Mrs. Stratford was interested in Martine's account of her interview with Balfour Airton.

"I should certainly like to see him, and if he's as you describe him, and I am sure he is, I should be glad to welcome him as a long lost cousin. From what Mrs. Redmond has said, I'm sure that he contributed a great deal to your pleasure last summer."

Several days passed and Balfour did not appear. At last Mrs. Stratford sent a note to the headquarters of the trolley line addressed to Balfour and inviting him to tea. On the appointed evening he made his appearance at Red Knoll.

"It is not often," he said, "that I can get enough time off to accept an invitation of this kind; but I can tell you that it's very delightful to be among friends. That's the worst of going so far from home. You're among strangers and nobody cares especially for you."

Although Martine and her mother were both somewhat curious as to what had brought Balfour to this corner of the world, for the moment they asked no questions. Martine inquired about Eunice.

"Of course she writes regularly to Priscilla," she said, "and Priscilla keeps me informed about Annapolis happenings. Do you think your sister will go to college?"

Balfour shook his head.

"I am not sure; I am not even sure that Eunice knows her own mind; but if she does wish to go to college, some one will certainly find a way for her to carry out her wishes."

Martine, looking at him, felt that Balfour was likely to be that "some one."

"I ought to say," added Balfour, turning to Mrs. Stratford, "that the money so kindly sent Eunice last autumn did an immense amount of good. It was the first money of her own that she had ever had to handle, and I may add," he concluded smiling, "that she has at least half of it still stored away for a rainy day."

At last Martine could not control her curiosity.

"How did you happen to think of coming up here?" she asked.

"Oh, some of my friends had had opportunities as extra men on the New England trolley lines, and I decided that I could spend my time more profitably here than on the vehicle I drove last summer.

"That wasn't such a bad vehicle," interposed Martine. "If you hadn't been driving it, I might still be lost in the fog."

During this conversation the three had gone outside to sit. And now in the darkness they heard a voice inquiring anxiously, "Is this Red Knoll?"

"It's Mr. Gamut," exclaimed Martine, and rushing forward, was soon greeting the old gentleman.

"I've only just come back," he cried volubly after he had joined the group. "You must have thought it strange that I disappeared so completely; but I was called away on business, and my niece has been visiting friends on the South Shore. Now tell me about your father; what do you hear? Good news, I hope."

Martine said nothing.

"What we hear is indefinite," said Mrs. Stratford.

"Oh, well, 'no news is good news' and you must expect the best. Young people who have no care don't realize the ups and downs of life; they expect things to move along in an upward line. You, young man," he continued, "expect life to continue to be one continual round of pleasure; you bathe, play golf, drive, have evening excursions, and it's all right for the summer; but after a while you will have a hard hill to climb, and that is right too; it's part of life; only you mustn't let the summer spoil you."

"Oh, but Mr. Gamut," began Martine.

"Yes, I know," said Mr. Gamut, turning to Balfour, "you think perhaps there needn't be a hill for every one."

"I think I know what Miss Stratford meant to say; she meant to tell you that I am not a pleasure seeker, but a worker. I am simply a conductor on the trolley line."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the old gentleman, and though the light was too dim for him really to see, Balfour realized that Mr. Gamut had raised his glasses and had fixed his eyes upon him.

"A conductor!" he exclaimed; "how extraordinary! do you really think it will lead to something? That's what a young man should always ask himself."

"It will lead to my having more money at the end of the season than I had before," responded Balfour.

"Yes, yes; but it's very unusual." Before Mr. Gamut could complete his sentence, a loud scream from the direction of the kitchen fell on the ears of the four.

"I wish Angelina were not so excitable," said Mrs. Stratford. "It takes so little to make her scream; probably she has seen a mouse."

When the scream rang out a second time, Balfour started to his feet and in another instant was racing to the gate in pursuit of a flying figure; an instant later, the others had reached Angelina.

"It was a burglar," she cried. "He was opening the trunks in the ell room, and when I came through with the safety lamp in my hand I saw him plainly, and he started and ran, leaving his booty on the floor," she concluded dramatically.

"But those were empty trunks," cried Martine, climbing the stairs.

"Come and see," said Angelina, leading the way upstairs, where indeed the floor was strewn with clothing. Martine picked up a delicate muslin skirt.

"This isn't mine, mamma," she said. "The man must have had a bundle with him that he dropped here; these things are not mine; it all seems very queer."

"Yes," said Angelina, "especially as the burglar is an old acquaintance of mine."

Thoughts of collusion crossed Mrs. Stratford's mind while Angelina continued:

"It was years and years ago, and I'd know him anywhere; especially because I've seen his twin brother since, and he looks just like him, though this wasn't the twin. He's an honest man and he lives in Salem."

"Let us get out into the fresh air again," said Mrs. Stratford. "I feel faint."

"Angelina's story makes me feel fainter," added Martine.

"I hope that interesting young conductor hasn't been hurt by the burglar; if he should catch him, I wonder if he'd know what to do with him."

"We can only wait."

Their time of waiting was not long. Balfour came back rather crestfallen.

"He gave me a great run," said Balfour, "and I couldn't catch up with him. But I'm sure he won't trouble you again, and on my way home I'll telephone so that the authorities here and in Portsmouth can be on the lookout for him. Do you suppose he took anything of yours?"

"I hardly think so," replied Martine, "he seems to have left something behind him."

"Oh, he's nothing but a sneak thief," continued Angelina. "I know him."

"A friend of yours?" asked Balfour in surprise.

"Oh, Angelina was just going to tell us about him," said Mrs. Stratford, trying to repress certain suspicions regarding Angelina that had come to her since the girl had said that she knew the intruder.

"It was this way," continued Angelina, pleased, as usual, to be the centre of interest. "It was my mother he took the money from a long time ago, when she lived at the North End. It was the money that was to take us to the country, that Miss Brenda and her Club had made at a bazaar; and he went off to some far country, and now he's come back, I suppose he'll go on stealing. Miss Brenda had to make up the money out of her own allowance, because she had been careless in giving the money too soon to my mother. So if you had caught this thief, Mister—" here Angelina hesitated, not knowing Balfour's name,—"we might have recovered what he took."

"I'm sorry that I did not," replied the young man, "but I'll do my best to help some one else catch him."

A little later Mr. Gamut and Balfour walked off together, and the Red Knoll household, left to itself, talked over the exciting evening. Mr. Gamut and Balfour had both offered to stay, or even to sit up all night if Mrs. Stratford or the girls felt timid. But at last all agreed that the intruder had been so effectually put to flight that there was no danger of his returning.

That night Martine's dreams were filled with visions of a burglar chasing Balfour, with Mr. Gamut in a white muslin skirt following closely in pursuit. They were all late for breakfast, and were still at the table when the grocer brought the mail. There was but one letter for Martine, and she read it eagerly.

"What do you think?" she asked, when she had finished. "Elinor is going to stay over at York on her way to the mountains. She is to be at the Hotel for a day or two. Oh, I wish that she could stay here! What do you think, mamma? she could be comfortable in my room, and I would take the little one next."

"Certainly, my dear, you may ask her as soon as she arrives. When does she arrive?"

"Why, it must be to-day—for this is Thursday. I wonder why the letter was so slow. I'll go over as soon as the work is done."

Now it happened that Elinor herself made the first visit, as she had come in from Portsmouth on an early train. After they had talked of other things for half an hour, Martine told Elinor of their excitement of the evening before.

"Are you sure he didn't take anything?" asked Elinor. "I should think you wouldn't have slept a wink. I should have been awake all night after such a fright."

"I can't say I was frightened; it seemed rather funny. Do come upstairs with me now. I must see what the man left behind."

Elinor followed Martine upstairs.

"Why, Martine, what is this?" she cried, raising the white skirt "It is—why, it must be the gown I lost Class Day—and this—it really is my trunk," and she gave Martine a severe glance as she bent toward a small trunk in the corner.

"Nonsense," cried Martine. "That is a skirt the burglar left, part of his 'booty,' as Angelina calls it, and this is one of our packing trunks. It has been here all summer."

"But it has my name on it," protested Elinor.

Martine shook her head. Elinor's manner reminded her of her manner on the day of their first meeting, and it annoyed her.

Nevertheless she bent down towards the label on the trunk.

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice," she said gayly, as she turned again toward her friend. "The label is certainly marked,

and now that I look at it closely I can see that this is not one of our trunks. But how did it come here, Angelina?"

"Oh, Miss Martine, we brought the trunk with us from Boston. It was in the storeroom. I don't know anything about it, except it came the day before Class Day. There was a laundress working there that afternoon, and I remember she told me she had had a trunk sent to the trunk-room. I supposed you told her, and of course when we moved, all the trunks came here. You told me they were to come."

"Perhaps you are not altogether to blame, Angelina, although I wish that you had said something to mamma or me, and I still don't understand why the trunk was sent to us."

It was now Elinor's turn to explain. "I understand it all. When I left Bar Harbor for Class Day, I simply put on a tag with my name and I didn't notice this old label, which was the one I used when I spent a day or two with you in the spring. The expressman followed the Belhaven tag, instead of keeping my trunk with Kate's aunt,—so if any one is to blame, it is I for leaving that tag on."

"I am not so sure of that," replied Martine. "If I had been a really up-to-date housekeeper I should have known exactly what trunks came down to York. Now I only hope that our burglar didn't make way with any of your things."

"We'll soon know;" already Elinor was on her knees before the trunk.

"No" she said, "I hardly think he took anything. The trunk is closely packed below the tray, and the tray would hold little more than these things he tumbled out. But I remember a set of topaz studs in a box that I put in this corner. The box is not here."

After a careful search neither she nor Martine could find the studs. But Elinor was philosophical over this loss.

"In finding the trunk I feel as if I had recovered a small fortune—and I can bear the loss of the studs. I daresay Kate will be pleased to get back her things, although she is so up-to-date, that she may consider these class-day clothes old-fashioned now, as they were made to wear two months ago."

"How ridiculous!" exclaimed Martine, "and yet," she admitted, "I can remember when I would not wear anything that was not of the very latest, but now—why this is a last year's shirt-waist, and you know how the sleeves have changed."

A few hours later Martine and Elinor were telling the story of the "Class-day trunk," as they dubbed it, to a group of merry young people on the piazza of the hotel, and every one teased Martine about her skill in abstracting so important a part of Elinor's wardrobe.

After a day or two at the hotel, Elinor began a visit at Martine's that lengthened itself into a week, and during her friend's stay Martine's life was as gay as that of the gayest at the Harbor. She drove, she sat at noon with the gay throng under the pavilion to watch the bathers. She would not bathe, because she had brought no bathing-suit to York, and because it was too late in the season, she said, to begin a course of spectacular bathing. She went with a sailing party on Herbert's cat-boat, although before Elinor's arrival she had refused all his invitations. She spent two mornings at the Club watching the tennis tournament, and she accepted invitations to two luncheons given in Elinor's honor.

"Martine," said Mrs. Stratford, two or three days after Elinor's arrival, "Would you not like to have a luncheon for Elinor? On a small scale we could manage it very well."

"Oh yes, Mrs. Stratford," interposed Angelina, who overheard the suggestion. "I've just been longing for Miss Martine to have some kind of an entertainment. There's something going on every day, and I don't like Miss Martine to be the only one that doesn't entertain—not that I'd be so presuming as to talk of anything you hadn't spoken of yourself," she concluded hastily. She was bright enough to notice an expression of surprise on Mrs. Stratford's face.

"It would make some trouble for you," said Martine.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind that, and I'm always happy when there's something going on."

"Lucian's last letter was more cheerful;" Martine said this to draw her mother out.

"Yes, my dear, and I am sure you need not let your father's health stand in the way of your party. I am sure that he is better."

"But ought we to spend money in that way?"

"It will not cost much."

"I know,—but still."

"There, write your notes. They should be sent at once."

"Instead of a luncheon, mamma, let me have a tea late in the afternoon and ask boys as well. Herbert has been very good to Elinor, and Atherton has given us a lot of time, and there are several others. I wish I needn't ask Carlotta, but I must. However, I can leave out the most of her crowd."

Elinor helped Martine write the notes, and Angelina took hold of the preparations with a heartiness that spoke for success.

The tables were spread out-doors, one for serving chocolate and coffee, one for lemonade. Elinor and Clare gathered flowers in abundance, especially great clusters of St. Anne's lace, that proved a most effective table decoration.

In spite of the short notice nearly all whom Martine invited accepted the invitation, even Carlotta and two or three of her set, who "never would be missed," said Martine almost ruefully as she read their replies.

"Then why did you ask them?" Elinor's tone was reproachful.

"Oh, because—well, because I had no good reason for leaving them out. They have all invited me to something or other, and of course in one way I want them, only Carlotta is so critical that I hate to think of her making fun of things here."

"She will have cause to be critical if you do not hurry down to the village for that extra cream. It's strange they forgot to leave it this morning. Of course," concluded Elinor, "I think that Carlotta might have been prompter in answering your invitation, but when she comes she'll be on her best behavior."

Now it chanced that as Martine was returning from the village, warm and a little tired, carrying a large bottle of cream under one arm and a package of odds and ends on the other, she met Carlotta and three or four others driving rapidly down from the Club. How it happened Martine never knew, but an unlucky stumble made her lose her hold of the bottle, and as it flew into the road the cream emptied itself in a sticky pool in the dusty road.

Poor Martine! The drag slowed up. She thought she heard a half-suppressed outburst of laughter. But in a moment Herbert stood beside her. He had slipped down from the drag, and he looked at her now as if waiting for her to tell him what to do.

"Let me help you," he said at last.

"Help me!" cried Martine scornfully.

"There, Herbert, that is the way I feel. To think that I must go back to the village for a second bottle of cream! We are all in a hurry, and they are waiting for me. Angelina herself could not have done worse."

"Of course you won't turn back. Go home with the other things, and I will bring you your cream."

So eager was Herbert to be of use that he hardly listened to Martine's thanks, and Martine, to her own great surprise, for once in her life found herself ready to obey one to whom she was not in the habit of looking up. For Herbert, although nearer Lucian's age than Martine's, always seemed to the latter like a younger boy whom she could order around. In the present emergency she was thankful for Herbert's help and pleased enough to receive the cream that he brought from the village.

When her guests arrived at the appointed hour, Martine was fairly proud of the appearance of Red Knoll. She had had the grass clipped the day before, and the lawn, if stubbly on close inspection, at least was of a vivid green. The old-fashioned garden at the side that had been the pride of the former occupants of the farm, was now in full bloom, and almost all the chairs had been brought from the house to be set under the trees or farther up in the meadow, where those who wished could enjoy the rather unusual view.

With the chairs removed, the dining-room seemed almost spacious, and there Peggy at one end of the table and Clare at the other served chocolate and lemonade. The afternoon passed quickly away. Martine forgot her first anxiety when she saw that her friends were evidently enjoying themselves.

"I am surprised to see you here," Peggy exclaimed to Herbert. "Isn't it a great condescension? I thought you had vowed never to go to a tea at York."

"Generally this kind of thing is a bore, and I had fairly hard work to get the other fellows to come. But I told them that anything Martine did was sure to pass off well, and it's true."

"This is just like any other tea," protested Peggy, remembering that Herbert had never accepted one of her invitations.

"Oh, it's smaller than others," responded Herbert, "and every one knows every one and we all feel that we can do as we like—and no one is wearing white gloves," he concluded, as if he had made a special discovery.

"There are no gloves of any color so far as I can see," retorted Peggy.

"That's just it, we can have a good time here, because everything is unconventional. But, alas, here is Carlotta—" and Herbert moved rapidly in the opposite direction from his sister.

Although Carlotta seldom said really disagreeable things, something in her manner excited Martine's antagonism.

"She need not have referred to the spilt cream," thought the latter, after a word or two with Carlotta. "She must know I hate to be reminded that I cut a ridiculous figure."

"Oh yes," she continued aloud, "I am too busy to do much pleasuring this summer. The house gives me plenty to do, and I have some extra studying."

"We heard you were going to college," said one of Martine's friends.

"Yes," added Carlotta, "but I shouldn't think you'd quite like to. It makes a girl so conspicuous to go to college."

"A college girl isn't half so conspicuous as a golf-champion. Why, I saw your picture in a Sunday paper last month, Carlotta, beside a prize bicycle rider's, and your weight and height and all kinds of things about you were there, too."

Martine spoke hotly, as she was apt to when excited, and Carlotta made no reply.

"If I go to college," continued Martine, "I fear I'll never be distinguished enough to have my portrait in print." Then, remembering that personal speeches of this kind were not in good taste from a hostess to a guest, she changed the subject to something less irritating. But Carlotta turned away, only half mollified.

"Elinor," cried Martine, as the last of her guests went home, "this tea has been bad for me; it has given me a taste for society that will worry me the rest of the summer."

"There's no reason why you shouldn't be a little gayer."

"Oh, yes, there is, every reason. If things go better, I'll have my turn in a year or two when I am really out, and if things go ill, why I shall bury myself in work. Really, I meant what I said to Carlotta. I do mean to try for college. It would be fun to pass the examinations with Priscilla, even if I couldn't go through. For, of course, if we are very poor, I shall have to work for a living."

"Martine," cried Elinor, "you are very absurd. When I think of your cousin Mrs. Stanley at Bar Harbor—"

"Yes, and my cousin Mrs. Blair, who has one of the handsomest places on the North Shore. But unluckily what is theirs is not mine, and I have never been a beggar."

"Of course not, but from one extreme you have gone to the other, and I think that you ought to hope for the best."

"If hoping were having," murmured Martine.

Mr. Gamut was one of the guests whom Martine invited in Elinor's honor.

"Where's your young conductor?" he asked, when he had a moment alone with her.

"We invited him, but he wrote that he couldn't get off. Mamma felt pretty sure he wouldn't have come, even if he had time to spare. He is in this part of the world for business, not pleasure."

"Just so, just so, he's a fine fellow, though, and I mean to keep an eye on him. I can offer him a good place when he's through studying. I have no prejudice against the college man in business, and he'll be none the worse for taking his degree. I liked the way he ran after that fellow the other night, and he's done some clever detective work since. You'll hear about it soon."

"Martine," said Mrs. Stratford, when her daughter later told her what Mr. Gamut had said; "you may congratulate yourself on this one thing, if on nothing else this summer. By bringing Mr. Gamut and Balfour together you have accomplished more than you realize."

"But it was the burglar and not I," said Martine, "who really had the most to do with it. It was the way Balfour ran that impressed Mr. Gamut the most."

"However it came about, you have had a good share in bringing them together, and with Mr. Gamut's good will, Balfour is sure to prosper."

"I'm glad of that, mamma. Sometimes I feel that I have been so useless this summer."

"My dear—" and then Mrs. Stratford said no more. She was really afraid of spoiling Martine by praise, but she thought it better for the latter to find out certain things for herself.