Kate Livingston Willard

"They have hired the dear old Cyclone, Helen, because the men thought the wind was bound to be light to-day and we would have so much more sport in a small boat than on the Vortex."

Nathalie stood in the doorway, gesticulating eagerly with her slender brown hands. Her pretty face was quite flushed with excitement, and her hurried words tripped over each other in their anxiety to be spoken.

"You see we must make haste, for Dick says we must be at the dock at eleven, or we won't catch the tide."

"But what about luncheon?" interposed Helen quietly.

A comical expression of dismay crossed Nathalie's face.

"Oh, dear, I suppose you will want to kill us; but Jean and I, in a sudden fit of enthusiasm, said we would attend to that, and not one thing have we done yet."

"Did you think to provide any cold meat for sandwiches?" demanded the young housekeeper.

"Oh, yes; there are three stout chickens, some cold corned beef, and a 'bit of ham bone,' as Bridget puts it, gracing your larder."

"Well, we haven't a moment to spare, so call Jean, and let us get right to work."

The pile of sandwiches grew rapidly under the girls' deft hands, and little Larry, wandering in from the veranda, looked longingly at these interesting preparations.

"Wish I could go with you," he ventured, with sudden courage.

"Don't speak of it," replied Helen emphatically, as she ran out of the room to get a fresh supply of bread.

"Guess you'll all be drownded, anyway," and Larry eyed them with a superior and triumphant mien.

"That's right, my cheerful little brother," laughed Jean. "Always look on the bright side of things."

"Now, when shall we tell Aunt Helen we will be back?" asked Nathalie, as they were fitting the cover down on the well-filled hamper.

"Not later than five, I should think."

"Don't let's commit ourselves, Helen," suggested Jean. "It is such a bore, and we will be troubling about it all the afternoon."

"We must be home by five; I am not willing to leave the children any longer than that."

"Perhaps you can manage the wind to suit your own purposes. You know it generally plays more or less of a part in sailing," and Jean gave a vicious tug at the last unfastened strap.

"Don't be impertinent, Jean," Nathalie called out, as she ran swiftly upstairs. "Never mind, Helen, her youth is her only excuse."

"All the same, we shall be home on time if possible, dearie."

Jean laughed good-humoredly.

"I am always disagreeable," she admitted, "when anyone speaks with decision. I don't know why, but it sets my teeth on edge."

Dudley met them at the wharf with the cutter from the Vortex, and soon they were pulling swiftly out to the Cyclone's mooring. As they rounded the stern of the old oyster sloop, a young man was seen standing at the wheel, his slender figure held firmly erect, one hand shading his eyes as he scanned the blue waters of the sound.

"Who is that?" whispered Mollie.

"Up oars!" cried Dudley, intent on bringing the cutter up in good form, and in a moment more they were clambering up the gang-steps, and Mollie's question went unanswered.

"Hullo, Farr," called Dick cheerfully, and thus addressed, Lieutenant Farr left the wheel and moved leisurely forward.

"You will have to individualize for yourself, old fellow, for it would be impossible for me to name all these charming people."

"Time enough," spoke Farr, in a well-modulated voice, as he raised his cap and glanced at the group before him.

"Come, let us get off," he said, turning abruptly to the men, and soon the Cyclone was sailing lazily away before a light breeze.

"How delightful!" sighed Eleanor Hill, as she settled herself comfortably to windward. "This is my idea of bliss."

Farr paused an instant on his way aft and glanced interestedly at the girl's earnest face, then proceeded to his place at the wheel.

"For pity's sake, let somebody go and talk to that man," said Jean, dropping her voice.

"I fancy he doesn't care much about it," replied Eleanor quietly.

"You go, Em," Mollie suggested.

"Certainly!" and, nothing daunted, Emily started up.

"Who doubted her willingness?" laughed Nan saucily.

Eleanor shook her head at the speaker.

Dick threw himself down in the midst of the group of girls and kept up an incessant chatter.

One voice was lacking in the general interchange of nonsense, for to-day Jean Lawrence, who was usually the merriest of them all, found her interest flagging strangely. Sitting somewhat apart from the others, her eyes wandered persistently to where Farr was courteously and patiently initiating Emily Varian into the art of steering. There was something about the man that caught her attention and held it almost against her will. She noted with what an air of distinction his rough yachting flannels were worn, and how beautifully shaped were the long slender hands which moved so lazily, yet with such a suggestion of strength. His cap was drawn down over his face, so that only the lines of a well-molded mouth and chin were revealed, and Jean found herself waiting with almost childish interest for a glimpse of the eyes so tantalizingly hid from view. A sudden shout of boisterous laughter from Dick brought her sharply to herself, and with a keen sense of shame, and a passionate hope that her defection might have passed unnoticed, she turned and plunged into the conversation.

"Let us have some songs, girls," suggested Eleanor. "We are getting very much demoralized, and I don't know what that strange man will think of us."

"Oh, if I were a little bird how happy I would be," began Jean, with more energy than correctness.

"Hold on, Jeanie," interrupted Nathalie, catching up her mandolin, "the other words have lots more flavor."

"Oh, the first that came a-courting was little Tommy Green,

The finest young man that ever was seen,

But the words of my grandmother ran in my head,

And I would not listen to a word that he said."

"There, that will do, Nathalie," interposed Helen with decision.

"Not at all," cried Jean.

Jean sang the foolish words recklessly, and when she had finished shot a half-defiant glance from under her long lashes in Farr's direction. His eyes met hers with a long, steady look. Somewhat disconcerted, Jean flushed hotly and turned hurriedly away.

"That was a daisy, Jean," and Dick roared with laughter.

When the merriment had subsided a little:

"Farr," said Dudley, rising and making his way out of the circle, "I think you have had your turn at the wheel. Suppose I take your place for a while."

"I hope you are not very much bored, Mr. Farr," ventured Jean shyly.

"Quite the reverse—much entertained," he replied quietly.

Jean wondered if there were a touch of sarcasm in this reply, but his face was impenetrable.

"Charming accent he has," smiled Eleanor in an aside to Nan.

"I wonder where he got it, don't you?"

"Have you lived very much abroad, Mr. Farr?" queried Eleanor, turning politely to him.

"And why do you ask?"

"Why, your accent is so un-American."

A broad smile crossed Dudley's face as he caught Miss Hill's words. It amused him not a little to hear reticent Farr thus catechized.

"Where are you from?" asked Nathalie, coming to the front in her usual outspoken fashion.

Farr glanced at her, and then, after an instant's hesitation, answered languidly.

"From New Jersey."

At this the little group, throwing manners to the winds, burst into merry laughter.

"Doesn't look a bit like a mosquito," said Nan to Mollie in an audible whisper.

Poor Mollie looked quite horror-struck, for she felt sure that the saucy words had reached Farr's ear.

If the man felt any annoyance he was most successful in concealing it, for his expression remained quite unchanged. Not so with poor Jean, who had flushed hotly at what she considered Nan's unwarrantable impertinence. She made a swift, angry little movement, and the book she had been holding slipped to the deck. Farr leaned forward, and picked it up. As he returned it to her his eyes met hers with a quiet, reassuring smile, for he had been quick to notice the girl's silent championship, and it had greatly touched him. The color in Jean's face deepened, and with sudden shyness she dropped her eyes.

"Have a cigar, Farr?"

To these two Clifford Archer's question came almost like an interruption, although no word had been spoken between them.

"No, thanks," taking from his pocket a silver case of curious design, "but, if no one objects, I will light a cigarette!"

"I can't help it," cried Nathalie, laughing until the tears were in her eyes, "did you hear the way he said that word 'cigarette,'—with such a lingering over each syllable? I am sure you are a Spaniard, Mr. Farr, in spite of New Jersey."

"I knew it," Nan put in, "the moment you spoke."

"Ah," exclaimed Nathalie, drawing back in mock affright, "you are an exile."

"How interesting," spoke Nan. "Do tell us all about it."

"About what?" queried Farr coolly, and Nan subsided, feeling suddenly very much embarrassed.

Eleanor Hill caught an expression half impatient in Farr's eyes, and turned warningly to Nathalie.

"You will be sorry."

"When I'm sober," interrupted the young girl merrily.

"What a rowdy you are, Nat; Helen is looking at you most disapprovingly."

A shrug of the shoulders was Nathalie's only answer, and starting up she crossed over, and stood before Farr, where he sat at Jean's side.

"You have been very good and patient," she assured him with a mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes, "and now I am going to reward you by unpacking the luncheon hamper."

"That's a good idea," cried Dick; "I am almost starved to death."

"What delicious salad," exclaimed Churchill a few moments later, as they sat about the open hamper. "Miss Helen, you are a culinary artist."

Helen smiled her thanks.

"May I not sit by you, Eleanor," pleaded Clifford Archer, dropping down on the deck at her side. "With you near me I could never know hunger or thirst."

"Nonsense," frowning on him in seeming disapproval. "I think your appetite is one which stands you in good stead."

He was a handsome youth, graceful in the extreme. It was a constant source of annoyance to Eleanor Hill that she found him so charming, for, she often assured herself, there was nothing to the boy but his good looks and perfect manners. But who will dare to say that these are nothing?

"I do hope there are plenty of sandwiches," sighed Nan, as she sat eating her fourth.

Dick tipped up the plate, depositing a dozen or more in her lap.

"That enough?" he asked innocently.

"You idiot!" cried Nan.

"Do say something new, Nan," called Mollie from the other side of the boat. "That is the third time to-day you have given Dick that appellation."

"How can I help it," groaned Nan, "when it characterizes him so perfectly?"

"You can't," said Nathalie consolingly, "and if I were you I would not attempt to."

Dick looked at both girls with withering scorn, then glanced by them as if their existence were a matter of small import.

"Helen, can I open the beer and ginger ale now?"

"If it will be any comfort to you, Dick, you have my consent."

"I think I will try another sandwich, if Miss Birdsall can spare me one."

"Then catch, Mr. Farr," and Nathalie tossed him one, with unerring aim.

"O Nathalie," protested Jean, with changing color.

"Well, I am glad to know he is not a muff," said Nathalie, as Farr caught the sandwich. "What is the matter, Jean? I didn't know you were so easily shocked."

"Look out for the boom," called Dudley most opportunely, and the Cyclone came swiftly about.

"What an unfortunate move. Now the sun is right in our eyes," and Jean looked up at Farr appealingly. "Won't you please have it removed?"

"Why, certainly. Are not your wishes my law?" and even as he spoke the sun slipped under a cloud.

"What a wonderful man," Eleanor Hill laughed softly.

The afternoon sped away all too rapidly, and the hours were as minutes to the happy young people skimming the waters of the beautiful sound. Nature was at her very best this sunshiny summer afternoon. Light fleecy clouds scudded swiftly across the delicious blue of the vaulted sky above, and in the distance the low, far-stretching, Long Island shore was bathed in a soft, violet haze, broken here and there by patches of white, glistening sand.

The Cyclone, with every yard of canvas set, was running gayly before the breeze, which since noon had grown strong and steady. The swash of the water against the boat, the slight straining and creaking of the rigging, the sighing of the wind in the sails, were sounds sweet as music to the ear of every true lover of the sea.

And now the summer day began to wane, and in the western sky the sun was shining with a brilliant radiance.

"Ah!" sighed Jean softly, as they dropped anchor in Hetherford Harbor, "why do all pleasant things come to an end?"

"But they invariably do," and there was a touch of genuine regret in Farr's voice, which was quite sincere; for in this last pleasant hour, he had thoroughly enjoyed a delightful tÊte-À-tÊte with his pretty companion, and had every reason, in spite of the merry chaffing of these gay young strangers, to vote the day a great success.