CASCO BAY

Pat's benevolent heart swelled with satisfaction when, a few evenings later, Philip ran down the stable stairs, his packed suitcase in hand.

"Wish you were going along," said the artist, meeting the Irishman's approving gaze.

"I will as soon as ye need a valet," was the reply. "Ye think I can't put on style!" Pat winked and shook his head knowingly. "Ye'd burst wid pride if ye saw me fixed up and waitin' on ye."

"I haven't a doubt of it. Well, so long. It will be only a few nights before I shall be back, sizzling with you again." And Phil gave the man a smiling nod and went out of the door, almost running into the arms of Mrs. Fabian, who, in the trimmest of cool grey travelling gowns, was looking askance at a spring and mattress outside the barn door.

Pat aghast, hastened to button the open throat of his shirt. "The Queen o' Sheby," he muttered.

"Why, did I keep you waiting, Aunt Isabel?" asked Phil, with contrition. "I was planning to be out in front in plenty of time."

"Yes, it is early, but I wanted to speak to your man a minute."

Pat bowed in the direction of the voluminous grey chiffon veil. "You may go out and join Kathleen," Mrs. Fabian added.

"Dear me, nothing private, I hope," said Phil, vastly amused by the conflicting emotions on the Irishman's face.

"Have you seen to putting your evening clothes away?" asked Mrs. Fabian.

"Why—why, they're hanging up there in the closet."

"Just what I expected. Run along, and I'll tell this good man what to do."

Phil gave Pat one humorous glance and obeyed, passing out toward the street where he soon saw Kathleen in the waiting car, her hat tied down by a roseate veil.

Mrs. Fabian at once accosted Pat. "Could you pack up Mr. Sidney's belongings and send them after him, if we ask you?"

"I could, mum, but 'tis only a week he'll be away."

"He wouldn't want his evening clothes. Do you know what a moth-bag is?"

"I do not, thin."

"Well, go to the store and ask, please. Brush Mr. Sidney's evening clothes thoroughly and put them in the bag, seal it up tight, and hang it in the closet. The careless boy. That's what comes of always having had a mother."

"Lot's o' folks is jist that careless," remarked Pat. He was beginning to feel that even a queen, if she invaded his own vine and fig tree, might be a little less peremptory.

"You may send everything else, except of course his winter overcoat. By the way, you may get another moth-bag for that, and treat it in the same manner."

"He'll not be stayin', mum. He's all for work."

"Has he been sleeping out here on these hot stones?" demanded Mrs. Fabian, with dilating nostrils, looking at the mattress.

"No, mum, he usually took the bed," responded the Irishman.

"Well, you've carried his upstairs, I see."

"I'll have to break it to ye that he did it himself," said the man.

Mrs. Fabian ignored his manner. Her thought was filled with Philip's situation.

"Well, here," she said, with a preoccupied air, and, taking a bill from the fine-mesh purse which hung from her wrist, she held it out to the Irishman. "Take this and do what I've asked you. You needn't prepay the trunk if you send it. Keep the change, and I hope the heat here won't grow any worse. Good-bye." And Mrs. Fabian turned on her heel and the grey chiffon floated away up the alley.

Pat looked at the five-dollar bill he held and tossed his head. "Who is that bye," he muttered, "and will he iver live in the stable ag'in?"

Suddenly, bethinking himself that he might see the grand departure of his lodger, he hurried out to the street, and was in time to see Phil's straw hat loom amid a confusion of grey and rosy streaming veils.

"Sure, 'tis only the rich enjoys this life," he thought good-naturedly, and unbuttoning his neckband again, he returned to his palm-leaf fan.

As the motor flew breezily through the hot city streets, Philip gave himself up to the pleasure of his outing. Mrs. Fabian regarded him with supreme satisfaction, and Kathleen, though a little heartsore from parting with her father, dared not indulge in a pensive moment, knowing that her mother would pounce upon it alertly and later reproach her.

They passed the evening in the stateroom of the flying train, and Mrs. Fabian narrated with much dignity the tale of Edgar's retirement from commercial life in favor of the arts. Philip pricked up his ears when he learned that the heir of the house was expected at the island at once.

Kathleen was not obliged to talk much, and at last they all ceased fanning themselves and shouting remarks against the clatter of the open windows, and retired.

After breakfast the following morning, as they entered a carriage to cross Portland, Kathleen nodded at Philip.

"Say good-bye to heat," she remarked.

"Hard to believe," returned the Westerner, who had tried to refrain from talking of his native mountains. His thoughts often travelled back even to the stable studio where certain work begun stood awaiting his return; but soon after they entered the boat for the island, he began to see Kathleen's words fulfilled. The ladies wrapped themselves in heavy coats and Mrs. Fabian begged Phil to put on his sweater; but he held his hat in his hand and declared his desire to be chilled to the bone.

As they pulled out past the near islands into wide spaces of sea, interest slowly grew in Phil's eyes. His comments grew less frequent, and finally stopped. The islands rose tree-crowned from the water, casting deep green reflections at their feet. Phil took a notebook from his pocket, and occasionally asking the name of an island, he wrote it in the book. Kathleen, understanding his intent, and knowing that he would not fulfil it because of greater satisfaction further on, smiled at her mother.

"What did I tell you?" she asked.

"Well, what did you?"

"That he wouldn't know whether I was here or not."

"Sh—!"

"He can't hear me any more than if he were anÆsthetized."

"Hush, Kathleen."

"I'll prove it." She raised her voice. "Mr. Sidney!"

Phil not only did not reply, but after a moment more he moved away to another and more unobstructed spot.

Kathleen gave a low laugh and Mrs. Fabian looked pleased.

"He is enjoying it, isn't he?" she returned. "This day is a wonderful bit of good fortune. First impressions are so important. What made you expect him to behave like this?"

"I think I must have a groping, artistic sense myself. At any rate, I knew what Casco Bay must do to an artist when he comes upon it all unprepared."

Mrs. Fabian sighed. "Well, I'm glad our coming here does somebody some good. Are you going on forever calling that boy 'Mr.'? Of course, he can't be informal with you unless you will be so with him."

"Mother dear, I tell you it doesn't matter," laughed the girl. "He has gone into a trance and he probably won't come out of it till the first fog. By that time, perhaps I shall feel entirely informal."

Captain James stood on the pier when the boat approached Brewster's Island. Kathleen caught sight of him and waved her handkerchief.

"Mother, it's time to go and make passes over Philip," she said. "He'll have to wake up."

Mrs. Fabian went to the guest and touched him on the arm. For an hour and a half he had not addressed them.

He started.

"We're there, Phil," she said.

He followed her, and glanced at Kathleen with a sensation of guilt. He seized the bags with an alacrity intended to offset his preoccupation.

"It's a wonderful bay," he said.

Kathleen was not regarding him. She was leaning over the rail, waving again toward a tall lean man on the wharf, who smiled, well-pleased, and jerked his head in her direction.

Soon many passengers were streaming up the gangplank, and in a minute Kathleen was greeting the tall lean man with a gayety Phil had never before seen in her demeanor.

Mrs. Fabian next shook hands with him, and introduced Phil, who, in the confusion and limitations of the commonplace wharf, had quite regained his normal alertness.

"You gave us a very nice day, Cap'n James," said Mrs. Fabian graciously. "Where's the carriage?"

"Waitin'. Can't take you all, I'm afraid. Mrs. Frick from down-along engaged me ahead."

"Ahead of us?" inquired Mrs. Fabian superbly.

"Got one seat," said Captain James. He was accustomed to Mrs. Fabian's autocracy.

"That's all we want," said Kathleen. "Mr. Sidney and I will walk up."

So Mrs. Fabian and the bags were stowed in the carriage and the young people were started on their walk before Tom had turned heavily into the road.

"What air!" exclaimed Phil, as they struck into the deep grass.

"One can live on it," agreed the girl.

"Don't expect me to; I feel wonderful pangs already. Gramercy Park had nearly cured me of eating."

He smiled down at his companion in the roseate veil tied under her chin, and she glanced up at the city pallor of his face. "I should think it might," she agreed. "Wait a week. We shall both look like tomatoes and feel like disembodied spirits."

"I'm afraid I behaved like the latter, coming down the bay; but really I forgot everything. I want to study the boat-tables and go back to some of those wonderful shores."

Kathleen smiled demurely. "This doesn't cut much of a figure by contrast, does it?" she said.

They were crossing diagonally through a green field which led gently up to the island road.

"It's beautifully fresh here," replied Phil politely, looking about the bare treeless expanse rolling up to a bluff against illimitable sky.

A village store upon the road, a little school-house and a cottage or two, were all that was to be seen.

Above, on Mrs. Wright's doorstep, Eliza Brewster was standing, opera glass in hand, watching the tall figure and the rosy veil coming up through the field. She had restrained herself from running down to the road, for she dreaded Mrs. Fabian, and Phil for the moment had forgotten that Eliza might be in the neighborhood. His eyes brightened as they reached the road. He had been privately wondering why the Fabians had chosen this unpromising island as their abiding place. Now he caught sight of the spreading cove, its brilliant banks dark with evergreen trees, while in sheltered spots maples and birches stood amid a riot of shrubs inviting the birds.

"That's a fine cove," he said, his eyes fixed on the far reaches of the sea.

"So the yachtsmen think," returned Kathleen.

"Let's look at it a minute," said Phil.

The girl paused obediently and a smile touched the corners of her lips. Phil's impersonality with regard to herself was novel; for Kathleen had the intangible quality called charm to such a degree that nothing masculine had ever before been able to approach so near to her without striving to win her favor.

From that first Sunday in the stable studio she had perceived that if she were going to see more of this new factor in the family circle she must do the striving if she were to become a factor to him. A dread that she might desire to do this had beset her ever since, and warned her away from him with a sense of self-preservation.

He stood forgetful of her now, and narrowed his eyes to the picture.

"Well, have you looked enough?" she asked. "How are the pangs?"

"Yes, yes," he replied hurriedly. "I can come back."

"Certainly, we promise not to lock you up," she answered, half-laughing. "We'll get better views of it, too, as we go on," she added, and turned at a right angle into a green ribbon road leading up a second incline.

Phil looked about vaguely, and followed her. He noticed on the crest above them a cottage of boulders and shingles.

"Yours?" he asked.

"Home, sweet home," she answered.

Captain James passed them now with his load, and by the time they reached the cottage, Mrs. Fabian was on the steps to welcome them; but Philip was absorbed in the surprise which the summit of that hill gave the newcomer. Before him, but a few rods away, spread the Atlantic, foaming at the foot of the bluff. Distant islands came near in the crystal air, their outline defined by rocks, which in the distance seemed ribbons of sandy beach. The superb breadth of view, ending either in the horizon or in the irregular skyline of the mainland, took the breath of the unfamiliar.

Mrs. Fabian straightened with pleasure in the spellbound look of her guest as, his hat dropped upon the grass, he gazed in silence. It was her island and her view. She started to speak, but Kathleen touched her finger to her lips with a suggestive smile; so the lady sank instead into a hammock chair. Her maid Molly came out of the house, greeted the ladies and carried in their bags, saying that dinner would be served whenever they were ready.

Philip, from his stand below on the grass, turned and looked up at them, his eyes dark with the blue of the sea.

"I understand now," he said, "why you haven't talked about it."

"Come in and have something to eat," suggested his exultant hostess. "We have noon dinner. Kathleen simply refuses to shorten the day with a long evening meal."

Philip gave the girl a brilliant smile of appreciation.

"After dinner," went on Mrs. Fabian, "Kathleen will take you to walk to some of our pretty places."

"No, indeed," said the girl hastily. "I understand just how Mr. Sidney will love to explore for himself. I wouldn't spoil his surprises."

Philip said nothing to the contrary. His thoughts were absorbed taking mental stock of the materials he had brought, and he followed mechanically into the charming cottage whose every window framed a water scene, waves creaming upon the rocks which stretched granite fingers unceasingly to grasp them, while unceasingly they slipped away.

As soon as Phil reached his room he threw open his suitcase with feverish haste and examined all the sketching paraphernalia he had packed so hastily.

The music box which called to meals played all its tunes, but the guest did not appear. At last Mrs. Fabian sent Molly to knock on his door.

"What a wonderful day," she said to Kathleen when they were alone, "and in June one is so likely to strike fog and rain. Now let it come. He has seen what Brewster's Island really is—or he will see when you have taken him about this afternoon. The only drawback to the whole trip so far has been your refusal to do that. How could you be so abrupt, my dear?"

"Mother, don't try to manage an artist," replied the girl emphatically. "He will want only to be let alone. Can't you see it? And so do I." Kathleen looked remarkably defiant. "I want to be let alone. This is my vacation, too, remember. I have worked as hard as he has."

Mrs. Fabian met her child's determined regard with surprise. Kathleen did look pale and thin, now that she had time to observe it. The heat of the train last night had not been conducive to sleep.

"Very well, dear," she acquiesced with meekness. "Perhaps you ought to lie down this afternoon. I'm sure I shall. I'd like the very waves to be still."

As she spoke the last word, Philip appeared and they sat down at table. The combination of the air and the delicious fresh sea-food to one long unaccustomed to home fare made the guest suspend all artistic calculations and do such justice to the dinner that Mrs. Fabian sighed.

"It is such a satisfaction to have a man's appetite at the table," she said, when Phil made laughing apology and referred to the city restaurants. "To-morrow we shall have two men."

"To be sure," thought Phil. These were Edgar's mother and sister and home. Somehow he could not fit the blasÉ society man into this Arcadia. He must make the most of to-day.

As his hunger wore away he looked more and more from the windows. The dining-room might have been on a ship for the freedom of its vast sea views. When they rose from the table, he looked at Kathleen with boyish expectancy.

"Are we going to walk?" he asked.

Mrs. Fabian interposed with the best intentions. "I don't think Kathleen had better go, after all, Phil," she said. "She is very tired. She is going to lie down. You won't mind running about this first afternoon by yourself, I'm sure."

Kathleen saw disappointment and then concern grow in the guest's face, for he suddenly observed that she was pale.

"Nonsense, I wouldn't think of wasting time lying down," she said cheerfully. "Wait a few minutes. I'll be downstairs in a jiffy."

Mrs. Fabian watched her as she ran lightly up the stairway.

"Do you think she ought to go?" asked Phil doubtfully.

"Philip," returned his hostess dryly, "don't ask me what I think. If you ever have a daughter twenty years old and just out of college, you will find the safest, wisest course is not to think at all." But she smiled as she said it; for this time Kathleen's waywardness was not displeasing.