Every one crowded around as the boat drew up and two men jumped out. “Are you from Beatty’s Island?” inquired more than one.

“Right you are,” was the reply. “Young man came in along about three o’clock, been rowing pretty near all night, he said; was nigh all in, got off his course, kinder foggy for a time, but he got back again. Beats me how he done it, not being used to these waters, but he said he knew which way the wind blew,—lots of sense he had,—and steered according. I take off my hat to a landsman that could make his way in the dark like that. Of course any of us men could do it, being as much at home on these waters as ashore.”

“But where is he? Where is he?” Ellen interrupted eagerly.

The man chuckled. “Lady by name o’ Crump’s got him in tow, stowed him away in bed, sot a big nigger to watch that he didn’t get away, come down herself and routed us up, told us a party was marooned off here and we’d got to come after ’em, which we was willing to do. We was going out to draw out lowbster pots anyway. What’s wrong? Engine gone dead on you?”

“Juice gave out,” replied Alvin shortly.

“Ah-h, I see; that does happen in the best regerlated families, sometimes, specially when you hev a load of pretty wimmin folks along,” said the man with a sly wink at Tom.

“Wal, if juice is all you want, we can load you up and go about our business,” said the second man. “No, glad to accommodate you.” He shook his head as Alvin tendered more than the price of the gasoline. “So long.”

The gasoline provided, the men went off to their lobster pots, and the marooned party consumed the remnants of yesterday’s feast before they set out for home, Tom having built a fire and made coffee earlier.

“For shipwrecked mariners cast away on a desert island I think we are faring pretty well,” remarked Hettie. “Who was the foresighted person who thought to provide extra coffee?”

“Ellen, of course,” answered Mabel. “She always thinks of the useful things; Useful Ellen we call her.”

“Don’t give me the credit,” Ellen protested. “It is all Cousin Rindy’s training.”

“But there had to be something to build on,” Mabel asserted.

The last of the provisions disappeared before they started off, Bert in no wise unwilling to despatch large slices of cake at that hour of the morning. So, cheered and sustained, they made a quiet journey without any regrets because of the adventure, now that it was over. Mrs. Olmstead was the only grumbler, but nobody listened to her, and they arrived at their wharf quite cheerful.

To their surprise it was Reed who was first to greet them. “Why, we thought you were in bed under strict guard,” said Ellen as he helped her ashore; “behind locked doors we understood.”

“So I was, but fortunately there were windows from which I escaped. Miss Rindy believes I am still peacefully sleeping.”

“You should have had a good rest after that terrible trip.”

“It wasn’t terrible, rather exciting, and I was pretty well tuckered out when I reached here, but I’ve had a good sleep and am ‘pert as a lizard.’ But, tell me, how did you get along?”

“Very well indeed. That good Tom Clayton just laid himself out to do everything in his power to make us comfortable.”

“I told you he was a mighty good sort. As soon as you’re rested, Cronette, and have had your breakfast I have something to tell you.” He looked at her gravely.

“I’m not a bit tired and I’ve had breakfast, thank you. Tell me now.”

“No, I don’t want to hurry over it. We must have a quiet place and a quiet hour.”

“You look so serious; I hope it isn’t bad news.”

“It is in one way, but not in another.”

“You rouse my curiosity to the highest pitch. Let’s hurry.”

Miss Rindy was as astonished to see Reed as she was glad to see Ellen. “I’d like to know where you came from!” she exclaimed as the two entered. “I told you not to get up till noon, and I told Beulah to lock that door.”

“You forgot there are windows, a porch roof, and posts, dear madam.”

“Don’t you madam me; I’m a spinster, you sly, crafty youth. Well, Ellen, you did get back safe, thanks to this boy. I hope you’re none the worse for your outing.”

“Not a bit. I hope you are none the worse for your vigil.”

“As if I wasn’t used to sitting up all night. I did it times without number over there in France, and often enough before that.” She was not going to let Ellen think that she had been anxious about her.

Here Mabel, accompanied by Tom, entered. “I feel as if I had been away a year,” exclaimed the girl. “I hope I find you well, Miss Crump.”

“As well as anybody could feel after all this hulla-baloo. Getting me up at the dead hours of the night with a crazy tale of castaways.”

“Oh, but you were up already, Miss Rindy,” declared Reed.

“Well, I hadn’t gone to bed, that’s true. I must have fallen asleep in my chair, and didn’t realize the time.” She gave a little laugh, which belied her words, and then turned the subject by saying that they must have some breakfast; and, in spite of the fact that all insisted that they needed none, she set aside their assertions, claiming that she and Reed wanted some if nobody else did, so all sat down together, and, with new appetites, whetted by their morning trip on the water, did justice to Beulah’s waffles.

An hour later Reed and Ellen sought a sheltered corner under the shadow of a great rock. Just as they were leaving the house Mabel ran after them, waving a letter. “Miss Rindy says she forgot to give you this; it came in the mail after we left yesterday.”

Ellen took the letter, glanced at the typewritten address, and slipped it into the pocket of the coat she wore. Then, with Reed, she seated herself. “Now tell me your news,” she said.

Reed was silent for a moment, then he drew from his pocket a letter which he spread out upon his knee. “This is from Uncle Pete’s lawyer,” he said.

“Don Pedro’s lawyer? What’s he writing to you about? Have you been doing anything reprehensible?” Ellen asked flippantly.

“No. One doesn’t always receive letters from lawyers because of misdemeanors; there are such things as wills, you know.”

Ellen stared at him for a moment in speechless silence; then, as a possible meaning of his words reached her, she gasped, “You don’t mean—you can’t mean that dear Don Pedro is—is——”

Reed nodded. “He was taken ill in the mountains where he was spending the summer, and lived but a few days.”

Ellen covered her face with her hands, then raised wet eyes to Reed’s grave face. “Your letter, what does it say?”

“It tells me that to his godson and namesake he has left the contents of his studio, including all his pictures except such as are bequeathed to some one mentioned in another clause of the will. He also leaves me ten thousand dollars.”

“But you said his namesake,” returned Ellen, looking puzzled.

“My legal name is Peter Reed Marshall. Uncle Pete didn’t like the name of Peter, so I dropped it and always have been called Reed.”

“Dear Don Pedro,” murmured Ellen with a faraway look. “How we shall miss him! It was fine for him to remember you in that way. I am glad he did.”

“It was just like him to do it. He has always encouraged me to go on with my studies, even when it was hard sledding and it looked as if I couldn’t make my way. He always came to my rescue, and told me not to sell my soul for Mammon.”

Again Ellen looked puzzled. “But I thought you were very well off. I never dreamed that you had any sort of struggle.”

“What made you think so?”

“Why, the violin. You paid a good price for it, you know, and how could you, if money wasn’t easy to get?”

Reed flushed up. “You’ve caught me, Cronette. I paid for it with the check Uncle Pete gave me for Christmas, and he made up the rest. He wanted me to have it if you couldn’t keep it, said it should not go to a stranger. He knew how I longed for it.”

“Dear, dear Don Pedro,” again sighed Ellen.

“You wanted me to have it, didn’t you, Cronette?”

“Oh, I did, you know I did, and now, since I know you so well, I am more than ever glad.”

“It brought us together, and so I value it more than ever,” said Reed softly. “Cronette, I think you’d better look at your letter. From the look of the envelope I believe it is from that same lawyer.”

Ellen hurriedly drew forth the letter, opened it, read it hastily, then, after handing it to Reed, buried her face in her hands.

“Don’t cry, dear,” she heard Reed say in a few minutes; and he drew her hands away from her face, gently enfolding them in his.

“But—but,” quavered Ellen, “I can’t help it. It was so lovely of him to think of me in that way, to leave me the pict............