrs. Thayne, but the next second a shadow crossed
her face. Her sharp-eyed son instantly saw and interpreted.

"I'll not overdo, Mother," he said immediately. "Trust me to rival
the sloth in idleness. I promise you that I won't stir one step
out of my usual routine."

"But there's Roger," mused his mother.

"Oh, Roger is walking the straight and narrow path of virtue. Ever
since ex-scoutmaster Bill Fish rescued him from a desert island,
he's been meekness itself. Makes me smile to see his star-eyed
devotion. This plan is too evidently designed, for you to give it
the cold shoulder."

"It does seem so," agreed his mother. "Well, I'll go by Saturday's
boat. Win, don't you think it would be best not to say anything to
Fran and Roger? We will tell them after I have seen Carrie."

"I certainly do," Win declared. "Fran couldn't keep that secret
one half day. It wouldn't interest the kid."

The absence of the family did not prevent Win's enjoyment of the
Manor library and during his mother's stay in London, he paid it
several visits. Evidently the servants had been instructed to
expect and make him welcome, should he appear, for a smiling face
answered his ring and the fire in the library was invariably
lighted on his arrival. But Win's conscience would not allow him
to neglect Roger even for these delightful hours of solitude, so
this pleasure was only occasional.

With the pony and gingle they explored many of the lovely Jersey
lanes and headlands, for driving seldom tired Win. Half a morning
passed in this fascinating occupation left Roger ready to spend
the time before luncheon in preparing his lessons. When they were
over in the afternoon, Mr. Fisher usually suggested kicking
football on the beach or led Roger a walk sufficiently strenuous
to leave him disposed for a quiet evening. Estelle and Nurse both
thought Roger "good as gold," and did not realize how much of his
virtue was due to the forethought of brother and tutor.

One morning Estelle had errands in town and invited Roger to go
with her. Hearing his joyful acceptance, Win as gladly betook
himself to the Manor.

Spring was far advanced now, potatoes were being planted and other
early vegetables already showing in green rows. Under the trees on
the Manor grounds wild snow-drops starred the grass. Win wandered
into the formal garden enclosed by a hedge of box so clipped as to
form a solid wall with square pillars topped by round balls of
living green. In the background posed two peacocks, also clipped
from box. What patience, time and care had been required to bring
that hedge to such perfection! Early roses were now plentiful and
as Win sauntered through their fragrant mazes, he realized how
much loving thought had been expended through the centuries on
this old garden. Sad indeed that the present owner of Laurel Manor
was the last Richard Lisle.

Win's reverie was broken by the passing of Pierre, with a pleasant
"_Bon jour, M'sieur_," and a touch of his cap. Pierre carried a
rope and crowbar, unusual implements for a gardener's assistant.

Win watched him idly down the laurel-bordered drive and then went
into the library, followed by Tylo, who seemed depressed in the
absence of his mistress.

About eleven, Win was visited by Yvonne, bringing a glass of milk
and a plate of biscuit, which she placed beside him with a
politely murmured "M'sieur labors so diligently!"

"Thank you, Yvonne," said Win. "It's good of you to bring that. Do
you know when the Colonel and Miss Connie are expected?"

"No word since they arrived at Paris," replied Yvonne in her
daintily accented English.

"It is Pierre who hears from M'sieur Max, a letter, brief indeed,
but explicit, that certain matters may arrange themselves in
readiness for the coming of M'sieur Max."

Win looked puzzled. For a second Yvonne stood regarding him, her
head slightly on one side.

"Word will perhaps arrive on the morrow," she volunteered. "Is the
milk to M'sieur's liking?"

"Very much. Thank you, Yvonne."

The trim little maid replenished the fire, replaced a daffodil
fallen from a vase, patted Tylo, gave him a biscuit and vanished
as noiselessly as she came.

Left alone, Win began to walk slowly up and down the library,
wondering about the matters which were "to arrange themselves."
The tools Pierre carried, the direction in which he was walking,
to Win's alert mind suggested the Manor cave. Had Max told Pierre
to complete clearing away that heap of stones and if so, why?

Never in his life had Win been so tempted to break his word. In
spite of the voluntary promise to his mother to do nothing in the
least unusual, it seemed as though he _must_ go and see what was
taking place in the cave.

"Pierre would help me up," he told himself.

"Yes," came the instant answer, "but Roger gave you all the help
he could and yet you were in bed two days and felt ill for a
week."

Win thought of questioning Pierre, but abandoned the idea as not
quite on the level. A note from Max had come on yesterday's
steamer presumably in company with the directions to Pierre. There
was not a word in it about the cave and if the writer had wanted
Win to know what was going on, he would have told him. No, Win's
code of honor would not permit him to find out by asking Pierre.
And yet two weeks until Easter!

Win gave a long whistle, looked wistfully down to the sea and
again took up his book.

When he returned for luncheon at Rose Villa, he found Roger
convulsing Frances by his account of the morning spent in town
with Estelle.

"It's lucky I don't have to do the marketing for this family," he
announced. "If you wanted cream now, where would you get it?"

"A dairy, of course, or a market," replied Frances.

"Wrong. Much cream you'd get! Try a fish-monger's."

At Roger's disgusted tone, Fran giggled, "Oh, I've learned a lot,"
he went on. "Where would you ask for one of those paper patterns
to cut out a dress?"

"A dry-goods store," answered his sister.

"Do say a draper's if that is what you mean," continued Roger.
"You would only waste time. Go to a book-shop."

"I will," said Fran. "Thanks for the tip."

"I wanted to get weighed," said Roger, "because I know I am
becoming a shadow studying so hard. I asked Miss Estelle where to
go and told her I didn't think the nickel-in-the-slot machines
were very accurate--Well, what's wrong with that?"

Roger stopped for both Win and Frances were laughing at him.

"Here you are knocking English customs," said Win at last. "As
though Miss Estelle knew what a nickel was, let alone a slot
machine, although I have seen some of them."

"I don't see anything so funny," said Roger huffily. "Perhaps she
didn't know, but she was polite enough not to laugh and said the
place to get weighed was the hair-dresser's--"

"Oh, come off," said Win. "That's too much, even for us."

"Well, it is where we went and where the scales were," retorted
Roger, "but there weren't any pounds to it, only what they call
stones. I weigh exactly seven stone and I won't tell you how many
pounds that is."

"Ninety-eight," said Win so promptly that Roger looked
disconcerted.

"How did you know?" he demanded.

"From a book," replied his brother. "A little article that you
don't yet value as highly as you might. What next?"

"Oh, that was about all," said Roger, "except that Miss Estelle
told me I might choose some crackers, I mean biscuit, and to buy
half a kilo. I forgot and asked for half a litre and the clerk
grinned very disagreeably."

"Liquid measure instead of dry," commented Win in amusement.
"After luncheon, Roger, permit me to introduce you to some parts
of your arithmetic that you have evidently never examined. But go
on."

"Then I stopped to look in a window and hurried to catch Miss
Estelle and ran into a big fat man who was wearing stiff leather
gaiters and a tam o' shanter. We came together rather hard,"
admitted Roger. "I didn't hurt myself much because he was quite
soft, but his tam fell off and he said, 'Bless my soul, by
George!"

"Roger, I can't stand any more," implored Frances.

"I don't follow the logic of that hair-dresser and the scales,"
mused Win, when he had stopped laughing. "Is it before and after a
hair-cut or to see how much flesh the barber gouges out in a
shave?"

"Give it up," said Fran. "There's the gong for luncheon and Edith
bringing the mail. I hope there's a letter from mother."

"There is," said Edith.

"Please excuse me, Miss Estelle, if I read it now," begged
Frances, settling into her seat at the table.

"Of course, dear," was the reply as Estelle took Mrs. Thayne's
usual place, for she and Edith were having their meals with the
young people.

"Now, Roger, pause," exclaimed Win, suddenly. "What are you going
to do with that?" he added, as the attention of all was
concentrated on the surprised Roger who sat with arrested hand
suspending above his plate a spoon heaped with sugar.

"Whatever is he doing?" protested Estelle gently. "Such a mixture!
How can he eat sugar on his eggs?"

"Thought it was pancakes," explained Roger, indicating the omelet
before him, but relinquishing the sugar.

"Mother's coming on Wednesday," Frances announced happily. "And
she's met a friend in London, Mrs. Aldrich, who's coming with her
for a few days. Isn't that splendid, boys? You'll like her, Miss
Estelle. She's sweet."

"I shall be glad to see any friend of your mother's," said Estelle
cordially. Looking to see whether Roger was sufficiently supplied
with butter, she did not notice the smile with which Win glanced
at her.




CHAPTER XXI

THE TWO CHAINS


"Estelle, will you do me a favor?" asked Mrs. Thayne, following
her young landlady into the hall. The travelers from London had
just arrived and in the drawing-room, Mrs. Aldrich was expatiating
to the boys upon the roughness of the trip.

"Why, of course I will! You don't need to ask," replied Estelle
affectionately.

"You and Edith have been taking your meals with the children
during my absence. Please keep on doing it. Let us all be one
family for the rest of our stay."

"It is lovely of you to want us, Mrs. Thayne," said Estelle, her
face flushing. "We stopped with the children because I thought it
would be better and then I could personally see that they had all
they wanted. But now that you have a guest--"

"I want you and Mrs. Aldrich to know each other," said Mrs. Thayne
quickly. "And this will be one of the easiest ways to get
acquainted."

"I think Mrs. Aldrich is charming," remarked Estelle. "Isn't it
odd, how sometimes a likeness in a total stranger strikes one? For
a second, just as you introduced us, she reminded me so much of my
dear mother that I could hardly pull myself together to speak. She
must have thought me quite awkward."

"I know she didn't," said Mrs. Thayne, with difficulty keeping her
face under control. She had seen Estelle start and noticed her
amazed expression when Mrs. Aldrich greeted her. So Estelle had
not been conscious of Mrs. Aldrich's constrained manner! "Then you
will have luncheon with us?" she added.

"I will since you wish it," replied Estelle, vanishing to give
directions to Nurse.

"Now, what is there to do this morning?" Mrs. Aldrich was asking
the boys. "I propose to stay in this island exactly one week. Your
mother was seasick so she ought to lie down and rest but I feel as
fit as a fiddle. Frances is at school, you tell me. No, I don't
want to drive this morning. Suppose you take me for a short walk,
Roger and Win, and show me what is to be seen on the beach."

"We might take you to Noirmont Point," suggested Roger as they
stopped at the end of the terrace to look at the view which was
never twice the same. "What are those big vessels over beyond
Castle Elizabeth?"

"They are English warships," replied Mrs. Aldrich. "Coming into
the harbor we passed close to them. The captain said it was a part
of the Channel squadron, whatever that is."

"Oh, did you see their names?" demanded Roger eagerly, as he
counted the great gray ships in the offing. "Fourteen, no,
fifteen."

"Only a few. One was the _Princess Royal_ and I saw the
_Thunderer_, the _Revenge_, the _Black Prince_ and the
_Camperdown_."

Roger's eyes opened at this list of awe-inspiring names. "I wish
we could get over to Elizabeth," he remarked. "We could see them
better then."

"Tide's not right," said Win, casting a critical glance at the
sea.

"What, to walk over to that island?" asked Mrs. Aldrich. "Is it
ever possible?"

"We've been over," said Roger. "When the tide is 'way out, there
is a raised causeway, quite smooth and easy."

"What is the place anyway?" asked Mrs. Aldrich, looking curiously
across to the castle.

"Once it was an old abbey," Win explained, "dedicated to St.
Elericus, the patron saint of Jersey. I suppose the town was named
for him."

"How did the island itself get its name?" inquired Mrs. Aldrich.
"The derivation of these charming old English names is a
fascinating study."

"It was the old Roman Caesarea," said Win. "Jersey is a corruption
of that. The ruined hermitage of St. Elericus is still over near
Elizabeth, at least they call it that, though it's a kind of
combination of a watch-tower and a cave. But the castle, as it
stands, was built when Edward VI was king of England. There's a
story to the effect that all the bells in the island except one
for each of the twelve churches were seized by royal authority and
ordered sold to help pay for building the castle. They were
shipped to St. Malo and expected to bring a high price, but the
vessel went down on the way and all the good church people thought
it was because of sacrilege in taking those bells."

"What is the castle used for now?" inquired Mrs. Aldrich.

"Barracks," replied Roger. "The place is full of soldiers. It's no
good now as a fortification, because Fort Regent up above St.
Helier's--over there on the cliffs--could knock Castle Elizabeth
and all those warships into fits in no time. Nothing can enter the
bay if the Fort Regent guns don't approve. And that heap of rocks
where Elizabeth stands is 'most a mile around,--it is, honest.
Fran and Edith and I walked it."

"They say," said Win, "that the space between the castle and the
town was once a meadow. For that matter, they also say that the
whole channel between here and France was once so narrow that the
Bishop of Coutances used to cross to Jersey on a plank."

"Tell that to the marines," protested Roger. "You do find the
weirdest yarns in those books you're always grubbing in."

"Oh, I can tell a bigger one than that," said Win laughing, "but
perhaps you'll swallow it because your friend Bill told it to me.
He said that some time in the sixteenth century there was an
abnormally low tide, lower than any one had ever known. Some
fishermen who happened to be out between Orgueil and the coast of
France came in and reported that they had distinctly seen down in
the channel the towers and streets and houses of an old town,
forty feet or more under water."

"There are stories like that in Brittany," said Mrs. Aldrich. "The
fishermen declare that they can hear the tolling of the submerged
church bells. Now, when legends like that exist on both sides of a
channel, it stands to reason that there is likely some foundation
in truth."

"Then why don't they send divers down to find out?" demanded Roger
bluntly. "Any enterprising country would."

"We'll import a few Americans to do the investigating," laughed
Mrs. Aldrich. "Is this Frances coming? Who is with her?"

"Edith," replied Win. "Miss Estelle's sister."

"Bless me!" murmured Mrs. Aldrich. "The other was startling enough
but this resemblance is even stronger."

Win smiled. It was great fun to look on, knowing what he did of
his mother's innocent little conspiracy, all the more fun because
the other young people were unsuspecting.

At luncheon, where Estelle appeared with a pretty dignity, Win was
supplied with still more secret amusement. Mrs. Aldrich talked a
good deal, rather inconsequently at times, but continually looked
from one sister to the other in a way that would have aroused
suspicion had either the slightest idea that any plot was on foot.
As it was, Win saw Estelle occasionally glancing at their guest in
a puzzled manner as though trying to account for something she
found unexpected. After the meal he waylaid his mother.

"What is Mrs. Aldrich going to do?" he asked laughingly. "I had
hard work not to give myself away during luncheon. You looked so
unnatural, Mother, that if you hadn't been seasick, Fran and Roger
would have caught on. As it was, they thought you weren't quite
rested."

"I don't know what she is going to do," replied his mother, "but
it is working as we hoped. She is strongly attracted to the girls,
and Estelle confided to me that our guest in some unaccountable
way, reminded her of her mother. We have done our part in bringing
Carrie here; it is for her to take the next step. I rather imagine
that she won't be able to hold in very much longer, though I think
she is enjoying the situation."

It was not until dinner of her third day in St. Aubin's, that Mrs.
Aldrich made herself known. To please Win, who had ascertained
that she chanced to have the old chain with her, she wore it when
she entered the dining-room.

Win watched Estelle intently, disappointed that she did not
immediately notice the ornament. Indeed, they were finishing
dessert before anything happened. Perhaps purposely, Mrs. Aldrich
looked at her watch and Fran in all innocence touched the match
that fired the explosion.

"Why, how odd!" she exclaimed. "Miss Estelle has a chain just like
that one, Mrs. Aldrich."

Win and his mother exchanged a glance; the others naturally looked
at the chain.

"It's precisely like it, Sister," said Edith, who sat near Mrs.
Aldrich. "Isn't that queer?"

"It's an old keepsake," said Mrs. Aldrich with deliberation. "It
belonged to my mother. See, here are her initials on the slide, E.
A. for Emma Avery."

Edith looked with interest but Estelle turned pale. Thoughtful Win
pushed a glass of water within reach.

"Star's has initials too," Edith remarked innocently. "A. A., I
think they are. Anyway, it was Grandmother's chain."

Mrs. Aldrich turned to Estelle, who perfectly colorless, was
staring at her. "Child," she said rather peremptorily, "come up to
my room and let us compare these old trinkets."

Still speechless, Estelle mechanically arose. Amid dead silence
the two left the dining-room. Fran turned to her mother, amazed at
the look of excited pleasure on her face. "What _does_ it all
mean?" she demanded. "Is it a secret?"

"Just a mild little conspiracy," replied Mrs. Thayne. "What it
means, is that Mrs. Aldrich was your mother's first cousin, Edith,
so she is your and Estelle's second cousin. Just by chance I
guessed from Estelle's unusual chain that the one Carrie Aldrich
wears came from the same source. When Estelle told me that her
great-grandfather gave one to each of his two daughters, the whole
thing flashed on me."

"But that," said Edith, with her sweet childish faith, "is a
miracle."

"Perhaps," smiled Mrs. Thayne. "I only know that we shall leave
St. Aubin's happier because you and Mrs. Aldrich have found each
other out."

A shower of eager questions fell from Frances and Roger but a long
time passed before anything was seen of Estelle and Mrs. Aldrich.
When they reappeared to the group awaiting them in the drawing-
room, Estelle had plainly been crying and Mrs. Aldrich's eyes
looked suspiciously red.

"Come and kiss me, Edith," she said. "I want to be Cousin Carrie
from now on. Yes, Estelle, she does look more like the Averys than
you, though I saw the resemblance in your face also."

"Isn't the whole thing just like a story?" Frances confided to her
mother at bed-time. "What do you think will happen now?"

"I don't know," admitted Mrs. Thayne. "Estelle is so very proud
that it will be hard for her to accept help from any one, but
Carrie will arrange things if it can be done. I know that Estelle
has been dreadfully worried because some of the little money her
father left her has been lost through an imprudent investment and
that she has not felt sure she could manage to keep the house
through another season. And yet she must find some way of
supporting herself and Edith. Things will work themselves out, for
Carrie is perfectly capable of inventing some very necessary work
for Estelle to do, which will preserve her self-respect and let
Carrie have her way. I think Carrie usually has some young person
acting as secretary and Estelle could do that easily. I am not at
all worried about the future since Estelle fortunately saw the
resemblance to her own mother in Mrs. Aldrich. I imagine that will
make it easier for her to consider whatever plan is proposed."

"Wasn't it lucky that we came here!" sighed Frances. "And doesn't
it seem odd that we did come, just because Roger and I wanted to
take that little train the first day and chanced to find Rose
Villa? If it hadn't been for that, we might not have looked for
lodgings in St. Aubin's at all, nor known Miss Estelle and Edith.
Why, Mother!" she went on, with intenser surprise in her voice.
"It's just like the House that Jack built. If we hadn't come here,
we wouldn't have met the beach dog, nor known Miss Connie, nor
visited the Manor, nor be hunting for the Spanish chest!"

Fran stopped, looking so comically aghast that Mrs. Thayne laughed
as she kissed her.

"So much depended upon a passing wish to take that little train!
It is remarkable on looking back, to realize how often life turns
upon some apparently trivial incident, some insignificant choice."

"It's time though, that we went home, Mother," said Frances
merrily. "While you were in London, Miss Estelle wanted change for
half a crown, so I tipped the money out of my purse. One piece
rolled on the floor and Roger picked it up, and said: 'Why, this
isn't a shilling! What is it?' So I took it, and, Mother, both of
us looked at it hard for several seconds before we realized that
it was a United States quarter-dollar! Don't you think it is time
that we went home?"




CHAPTER XXII

THE CHEST ITSELF


Mrs. Aldrich's stay did not exceed her limit of a week, but she
left for London with Estelle's willing promise to come to her when
the Thaynes returned to Boston and leaving behind her two girls
with gladdened hearts. After her departure Win's interest was
again concentrated on the coming of the Manor family and the
search for the Spanish chest.

Twice as he came or went from his visits to the library, he saw
Pierre in the distance, once actually disappearing over the cliff
edge, but Easter was close at hand when Yvonne, bringing the usual
lunch, volunteered the information that the Colonel, Miss Connie
and Mr. Max were expected on Saturday's steamer.

Win reported this news with joy and when the day arrived the young
people began to watch for the Granville boat hours before she
could possibly arrive, hoping to distinguish familiar figures on
the deck. To their disappointment, when the steamer was finally
detected in the distance, dusk was at hand.

"I shall do it!" said Roger firmly. "There are three packages and
we may not be in England on the Fourth of July. Besides I forgot
it on Washington's birthday."

Fran and Win looked after him in amazement as he suddenly tore
back to the house and rushed upstairs, spreading noise on his way
and devastation in his room, where he jerked the very vitals out
of his steamer trunk, scattering its contents to the four corners.

Nor was Edith enlightened when Roger reappeared with a pasteboard
tube in one hand, and a box of matches in the other, but Win
laughed and Frances gave a shriek of delight.

"Bed fire!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Roger, I never knew you had it. Do
wait until the boat is a little nearer."

"It will be darker, too," Win advised. "Make more of a show if you
wait."

"I only hope they will know it is for them," said Roger anxiously.

"They'll see where it comes from and perhaps they'll understand,"
said Win. "But don't expect the steamer to salute as one at home
would."

At the proper second, a flare of red illuminated the end of
Noirmont Terrace, greatly amazing not only St. Aubin's staid
population but such inhabitants of St. Helier's as chanced to be
on the water front, and affording Roger two full moments of
complete and exquisite satisfaction.

"Real United States!" he said. "I suppose an English boat doesn't
know enough to whistle--"

Roger stopped with his mouth open. From the _Alouette_ came two
distinct blasts of the steam siren.

"Oh, that's Mr. Max," burst out Win in delight. "He's been in
America and understands the etiquette of red fire. And you
remember he said he knew personally all the captains on the
Channel boats. Probably he went up to the bridge and got somebody
to acknowledge our salute! Isn't that simply corking of him?"

"That was surely meant for us," agreed the pleased Frances. "Oh,
how long shall we have to wait before we see them?"

That very evening Pierre brought a note from Constance, expressing
appreciative thanks for their fiery welcome, the source of which
Max had guessed and which he had easily induced Captain Lefevre to
acknowledge. The note ended with an invitation to tea on Monday
and promised a solution of some kind to Win's theories concerning
the Spanish chest.

"How nice of Miss Connie to set the very first possible day," said
Frances. "I suppose we shall not see them before then."

"Not unless we go to the little old church tomorrow," replied her
brother. "If you want to, and it's a still day, we might get up
there."

But the travelers had returned on an evening of clouds and
threatening winds. Easter Sunday dawned with Jersey in the grip of
a terrific southeast storm. All day the rain beat on the panes of
Rose Villa, all day the wind howled and snatched at the shutters,
the house at times fairly quivering with its force. As dusk came,
the gale increased to the proportions of a hurricane. Roger, going
out to the pillar post-box, came struggling back with difficulty.

"I met one of the Noirmont fishermen," he reported. "He said it is
the worst gale in thirty years and when the weather clears the
surf will be worth seeing."

"Fisher told me that a southeast storm kicked up a fine sea,"
replied Win. "I only hope it won't stop our going to the Manor to-
morrow."

All night the wind raged though the rain finally ceased. It seemed
as though the reputed witches of Jersey were holding high carnival
with the unloosed elements of air and water. Day broke, still
without rain, but the violence of the wind was not lessened. Roger
ran out to the end of the terrace and came hurrying back.

"Come out, everybody, and look," he shouted above the uproar. "The
waves are coming over the breakwater. There isn't one inch of
beach to be seen."

Roger's report was literally true. Though the sea wall protecting
the town of St. Helier's rose twenty-five feet above the sands,
the rollers were breaking beyond the wall on the esplanade itself,
the white foam even running up some of the side streets. Only an
inky howling mass of white-capped water stretched between the town
and Elizabeth Castle.

Win, who had managed to make slow progress to a point of vantage,
stood fascinated by the wild whirl of wind and water. The tide was
at the flood and the spectacle at its finest. Just a few moments
sufficed to lessen its grandeur as the waves, yielding to the law
of their being, were dragged away from the land. Presently,
instead of dashing over the wall, they broke against it, and then
came a scene of different interest. The water, forcibly striking
the masonry, was flung back on the next incoming roller, with a
collision that sent spray forty feet into the air from the
violence of the shock. This phenomenon was repeated as the rollers
crashed down the curve of the wall, continuing for its full
length, the flying spray looking like consecutive puffs of steam
from a locomotive.

"Look, there comes the train from St. Helier's!" exclaimed Roger,
dancing excitedly about. "Doesn't it look as though the ocean was
trying to catch it?"

The little train had prudently delayed its starting until after
the turn of the tide. As it crept slowly around the curve of the
breakwater, great white tongues of foam constantly shot over the
wall like fingers frantically trying to seize and draw it into the
sea. But always the hands fell back baffled, to the accompaniment
of a roar that sounded almost like human disappointment. The train
reached St. Aubin's dripping with salt water.

"Five stones are torn out of the coping in the wall," reported
Roger, coming back from his inspection of the adventurous little
engine. "The guard says they are sweeping pebbles and stones by
the ton out of the streets beyond the esplanade. And coming down
here, he twice had a barrel of water slapped right at him. He is
as wet as a drowned rat."

"The surf must be wonderful at Corbiére," said Estelle. "They say
there is an undertow off that point which produces something this
effect of the water flung back by the wall."

"Why, here's Miss Connie!" exclaimed Frances in excitement. Max
and Constance on horseback were coming down the terrace.

"We've been half round the island," Connie announced after her
first greetings. Well prepared for wind as they were, both looked
disheveled. Connie's hair was braided in a thick club down her
back, evidently the only way she could keep it under control;
Max's was plastered back by wind and spray, for he had lost his
hat, and their horses were blown and spattered with salt brine.

"Oh, but it is grand!" Constance went on. "Corbiére light is
smothered in spray to the very top of the tower. We haven't had a
storm like this since I was a tiny kiddie."

To talk above the uproar of the surf was difficult. Asking them to
be at the Manor promptly by three, the two rode away.

"Why three?" asked Frances as they regained the shelter of the
house.

"I think we are going down into the cave," said Win happily. "Mr.
Max told me just now that we were to begin exploring there and
that things would be arranged so that it would not be hard for me.
I suppose he and Pierre have some plan."

"But you aren't going into the cave on a day like this?" exclaimed
Mrs. Thayne, quite horrified at this announcement.

"Why, yes, Mother," said Win. "The tide will be as low as usual
when it does ebb."

"Of course," assented his mother. "I forgot. But how about this
wind? You must have the pony, Win."

"I will if it keeps up, but I imagine the gale will blow itself
out by noon."

Win's prophecy proved correct. When the four started to keep their
engagement, the wind was greatly abated and the only trace of the
tempest was the ruined vines and gardens that marked their road.
At the Manor gates, Colonel Lisle, Constance and Max met them.

"It is to be the cave," Connie said gayly. "Max has things all
mapped out for us."

Arrived at the cliff, the party stopped. Marks of the storm were
visible in one or two landslides and in a great amount of debris
strewing the uncovered beach and rocks. Even large stones seemed
to have been displaced.

Max looked rather serious as he saw so much change in conditions
usually stable. "I think you'd better let me go down and report
whether matters are as I expect," he said. "There seems to have
been considerable doing in this vicinity last evening."

"Let us wait, Win," said Constance quickly. "No use in going down
until we see how he finds things."

Colonel Lisle also elected to await the report, but Roger and the
girls accompanied Max. They were gone almost half an hour and the
watchers on the cliff were beginning to wonder what had happened.
When they did appear, they called to the others not to come.

"'The best laid plans of mice and men!'" sighed Max as he reached
the top of the cliff. "Uncle, the storm has picked up all the
stones I had Pierre clear out of the tunnel and wedged them in
tight again like a cork in a bottle."

"There was a passage and we can't get into it?" demanded Win
eagerly, his face reflecting the disappointment visible on the
faces of the other young people.

"There was," replied Max, looking at him sympathetically, "not
merely into another cave but striking inland. Pierre cleared its
mouth and reported it passable for fifty feet. Beyond that he did
not go. Now, it is stopped as tight as ever. This shows, Uncle,
how it came to be lost to the recollection of everybody about the
Manor."

"Yes," said Colonel Lisle. "Very likely it was stopped by a
similar storm a century or more ago. So far as I know there has
never been a legend of any tunnel. But, Max," he added, "there is
yet the cellar where you and Win have decided that the passage
enters the house."

"May we knock a hole there?" Max asked quickly. Win had said
nothing more but his disappointment was evident.

"Certainly, if you like," assented the Colonel, smiling. "Only be
prepared for another disillusion when you get the wall down. The
existence of the tunnel doesn't ensure that of the chest."

Max whistled, evidently a signal, for Pierre promptly appeared
with a rope over his shoulder.

"We sha'n't need that now," said Max. He proceeded to add some
rapid directions in French. Pierre nodded, grinned cheerfully and
set off at a fast pace.

"I've told him to get another man and come to knock in the vault
wall," Max explained as they started toward the Manor. "We may not
get it down this afternoon, but that's all that's left to try. I'm
beastly annoyed about that tiresome hole. Why should a ripsnorter
of a storm come on the one day when it could spoil our plans?"

"It's provoking." agreed Win. "Do you suppose there is really
anything in the passage?"

"Blessed if I know!" replied Max. "The one thing sure is that
there is a passage. There must be since we located one end of it
in the cave. If it hadn't been for that, we might not be permitted
to tear down the wall, but even Uncle is convinced now that the
tunnel exists."

"Come and have tea," said Connie as they reached the Manor. "It's
a bit early, but we may as well begin, for nobody knows how long
it will take to pierce the vault."

Max went down to show the men where to work and reported that the
stone seemed soft and inclined to break easily. "This isn't going
to be much of a job," he reported. "I told Pierre to send word as
soon as he struck through."

"What do you suppose the chest will look like?" asked Frances.
"Will it be silver?"

"No such luck," Max replied. "Possibly metal, probably wood,
always provided that we find it."

"You mustn't throw cold water, Max," reproved Connie from behind
the tea-table. "Since we have found the passage, why not the
chest? Let's have it a gorgeous one while we are about it, gold
studded with uncut rubies and the Spanish crown in diamonds."

Frances and Edith shrieked at thought of such sumptuousness and
one by one each expressed an opinion as to what the box would
resemble and its probable contents. Roger decided that the chest
was of solid iron, fastened by seven locks of which they would
have to find the seven keys and that inside would be discovered a
complete suit of royal armor.

"I fear that Prince Charles would not have made good his escape
from England clad in a clanking suit of mail," said the amused
Colonel.

Just then Yvonne entered with her usual pretty air of importance.
"It is Pierre who desires M'sieur to attend in the cellar," she
said, addressing herself to Max.

The entire party rose, hastily placing tea-cups on any convenient
article of furniture. Roger found the floor most accessible for
his, but with prudent foresight took with him such easily conveyed
articles as the jam sandwiches and plum cake upon his plate.

Down in the cellar, Pierre and McNeil, the Scotch gardener, stood
facing the northern wall just where the newer wing joined the
oldest Manor vault. Before them yawned a hole already two feet in
diameter.

With a grin on his face, Pierre thrust his crowbar through and
showed that a space not quite a yard wide intervened before the
tool brought up against what was in reality the outer wall of the
cellar. The partition itself was only a foot thick, but because it
was of equal thickness throughout its length, Max had not been
able to detect any difference in resonance.

"_Bien, Pierre!_" exclaimed Max eagerly. "_En avant!_"

Pierre and McNeil attacked the wall again, Pierre all smiles and
gay glances over this remarkable whim of M'sieur Max, whose whims
as a rule he found enjoyable; McNeil looking perhaps not grimmer
than usual, but as though the whole affair was quite below his
dignity. To knock a hole in a perfectly good stone partition which
would require a mason to fill and put in proper shape again at an
expense of solid Jersey shillings, struck his thrifty Scotch soul
as folly. Still, if Colonel Lisle wished to indulge Mr. Max in
this youthful eccentricity, it was not McNeil's place to protest.

After fifteen minutes a cavity yawned in the cellar wall,
disclosing a passage leading to the left.

"That will do, McNeil," said the Colonel. "That's enough for the
purpose. Go ahead, boys. It was through your efforts that the
tunnel was located, so it is for you to see this out."

"Win shall be first," said Max. "Step in, old fellow."

Pale with excitement, Win took the offered lantern and approached
the hole. Once inside the opening he found that he could stand
erect for the passage ran straight along the cellar wall about
three feet wide and over five feet high. It seemed dry and the air
was not musty. Rough stones formed its floor and roof but the
crude workmanship had been strong and only a few scattered stones
had fallen during the centuries.

Max followed with another lantern, and Roger made the third
explorer. The excited heads of the girls were thrust into the
passage but only Frances actually stepped within.

Win went slowly down the gently sloping tunnel, and presently the
eager watchers who could catch only glimpses of shadowy roof and
walls in the fitful light of the lanterns, saw the three stop. In
her excitement, Fran forgot her fear of the distance stretching
before her and ran to them. The next second came a wild warwhoop
from Roger.

"It's here!" Max called more quietly.

At this wonderful news the rest entered the passage, the Colonel
as eager as the others. Fifty feet from the opening at one side of
the tunnel was a rough niche or alcove and in it stood a box about
two feet square. Upon its cover lay the dust of ages, and it was
scarcely to be distinguished in color from the stones about it.

"We'll bring it out, Uncle," said Max. "No place to open it here.
You hold the lanterns, Win. Lend a hand, Roger. Go easy; we don't
know how much knocking it will stand."

His eyes almost starting from his head, Roger took one of the
handles, the girls stepped back and in two minutes the party stood
in the open cellar, looking at what was undoubtedly the Spanish
chest.

[Illustration: WHAT WAS UNDOUBTEDLY THE SPANISH CHEST]

"Is it heavy?" asked Fran breathlessly, while Pierre went for a
brush to remove the silted dust.

"Rather," said Max, looking boyishly excited. "Ah, now we know the
style of the chest. No gold box nor uncut rubies, Connie!"

Relieved of its heavy coating of dust, the box proved of dark
wood, carefully finished and ornamented by plates and corners of
steel. Upon its cover was inlaid a scroll engraved with the Manor
arms and the name of Richard Lisle.

"Gracious, what great-grandfather bought that bit of bric-a-brac!"
exclaimed Connie, seeing her father's eyes light with interested
pleasure. "It must have been the original Richard himself. Is it
locked?"

Max tried the lid. "No," he said, straightening up and looking at
the Colonel. "It is your play, Uncle Dick. Only a Lisle of Laurel
Manor should open Richard's chest."

The Colonel smiled, stepped forward and with his single hand
lifted the lid. The excited group about him bent forward eagerly.

At first glance a roll of dark cloth was all that appeared. When
Colonel Lisle lifted this, it unfolded into a long-skirted coat
ornamented with many buttons. The fabric was stained and rotten,
in places moth-eaten. Below the coat lay a pair of leather gloves
with long wrists, stiff as boards, and two blackened bits of metal
that proved to be spurs.

For a moment no one spoke. The young people were silent, impressed
with the fact that long years ago these things had been the
property of a prince of England.

With a smile the Colonel looked first at Max and then at Win. "Are
you satisfied?" he asked. "Though the contents of the Spanish
chest have no value in money, they certainly are rich in
historical interest."

"Oh, it was the fun of finding it that I cared about," said Win
quickly. "That was the point for me. And I am so glad there is
something in it."

"Let's take it up-stairs," suggested Connie. "We can see so much
better."

The boys and Max delayed to inspect the empty secret passage,
following to the spot where it was blocked by its stopper of
stone. Then they joined the group in the study. In bright
daylight, the fine workmanship on the Toledo steel trimmings of
the chest stood out in full beauty.

"The design on these buttons is very significant," remarked
Colonel Lisle, who was inspecting the wreck of the once handsome
coat. "And I suspect that they are of silver."

Examination showed on the tarnished metal the three ostrich
feathers that have marked the badge of the Prince of Wales since
the far-off days of Edward the Black Prince. Below was the motto,
"Ich dien," and the single letter C.

"On my next new suit I guess I'll have buttons marked R," said
Roger solemnly.

The others laughed. A feeling of real awe had been creeping over
them to think that garment had once been worn by Prince Charles.

"Here's a loose button," said Max, picking it out of the box. "The
whole coat is falling in pieces."

"The buttons will last indefinitely," said Colonel Lisle,
regarding thoughtfully the one Max had just rescued. "Thanks to
Win's clever brain, the Manor has acquired an unsuspected secret
passage and a valuable antique; of especial value to me because of
the name it bears. I want you to keep this button, Win, for I
think you, almost more than any one I know, will appreciate it and
what it stands for."

Win turned pale. To possess a silver button once the property of
bonnie Prince Charlie rendered him speechless.

"Oh, Colonel Lisle," he said after a minute, "I oughtn't to take a
thing of such value. It belongs here."

"I want you to have it, my boy," replied the Colonel kindly. "I
really am indebted to you, for we have positive proof now that the
Manor walls once sheltered the Prince."

"I should value that button above all things," said Win simply,
"if you really wish me to have it. Only it seems as though Mr. Max
had done much more toward solving the mystery."

"I merely followed the lead you gave me," said Max, who was
looking at him with a very friendly expression. "You played a
pretty fine game yourself, Win."

"As for that," said the Colonel smiling, "Maxfield may have a
button too, if he cares for it."

"Thank you, Uncle Dick," Max replied promptly. "I do value it, but
perhaps for the present, it would better stop with the others."

As Max spoke, he looked not at the Colonel but at Constance,
leaning against the table beside him. Something in their attitude
struck Win's always acute perception. For the first time he
doubted whether the young people of the Manor had been as
genuinely absorbed in that search as he supposed. About Max, half-
sitting on the corner of the study table, about Connie, with her
hands loosely clasped before her, there was a certain air of quiet
detachment, as of those who politely look on at some interesting
comedy, but who, as soon as courtesy permits, will return to
affairs of more importance.

"You need not have the least scruple about accepting it, Win," the
Colonel went on. "We hope this will not be your last visit to the
island, but in any case, whenever you look at that old relic, you
will have to give us a thought as well."

Win turned the tarnished button on his palm. Yes, the sight of it
would always bring back memories of the green lanes, the red
cliffs, the turquoise sea of Jersey, not least the hours in the
library, the Spanish chest and the Lisles of Laurel Manor.


      *       *       *       *       *




AFTERWORD


After the story was finished and the characters were going away,
Max and Connie turned back.

"We have kept our promise?" they asked. "We have played quite
nicely and haven't been silly?"

"You have really been very good," admitted the author. "If Max
hadn't appeared just when he did to rescue Edith and Frances from
the tide, probably the story must have stopped there. And Connie
has been most helpful about lending the Manor house and the beach
dog."

"May we play again?" Max asked.

"I think not," decided the author. "This is five months later. You
really must be grown-up now and stay so."

"We have been all the time," said Connie. "We've pretended just to
please you. But since you let us come into the story when we
weren't expected nor invited, it is only polite to tell you what
we are going to do now."

They looked at each other and smiled.

"Every girl who reads this story will want to know," Connie went
on. "It would indeed be very diverting to be Princess Santo-Ponte,
but somehow I think the chances of 'living happily ever after' are
greater with Max. There's nothing at all romantic about marrying
Max, but you might just mention that I'm going to do it."


THE END.






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