The weeks after the Easter visit passed rapidly away. April was melting into May. People called it an early spring.

"It doesn't make much difference to me whether the season is early or late," said Martine one Sunday afternoon, when Lucian and Robert had walked home with her from the afternoon service. "I have to work so hard to keep up with Priscilla that I haven't time to think about anything so commonplace as weather. If I'm not careful, I shall find myself fitting for college."

"Don't," said Robert Pringle.

"Do," cried Lucian. "As I may have said before, if you make half as much of yourself as Amy, nothing could be better for you than college."

"Be yourself," said Robert with an air of wisdom. "Not Amy nor Priscilla, nor any one else. You have the artistic temperament."

"Nonsense," replied Martine, with difficulty repressing a smile. "That's a very sophomorific speech. You've got it out of some of your philosophy courses."

"Or one of the college magazines," growled Lucian. "People who are just beginning to write always love to talk about temperament."

"Well," persisted Robert, "Fritz Tomkins says that Mrs. Redmond says that you have great talent."

"Oh, yes," responded Martine, laughing, "my class at the Mansion considers me a true artist, because I can paint trees and grass that look real; but to tell you the truth, Robert, and to show you that you're not wholly wrong, I will admit that if I hadn't been so busy at school, I should have studied with Mrs. Redmond this spring. I just wish I had time for a sketching class, but fond as I am of riding, I can barely manage an hour's ride twice a week. That reminds me, Lucian," and Martine turned to her brother, "if you can afford a new auto, I surely can afford a new riding-horse. Wherever we go this summer, I mean to ride."

"No, no," cried Lucian, "that is, I probably shall not have the auto, much as I want it."

"Don't worry," said Robert, "you'll get it in season; if it isn't out by June, they'll have it for you in July."

"Oh, that wasn't what I meant," rejoined Lucian, "only—" but at this moment he did not explain what he really had intended to say.

The next evening Lucian came home to dinner.

"What an unexpected honor," said Martine. "I've never known you to favor us with a Monday visit. You look rather glum, too," she added with sisterly frankness. "Is anything the matter?"

"No, no," he said, "nothing special. You shouldn't be so curious."

"I can read you like a book," replied Martine. "You are worrying over your finals and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If I were a Harvard Sophomore, with all my time to use as I liked, I wouldn't be in such a state of mind over a few questions, for that's all an examination amounts to."

"There, there, Martine, don't worry your brother," interposed Mrs. Stratford, joining them.

"But he is so foolish," continued Martine, "just as if he hadn't as good a chance as anybody else."

"To be perfectly frank," said Lucian at last, "you have no idea, little sister, what you are talking about; so the least said, soonest mended."

Conversation during dinner proceeded cheerfully. Lucian was evidently making an effort to remove the impression that he was troubled about anything.

But a little later, after their mother had left the room, Lucian drew his chair nearer Martine's and began to talk in an undertone.

"You are right, Martine," he said, "I am troubled. I have something serious to say."

Martine's heart beat nervously. She knew that boys in college sometimes did things that they should not do. Lucian had several friends of whom she did not approve. Into what mischief might they not lead him?

"Tell me the worst, Lucian," she said sympathetically. "If it's stealing signs or doing any of those ridiculous Med. Fac. things, of course you were very silly. But I'll help you out if I can, without telling mother, and I'll lend you money, though I have only a very little bit of my own. I am paying for my clothes out of my allowance this spring. And you know I never used to do that."

"Oh, your money wouldn't help, Martine; it isn't that."

"Well, whatever it is, we'll keep it from mother; she certainly isn't as well as when she first came to Boston."

"I know that," responded Lucian, "and that's the worst of this whole business. You see, it's this, Martine. Father's business is all at sixes and sevens and I had the queerest letter from him this morning; I can hardly make head or tail of it."

Martine took the thin sheet of letter paper from Lucian's hand; the wording was incoherent.

"Why, it doesn't sound like father," she exclaimed, "and what queer, trembling handwriting. I am afraid that he is sick. And if he has lost his money as he says, what are we to do?"

"I haven't an idea in the world. This knocks me all to pieces," and Lucian leaned his head on his hands, the picture of bewilderment.

"We ought to tell mother," Martine's voice trembled, "but perhaps we might as well wait another day; perhaps we can think of some one to advise us, or perhaps some plan will come to us in the night."

"Very well," responded Lucian, "but I can't stay here long and pretend to be cheerful; I'll get out to Cambridge as quickly as I can."

"Lucian made a short stay," said Mrs. Stratford when Martine told her that he had gone. "I agree with you that he is troubled about something. Perhaps he told you what it was."

"Yes," said Martine, "he did give me an idea of it."

Then Mrs. Stratford, knowing that it was not wise to interfere in the confidences of brother and sister, to Martine's relief asked no questions. The next day, however, the secret came out in part at least. Mrs. Stratford received a cable from Rio Janeiro. Its few words carried volumes of trouble. Mr. Stratford was ill, very ill; could some of his family come to him at once? Mrs. Stratford recognized the name of the one who had sent the cable; he was a man with whom her husband had long had business transactions. He would not have cabled unless her husband's condition were really serious. The telephone soon brought Lucian to the house.

"There is only one thing," said Lucian; "by taking the afternoon express I can reach New York this evening, sail by a quick boat to-morrow for England, and go on as soon as possible to Rio Janeiro."

"But we don't know anything about the sailings of the Brazilian boats."

"No matter, mother, the sooner I reach England, the sooner I'll reach Brazil. I must go back to Cambridge now, throw a few things into a steamer trunk, and then, good-bye."

"Oh, Lucian, what a help you are. At first I thought there was no one who could go. I will go down town at once and get a draft for you and meet you at the station; that will be better than stopping here on your way from Cambridge."

These hasty plans were carried out exactly.

"Everything is so hurried," complained Martine, "that I haven't had time yet to cry."

"I have cabled to Rio Janeiro," said Mrs. Stratford, "to cable our bankers in London, if—if—anything happens."

"Oh, nothing will happen," said Lucian cheerfully, "nothing serious, I mean. Only I am sure that it is wise for me to go, for father will need me to help him come home. And now good-bye."

So mother and daughter parted with Lucian, and after this one exciting day, things settled down into their accustomed round. Within a week of Lucian's sailing Mrs. Stratford heard by cable that her husband was no worse.

"It does not say 'better'," she murmured.

"But 'no worse' is better than nothing," said Martine.

"When we consider how little Lucian was here with us, it is strange," said Martine one day, "that we should miss him so. Poor boy, I am sorry that I teased him so about his finals. I am sure that he would rather be in Cambridge working for dear life than tossing about on the ocean, not knowing what news he may hear at the end of his journey. But there's one thing, he rose to the occasion, and I'm so thankful that he has really grown up."

In spite of the anxiety of mother and daughter, each for the sake of the other tried to be cheerful. Martine, until the first of June, was fully occupied with school. Priscilla and her more intimate friends sympathized deeply with her when they heard of her father's illness. Letters from others came to them gradually, and some of Mr. Stratford's business associates were frank with Mrs. Stratford when she asked their opinion on her husband's affairs. One day she called Martine to her for a frank talk.

"It is evident," she said, "that we must live at the very smallest possible expense for the next few months. I am going to send the cook away at the end of the present week; now that your school is ending, you will not object to supplementing Angelina's work. Angelina sees something dramatic in what she calls 'our fallen fortunes.' She is delighted to be considered housemaid and cook combined. She tells me that I am not to lift my hand, but wear my prettiest dresses all the time so that there'll be one lady in the house, while you and she are doing the work."

"Well, really," cried Martine, "it's a little too much for her to put me immediately on her own level."

"Oh, she doesn't mean it in that way; in fact, what she said was intended only to make me comfortable. If I were a little stronger I would plan to stay in Boston all summer, but I've had a talk with the doctor and he tells me that I need a complete change. We cannot afford any extravagance this summer, and only one plan suggests itself to me."

"What is it, mamma?"

"Simply this. A few years ago, when your father and I were at York Harbor, we fell in love with a little red farm-house that stood on a knoll commanding a view of the sea. We had no particular object in buying it, the land belonging to it was limited, but I had an idea that sometime perhaps we might build a house there. It is quite outside the fashionable section, yet not very far from the electric cars, and the house is in pretty good repair."

"Does any one live there?"

"Well, that is the curious part of it; the owner was an old woman and we let her stay on there, rent free, on condition that she should keep the little garden planted and let us know when any repairs were needed. Last September she died and the house has been unoccupied this winter; it seems to me that this would be an ideal place for us this summer. Even if I were able to stay in the city, I should not approve of your doing so. You need the out-door life to which you are accustomed. We could take enough of our small belongings with us to make the cottage comfortable and homelike. Angelina would be quite equal to the work."

"With my help," interrupted Martine gayly.

"Yes, with your help; and I know you can be very helpful, Martine, when you wish. What do you think of my plan?"

"I think it's perfectly splendid," replied Martine. "I've often heard of York Harbor. Peggy Pratt used to talk about it. I think her family has a cottage there."

"Of course," continued Mrs. Stratford, "you must remember that we shall live very quietly there; for the present I feel that we have no income coming in. We must live on the little money that I have saved until we know just where your father's business stands. Besides, until we know that he is really well, we are under a shadow. At any moment we may hear the worst news, and that, if nothing else, would lead us to live quietly."

"Of course, mamma, of course I understand this perfectly. I have no wish for gayety; really I would rather live quietly. I am so glad that I got only one silk gown, instead of the three I intended. And, luckily, I haven't given away many of my last summer's clothes; so I shall be all fitted out without any expense."

"There, there," cried Mrs. Stratford, "don't think too much about economy—or clothes; we shall do very well, even as things are, if only we hear good news from South America."

It was now June. Priscilla had gone home. Martine's other friends had left the city for the North Shore or the mountains. Some of Lucian's friends in Cambridge dropped in occasionally, and Amy and Mrs. Redmond were as devoted as ever. Amy, however, was very busy with the many duties and pleasures of a Wellesley Senior when Commencement is only a few weeks away. Of all the invitations that she showered on Martine for the various festivities that Wellesley offers in June, Martine accepted only the one that took her to Wellesley Float Day.

"As long as I live," she said afterwards, "I shall never forget the beautiful twilight on the lake, the boats gliding about so mysteriously and gracefully, the music floating over the water, the lights that bathed everything in glory; no, I never expect to see anything more beautiful of its kind," she added mischievously, as a kind of anti-climax, lest Amy, who was listening to her, should be too proud of her college.

But as the long June days wore away, Martine had little time for anything outside her home; she could not deny the fact that her mother was growing paler and thinner. Mrs. Stratford, looking anxiously at Martine, saw a certain change in her daughter.

"The sooner we get away, the better; Martine is worrying about her father, and will not tell me. A change of air and scene will benefit her. I wish that we had not undertaken to have the cottage painted. The last week in June seems too far away."

In their trouble, Martine and her mother were not neglected by their friends. They had not many near relatives, yet invitations came to them from the cousins in New York, from other cousins in Chicago and even from Mrs. Blair; but mother and daughter both preferred the independence that they would find in their cottage at York to the formality of visiting even the best intentioned friends and relatives.

"You may have visitors of your own part of the summer," said Mrs. Stratford. "We shall have at least one spare room in the cottage, and when things are running smoothly there'll be no reason why you should not have Priscilla with you."

"That reminds me," said Martine, "that I've never told you that Mrs. Tilworth and I have really made up. You know she was rather frigid towards me for several weeks this spring; but after my return from Plymouth she told Priscilla that she had changed her mind about me. It seems that I made a great impression on Mr. Stacy during my holidays, and Mr. Stacy, it also seems, is the one person for whose opinion Mrs. Tilworth has an especial regard; consequently Mrs. Tilworth is inclined to accept Mr. Stacy's estimate of me and for the present the war between us is at an end."

"War between you! My dear child, I should be very sorry indeed had there been such a state of affairs; I think myself that you and Priscilla have always been a little wrong in your opinion of Priscilla's aunt."