"Bell, may I speak to you a moment?" said Margaret.

Bell looked up from a critical inspection of the Tintinnabula, which had been somewhat injured in the race. "Certainly, May Margaret!" she said. "Do you want to know why my poor boatie did not win? I have just found out." Then, looking up, and seeing Margaret's disturbed face, she rose instantly.

"Something is wrong?" she said, quickly. "Come this way, under the trees, where it is quiet. You have had no bad news, dear?"

"Oh, no!" said Margaret. "But—Bell, I have something very disagreeable to tell you. It seems terrible to say anything that may make trouble, but nothing makes so much trouble as untruth, and I do think you ought to know this. I don't think the Jollycumpop really won the race!"

"My dear Margaret! she came in well ahead; didn't you see—"

"Listen, Bell!" and Margaret told in a few words the story of the dropped oar.

Bell listened with keen attention, and when Margaret had finished, whistled two bars of the Siegfried motif very correctly before she spoke.

"The little animal!" she said at last. "Well, Margaret, do you know, the best thing to do, in my opinion, is—to say nothing about it, at present."

"But—Bell! Gerald really won!"

"I know! but, even as it is, Jerry can hardly keep his hands off Claud. My one prayer is that we may be able to get the boy off to-morrow without an open quarrel breaking out. You see, Margaret, when they were little, it was all right for Jerry to thrash him. He did it punctually and thoroughly, every time they met, and it was very good for the boy; but now of course it is out of the question."

"Why did he come here?" inquired Margaret. "Did ever any one manage to make so much trouble in so short a time? the very air seems changed."

Bell shrugged her shoulders. "His mother made him come, probably," she said. "He is really devoted to his mother; when you see him with her, you forgive a great deal. She is very fond of my father, and is always hoping that he may be able to influence Claud, and to appreciate him. After all, the boy has no father, and he has been systematically spoiled ever since he was born. I wish to-morrow were over."

"Then," said Margaret, slowly, "I am to say nothing about this matter."

"Please not!" said her friend. "My dear, I see you are troubled, because you saw the horrid thing done; and you don't think it right to conceal the truth, even for a time. I am just as angry as you, but remember, there is 'a time to speak and a time to be silent.' This is a time to be silent, I am very sure; if we were to tell the boys now, it would be a match thrown into a powder-magazine. To-morrow, when Claud is safely off to his Dunderblincks, we will tell them; there will be an explosion then, but it will do no harm; and in a day or two the two boats can have a race by themselves, and that will decide the case. Are you convinced, Justitia?"

"Entirely!" said Margaret. "You are very wise, Bell; I suppose I was too angry to see clearly; I have never been so angry in my life. As you say, I suppose it is because I saw it; and it was a horrid thing to see. I too wish to-morrow were over."

The morrow came, and the morning passed peacefully enough. The wagon was ordered which was to carry the visitor to the evening train. The elders began to breathe freely, and it was with a mind comparatively at rest that Mr. Merryweather strolled down to the float after dinner, to inspect a boat which had been hauled up for repairs. The other "menfolks" of the family followed him, and all stood round after the fashion of their kind, saying little, but enjoying themselves in their own way.

"I'd caulk her a bit, Jerry," said the Chief; "and then give her a couple of coats of shellac. She'll do then for the rest of the season."

"All right, Pater!" said Jerry.

"And if it be possible," his father went on, "so far as in you lies, do not spill the shellac about. Shellac is an excellent thing in its place, but I don't like it on the seat of my chair, where I found it this morning, nor sprinkled over the new 'Century,' as it was last night. And it isn't as if there were any to spare; the can is very low."

"I know!" said Gerald, penitently. "I am awfully sorry, Pater. I threw a cushion at Fergs, and it upset the can. I scraped up as much as I could; I think there is enough left for this job. If not, would that varnish do?"

"Varnish—" said Mr. Merryweather; and he plunged into a dissertation upon the abominations of most varnishes and the iniquities of their makers. Gerald replied, defending certain kinds for certain purposes; the others chimed in, and a heated discussion was going on, when Claud Belleville joined the party. In spotless gray tweeds, with a white Manila hat and a lavender necktie, he made a singular contrast to the campers in their flannel shirts and dingy corduroys.

At his appearance, Gerald rose from his squatting posture at the stern of the boat, while Phil and Jack amiably made way for the newcomer at the edge of the wharf, where, for some unexplained reason, men always like to stand. Claud, finding himself between Gerald and his father, turned toward the latter with an air of cheerful benevolence.

"Cousin Miles," he said, "you must promise me, you really must, to come to us at Bar Harbor before the end of the summer. I gave my word to Mamma that I would induce you to come. She longs to see you."

"I should like very much to see her," said Mr. Merryweather. "We were always very good friends, your mother and I. Give her my love, and tell her that some time when she is in New York I shall run on to see her; possibly this autumn, before you sail. It would not be possible for me to leave here now."

"Oh, but yes!" cried Mr. Belleville, airily. "It could be possible, Cousin Miles. Here are the boys, absolutely au fait in bog-trotting of every description; in fact, suited to the life—in all its aspects." He swept Gerald with a comprehensive glance, from his mop of red hair, tanned into rust-color, to his feet, clad in superannuated "sneakers."

"They can do all the honors of the place as they should be done," he added. "But you, Cousin Miles, you must positively come to Bar Harbor. You live too much the life of the fields. Mamma is constantly deploring it. We will show you a little life, Mamma and I. I will put you up at my Club, and take you out in my new auto; in a week, you will not know yourself, I give you my word. Oh, very, very, very!"

As the speaker stood beaming benevolence at Mr. Merryweather, and diffusing contempt among the rest of the party, two hands were laid on his shoulders; hands which gripped like steel, and propelled him forward with irresistible force. He staggered, struggled to save himself—and the next instant disappeared with a loud splash beneath the water.

Gerald confronted his father with a face of white fire.

"I told him, sir, plainly and distinctly, that if he patronized you I should duck him!" he said. "He has had fair warning: this has gone on long enough."

"Gerald," said Mr. Merryweather, gravely, "you are behaving like a foolish and ill-tempered child. I am fully able to take care of myself. We will talk of this later. Meantime you will apologize to your cousin."

"Oh, certainly, sir! I intended to, of course."

While this brief colloquy had been going on, Phil and Jack, with sparkling eyes, waited at the edge of the wharf for the reappearance of Mr. Belleville. Up he came presently, splashing and sputtering, his eyes flashing angry sparks. Phil held out a hand; a vigorous pull, a scramble, and he stood once more on the wharf. Gerald walked up to him at once. "I beg your pardon, Claud!" he said. "I had no business to do it, and I apologize."

Claud gave a spiteful laugh, and shook himself in his cousin's direction, spattering him with drops. "Don't mention it, dear fellow!" he said, through his chattering teeth. "It serves me right for expecting civilized manners in the backwoods. This no doubt appears to you an exquisite pleasantry, and its delicacy will be appreciated, no doubt, by others of your circle. Enfin, in the presence of your father, whom I respect, I can but accept your apology. Since you are sorry—"

"I did not say I was sorry!" Gerald broke in. "I said I begged your pardon."

"My son, will you go at once and attend to the fire?" said Mr. Merryweather.

"Father—"

"At once!" repeated Mr. Merryweather.

Gerald went.

"Phil, take your cousin in, and get him some dry clothes. His own will be dry before the wagon comes, if you hang them by the kitchen stove. Hurry now!"

Phil and Claud went off in surly silence, and Mr. Merryweather turned to Jack Ferrers, who had remained an amused but somewhat embarrassed spectator of the scene.

"Puppy play, Jack!" he said, quietly. "You have seen plenty of it in Germany. One puppy is a puppy, more's the pity, and the other has red hair. Well! well! I did hope this could have been avoided; but we must not let it go any further. I wish Roger were here. I wonder if you can help me out, Jack."

"I'll do my best, sir!" said Jack, heartily.

"You see, I must go off; I ought to be at the village landing this moment, to see about that freight that is coming. Do you think you can keep the peace till I come back?"

"I think I can," said Jack. "I'll make a good try for it, anyhow, Mr. Merryweather."

"That's a good lad!" said the Chief. "You could knock both their heads together, if you put your mind—and your biceps—to it; but I hope that will not be necessary. In any case, don't let them fight! I promised his mother."

He nodded, and, settling himself in a boat, departed with long, powerful strokes.

Jack, left alone, shook his curly head, and felt of his arms.

"Ah'm fit!" he said, quoting another and a bigger Jock than himself. "But it's a pity. That fellow is not only a puppy, he is a cur. I never saw anybody who needed a thrashing more." And he went and coiled himself in a hammock, and prepared to keep watch.

An hour later Mr. Claud Belleville, once more dry, if somewhat shorn of his glory, reappeared upon the scene. As he came out of his tent, Gerald strolled carelessly out of the boat-house, his hands in his pockets.

"Cousin Rowdy, a word with you, if you please!" said Claud.

"Cousin Cad, two, if you like!" said Gerald.

"In France, where I live," Mr. Belleville resumed, "when we are insulted, we fight."

"No! do you really?" cried Gerald, his eyes sparkling as he began eagerly to turn back his cuffs. "Hooray! I say, shake hands, Claud. I didn't think you had it in you. There's a bully place up behind the woodshed. Come on!"

Claud Belleville, who really was no coward, started forward readily: but at this moment Destiny intervened, in the shape of six foot four of John Ferrers. Uncoiling his length from the hammock, he took two strides forward, and lifting Gerald in his arms as if he were an infant, carried him off bodily. Gerald, who was strong and agile as a young panther, fought and struggled, pouring out a torrent of angry protest; but in vain. When Jack put forth his full strength, there was no possibility of resistance. He bore the furious lad to his tent, and throwing him on the cot, deliberately sat down on his feet, in calm and cheerful silence. Gerald twisted and writhed, exhausted himself in struggles, threats, prayers; all in vain! Jack sat like a statue. Finally the boy relapsed into sullen silence, and lay panting, his hand clenched, his blue eyes dark with anger and chagrin.

By and by came the sound of wheels; a wagon stopped in front of the camp. There were sounds of leave-taking; "Good-by, Claud!" "Our love to your mother!" in various tones and modulations; then the sound of wheels once more, rattling up the hill and away in the distance. Then Jack Ferrers rose, and smiled down on his prostrate friend.

"Awfully sorry, old man!" he said.

Gerald was silent.

"Jerry! you're not going to cut up rough?"

"I have nothing to say," said Gerald, coldly.

"You are my guest, and manners forbid. We will change the subject, if you please."

"Manners didn't forbid your chucking the Charmer into the drink!" said Jack. "Ho! did you see him blink when he came up? It was worth while, Jerry, even if I have to fight you, but I don't believe I shall. You see, your father had to go off, and he asked me to keep the peace, and I said I would; and I didn't see any other way, wildcat that you are. A sweet condition the Charmer would have been in to go back to his Mamma, if I had not done as I did!"

"I might have known the Pater was at the bottom of it!" said Gerald, his face lightening, and his voice taking on its own kindly ring. "Fine man; but the extent to which he won't let me thrash Claud is simply disgusting. When it comes to setting a Megatherium on a man—"

"And to the Megatherium sitting on the man—" said Jack, laughing.

"No more o' that, Jack, if thou love me! There's the horn! Come on, and let that flint-hearted parent see that we are all right."

The pair strolled in to supper, arm in arm, singing, to the tune of "Home, Sweet Home!"