“‘Knowest thou the land of the citron bloom,’” sang Elinor as she busied herself with the tea things.

There were not quite enough cups to go around and the two boys waited until two of the girls had finished; but it was only one more excuse for lingering in that lovely spot; pulling the yellow jasmine and the sweet violets and dipping their hands in the cool waters of a little brook which had hidden itself in a corner of the dell.

Georgiana showed a kind of awkward, shy joy in being with the four young girls. So absorbed was she in her new happiness that she had not noticed, and indeed, no one had observed, a very curious coincidence.

It was not until Elinor had poured out two fresh cups of tea and was saying: “Sugar or lemon, Mr. Paxton—er—I mean Edward—I mean—why, which Edward are you?” that they waked up.

Edward Paxton had removed his black glasses and slouch hat and stood revealed as Edward, the chauffeur, or his living image. The others formed an interested circle around the two boys, who were certainly very much alike. They had the same blue eyes and black hair; the same handsome, regular features. They were indeed the same height.

“It is only when they are together that I could tell them apart,” cried Nancy, with Irish obscurity.

“Why, they are as alike as two peas in a pod,” ejaculated Miss Campbell.

The two boys stood face to face and regarded each other curiously.

“I feel as if I were looking in a mirror,” said Edward Paxton gravely.

“And they are both named Edward,” put in Georgiana. “Isn’t it strange?”

“What is your last name?” asked Edward Paxton.

“My name—is Edward l’Estrange,” he said. Then he looked anxiously at the others, but no one gave any sign of having heard the name before and he appeared to breathe a sigh of relief.

“There is this difference between them,” announced Billie, who, when she had observed a person’s face, usually finished by looking at their chests and shoulders exactly as her father would have done, “Edward Paxton is not as broad as Edward l’Estrange, and he is much paler.”

“It’s because Edward’s always ill,” said his sister, in a half-accusing tone. “He has headaches and pains and side aches. Grandmamma says he is determined to be delicate.”

Edward Paxton flushed painfully.

“Is that why you wear those smoked glasses?” demanded Billie.

“Yes, the glare on the water gives me a headache.”

“How dark and hideous everything must look,” went on Billie. “The sky must always be cloudy and the water gray and the woods a dusty green. I should be very unhappy, I’m sure, if I had to wear them. One could never see anything as it really was.”

“He doesn’t,” cried his sister. “He’s always sad and sorrowful and quiet—and—and moody, too, Edward, you know you are.”

“I’m not,” exclaimed her brother. “Or rather if I am, I suppose I have enough to make me so. Grandmamma——” he began, and then paused and bit his lips.

There was an awkward silence. The others recalled the terrible grandmamma who wielded her gold-headed cane with almost as much freedom as an ancient warrior did his battle-axe. Miss Campbell felt sorry for the boy and girl. No doubt the fierce old lady led them a wretched life.

“Well, well,” she said, patting Edward Paxton on the arm. “No one can judge for any one else, because no one knows how much another has to bear. You will grow strong and well down here, I’m sure, my dear, and I hope you and your sister will spend a great deal of time with my girls. They are so merry and bright, you can’t help catching the fever when you are with them. They have made a new creature of me, I assure you.”

“It’s you who started all the happiness a-going, dearest cousin,” said Billie, giving her relative a little squeeze.

“And speaking of going,” went on Miss Campbell, “we must be tearing ourselves away from this charming place. But you will bring us here again, will you not?” she added, turning to the other Edward, who had been silently assisting Elinor to gather up the tea things and store them in the basket.

“Certainly, ma’am,” he replied, “if you wish it.”

Miss Campbell could not help feeling that this quiet, rather masterful boy was really the host of the beautiful afternoon party, and not merely the engineer of the boat. But he knew his duties as engineer, and his place, too, evidently, for he rarely spoke except to answer questions. With the basket under one arm and a cushion under the other he hurried over and jumped into the boat.

“He is really much the more manly of the two,” thought Billie, as she watched his self-reliant movements, “but I suppose that old grandmamma would be enough to cow any one’s spirit.”

Presently they were seated in the Firefly and their youthful engineer shoved off from shore. They were drifting lazily along over a miniature ripple of waves which the movement of the boat had set in motion, when Edward l’Estrange gave an exclamation of surprise and annoyance. As he bent over the machinery, they waited for the whir of the motor, but the engine was silent and the little boat bobbed up and down like a piece of driftwood that had shifted all responsibility in life. Motor boats are much like delicate people who are subject to sudden and unexpected attacks. The girls, therefore, were not surprised that the engine was indisposed, and they began chatting and laughing gaily with their new friends, while Edward l’Estrange got out his box of tools and set stoically to work.

“Why don’t you help him, Edward?” asked Georgiana. “I always thought you knew so much about motor-boats.”

Edward Paxton rose languidly and joined his counterpart. The girls thought they had never seen such a spiritless boy, and secretly they preferred the Edward who was their own first discovery.

“There is nothing to do,” said Edward l’Estrange, “because there is nothing the matter with the engine, as far as I can see.”

“Why, the gasoline tank is empty,” exclaimed the other.

“What?” cried the young engineer. “But that is impossible, unless there is a leak somewhere, because I just filled it this morning. By Jove,” he added, with a steely light in his eye that looked dangerous, “well of all the——” his voice died away and the two boys exchanged a long and meaning look.

The girls could not help laughing. They were like the two Dromios, these two young men. The resemblance was even more striking when Edward Paxton had waked into life.

“But what is it?” demanded Miss Campbell. It was so difficult to have anything but agreeable sensations in this pleasant land.

“All the gasoline’s gone,” said the engineer. “There’s not a drop of it left in the tank and we started with plenty. There has been foul play somewhere,” he added in a lower voice.

“Are you sure you started with plenty?” asked Billie, who was accustomed to the appetite of a gasoline motor engine.

“Perfectly,” answered the self-reliant young man. “I cleaned and overhauled the machinery and filled the tank this morning.”

“There’s lots of gasoline here,” observed Mary Price, “only it’s all outside.”

Suddenly they became aware that there was a strong odor of gasoline in the air and that the waters about them were covered with a bluish gray film.

“Ho ho,” cried Edward Paxton, with some excitement. “I’ve found the leak. A hole has been bored straight through the side of the boat, tank and all.” He was leaning far over the boat. “It’s just above the water line,” he added.

“But who could have played such a trick as that?” exclaimed Miss Campbell.

The English brother and sister looked uncomfortable. There was no doubt in the minds of the company regarding the author of that practical joke, but no one cared to accuse Clarence Paxton since his cousins were their guests.

“What are we going to do, boy?” asked Miss Campbell helplessly. “How are we going to get back? I don’t suppose you can find any more gasoline in this wilderness, even if you could mend the boat.”

“No, the hotel is the nearest place,” replied Edward l’Estrange.

He knitted his brows and sat thinking for a moment, while the others waited in respectful silence. Surely this Edward must have been well accustomed to taking charge of things.

“There is nothing to be done,” he said at last, “but for me to go back to the hotel and get the motor car.”

“But how will you get there?” demanded Billie. “It must be at least ten miles.”

“Oh, I’ll manage,” he answered evasively.

“And must we wait here?” asked Miss Campbell.

Edward hesitated for some time before he replied.

“I live not far from here. If you don’t mind walking a little, you could wait at my home until I come back with the motor.”

“And then we could see the mocking bird,” put in Elinor.

The boy’s face lit up.

“Yes.”

“It would be very, very kind of your—of you to take such a crowd of us in, Edward,” said Miss Campbell. “We should appreciate your hospitality. I don’t seem to fancy stopping in this lonely spot all that long time, especially after dark.”

Once more they landed and formed a silent procession along an old wagon road from the beach through a great grove of trees. It was a gloomy place in the late afternoon. The branches draped in gray Spanish moss made a mournful picture.

“We look like a troop of spirits,” whispered Mary to Billie.

The two girls had lingered a little behind the others.

“What spirit was it, do you think, that sprung a leak in our boat?” whispered Billie.

“It was the spirit of mischief. And it might have been very serious mischief, too, if it had not been for our wise little engineer.”

“We should have had to sleep in the dell. Cousin Helen could have taken the launch and perhaps Georgiana, because she is so frightened and nervous. I am so sorry for her, Mary, and for all of them, even that wretch of a Clarence. They are all orphans, you know, and wards of their fierce old grandmother. Georgiana and Edward lived in Canada until a few years ago. That is why they speak with so little accent, I suppose.”

Presently the wagon road emptied itself, like a tributary into the main stream, into what had once been a broad carriage road, a splendid avenue bordered with giant pine trees.

“Why, this must lead to a mansion,” exclaimed Billie as they turned into the avenue. “I suppose Edward works for the family who live here; but, somehow, I never can imagine his working for any one. He seems so—so different from chauffeurs and people like that in general.”

They walked along silently for a few minutes. There was only the last twittering of the birds to break the hushed stillness of the place.

“I feel as if I were approaching an enchanted palace,” whispered Elinor, who had dropped back with her two friends.

“It was on just such an evening as this, I fancy, and along just such a road that the prince came to waken the sleeping beauty,” exclaimed Mary.

“Oh, look,” cried several voices at once, and suddenly right in front of them loomed an immense house.

Four classic Doric columns supported the two galleries on the first and second floors, and at one side rambled a huge wing which must at one time have been the servants’ quarters, in this fine old mansion.

“Is this where you work, Edward?” asked Miss Campbell, without intending to be patronizing.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is my home,” he added, as he led them to the first gallery and banged the knocker loudly.

Presently footsteps sounded in the empty hall, and an old colored woman carrying a lighted candle opened the door and peered at them curiously.

“Mammy, will you look after these ladies, please? They will wait here until I can get a motor car from the hotel. Our boat was wrecked a while ago.”

“Come right in, ladies,” said the old colored woman, leading the way into a large almost empty room at one side of the hall.

A grand piano stood at the end. On the walls a few old portraits were half visible in the flickering candlelight. At one side was a long mahogany sofa covered with faded tapestry, and the only other piece of furniture in the immense apartment was a small supper table set for one.

“I’ll jes’ go up and fetch little Missy, Marse Edward,” whispered Mammy, while the others strolled about looking at the portraits and Elinor touched a soft chord on the piano.