Betsy’s letter to Mrs. Bachelder was a lighted match to a fuse. Within an hour Betsy’s Fairport, to a man, woman, and child, knew that she had linked her fortunes to Captain Salter’s.

Mrs. Pogram was one of the first to call upon the bride. Enveloped in a black shawl, and moving with heavy deliberation, the mournful lady walked up the path bordered with fragrant pinks, and looked with lugubrious but appreciative eyes about the sunny garden of the rock-bound cottage.

Betsy saw her coming, and opened the door.

“That’s right, Mrs. Pogram. This is neighborly,” she said.

The visitor regarded her with doleful curiosity, examining her gingham dress and white apron, and the smooth arrangement of her trim head, with approval.

“You look awfully well, Betsy,” she said.

“Will you come in, or do you like to sit out here in the sunshine?”

Mrs. Pogram sniffed. “The grass is kind o’ damp, I guess,” she objected.

“Perhaps it is,” said Betsy. “Come in, then. Before another summer we’re goin’ to have a real nice veranda all across the front.”

“How you talk!” returned the caller, following her inside and accepting a cushioned rocker. “It sounds good to hear of anybody prosperin’. I haven’t scarcely got my breath since I heard o’ your marriage. And they say you wasn’t married in Fairport. They say you took the boat and went off and had a preacher from Mere Point row out with a witness and get aboard and marry you, ’cause Hiram wanted the knot tied on the sea; said he was goin’ to have a sailor’s knot and make a sure thing of it. And then I heard you all danced a hornpipe!”

Betsy laughed into the curious face with its down-drawn lips. “What a good time somebody had spinnin’ that yarn,” she said. “Now tell me about yourself, Mrs. Pogram.”

“It looks awful comfortable here,” declared the visitor wistfully. “I didn’t know as you and Hiram was goin’ to get married.”

“Well, you see we did. I’m your neighbor now, for good.”

“’Tis good, Betsy. ’Tis so.”

The visitor rocked as she inspected. Her gloomy garb and countenance in the cheerful room gave an effect as of a portly raven in a solarium.

“If you’d ’a’ give folks some warnin’,” she went on, “you’d ’a’ had presents from your well-wishers and old friends. Why was you so suddent, Betsy?”

The hostess directed a one-sided smile toward the open window, near which she was sitting. “Sometimes things that seem sudden have been a long time growin’,” she said.

“I s’pose so. I think a sight of you,” declared the visitor with a sniff. “I’d like nothin’ better’n to give you a spoon if I thought there was any hope o’ Loomis not noticin’ it; but Loomis is goin’ to get married himself, and he’s more’n ever set on keepin’ the estate together. I’ve been thinkin’ a whole lot about it, ’cause I’ve decided that when he’s got his own home I’d ruther make a division. I’d ruther have less and not be pestered.”

“I would, too,” said Betsy.

“And if that time ever comes, you can count on me for a spoon.”

“Thank you,” returned the bride. “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Pogram. I think even more of the will than the deed.”

“Well, I heard from Rosalie at last,” announced the caller. “She was in Boston, and had found some old friend of her father’s who was doin’ for her. She didn’t say much, just a real pleasant little note, sayin’ she was all right and would let me hear again soon.” Mrs. Pogram lowered her voice, lest her brother’s dapper astral body might be floating near. “Her note cheered me up consid’able, Betsy, and I’ve been thinkin’ that after Loomis was married I could have Rosalie back again, just as well as not!”

Betsy’s face grew inscrutable. “I saw Rosalie in Boston myself,” she began; and at that moment the door, which had been ajar, opened, and the girl herself appeared before them.

She wore a dark-blue sailor suit, her sleeves were rolled up, and her face was alight with feeling.

“I heard my name!” she cried. “Oh, Betsy, I’ve just learned about you!”

In an instant the two were locked in each other’s arms, while Mrs. Pogram, her mouth open, her eyes winking as if to dispel cobwebs, leaned back in her chair.

“Do you see my visitor?” asked Betsy.

“Why, Auntie Pogram! You?” said the girl; and hastening to the sombre figure, she kissed her. “I was coming to see you to-day,” she went on. “It was my first opportunity. Everything has happened so fast.”

“You’re—” stammered Mrs. Pogram amazedly, “you’re livin’ in Fairport, Rosalie?”

“Yes, at the inn.”

If it were possible for Mrs. Pogram’s back to cling more limply to her chair, it did so now.

The girl laughed. “Yes, it’s a fairy story, Auntie Pogram, but I’m living at the inn and paying for my board in the pleasantest way.”

“Waitin’ on table?” asked Mrs. Pogram.

“No;” the girl flushed and laughed. “Speaking pieces, just the way I used to do for you.”

“You don’t say so! I was just tellin’ Betsy, Loomis is goin’ to get married; and then I want you to come back to me, Rosalie.”

A creeping nausea stole around the girl’s heart.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I’ve grown so conceited I believe I can make my own living.”

Betsy watched her in fond silence; and Rosalie returned to her side. “I just looked in to hug you and to say I’m glad,” she said. “I’ll come again, soon.”

“What are you going to do to-day?” asked Betsy.

“I’m going canoeing with Mr. Nixon.”

“With Mr. Nixon,” repeated Betsy.

She was sorry they could not speak alone. She saw by the girl’s face there was much she was repressing.

“The people are planning a Yellowstone picnic with Captain Salter,” continued Rosalie. “We’re to sail to some far-away beach and have a clambake. Don’t forget that you’re a Yellowstoner even if you are a bride.”

“Rosalie,” returned Betsy, “if the people are kind enough to suggest my goin’ on any o’ these excursions, I want you to tell ’em that I’d rather not.”

The girl stood silent for a moment. Robert had told her as much as he knew, which was the mere fact of the marriage. He had asked nothing of Irving, and had not mentioned Betsy’s flight; but Rosalie guessed enough to understand.

“You can tell them that my weddin’ was a very hurried one and that I’m busy, and will be all summer,” added Betsy.

The girl inspected the room.

“I was here once before,” she said. “How different it looks!”

Betsy smiled. “I guess Cap’n Salter kept the blinds shut a good deal,” she returned. “I calc’late to make it look real nice here before I get through.”

Rosalie looked at her wistfully. “Isn’t it fun!” she said. “It’s a pretty cottage, and as for what you see from here—why, the inn has nothing like it.”

A man’s step crunched the garden-path and a knock sounded at the door. Robert Nixon appeared.

“May I come in?” he cried cheerfully. “Mrs. Betsy!” he added, as the hostess started up, “I thought it would be a good time to run over and pay my respects, for I knew you had company anyway, and I wanted you to know that I bear no malice for your unkindness in the past.”

Betsy shook hands with him heartily. “Mrs. Pogram, this is Mr. Nixon,” she said.

Mrs. Pogram’s eyes had found their greatest width, and they remained there, unwinking, while Robert bowed.

“Any time’s a good time, Mr. Nixon,” went on the hostess. “The latch-string will be always out.”

“Say, this is pretty nice, do you know it?” exclaimed Robert, looking about. “Such a corking view!”

Seeing Betsy in her usual trim garb, and with no line of care in her forehead, the young man asked himself if she could bear any relation to that tragical Sunday morning.

“You look as if you’d always been here,” he said.

“I really feel that way,” replied Betsy. “Sit down, Mr. Nixon.”

“I’d like to, but I can’t. I have to take this young lady and bear her off to my light canoe. Brute’s gone to Boston and it’s my innings.”

Betsy saw Rosalie’s blush and the sudden gravity of her face.

“She’s got ’em all cinched up there at the inn,” he rattled on. “Have to stand in line now to get an hour of her. Good-by, Betsy—I don’t have to call you Mrs. Salter, do I?”

The bride laughed and reassured him, and with a few more words the young people disappeared.

“Who’s he?” asked Mrs. Pogram sepulchrally.

“A young man from Boston. We met him in the Yellowstone.”

“Rosalie said—” began the visitor.

“Yes,” interrupted Betsy, returning to her seat with a repressed sigh. “I’ll explain.”

Then she told her caller the outline of Rosalie’s experience, foreseeing that much future heartburning would be averted by frankness.

“Rosalie and I came pretty close out there,” she finished, “and this house’ll be her headquarters next winter if she has idle times; which I don’t think she will.”

“But after Loomis is married—” began Mrs. Pogram.

“Yes, but you see we didn’t know Loomis was goin’ to be married, and Cap’n Salter’s very fond o’ Rosalie, and we’ve made our plans.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Pogram reflectively. “She looks like a new girl. I didn’t know as she was so pretty.”

“Some evenin’ soon,” said Betsy kindly, “you’ll come over here to supper with me, and I’ll fix it up with Sam Beebe to let us go to the inn and sit in some corner outside an open window, and we’ll see and hear Rosalie give her little show. You’ll be real pleased with her.”

“I guess I shall,” returned Mrs. Pogram, in a sort of maze. “I guess I shall. There was always somethin’ out o’ the ordinary about her. I used to think it was that made Loomis mad.” Mrs. Pogram’s eyes looked into a void. “He’s goin’ to marry a real nice girl—poor thing!” she added.

Delicacy restrained Betsy from inquiring which of the contracting parties was thus apostrophized by a fond sister, and in a few minutes her caller left.

By a strange coincidence Mrs. Pogram was present a week later, when one afternoon Captain Salter approached his cottage laden with a heavy wooden case which he carried on his shoulder. He groaned in spirit as he beheld through the window the visitor’s ample sable proportions.

“That’s goin’ to be Betsy’s trouble,” he muttered. “Everybody thinks too darned much of her.”

He gave the caller a cheerful nod, however, as he entered the living-room. He was too happy himself not to let good cheer overflow upon all mankind.

Betsy regarded the heavy case with surprise.

“What ye been sendin’ to Boston for?” he asked, lowering his burden.

“Nothin’. To Boston? There’s some mistake.”

She approached and read the inky address. “Mrs. Hiram Salter.” The name was clear.

Hiram brought some tools and opened the wooden box, then began to take out the packing within.

“It’s a weddin’ present,” exclaimed Mrs. Pogram, throwing back her shawl in the excitement of the moment, and thanking the lucky star which had made her keep on from the market to the Salter cottage.

Tissue paper began to come into view.

Hiram looked at Betsy. “I guess I’ve gone as far as I darst,” he said.

Color came into her cheeks as she lifted out package after package and laid them on the table. Mrs. Pogram rocked violently.

Captain Salter lifted away the wooden case and packing.

An envelope caught Betsy’s eye. She opened it and read the card within.

“O Hiram!” she exclaimed brokenly. “It’s Mr. Irving!”

“Irvin’ Bruce,” cried Mrs. Pogram, raising herself in her chair and dropping back again.

Betsy gave the card to her husband.

He read on it: “To dear Betsy, with her boy’s love.”

A slow, broad smile grew on Hiram’s bronzed face, and he watched motionless while Betsy opened her treasures.

Only Mrs. Pogram’s breathless ejaculations broke the stillness.

“I never!—I never did!—Fit for a queen!—And I wanted to give you a spoon!”

For the morocco cases held silver with the rose pattern which Irving knew that Betsy loved.

There were a dozen tea-spoons, half a dozen table-spoons, and the same number of forks and silver knives. A silver teapot, cream-pitcher and sugar-bowl of colonial design crowned the show. Every article except the knives was engraved with an F. upon which Captain Salter gazed with admiration.

The good soul could not even begrudge Mrs. Pogram’s presence at the unveiling of so much splendor; for the raven more nearly resembled a lark now, in her chirps and cries of joy.

Hiram held his wife in an embrace while they stood looking upon the array.

“You want to bring the burglars down on me, that’s what you want, Betsy.”

“Oh, it’s too handsome, too handsome!” Betsy was murmuring. “Mr. Irving hadn’t ought to spent so much money!” She held the card against her breast.

“I hain’t a particle of objection,” said Hiram jovially. “Would you have, Mrs. Pogram?”

The latter was eyeing the tea-set.

“It’s lots like mine,” she answered, with recovered recollection of the Brown-Pogram estate. “I’m just bound and determined Loomis’s wife shan’t have my tea-set!”

“We can’t do anything but eat, to do justice to it, Betsy,” went on Hiram.

And she turned her head and buried her face on his breast, while he kept his arms around her.

Mrs. Pogram began to be inspired with the idea that perhaps the pair would not mind being left alone for a little while.

“Betsy’s kind o’ worked up,” she said leniently, to Hiram. “She set so much store by Irvin’. I’ll just go on, and see her some other time.”

Some of Mercury’s fleetness was lent to the visitor’s heavy sandals as she considered the number of neighbors she could see on her way home; and before bed-time that night, it was known in Fairport that the Bruce family had given to Captain Salter’s bride a complete dinner-service of solid silver, a watch studded with diamonds, and Oriental rugs for every room in the cottage!