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.