Her Father’s Daughter

Published：2026-07-29 17:44:37 Source: snowman kits near me Author: Educational Toys

HER
FATHER’S
DAUGHTER

Contents

List of Characters

• Linda Strong, her Father’s Daughter
• Dr. Alexander Strong, a great Nerve Specialist
• Mrs. Strong, his Wife
• Eileen Strong, having Social Aspirations
• Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, neighbors of the Strongs
• Marian Thorne, a Dreamer of Houses
• John Gilman, a Man of Law
• Peter Morrison, an Author
• Henry Anderson, an Architect
• Donald Whiting, a High School Senior
• Mary Louise Whiting, his Sister
• Judge and Mrs. Whiting, a Man of Law and a Woman of Culture
• Katherine O’Donovan, the Strong Cook
• Oka Sayye, a High School Senior
• JAmes Heitman, accidentally rich
• Mrs. Caroline Heitman, his Wife

CHAPTER I

“What makes you wear such funny shoes?”

Linda Strong thrust forward a foot and critically examined the narrowvamp, the projecting sole, the broad, low heel of her well-worn browncalf-skin shoe. Then her glance lifted to the face of Donald Whiting,one of the most brilliant and popular seniors of the High School. Hereyes narrowed in a manner habitual to her when thinking intently.

“Never you mind my shoes,” she said deliberately. “Kindly fix yourattention on my head piece. When you see me allowing any Jap in myclass to make higher grades than I do, then I give you leave to sayanything you please concerning my head.”

An angry red rushed to the boy’s face. It was an irritating fact thatin the senior class of that particular Los Angeles high school aJapanese boy stood at the head. This was embarrassing to every senior.

“I say,” said Donald Whiting, “I call that a mean thrust.”

“I have a particular reason,” said Linda.

“And I have ‘a particular reason’,” said Donald, “for being interestedin your shoes.”

Linda laughed suddenly. When Linda laughed, which was very seldom,those within hearing turned to look at her. Hers was not a laugh thatcan be achieved. There were a few high places on the peak of Linda’ssoul, and on one of them homed a small flock of notes of rapture; notesas sweet as the voice of the white-banded mocking-bird of Argentina.

“How surprising!” exclaimed Linda. “We have been attending the sameschool for three years; now, you stop me suddenly to tell me that youare interested in the shape of my shoes.”

“I have been watching them all the time,” said Donald. “I can’tunderstand why any girl wants to be so different. Why don’t you dressyour hair the same as the other girls and wear the same kind of clothesand shoes?”

“Now look here,” interposed Linda “You are flying the track. I amwilling to justify my shoes, if I can, but here you go including mydress and a big psychological problem, as well; but I think perhaps thewhy of the shoes will explain the remainder. Does the name ‘AlexanderStrong’ mean anything to you?”

“The great nerve specialist?” asked Donald.

“Yes,” said Linda. “The man who was the author of half-dozen booksthat have been translated into many foreign tongues and are used asauthorities all over the world. He happened to be my father. There aretwo children in our family. I have a sister four years older than Iam who is exactly like Mother, and she and Mother were inseparable. Iam exactly like Father; because we understood each other, and becauseboth of us always knew, although we never mentioned it, that Motherpreferred my sister Eileen to me, Father tried to make it up to me, sofrom the time I can remember I was at his heels. It never bothered himto have me playing around in the library while he was writing his mostcomplicated treatise. I have waited in his car half a day at a time,playing or reading, while he watched a patient or delivered a lectureat some medical college. His mental relaxation was to hike or to motorto the sea, to the mountains, to the canyons or the desert, and hevery seldom went without me even on long trips when he was fishing orhunting with other men. There was not much to know concerning a woman’sframe or her psychology that Father did not know, so there were tworeasons why he selected my footwear as he did. One was because he bebelieved high heels and pointed toes an outrage against the nervoussystem of a woman that would in time bring her within his province, andthe other was that I could not possibly have kept pace with him exceptin shoes like these. No doubt, they are the same kind I shall wear allmy life, for walking. You probably don’t know it, but my home lies nearthe middle of Lilac Valley and I walk over a mile each morning andevening to and from the cars. Does this sufficiently explain my shoes?”

“I should think you’d feel queer,” said Donald.

“I suspect I would if I had time to brood over it,” Linda replied, “butI haven’t. I must hustle to get to school on time in the morning. It’snearly or quite dark before I reach home in the evening. My fatherbelieved in having a good time. He had superb health, so he spent mostof what he made as it came to him. He counted on a long life. It neveroccurred to him that a little piece of machinery going wrong wouldplunge him into Eternity in a second.”

“Oh, I remember!” cried the boy.

Linda’s face paled slightly.

“Yes,” she said, “it happened four years ago and I haven’t gotten awayfrom the horror of it yet, enough ever to step inside of a motor car;but I am going to get over that one of these days. Brakes are not alldefective, and one must take one’s risks.”

“You just bet I would,” said Donald. “Motoring is one of the greatestpleasures of modern life. I’ll wager it makes some of the gay old boys,like Marcus Aurelius for example, want to turn over in their graveswhen they see us flying along the roads of California the way we do.”

“What I was getting at,” said Linda, “was a word of reply to theremainder of your indictment against me. Dad’s income stopped with him,and household expenses went on, and war came, so there isn’t enoughmoney to dress two of us as most of the High-School girls are dressed.Eileen is so much older that it’s her turn first, and I must say sheis not at all backward about exercising her rights. I think that willhave to suffice for the question of dress; but you may be sure that Iam capable of wearing the loveliest dress imaginable, that would besuitable for a school girl, if I had it to wear.”

“Ah, there’s the little ‘fly in your ointment’—‘dress that would besuitable.’ I bet in your heart you think the dresses that half thegirls in high school are wearing are not suitable!”

“Commendable perspicacity, O learned senior,” said Linda, “andamazingly true. In the few short years I had with Daddy I acquireda fixed idea as to what kind of dress is suitable and sufficientlydurable to wear while walking my daily two miles. I can’t seem tobecome reconciled to the custom of dressing the same for school as fora party. You get my idea?”

“I get it all right enough,” said Donald, “but I must think awhilebefore I decide whether I agree with you. Why should you be right, andhundreds of other girls be wrong?”

“I’ll wager your mother would agree with me,” suggested Linda.

“Did yours?” asked Donald.

“Half way,” answered Linda. “She agreed with me for me, but not forEileen.”

“And not for my sister,” said Donald. “She wears the very foxiestclothes that Father can afford to pay for, and when she was going toschool she wore them without the least regard as to whether she wasgoing to school or to a tea party or a matinée. For that matter shefrequently went to all three the same day.”

“And that brings us straight to the point concerning you,” said Linda.

“Sure enough!” said Donald. “There is me to be considered! What is ityou have against me?”

Linda looked at him meditatively.

“You seemexceptionally strong,” she said. “No doubt are good inathletics. Your head looks all right; it indicates brains. What I wantto know is why in the world you don’t use them.”

“What are you getting at, anyway?” asked Donald, with more than a hintof asperity in his voice.

“I am getting at the fact,” said Linda, “that a boy as big as you andas strong as you and with as good brain and your opportunities hasallowed a little brown Jap to cross the Pacific Ocean and in a totallystrange country to learn a language foreign to him, and, and, with thesame books and the same chances, to beat you at your own game. Youand every other boy in your classes ought to thoroughly ashamed ofyourselves. Before I would let a Jap, either boy or girl, lead in myclass, I would give up going to school and go out and see if I couldbeat him growing lettuce and spinach.”

“It’s all very well to talk,” said Donald hotly.

“And it’s better to make good what you say,” broke in Linda, with equalheat. “There are half a dozen Japs in my classes but no one of them isleading, you will notice, if I do wear peculiar shoes.”

“Well, you would be going some if you beat the leading Jap in thesenior class,” said Donald.

“Then I would go some,” said Linda. “I’d beat him, or I’d go straightup trying. You could do it if you’d make up your mind to. The troublewith you is that you’re wasting your brain on speeding an automobile,on dances, and all sorts of foolishness that is not doing you anygood in any particular way. Bet you are developing nerves smokingcigarettes. You are not concentrating. Oka Sayye is not thinking of athing except the triumph of proving to California that he is head manin one of the Los Angeles high schools. That’s what I have got againstyou, and every other white boy in your class, and in the long run itstacks up bigger than your arraignment of my shoes.”

“Oh, darn your shoes!” cried Donald hotly. “Forget ’em! I’ve got tomove on or I’ll be late for trigonometry, but I don’t know when I’vehad such a tidy little fight with a girl, and I don’t enjoy feelingthat I have been worsted. I propose another session. May I come out toLilac Valley Saturday afternoon and flay you alive to pay up for mypresent humiliation?”

“Why, if your mother happened to be motoring that way and would care tocall, I think that would be fine,” said Linda.

“Well, for the Lord’s sake!” exclaimed the irate senior. “Can’t afellow come and fight with you without being refereed by his mother?Shall I bring Father too?”

“I only thought,” said Linda quietly, “that you would like your motherto see the home and environment of any girl whose acquaintance youmade, but the fight we have coming will in all probability be such apitched battle that when I go over the top, you won’t ever care tofollow me and start another issue on the other side. You’re dying rightnow to ask why I wear my hair in braids down my back instead of incootie coops over my ears.”

“I don’t give a hang,” said Donald ungallantly, “as to how you wearyour hair, but I am coming Saturday to fight, and I don’t think Motherwill take any greater interest in the matter than to know that I amgoing to do battle with a daughter of Doctor Strong.”

“That is a very nice compliment to my daddy, thank you, said Linda,turning away and proceeding in the direction of her own classrooms.There was a brilliant sparkle in her eyes and she sang in a muffledvoice, yet distinctly enough to be heard:

“By gracious! She’s no fool,” he said to himself. In three minutes’unpremeditated talk the “Junior Freak,” as he mentally denominated her,had managed to irritate him, to puncture his pride, to entertain andamuse him.

“I wonder——” he said as he went his way; and all day he kept onwondering, when he was not studying harder than ever before in all hislife.

That night Linda walked slowly along the road toward home. She wasnot seeing the broad stretch of Lilac Valley, on every hand greenwith spring, odorous with citrus and wild bloom, blue walled withlacy lilacs veiling the mountain face on either side; and she was notthinking of her plain, well-worn dress or her common-sense shoes. Whatshe was thinking was of every flaying, scathing, solidly based argumentshe could produce the following Saturday to spur Donald Whiting in someway to surpass Oka Sayye. His chance remark that morning, as they stoodnear each other waiting a few minutes in the hall, had ended in hisasking to come to see her, and she decided as she walked homeward thathis first visit in all probability would be his last, since she hadnot time to spare for boys, when she had so many different interestsinvolved; but she did decide very firmly in her own mind that the wouldmake that visit a memorable one for him.

In arriving at this decision her mind traveled a number of deviousroads. The thought that she had been criticized did not annoy her asto the kind of criticism, but she did resent the quality of truthabout it. She was right in following the rules her father had laiddown for her health and physical well-being, but was it right thatshe should wear shoes scuffed, resoled, and even patched, when therewas money enough for Eileen to have many pairs of expensive lacedboots, walking shoes, and fancy slippers? She was sure she was rightin wearing dresses suitable for school, but was it right that she mustwear them until they were sun-faded, stained, and disreputable? Wasit right that Eileen should occupy their father’s and mother’s suite,redecorated and daintily furnished according to her own taste, to keepthe parts of the house that she cared to use decorated with flowers andbeautifully appointed, while Linda must lock herself in a small stuffybedroom room, dingy and none too comfortable, when in deference to herpride she wished to work in secret until she learned whether she couldsucceed.

Then she began thinking, and decided that the only available place inthe house for her use was the billiard room. She made up her mind thatshe would demand the sole right to this big attic room. She would sellthe table and use the money to buy herself a suitable work table anda rug. She would demand that Eileen produce enough money for betterclothing for her, and then she remembered what she had said to DonaldWhiting about conquering her horror for a motor car. Linda turned inat the walk leading to her home, but she passed the front entranceand followed around to the side. As she went she could hear voices inthe living room and she knew that Eileen was entertaining some of hermany friends; for Eileen was that peculiar creature known as a socialbutterfly. Each day of her life friends came, or Eileen went—mostly thelatter, for Eileen had a knack of management and she so managed herfriends that, without their realizing it, they entertained her manytimes while she entertained them once. Linda went to the kitchen, laidher books and package of mail on the table, and, walking over to thestove, she proceeded deliberately and heartily to kiss the cook.

“Katy, me darlin’,” she said, “look upon your only child. Do you noticea ‘lean and hungry look’ on her classic features?”

Katy turned adoring eyes to the young girl.

“It’s growing so fast ye are, childie,” she said. “It’s only a littlewhile to dinner, and there’s company to-night, so hadn’t ye better waitand not spoil your appetite with piecing?”

“Is there going to be anything ‘jarvis’?” inquired Linda.

“I’d say there is,” said Katy. “John Gilman is here and two friends ofEileen’s. It’s a near banquet, lassie.”

“Then I’ll wait,” said Linda. “I want the keys to the garage.”

Katy handed them to her and Linda went down the back walk beneath anarch of tropical foliage, between blazing walls of brilliant flowerfaces, unlocked the garage, and stood looking at her father’s runabout.

In the revolution that had taken place in their home after the passingof their father and mother, Eileen had dominated the situation and doneas she pleased, with the exception of two instances. Linda had shownboth temper and determination at the proposal to dismantle the libraryand dispose of the cars. She had told Eileen that she might take thetouring car and do as she pleased with it. For her share she wanted herfather’s roadster, and she meant to have it. She took the same firmstand concerning the library. With the rest of the house Eileen mightdo as she would. The library was to remain absolutely untouched andwhat it contained was Linda’s. To this Eileen had agreed, but so farLinda had been content merely to possess her property.

Lately, driven by the feeling that she must find a way in which shecould earn money, she had been secretly working on some plans that shehoped might soon yield her small returns. As for the roadster, she aswell as Eileen had been horror-stricken when the car containing theirfather and mother and their adjoining neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Thorne,driven by Marian Thorne, the playmate and companion from childhoodof the Strong girls, had become uncontrollable and plunged down themountain in a disaster that had left only Marian, protected by thesteering gear, alive. They had simply by mutual agreement begun usingthe street cars when they wanted to reach the city.

Linda stood looking at the roadster, jacked up and tucked under a heavycanvas tent that she and her father had used on their hunting andfishing trips. After a long time she laid strong hands on the canvasand dragged it to one side. She looked the car over carefully and then,her face very white and her hands trembling, she climbed into it andslowly and mechanically went through the motions of starting it. Foranother intent period she sat with her hands on the steering gear,staring straight ahead, and then she said slowly: “Something has gotto be done. It’s not going to be very agreeable, but I am going to doit. Eileen has had things all her own way long enough. I am gettingsuch a big girl I ought to have a few things in my life as I want them.Something must be done.”

Then Linda proceeded to do something. What she did was to lean forward,rest her head upon the steering wheel and fight to keep down deep,pitiful sobbing until her whole slender body twisted in the effort.

She was yielding to a breaking up after four years of endurance, forthe greater part in silence. As the months of the past year had rolledtheir deliberate way, Linda had begun to realize that the course herelder sister had taken was wholly unfair to her, and slowly a tumultof revolt was growing in her soul. Without a doubt the culminationhad resulted from her few minutes’ talk with Donald Whiting in thehall that morning. It had started Linda to thinking deeply, and themore deeply she thought the clearly she saw the situation. Linda was aloyal soul and her heart was honest. She was quite willing that Eileenshould exercise her rights as head of the family, that she should takethe precedence to which she was entitled by her four years’ seniority,that she should spend the money which accrued monthly from theirfather’s estate as she saw fit, up to a certain point. That point waswhere things ceased to be fair or to be just. If there had been moneyto do no more for Eileen than had been done for Linda, it would nothave been in Linda’s heart to utter a complaint. She could have wornscuffed shoes and old dresses, and gone her way with her proud younghead held very high and a jest on her lips; but when her mind reallyfastened on the problem and she began to reason, she could not feelthat Eileen was just to her or that she was fair in her administrationof the money which should have been divided more nearly equally betweenthem, after the household expenses had been paid. Once rebellion burnedin her heart the flames leaped rapidly, and Linda began to remember athousand small things that she had scarcely noted at the time of theiroccurrence.

She was leaning on the steering wheel, tired with nerve strain, whenshe heard Katy calling her, and realized that she was needed in thekitchen. As a matter of economy Eileen, after her parents’ passing, haddismissed the housemaid, and when there were guests before whom shewished to make a nice appearance Linda had been impressed either towait on the table or to help in the kitchen in order that Katy mightattend the dining room, so Linda understood what was wanted when Katycalled her. She ran her fingers over the steering wheel, worn brightby the touch of her father’s and her own hands, and with the buoyancyof youth, found comfort. Once more she mechanically went through themotions of starting the car, then she stepped down, closed the door,and stood an instant thinking.

“You’re four years behind the times,” she said slowly. “No doubtthere’s a newer and a better model; I suspect the tires are rotten,but the last day I drove you for Daddy you purred like a kitten, andran like a clock, and if you were cleaned and oiled and put in propershape, there’s no reason in the world why I should not drive you again,as I have driven you hundreds of miles when Daddy was tired or whenhe wanted to teach me the rules of good motoring, and the laws of theroad. I can do it all right. I have got to do it, but it will be sometime before I’ll care to tackle the mountains.”

Leaving the cover on the floor, she locked the door and returned to thekitchen.

“All right, Katy, what is the programme?” she inquired as lightly asshe could.

Katy had been cook in the Strong family ever since they had moved toLilac Valley. She had obeyed Mrs. Strong and Eileen. She had worshipedthe Doctor and Linda. It always had been patent to her eyes that Mrs.Strong was extremely partial to Eileen, so Katy had joined forces withthe Doctor in surreptitiously doing everything her warm Irish heartprompted to prevent Linda from feeling neglected. Her quick eyes sawthe traces of tears on Linda’s face, and she instantly knew that thetrip the girl had made to the garage was in some way connected withsome belongings of her father’s, so she said: “I am serving to-nightbut I want you to keep things smoking hot and to have them dished upready for me so that everything will go smoothly.”

“What would happen,” inquired Linda, “if everything did notgosmoothly? Katy, do you think the roof would blow straight up if I hadmyway about something, just for a change?”

“No, I think the roof would stay right where it belongs,” said Katywith a chuckle, “but I do think its staying there would not be becauseMiss Eileen wanted it to.”

“Well,” said Linda, deliberately, “we won’t waste any time on thinkingWe are going to have some positive knowledge on the subject prettyimmediately. I don’t feel equal to starting any domestic santanato-day, but the forces are gathering and the blow is coming soon. Tothat I have firmly made up my mind.”

“It’s not the least mite I’m blaming you, honey,” said Katy.

“Ye’ve got to be such a big girl that it’s only fair things in thishouse should go a good deal different.”

“Is Marian to be here?” asked Linda as she stood beside the stovepeering into pans and kettles.

“Miss Eileen didn’t say,” replied Katy.

Linda’s eyes reddened suddenly. She slammed down a lid with viciousemphasis.

“That is another deal Eileen’s engineered,” she said, “that is justabout as wrong as anything possibly can be. What makes me the maddestabout it is that John Gilman will let Eileen take him by the nose andlead him around like a ringed calf. Where is his common sense? Where ishis perception? Where is his honour?”

“Now wait, dearie,” said Katy soothingly, “wait. John Gilman is amighty fine man. Ye know how your father loved him and trusted him andgave him charge of all his business affairs. Ye mustn’t go so far as tobe insinuating that he is lacking in honour.”

“No,” said Linda, “that was not fair. I don’t in the least know that heever askedMarian to marry him; but I do know that as long as hewas a struggling, threadbare young lawyer Marian was welcome to him,and they had grand times together. The minute he won the big Baileysuit and came into public notice and his practice increased until hewas independent, that minute Eileen began to take notice, and it looksto me now as if she very nearly had him.”

“And so far as I can see,” said Katy, “Miss Marian is taking it withouta struggle. She is not lifting a finger or making a move to win himback.”

“Of course she isn’t!” said Linda indignantly. “If she thought hepreferred some other girl to her, she would merely say: ‘If John hasdiscovered that he likes Eileen the better, why, that is all right’;but there wouldn’t be anything to prevent seeing Eileen take John fromhurting like the deuce. Did you ever lose a man you loved, Katy?”

“That I did not!” said Katy emphatically. “We didn’t do any four orfive years’ philanderin’ to see if a man ‘could make good’ when I was ayoungster. When a girl and her laddie stood up to each other and lookedeach other straight in the eye and had the great understanding, thereweren’t no question of whether he could do for her what her father andmither had been doing, nor of how much he had to earn before they wouldbe able to begin life together. They just caught hands and hot-footedit to the praste and told him to read the banns the next Sunday, andwhen the law allowed they was man and wife and taking what life had forthem the way it came, and together. All this philanderin’ that youngfolks do nowadays is just pure nonsense, and waste of time.”

“Sure!” laughed Linda. “When my brave comes along with his blanket I’lljust step under, and then if anybody tries to take my man I’ll have theright to go on the warpath and have a scalping party that would be somesatisfaction to the soul.”

Then they served the dinner, and when the guests had left the diningroom, Katy closed the doors, and brought on the delicacies she hadhidden for Linda and patted and cajoled her while she ate like anyhealthy, hungry young creature.

CHAPTER II

“‘Ave, atque vale!’ Cotyledon!”

Linda slid down the side of the canyon with the deftness of the expert.At the first available crevice she thrust in her Alpine stick, andbracing herself, gained a footing. Then she turned and by use of herfingers and toes worked her way back to the plant, she had passed. Shewas familiar with many members of the family, but such a fine specimenshe seldom had found and she could not recall having seen it in allof her botanies. Opposite the plant she worked out a footing, droveher stick deep at the base of a rock to brace herself, and from theknapsack on her back took a sketch-book and pencil and began rapidlycopying the thick fleshy leaves of the flattened rosette, sittingsecurely at the edge of a rock. She worked swiftly and with breathlessinterest. When she had finished the flower she began sketching in themoss-covered face of the boulder against which it grew, and other bitsof vegetation near.

“I think, Coty,” she said, “it is very probable that I can corner a fewsimoleons with you. You are becoming better looking every minute.”

For a touch of colour she margined one side of her drawing with alittle spray of Pentstemon whose bright tubular flowers the canyon knewas “humming-bird’s dinner horn.” That gave her the idea of introducinga touch of living interest, so bearing down upon the flowers fromthe upper right-hand corner of her drawing she deftly sketched in aruby-throated humming bird, and across the bottom of the sheet the laceof a few leaves of fern. Then she returned the drawing and pencil toher knapsack, and making sure of her footing, worked her way forward.With her long slender fingers she began teasing the plant loose fromthe rock and the surrounding soil. The roots penetrated deeper than shehad supposed and in her interest she forgot her precarious footing andpulled hard. The plant gave way unexpectedly, and losing her balance,Linda plunged down the side of the canyon catching wildly at shrubs andbushes and bruising herself severely on stones, finally landing in asitting posture on the road that traversed the canyon.

She was not seriously hurt, but she did not present a picturesquefigure as she sprawled in the road, her booted feet thrust straightbefore her, one of her long black braids caught on a bush at her back,her blouse pulled above her breeches, the contents of her knapsackdecorating the canyon side and the road around her; but high in onehand, without break or blemish, she triumphantly held aloft the rareCotyledon. She shrugged her shoulders, wiggled her toes, and moved herarms to assure herself that no bones were broken; then she glanced ather drawings and the fruits of her day’s collecting scattered on theroadside around her. She was in the act of rising when a motor carcontaining two young men shot around a curve of the canyon, swerved toavoid running over her, and stopped as abruptly as possible.

“It’s a girl!” cried the driver, and both men sprang to the roadand hurried to Linda’s assistance. Her dark cheeks were red withmortification, but she managed to recover her feet and tuck in herblouse before they reached her.

“We heard you coming down,” said the elder of the young men, “and wethought you might be a bear. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Linda stood before them, a lithe slender figure, vivid with youth andvitality.

“I am able to stand,” she said, “so of course I haven’t broken anybones. I think I am fairly well battered, but you will please toobserve that there isn’t a scratch on Cotyledon, and I brought herdown—at least I think it’s she—from the edge of that boulder away upthere. Isn’t she a beauty? Only notice the delicate frosty ‘bloom’ onher leaves!”

“I should prefer,” said the younger of the men, “to know whether youhave any broken bones.”

“I’m sure I am all right,” answered Linda. “I have falling downmountains reduced to an exact science. I’ll bet you couldn’t slide thatfar and bring down Coty without a scratch.”

“Well, which is the more precious,” said the young man. “Yourself orthe specimen?”

“Why, the specimen!” answered Linda, in impatience. “California is fullof girls; but this is the finest Cotyledon of this family I have everseen. Don’t mistake this for any common stonecrop. It looks to me likean Echeveria. I know what I mean to do with the picture I have made ofher, and I know exactly where she is going to grow from this day on.”

“Is there any way we can help you?” inquired the elder of the two men.

For the first time Linda glanced at him, and her impression was that hewas decidedly attractive.

“No, thank you!” she answered briskly. “I am going to climb back up tothe boulder and collect the belongings I spilled on the way down. ThenI am going to carry Coty to the car line in a kind of triumphal march,because she is the rarest find that I have ever made. I hope you haveno dark designs on Coty, because this is ‘what the owner had to do toredeem her.’”

Linda indicated her trail down the canyon side, brushed soil and twigsfrom her trousers, turned her straight young back, carefully set downher specimen, and by the aid of her recovered stick began expertlymaking her way up the canyon side. “Here, let me do that,” offered theyounger man. “You rest until I collect your belongings.” Linda glancedback over her shoulder. “Thanks,” she said. “I have a mental inventoryof all the pencils and knives and trowels I must find. You mightoverlook the most important part of my paraphernalia; and really I amnot damaged. I’m merely hurt. Good-bye!”

Linda started back up the side of the canyon, leaving the young mento enter their car and drive away. For a minute both of them stoodwatching her.

“What will girls be wearing and doing next?” asked the elder of the twoas he started his car.

“What would you have a girl wear when she is occupied with coastingdown canyons?” said his friend. “And as for what she is doing, it’sprobable that every high-school girl in Los Angeles has a botanicalcollection to make before she graduates.”

“I see!” said the man driving. “She is only a high-school kid, but didyou notice that she is going to make an extremely attractive youngwoman?”

“Yes, I noticed just that; I noticed it very particularly,” answeredthe younger man. “And I noticed also that she either doesn’t know it,or doesn’t give a flip.”

Linda collected her belongings, straightened her hair and clothing,and, with her knapsack in place, and leaning rather on heavily on herwalking stick, made her way down the road to the abutment of a smallrustic bridge where she stopped to rest. The stream at her feet wasnoisy and icy cold. It rushed through narrow defiles in the rock,beat itself to foam against the faces a of the big stones, fell overjutting cliffs, spread in whispering pools, wound back and forthacross the road at its will, singing every foot of its downward wayand watering beds of crisp, cool miners’ lettuce, great ferns, andheliotrope, climbing clematis, soil and blue-eyed grass. All alongits length grew willows, and in a few places white-bodied sycamores.Everywhere over the walls above it that vegetation could find a footinggrew mosses, vines, flowers, and shrubs. On the shadiest side homedmost of the ferns and the Cotyledon. In the sun, larkspur, lupin, andmonkey flower; everywhere wild rose, holly, mahogany, gooseberry, andbayoneted yucca all intermingling in a curtain of variegated greens,brocaded with flower arabesques of vivid red, white, yellow, and blue.Canyon wrens and vireos sang as they nested. The air was clear, cool,and salty from the near-by sea. Myriad leaf shadows danced on the blackroadbed, level as a barn floor, and across it trailed the waveringimage of hawk and vulture, gull and white sea swallow. Linda studiedthe canyon with intent eyes, but bruised flesh pleaded, so reluctantlyshe arose, shouldered her belongings, and slowly followed the roadout to the car line that passed through Lilac Valley, still carefullybearing in triumph the precious Cotyledon. An hour later she enteredthe driveway of her home. She stopped to set her plant carefully in thewild garden she and her father had worked all her life at collecting,then followed the back porch and kitchen route.

“Whatever have ye been doing to yourself, honey?” cried Katy.

“I came a cropper down Multiflores Canyon where it is so steepthat it leans the other way. I pretty well pulverized myself for apulverulenta, Katy, which is a poor joke.”

“Now ain’t that just my luck!” wailed Katy, snatching a cake cutter andbeginning hurriedly to stamp out little cakes from the dough before her.

“Well, I don’t understand in exactly what way,” said Linda, absentlyrubbing her elbows and her knees. “Seems to me it’s my promontoriesthat have been knocked off, not yours, Katy.”

“Yes, and ain’t it just like ye,” said Katy, “to be coming in late,and all banged up when Miss Eileen has got sudden notice that there isgoing to be company again and I have an especial dinner to serve, andnever in the world can I manage if ye don’t help me!”

“Why, who is coming now?” asked Linda, seating herself on the nearestchair and beginning to unfasten her boots slowly.

“Well, first of all, there is Mr. Gilman, of course.”

“‘Of course,’” conceded Linda. “If he tried to get past our house,Eileen is perfectly capable of setting it on fire to stop him. She’sgot him ‘vamped’ properly.”

“Oh I don’t know that ye should say just that,” said Katy “Eileen is amighty pretty girl, and she is somemanager.”

“You can stake your hilarious life she is,” said Linda, viciouslykicking a boot to the center of the kitchen. “She can manage to go downtown for lunch and be invited out to dinner thirteen times a week, andleave us at home to eat bread and milk, bread heavily stressed. Shecan manage to get every cent of the income from the property in herfingers, and a great big girl like me has to go to high school lookingso tacky that even the boys are beginning to comment on it. Manage?I’ll say she can manage, not to mention managing to snake John Gilmanright out of Marian’s fingers. I doubt if Marian fully realizes yetthat she’s lost her man; and I happen to know that she just plain lovedJohn!”

The second boot landed beside the first, then Linda picked them both upand started toward the back hall.

“Honey, are ye too bad hurt to help me any?” asked Katy, as she passedher.

“Of course not,” said Linda. “Give me a few minutes to take a bath andstep into my clothes and then I’ll be on the job.”

With a black scowl on her face, Linda climbed the dingy back stairwayin her stocking-feet. At the head of the stairs she paused one minute,glanced at the gloom of her end of the house, then she turned andwalked to the front of the hall where there were potted ferns, daintywhite curtains, and bright rugs. The door of the guest room stood openand she could see that it was filled with fresh flowers and ready foroccupancy. The door of her sister’s room was slightly ajar and shepushed it open and stood looking inside. In her state of disarrayshe made a shocking contrast to the flower-like figure busy before adressing table. Linda was dark, narrow, rawboned, overgrown in height,and forthright of disposition. Eileen was a tiny woman, delicatelymoulded, exquisitely coloured, and one of the most perfectly successfultendrils from the original clinging vine in her intercourse with men,and with such women as would tolerate the clinging-vine idea in thepresent forthright days. With a strand of softly curled hair in onehand and a fancy pin in the other, Eileen turned a disapproving lookupon her sister.

“What’s the great idea?” demanded Linda shortly.

“Oh, it’s perfectly splendid,” answered Eileen. “John Gilman’s bestfriend is motoring around here looking for a location to build a home.He is an author and young and good looking and not married, and hethinks he would like to settle somewhere near Los Angeles. Of courseJohn would love to have him in Lilac Valley because he hopes to builda home here some day for himself. His name is Peter Morrison and Johnsays that his articles and stories have horse sense, logic, and humor,and he is making a lot of money.”

“Then God help John Gilman, if he thinks now that he is in love withyou,” said Linda dryly.

Eileen arched her eyebrows, thinned to a hair line, and her lips drewtogether in disapproval.

“What I can’t understand,” she said, “is how you can be so unspeakablyvulgar, Linda.”

Linda laughed sharply.

“And this Peter Morrison and John are our guests for dinner?”

“Yes,” said Eileen. “I am going to show them this valley inside andout. I’m so glad it’s spring. We’re at our very best. It would beperfectly wonderful to have an author for a neighbor, and he must begoing to build a real house, because he has his architect with him;and John says that while he is young, he has done several awfully goodhouses. He has seen a couple of them in San Francisco.”

Linda shrugged her shoulders.

“Up the flue goes Marian’s chance of drawing the plans for JohnGilman’s house,” she said. “I have heard him say a dozen times he wouldnot build a house unless Marian made the plans.”

Eileen deftly placed the strand of hair and set the jewelled pin withprecision.

“Just possibly things have changed slightly,” she suggested.

“Yes,” said Linda, “I observe that they have. Marian has sold the homeshe adored. She is leaving friends she loved and trusted, and who wereparticularly bound to her by a common grief, without realizing exactlyhow it is happening. She certainly must know that you have taken herlover, and I have not a doubt but that is the reason she has discoveredshe can no longer work at home, that she must sell her property andspend the money cooped up in a city, to study her profession further.”

“Linda,” said Eileen, her face pale with anger, “you are positivelyinsufferable. Will you leave my room and close the door after you?”

“Well, Katy has just informed me,” said Linda, “that this dinner partydoesn’t come off without my valued assistance, and before I agree toassist, I’ll know onething. Are you proposing to entertainthese three men yourself, or have you asked Marian?”

Eileen indicated an open note lying on her dressing table.

“I did not know they were coming until an hour ago,” she said.“Ibarely had time to fill the vases and dust, and then I ran upto dress so that there would be someone presentable when they arrive.”

“All right then, we’ll agree that this is a surprise party, but if JohnGilman has told you so much about them, you must have been expectingthem, and in a measure prepared for them at any time. Haven’t youtalked it over with Marian, and told her that you would want her whenthey came?”

Eileen was extremely busy with another wave of hair. She turned herback and her voice was not quite steady as she answered. “Ever sinceMarian got this ‘going to the city to study’ idea in her head I havescarcely seen her. She had an awful job to empty the house, and packsuch things as she wants to keep, and she is working overtime on a veryspecial plan that she thinks maybe she’ll submit in a prize competitionoffered by a big firm of San Francisco architects, so I have scarcelyseen her for six weeks.”

“And you never once went over to help her with her work, or toencourage her or to comfort her? You can’t think Marian can leave thisvalley and not be almost heartbroken,” said Linda. “You just make mealmost wonder at you. When you think of the kind of friends that MarianThorne’s father and mother, and our father and mother were, and how wechildren were reared together, and the good times we have had in thesetwo houses—and then the awful day when the car went over the cliff, andhow Marian clung to us and tried to comfort us, when her own heart wasbroken—and Marian’s the same Marian she has always been, only nicerevery day—how you can sit there and say you have scarcely seen her insix of the hardest weeks of her life, certainly surprises me. I’ll tellyou this: I told Katy I would help her, but I won’t do it if you don’tgo over and make Marian come to-night.”

Eileen turned to her sister and looked at her keenly. Linda’s brow wassullen, and her jaw set.

“A bed would look mighty good to me and I will go and get into minethis minute if you don’t say you will go and ask her, in such a waythat she comes,” she threatened.

Eileen hesitated a second and then said: “All right, since you makesuch a point of it I will ask her.”

“Very well,” said Linda. “Then I’ll help Katy the very best I can.”

CHAPTER III

In less than an hour, Linda was in the kitchen, dressed in an old greenskirt and an orange blouse. Katy pinned one of her aprons on the girland told her that her first job was to set the table.

“And Miss Eileen has given most particular orders that I use the verybest of everything. Lay the table for four, and you are to be extremelycareful in serving not to spill the soup.”

Linda stood very quietly for a second, her heavy black brows drawntogether in deep thought.

“When did Eileen issue these instructions?” she inquired.

“Not five minutes ago,” said Katy. “She just left me kitchen and I’llsay I never saw her lookin’ such a parfect picture. That new dress ofhers is the most becoming one she has ever had.”

Almost unconsciously, Linda’s hand reached to the front of herwell-worn blouse, and she glanced downward at her skirt and shoes.

“Um-hm,” she said meditatively, “another new dress for Eileen, whichmeans that I will get nothing until next month’s allowance comes in,if I do then. The table set for four, which, interpreted, signifiesthat she has asked Marian in such a way that Marian won’t come. And thecaution as to care with the soup means that I am to serve my father’stable like a paid waitress. Katy, I have run for over three years onEileen’s schedule, but this past year I am beginning to use my brainsand I am reaching the place of self-assertion. That programme won’t do,Katy. It’s got to be completely revised. You just watch me and see howI follow those instructions.”

Then Linda marched out of the kitchen door and started across the lawnin the direction of a big brown house dimly outlined through widelyspreading branches of ancient live oaks, palm, and bamboo thickets.She entered the house without knocking and in the hall uttered a lowpenetrating whistle. It was instantly answered from upstairs. Lindabegan climbing, and met Marian at the top.

“Why, Marian,” she cried, “I had no idea you were so far along. Thehouse is actually empty.”

“Practically everything went yesterday,” answered Marian. “Those thingsof Father’s and Mother’s and my own that I wish to keep I have put instorage, and the remainder went to James’s Auction Rooms. The house issold, and I am leaving in the morning.”

“Then that explains,” questioned Linda, “why you refused Eileen’sinvitation to dinner to-night?”

“On the contrary,” answered Marian, “an invitation to dinner to-nightwould be particularly and peculiarly acceptable to me, since thekitchen is barren as the remainder of the house, and I was intending toslip over when your room was lighted to ask if I might spend the nightwith you.”

Linda suddenly gathered her friend in her arms and held her tight.

“Well, thank heaven that you felt sufficiently sure of me to come to mewhen you needed me. Of course you shall spend the night with me; and Imust have been mistaken in thinking Eileen had been here. She probablywill come any minute. There are guests for the night. John is bringingthat writer friend of his. Of course you know about him. It’s PeterMorrison.”

Marian nodded her head. “Of course! John has always talked of him. Hehad some extremely clever articles in The Postlately.”

“Well, he is one,” said Linda, “and an architect who is touring withhim is two; they are looking for a location to build a house for thewriter. You can see that it would be a particularly attractive featherin our cap if he would endorse our valley sufficiently to home in it.So Eileen has invited them to sample our brand of entertainment, and inthe morning no doubt she will be delighted to accompany them and showthem all the beautiful spots not yet preëmpted.”

“Oh, heavens,” cried Marian, “I’m glad I never showed her my spot!”

“Well, if you are particular about wanting a certain place I sincerelyhope you did not,” said Linda.

“I am sure I never did,” answered Marian. “I so love one spot that Ihave been most secretive about it. I am certain I never went furtherthan to say there was a place on which I would love to build for myselfthe house of my dreams. I have just about finished getting that homeon paper, and I truly have high hopes that I may stand at least a fairchance of winning with it the prize Nicholson and Snow are offering.That is one of the reasons why I am hurrying on my way to San Franciscomuch sooner than I had expected to go. I haven’t a suitable dinnerdress because my trunks have gone, but among such old friends it won’tmatter. I have one fussy blouse in my bag, and I’ll be over as soon asI can see to closing up the house and dressing.”

Linda hurried home, and going to the dining room, she laid the tablefor six in a deft and artistic manner. She filled a basket withbeautiful flowers of her own growing for a centerpiece, and carefullyfollowed Eileen’s instruction to use the best of everything. When shehad finished she went to the kitchen.

“Katy,” she said, “take a look at my handiwork.”

“It’s just lovely,” said Katy heartily.

“I quite agree with you,” answered Linda, “and now in pursuance of arecently arrived at decision, I have resigned, vamoosed, quit, deadstopped being waitress for Eileen. I was seventeen my last birthday.Hereafter when there are guests I sit at my father’s table, and youwill have to do the best you can with serving, Katy.”

“And it’s just exactly right ye are,” said Katy. “I’ll do my best, andif that’s not good enough, Miss Eileen knows what she can do.”

“Now listen to you,” laughed Linda. “Katy, you couldn’t be driven toleave me, by anything on this earth that Eileen could do; you know youcouldn’t.”

Katy chuckled quietly. “Sure, I wouldn’t be leaving ye, lambie,” shesaid. “We’ll get everything ready, and I can serve six as nicely as anyone. But you’re not forgetting that Miss Eileen said most explicit tolay the table for four?’

“I am not forgetting,” said Linda. “For Eileen’s sake I am I sorry tosay that her ship is on the shoals. She is not going to have clearsailing with little sister Linda any longer. This is the year ofwoman’s rights, you know, Katy, and I am beginning to realize thatmy rights have been badly infringed upon for lo these many years. IfEileen chooses to make a scene before guests, that is strictly up toEileen. Now what is it you want me to do?”

Katy directed and Linda worked swiftly. Soon they heard a motor stop,and laughing voices told them that the guests had arrived.

“Now I wonder,” said Linda, “whether Marian is here yet.”

At that minute Marian appeared at the kitchen door.

“Linda,” she said breathlessly, “I am feeling queer about this. Eileenhasn’t been over.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Linda casually. “The folks have come, andshe was only waiting to make them a bit at home before she ran afteryou.”

Marian hesitated.

“She was not allowing me much time to dress.”

“That’s ’cause she knew you did not need it,” retorted Linda. “The moreyou fuss up, the less handsome you are, and you never owned anything inyour life so becoming as that old red blouse. So farewell, Katy, we’redue to burst into high society to-night. We’re going to help Eileenvamp a lawyer, and an author, and an architect, one apiece. Which doyou prefer, Marian?”

“I’ll take the architect,” said Marian. “We should have something incommon since I am going to be a great architect myself one of thesedays.”

“Why, that is too bad,” said Linda. “I’ll have to rearrange the tableif you insist, because I took him, and left you the author, and it wasfor love of you I did it. I truly wanted him myself, all the time.”

They stopped in the dining room and Marian praised Linda’s work inlaying the table; and then, together they entered the living room.

At the moment of their entrance, Eileen was talking animatedly aboutthe beauties of the valley as a location for a happy home. When she sawthe two girls she paused, the colour swiftly faded from her face, andLinda, who was watching to see what would happen, noticed the effortshe made at self-control, but she was very sure that their guests didnot.

It never occurred to Linda that anyone would consider good looks inconnection with her overgrown, rawboned frame and lean face, butshe was accustomed to seeing people admire Marian, for Marian was aperfectly modelled woman with peach-bloom cheeks, deep, dark eyes, herface framed in a waving mass of hair whose whiteness dated from the daythat the brakes of her car failed and she plunged down the mountainwith her father beside her, and her mother and Doctor and Mrs. Strongin the back seat. Ten days afterward Marian’s head of beautiful darkhair was muslin white. Now it framed a face of youth and beauty withpeculiar pathos. “Striking” was perhaps the one adjective which wouldbest describe her.

John Gilman came hastily to greet them. Linda, after a swift glanceat Eileen, turned astonished eyes on their guests. For one secondshe looked at the elder of them, then at the younger. There was norecognition in her eyes, and there was a decided negative in a swiftmovement of her head. Both men understood that she did not wish them tomention that they ever had seen her previously. For an instant therewas a strained situation. Eileen was white with anger. John Gilman waslooking straight at Marian, and in his soul he must have wondered ifhe had been wise in neglecting her for Eileen. Peter Morrison and hisarchitect, Henry Anderson, had two things to think about. One was thestunning beauty of Marian Thorne as she paused in the doorway, thelight misting her white hair and deepening the tints of her red waist.The other was why the young girl facing them had forbidden them toreveal that two hours before they had seen her in the canyon. Katy,the efficient life-saver of the Strong family, announced dinner, andLinda drew back the curtains and led the way to the dining room, sayingwhen they had arrived: “I didn’t have time in my hour’s notice to makeelaborate place cards as I should have liked to do, so these little pensketches will have to serve.”

To cover his embarrassment and to satisfy his legal mind, John Gilmanturned to Linda, asking: “Why ‘an hour’? I told Eileen a week ago I wasexpecting the boys to-day.”

“But that does not prove that Eileen mentioned it to me,” answeredLinda quietly; “so you must find your places from the cards I couldprepare in a hurry.”

This same preparation of cards at the round table placed Eileen betweenthe architect and the author, Marian between the author and JohnGilman, and Linda between Gilman and the architect, which added onemore tiny gale to the storm of fury that was raging in the breast ofwhite-faced Eileen. The situation was so strained that without fullyunderstanding it, Marian, who was several years older than either ofthe Strong sisters, knew that although she was tired to the point ofexhaustion she should muster what reserve force she could to the endof making the dinner party particularly attractive, because she wasdeeply interested in drawing to the valley every suitable home seekerit was possible to locate there. It was the unwritten law of the valleythat whenever a home seeker passed through, every soul who belongedexerted the strongest influence to prove that the stars hung lower andshone bigger and in bluer heavens than anywhere else on earth; thatnowhere could be found air to equal the energizing salt breezes fromthe sea, snow chilled, perfumed with almond and orange; that the sunshone brighter more days in the year, and the soil produced a greatervariety of vegetables and fruits than any other spot of the same sizeon God’s wonderful footstool. This could be done with unanimity andenthusiasm by every resident of Lilac Valley for the very simple reasonthat it was the truth. The valley stood with its steep sides rayingblue from myriad wild lilacs; olives and oranges sloped down to theflat floor, where cultivated ranches and gardens were so screened byeucalyptus and pepper trees, palm and live oak, myriads of roses ofevery colour and variety, and gaudy plants gathered there from theentire girth of the tropical world, that to the traveler on the highwaytrees and flowers predominated. The greatest treasure of the valley wasthe enthusiastic stream of icy mountain water that wandered through thenear-by canyon and followed the length of the valley on its singing,chuckling way to the ocean. All the residents of Lilac Valley had to doto entrance strangers with the location was to show any one of a dozenvantage points, and let visitors test for themselves the quality ofthe sunshine and air, and study the picture made by the broad stretchof intensively cultivated valley, walled on either side by mountainswhose highest peaks were often cloud-draped and for ever shifting theirdelicate pastel shades from gray to blue, from lavender to purple, fromtawny yellow to sepia, under the play of the sun and clouds.

They had not been seated three minutes before Linda realized from herknowledge of Eileen that the shock had been too great, if such a thingmight be said of so resourceful a creature as Eileen. Evidently shewas going to sulk in the hope that this would prove that any partywas a failure at which she did not exert herself to be gracious. Ithad not been in Linda’s heart to do more than sit quietly in theplace belonging by right to her, but when she realized what was goingto happen, she sent Marian one swift appealing glance, and thendesperately plunged into conversation to cover Eileen’s defection.

“I have been told,” she said, addressing the author, “that you arelooking for a home in California. Is this true, or is it merely thatevery good Californian hopes this will happen when any distinguishedEasterner comes our way?”

“I can scarcely answer you,” said Peter Morrison, “because my ideas onthe subject are still slightly nebulous, but I am only too willing tosee them become concrete.”

“You have struck exactly the right place,” said Linda. “We haveconcrete by the wagon load in this valley and we are perfectly willingto donate the amount required to materialize your ideas. Do you dreamof a whole ranch or only a nest?”

“Well, the fact is,” answered Peter Morrison with a most attractivedrawl in his slow speech, “the fact is the dimensions of my dream mustfit my purse. Ever since I finished college I have been in newspaperwork and I have lived in an apartment in New York except while I wasabroad. When I came back my paper sent me to San Francisco and fromthere I motored down to see for myself if the wonderful things that arewritten about Los Angeles County are true.”

“That is not much of a compliment to us,” said Linda slowly. “How doyou think we would dare write them if they were not true?”

This caused such a laugh that everyone felt much easier. Marian turnedher dark eyes toward Peter Morrison.

“Linda and I are busy people,” she said. “We waste little timein indirections, so I hope it’s not out of the way for me to askstraight-forwardly if you are truly in earnest, about wanting a home inLilac Valley?”

“Then I’ll have to answer you,” said Peter, “that I have an attractivepart of the ‘makin’s’ and I am in deadly earnest about wanting a homesomewhere. I am sick in my soul of narrow apartments and wheels andthe rush and roar of the city. There was a time when I ate and drankit. It was the very breath of life to me. I charged on Broadway likea caterpillar tank charging in battle; but it is very remarkablehow quickly one changes in this world. I have had some success inmy work, and the higher I go, the better work I feel I can do in aquiet place and among less enervating surroundings. John and I werein college together, room-mates, and no doubt he has told you thatwe graduated with the same class. He has found his location hereand I would particularly enjoy having a home near him. They tell methere are well-trained servants to look after a house and care for abachelor, so I truly feel that if I can find a location I would like,and if Henry can plan me a house, and I can stretch my purse to coverthe investment, that there is a very large possibility that somewherewithin twenty miles of Los Angeles I may find the home of my dreams.”

“One would almost expect,” said Marian, “that a writer would saysomething more original. This valley is filled with people who camehere saying precisely what you have said; and the lure of the land wonthem and here they are, shameless boosters of California.”

“Why shameless?” inquired Henry Anderson.

“Because California so verifies the wildest statement that can be madeconcerning her that one may go the limit of imagination without shame,”laughed Marian. “I try in all my dealings to stick to the straight andnarrow path.”

“Oh, Kid, don’t stick to the straight and narrow,” broke in Linda,“there’s no scenery.”

Eileen laid down her fork and stared in white-lipped amazement at thetwo girls, but she was utterly incapable of forgetting herself andher neatly arranged plans to have the three cultivated and attractiveyoung men all to herself for the evening. She realized too, from thesatisfaction betrayed in the glances these men were exchanging amongeach other, the ease with which they sat, and the gusto with which theyate the food Katy was deftly serving them, that something was happeningwhich never had happened at the Strong table since she had presided asits head, her sole endeavor having been to flatter her guests or toextract flattery for herself from them.

“That is what makes this valley so adorable,” said Marian when at lastshe could make herself heard. “It is neither straight nor narrow. Thewing of a white sea swallow never swept a lovelier curve on the breastof the ocean than the line of this valley. My mother was the dearestlittle woman, and she used to say that this valley was outlined by agracious gesture from the hand of God in the dawn of Creation.”

Peter Morrison deliberately turned in his chair, his eyes intent onMarian’s earnest face.

“You almost make me want to say, in the language of an old hymn I usedto hear my mother sing, ‘Here will I set up my rest.’ With such a nameas Lilac Valley and with such a thought in the heart concerning it, Iscarcely feel that there is any use in looking further. How about it,Henry? Doesn’t it sound conclusive to you?”

“It certainly does,” answered Henry Anderson, “and from what I couldsee as we drove in, it looks as well as it sounds.”

Peter Morrison turned to his friend.

“Gilman,” he said, “you’re a lawyer; you should know the things I’dlike to. Are there desirable homesites still to be found in the valley,and does the inflation of land at the present minute put it out of myreach?”

“Well, that is on a par with the average question asked a lawyer,”answered Gilman, “but part of it I can answer definitely and at once.I think every acre of land suitable for garden or field cultivation istaken. I doubt if there is much of the orchard land higher up remainingand what there is would command a rather stiff price; but if you wouldbe content with some small plateau at the base of a mountain where youcould set any sort of a house and have—say two or three acres, mostlyof sage and boulders and greasewood and yucca around it——”

“Why in this world are you talking about stones and sage andgreasewood?” cried Linda. “Next thing they’ll be asking about mountainlions and rattlesnakes.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Gilman, “I fear none of us has remembered topresent Miss Linda as a coming naturalist. She got her start from herfather who was one of the greatest nerve specialists the world everhas known. She knows every inch of the mountains, the canyons and thedesert. She always says that she cut her teeth on a chunk of adobe,while her father hunted the nests of trap-door spiders out in Sunland.What should I have said when describing a suitable homesite for Peter,Linda?”

“You should have assumed that immediately, Peter,”—Linda lifted hereyes to Morrison’s face with a sparkle of gay challenge, and by way ofapology interjected—“I am only a kid, you know, so I may call John’sfriend Peter—you should have assumed that sage and greasewood wouldsimply have vanished from any home location chosen by Peter, leavingit all lacy blue with lilac, and misty white with lemonade bush, andlovely gold with monkey flower, and purple with lupin, and paintedblood red with broad strokes of Indian paint brush, and beautifullylighted with feathery flames from Our Lord’s Candles, and perfumy asaltar incense with wild almond.”

“Oh, my soul,” said Peter Morrison. “Good people, I have located. Ihave come to stay. I would like three acres but I could exist withtwo; an acre would seem an estate to me, and my ideas of a house,Henry, are shriveling. I did have a dream of something that must havebeen precious near a home. There might have been an evanescent hint offlitting draperies and inexperienced feet in it, but for the sake ofliving and working in such a location as Miss Linda describes, I wouldgladly cut my residence to a workroom and a sleeping room and kitchen.”

“Won’t do,” said Linda. “A house is not a house in California withouta furnace and a bathroom. We are cold as blue blazes here when the sungoes down and the salty fog creeps up from the sea, and the icy mistrolls down from the mountains to chill our bones; and when it has notrained for six months at a stretch, your own private swimming pool isa comfort. This to add verisimilitude to what everyone else in LilacValley is going to tell you.”

“I hadn’t thought I would need a fire,” said Peter, “and I wasdepending on the ocean for my bath tub. I am particularly fond of asalt rub.”

So far, Eileen had not deigned to enter the conversation. It was all sohuman, so far from her ideas of entertaining that the disapproval onher lips was not sufficiently veiled to be invisible, and John Gilman,glancing in her direction, realized that he was having the best time hehad ever had in the Strong household since the passing of his friends,Doctor and Mrs. Strong, vaguely wondered why. And it occurred to himthat Linda and Marian were dominating the party. He said the mostirritating thing possible in the circumstances: “I am afraid you arenot feeling well this evening, Eileen.”

Eileen laughed shortly.

“The one perfect thing about me,” she said with closely cut precision,“is my health. I haven’t the faintest notion what it means to be ill.I am merely waiting for the conversation to take a I turn where I canjoin in it intelligently.”

“Why, bless the child!” exclaimed Linda. “Can’t you talk intelligentlyabout a suitable location for a home? On what subject is a womansupposed to be intelligent if she is not at her best on the theme ofhome? If you really are not interested you had better begin to polishup, because it appeals to me that the world goes just so far in onedirection, and then it whirls to the right-about and goes equallyas far in the opposite direction. If Daddy were living I think hewould say we have reached the limit with apartment house homes minusfireplaces, with restaurant dining minus a blessing, with jazz musicminus melody, with jazz dancing minus grace, with national progressminus cradles.”

“Linda!” cried Eileen indignantly.

“Good gracious!” cried Linda. “Do I get the shillalah for that? Weren’tall of us rocked in cradles? I think that the pendulum has swung farand it is time to swing back to where one man and one woman chooseany little spot on God’s footstool, build a nest and plan their livesin accord with personal desire and inclination instead of aping theirneighbors.”

“Bravo!” cried Henry Anderson. “Miss Linda, if you see any suitablespot, and you think I would serve for a bug-catcher, won’t you pleasestake the location?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Linda. “Would it be the old caseof ‘I furnish the bread and you furnish the water’?”

“No,” said Peter Morrison, “it would not. Henry is doing mighty well. Iguarantee that he would furnish a cow that would produce real cream.”

“How joyous!” said Linda. “I feel quite competent to manage the breadquestion. We’ll call that settled then. When I next cast an appraisingeye over my beloved valley, I shan’t select the choicest spot in it forPeter Morrison to write a book in; and I want to warn you people whenyou go hunting to keep a mile away from Marian’s plot. She has had herlocation staked from childhood and has worked on her dream house untilshe has it all ready to put the ice in the chest and scratch the matchfor the living room fire-logs. The one thing she won’t ever tell iswhere her location is, but wherever it is, Peter Morrison, don’t youdare take it.”

“I wouldn’t for the world,” said Peter Morrison gravely. “If MissThorne will tell me even on which side of the valley her location lies,I will agree to stay on the other side.”

“Well there is one thing you can depend upon,” said the irrepressibleLinda before Marian had time to speak. “It is sure to be on the sunnyside. Every living soul in California is looking for a place in thesun.”

“Then I will make a note of it,” said Peter Morrison. “But isn’t thereenough sun in all this lovely valley that I may have a place in it too?”

“You go straight ahead and select any location you like,” said Marian.“I give you the freedom of the valley. There’s not one chance in tenthousand that you would find or see anything attractive about the onesecluded spot I have always hoped I might some day own.”

“This is not fooling, then?” asked Peter Morrison. “You truly have aplace selected where you would like to live?”

“She truly has the spot selected and she truly has the house on paperand it truly is a house of dreams,” said Linda. “I dream about itmyself. When she builds it and lives in it awhile and finds out all thethings that are wrong with it, then I am going to build one like it,only I shall eliminate all the mistakes she has made.”

“I have often wondered,” said Henry Anderson, “if such a thing everhappened as that people built a house and lived in it, say ten years,and did not find one single thing about it that they would change ifthey had it to build over again. I never have heard of such a case.Have any of you?”

“I am sure no one has,” said John Gilman meditatively, “and it’s aqueer thing. I can’t see why people don’t plan a house the way theywant it before they build.”

Marian turned to him—the same Marian he had fallen in love with whenthey were children.

“Mightn’t it be,” she asked, “that it is due to changing conditionscaused by the rapid development of science and invention? If one hadbuilt the most perfect house possible five years ago and learned to-daythat infinitely superior lighting and heating and living facilitiescould be installed at much less expense and far greater convenience,don’t you think that one would want to change? Isn’t life a series ofchanges? Mustn’t one be changing constantly to keep abreast of one’sday and age?”

“Why, surely,” answered Gilman, “and no doubt therein lies at leastpart of the answer to Anderson’s question.”

“And then,” added Marian, “things happen in families. Sometimes morebabies than they expect come to newly married people and they requiremore room.”

“My goodness, yes!” broke in Linda. “Just look at Sylvia Townsend—twinsto begin with.”

“Linda!” breathed Eileen, aghast.

“So glad you like my name, dear,” murmured Linda sweetly.

“And then,” continued Marian, “changes come to other people as theyhave to me. I can’t say that I had any fault to find with either thecomforts or the conveniences of Hawthorne House until Daddy and Motherwere swept from it at one cruel sweep; and after that it was nothingto me but a haunted house, and I don’t feel that I can be blamed forwanting to leave it. I will be glad to know that there are peopleliving in it who won’t see a big strong figure meditatively smokingbefore the fireplace and a gray dove of a woman sitting on the armof his chair. I will be glad, if Fate is kind to me and people likemy houses, to come back to the valley when I can afford to and buildmyself a home that has no past—a place, in fact, where I can furnish myown ghost, and if I meet myself on the stairs then I won’t be shockedby me.

“I don’t think there is a soul in the valley who blames you for sellingyour home and going, Marian,” said Linda soberly. “I think it would befoolish if you did not.”

The return to the living room brought no change. Eileen pouted whileLinda and Marian thoroughly enjoyed themselves and gave the guests amost entertaining evening. So disgruntled was Eileen, when the youngmen had gone, that she immediately went to her room, leaving Lindaand Marian to close the house and make their own arrangements for thenight. Whereupon Linda deliberately led Marian to the carefully dustedand flower-garnished guest room and installed her with every comfortand convenience that the house afforded. Then bringing her brushes fromher own room, she and Marian made themselves comfortable, visiting farinto the night.

“I wonder,” said Linda, “if Peter Morrison will go to a real estate manin the morning and look over the locations remaining in Lilac Valley.”

“Yes, I think he will,” said Marian conclusively.

“It seems to me,” said Linda, “that we did a whole lot of talking abouthomes to-night; which reminds me, Marian, in packing have you put inyour plans? Have you got your last draught with you?”

“No,” answered Marian, “it’s in one of the cases. I haven’t anythingbut two or three pencil sketches from which I drew the final plans asI now think I’ll submit them for the contest. Wouldn’t it be a tallfeather in my cap, Linda, if by any chance l I should win that prize?”

“It would be more than a feather,” said Linda. “It would be a wholecap, and a coat to wear with it, and a dress to match the coat, andslippers to match the dress, and so forth just like ‘The House ThatJack Built.’ Have you those sketches, Marian?”

Opening her case, Marian slid from underneath the garments folded init, several sheets on which were roughly penciled sketches of theexterior of a house—on the reverse, the upstairs and downstairs floorplans; and sitting down, she explained these to Linda. Then she leftthem lying on a table, waiting to be returned to her case before shereplaced her clothes in the morning. Both girls were fast asleep when amischievous wind slipped down the valley, and lightly lifting the topsheet, carried it through the window, across the garden, and dropped itat the foot of a honey dripping loquat.

Because they had talked until late in the night of Marian’s plans andprospects in the city, of Peter Morrison’s proposed residence in thevalley, of how lonely Linda would be without Marian, of everythingconcerning their lives except the change in Eileen and John Gilman, thetwo girls slept until late in the morning, so that there were but a fewminutes remaining in which Marian might dress, have a hasty breakfastand make her train. In helping her, it fell to Linda to pack Marian’scase. She put the drawings she found on the table in the bottom, theclothing and brushes on top of them, and closing the case, carriedit herself until she delivered it into the porter’s hands as Marianboarded her train.

CHAPTER IV

The last glimpse Marian Thorne had of Linda was as she stood alone,waving her hand, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining, her final wordcheery and encouraging. Marian smiled and waved in return until thetrain bore her away. Then she sat down wearily and stared unseeinglyfrom a window. Life did such very dreadful things to people. Hergirlhood had been so happy. Then came the day of the Black Shadow, butin her blackest hour she had not felt alone. She had supposed she wasleaning on John Gilman as securely as she had leaned on her father. Shehad learned, with the loss of her father, that one cannot be sure ofanything in this world least of all of human life. Yet in her darkestdays she had depended on John Gilman. She had every reason to believethat it was for her that he struggled daily to gain a footing in hischosen profession. When success came, when there was no reason thatMarian could see why they might not have begun life together, therehad come a subtle change in John, and that change had developed sorapidly that in a few weeks’ time, she was forced to admit that thecompanionship and loving attentions that once had been all hers werenow all Eileen’s.

She sat in the train, steadily carrying her mile after mile fartherfrom her home, and tried to think what had happened and how and whyit had happened. She could not feel that she had been wrong in herestimate of John Gilman. Her valuation of him had been taught herby her father and mother and by Doctor and Mrs. Strong and by JohnGilman himself. Dating from the time that Doctor Strong had purchasedthe property and built a home in Lilac Valley beside Hawthorne House,Marian had admired Eileen and had loved her. She was several yearsolder than the beautiful girl she had grown up beside. Age had notmattered; Eileen’s beauty had not mattered. Marian was good lookingherself.

She always had known that Eileen had imposed upon her and was selfishwith her, but Eileen’s impositions were so skillfully maneuvered,her selfishness was so adorably taken for granted that Marian inretrospection felt that perhaps she was responsible for at least asmall part of it. She never had been able to see the inner workingsof Eileen’s heart. She was not capable of understanding that whenJohn Gilman was poor and struggling Eileen had ignored him. It hadnot occurred to Marian that when the success for which he struggledbegan to come generously, Eileen would begin to covet the man she hadpreviously disdained. She had always striven to find friends amongpeople of wealth and distinction. How was Marian to know that when Johnbegan to achieve wealth and distinction, Eileen would covet him also?

Marian could not know that Eileen had studied her harder than sheever studied any book, that she had deliberately set herself to makethe most of every defect or idiosyncrasy in Marian, at the same timeoffering herself as a charming substitute. Marian was prepared to bethe mental, the spiritual, and the physical mate of a man.

Eileen was not prepared to be in truth and honour any of these. Shewas prepared to make any emergency of life subservient to her ownselfish desires. She was prepared to use any man with whom she came incontact for the furtherance of any whim that at the hour possessed her.What she wanted was unbridled personal liberty, unlimited financialresources.

Marian, almost numbed with physical fatigue and weeks of mental strain,came repeatedly against the dead wall of ignorance when she tried tofathom the change that had taken place between herself and John Gilmanand between herself and Eileen.

Daniel Thorne was an older man than Doctor Strong. He had accumulatedmore property. Marian had sufficient means at her command to make itunnecessary for her to acquire a profession or work for her living, butshe had always been interested in and loved to plan houses and help herfriends with buildings they were erecting. When the silence and theloneliness of her empty home enveloped her, she had begun, at first asa distraction, to work on the drawings for a home that an architect hadmade for one of her neighbors. She had been able to suggest so manycomforts and conveniences, and so to revise these plans that, at firstin a desultory way, later in real earnest, she had begun to draw plansfor houses. Then, being of methodical habit and mathematical mind, shebegan scaling up the plans and figuring on the cost of building, and soshe had worked until she felt that she was evolving homes that could bebuilt for the same amount of money and lived in with more comfort andconvenience than the homes that many of her friends were having plannedfor them by architects of the city.

To one spot in the valley she had gone from childhood as a secretplace in which to dream and study. She had loved that retreat until ithad become a living passion with her. The more John Gilman neglectedher, the more she concentrated upon her plans, and when the hour camein which she realized what she had lost and what Eileen had won, shereached the decision to sell her home, go to the city, and study untilshe knew whether she really could succeed at her chosen profession.

Then she would come back to the valley, buy the spot she coveted, buildthe house of which she dreamed, and in it she would spend the remainderof her life making homes for the women who knew how to hold the love ofmen. When she reached the city she had decided that if one could nothave the best in life, one must be content with the next best, and forher the next best would be homes for other people, since she might notmaterialize the home she had dreamed for John Gilman and herself. Shehad not wanted to leave the valley. She had not wanted to lose JohnGilman. She had not wanted to part with the home she had been rearedin. Yet all of these things seemed to have been forced upon her. AllMarian knew to do was to square her shoulders, take a deep breath, putregrets behind her, and move steadily toward the best future she coulddevise for herself.

She carried letters of introduction to the San Francisco architects,Nicholson and Snow, who had offered a prize for the best house thatcould be built in a reasonable time for fifteen thousand dollars. Shemeant to offer her plans in this competition. Through friends she hadsecured a comfortable place in which to live and work. She need undergono hardships in searching for a home, in clothing herself, in payingfor instruction in the course in architecture she meant to pursue.

Concerning Linda she could not resist a feeling of exultation. Lindawas one of the friends in Lilac Valley about whom Marian could thinkwhole-heartedly and lovingly. Sometimes she had been on the point ofmaking a suggestion to Linda, and then she had contented herself withwaiting in the thought that very soon there must come to the girl aproper sense of her position and her rights. The experience of theprevious night taught Marian that Linda had arrived. She would nolonger be the compliant little sister who would run Eileen’s errands,wait upon her guests and wear disreputable clothing. When Linda reacheda point where she was capable of the performance of the previous night,Marian knew that she would proceed to live up to her blue china inevery ramification of life. She did not know exactly how Linda wouldfollow up the assertion of her rights that she had made, but she didknow that in some way she would follow it up, because Linda was a veryclose reproduction of her father.

She had been almost constantly with him during his life, very muchalone since his death. She was a busy young person. From Marian’swindows she had watched the business of carrying on the wild flowergarden that Linda and her father had begun. What the occupation wasthat kept the light burning in Linda’s room far into the night Mariandid not know. For a long time she had supposed that her studieswere difficult for her, and when she had asked Linda if it were notpossible for her to prepare her lessons without so many hours ofmidnight study she had caught the stare of frank amazement with whichthe girl regarded her, and in that surprised, almost grieved lookshe had realized that very probably a daughter of Alexander Strong,so resembling him as Linda resembled him, would not be compelled tooverwork to master the prescribed course of any city high school.What Linda was doing during those midnight hours Marian did not know,but she did know that she was not wrestling with mathematics andlanguages—at least not all of the time. So Marian, knowing Linda’sgift with a pencil, had come to the conclusion that she was drawingpictures; but circumstantial evidence was all she had as a basisfor her conviction. Linda went her way silently and alone. She wasacquainted with everyone living in Lilac Valley, frank and friendlywith all of them; aside from Marian she had no intimate friend. Notanother girl in the valley cared to follow Linda’s pursuits or tocultivate the acquaintance of the breeched, booted girl, constantlydevoting herself to outdoor study with her father during his lifetime,afterward alone.

For an instant after Marian had boarded her train Linda stood lookingat it, her heart so heavy that it pained acutely. She had not said oneword to make Marian feel that she did not want her to go. Not once hadshe put forward the argument that Marian’s going would leave her todepend entirely for human sympathy upon the cook, and her guardian,also administrator of the Strong estate, John Gilman. So long as he wasMarian’s friend Linda had admired John Gilman. She had gone to him forsome measure of the companionship she had missed in losing her father.Since Gilman had allowed himself to be captivated by Eileen, Linda hadharbored a feeling concerning him almost of contempt. Linda was sofamiliar with every move that Eileen made, so thoroughly understoodthat there was a motive back of her every action, that she could notsee why John Gilman, having known her from childhood, should notunderstand her also.

She had decided that the time had come when she would force Eileen togive her an allowance, however small, for her own personal expenses,that she must in some way manage to be clothed so that she was not amatter of comment even among the boys of her school, and she could seeno reason why the absolute personal liberty she always had enjoyed solong as she disappeared when Eileen did not want her and appeared whenshe did, should not extend to her own convenience as well as Eileen’s.

Life was a busy affair for Linda. She had not time to watch Marian’strain from sight. She must hurry to the nearest street car and make allpossible haste or she would be late for her classes. Throughout the dayshe worked with the deepest concentration, but she could not keep downthe knowledge that Eileen would have things to say, possibly things todo, when they met that evening, for Eileen was capable of disconcertinghysteria. Previously Linda had remained stubbornly silent during anytirade in which Eileen chose to indulge. She had allowed herself tobe nagged into doing many things that she despised, because she wouldnot assert herself against apparent injustice. But since she had comefully to realize the results of Eileen’s course of action for Marianand for herself, she was deliberately arriving at the conclusion thathereafter she would speak when she had a defense, and she would make ither business to let the sun shine on any dark spot that she discoveredin Eileen.

Linda knew that if John Gilman were well acquainted with Eileen, hecould not come any nearer to loving her than she did. Such an idea asloving Eileen never had entered Linda’s thoughts. To Linda, Eileen wasnot lovable. That she should be expected to love her because they hadthe same parents and lived in the same home seemed absurd. She wasslightly disappointed, on reaching home, to find that Eileen was notthere.

“Will the lady of the house dine with us this evening?” she asked asshe stood eating an apple in the kitchen.

“She didn’t say,” answered Katy. “Have ye had it out about last nightyet?”

“No,” answered Linda. “That is why I was asking about her. I want toclear the atmosphere before I make my new start in life.”

“Now, don’t ye be going too far, lambie,” cautioned Katy “Ye youngthings make such an awful serious business of life these days. In yourscramble to wring artificial joy out of it you miss all the natural joythe good God provided ye.”

“It seems to me, Katy,” said Linda slowly, “that you should put thatstatement the other way round. It seems that life makes a mightyserious business for us young things, and it seems to me that if wedon’t get the right start and have a proper foundation, life Is goingto be spoiled for us. One life is all I’ve got to live in this world;and I would like it to be the interesting and the beautiful kind oflife that Father lived.”

Linda dropped to a chair.

“Katy,” she said, leaning forward and looking intently into the earnestface of the woman before her, “Katy, I have been thinking an awful lotlately. There is a question you could answer for me if you wanted to.”

“Well, I don’t see any raison,” said Katy, “why I shouldn’t answer yeany question ye’d be asking me.”

Linda’s eyes narrowed as they did habitually in deep thought She waslooking past Katy down the sunlit spaces of the wild garden that washer dearest possession, and then her eyes strayed higher to where theblue walls that shut in Lilac Valley ranged their peaks against the sky.

“Katy,” she said, scarcely above her breath, “was Mother like Eileen?”

Katy stiffened. Her red face paled slightly. She turned her back andslowly slid into the oven the pie she was carrying. She closed the doorwith more force than was necessary and then turned and deliberatelystudied Linda from the top of her shining black head to the tip of hershoe.

“Some,” she said tersely.

“Yes, I know ‘some’,” said Linda, “but you know I was too young to paymuch attention, and Daddy managed always to make me so happy that Inever realized until he was gone that he not only had been my fatherbut my mother as well. You know what I mean, Katy.”

“Yes,” said Katy deliberately, “I know what ye mean, lambie, and I’lltell ye the truth as far as I know it. She managed your father, shepampered him, but she deceived him every day, just about little things.She always made the household accounts bigger than they were, and usedthe extra money for Miss Eileen and herself—things like that. I’mthinkin’ he never knew it. I’m thinking he loved her deeply and trustedher complete. I know what ye’re getting at. She was not enough likeEileen to make him unhappy with her. He might have been if he had knownall there was to know, but for his own sake I was not the one to giveher away, though she constantly made him think that I was extravagantand wasteful in me work.”

Linda’s eyes came back from the mountains and met Katy’s straightly.

“Katy,” she said, “did you ever see sisters as different as Eileen andI are?”

“No, I don’t think I ever did,” said Katy.

“It puzzles me,” said Linda slowly. “The more I think about it, theless I can understand why, if we are sisters, we would not accidentallyresemble each other a tiny bit in some way, and I must say I can’t seethat we do physically or mentally.”

“No,” said Katy, “ye were just as different as ye are now when I cameto this house new and ye were both little things.”

“And we are going to be as different and to keep on growing moredifferent every day of our lives, because red war breaks out the minuteEileen comes home. I haven’t a notion what she will say to me for whatI did last night and what I am going to do in the future, but I have adefinite idea as to what I am going to say to her.”

“Now, easy; ye go easy, lambie,” cautioned Katy.

“I wouldn’t regret it,” said Linda, “if I took Eileen by theshoulders and shook her till I shook the rouge off her cheek, and thebrilliantine off her hair, and a million mean little subterfuges outof her soul. You know Eileen is lovely when she is natural, and ifshe would be straight-off-the-bat square, I would be proud to be hersister. As it is, I have my doubts, even about this sister business.”

“Why, Linda, child, ye are just plain crazy,” said Katy. “What kind ofnotions are you getting into your head?”

“I hear the front door,” said Linda, “and I am going to march straightto battle. She’s going up the front stairs. I did mean to short-cut upthe back, but, come to think of it, I have served my apprenticeshipon the back stairs. I believe I’ll ascend the front myself. Good-bye,darlin’, wish me luck.”

Linda swung Katy around, hugged her tight, and dropped a kiss on thetop of her faithful head.

“Ye just stick right up for your rights,” Katy advised her. “Ye’re agreat big girl. ’Tain’t going to be long till ye’re eighteen. But mindyour old Katy about going too far. If ye lose your temper and cat-spit,it won’t get ye anywhere. The fellow that keeps the coolest can alwaysdo the best headwork.”

“I get you,” said Linda, “and that is good advice for which I thankyou.”

CHAPTER V

Then Linda walked down the hall, climbed the front stairs, andpresented herself at Eileen’s door, there to receive one of theseverest shocks of her young life. Eileen had tossed her hat and furupon a couch, seated herself at her dressing table, and was studyingher hair in the effort to decide whether she could fluff it upsufficiently to serve for the evening or whether she must take it downand redress it. At Linda’s step in the doorway she turned a smilingface upon her and cried: “Hello, little sister, come in and tell me thenews.”

Linda stopped as if dazed. The wonderment in which she looked at Eileenwas stamped all over her. A surprised braid of hair hung over one ofher shoulders. Her hands were surprised, and the skirt of her dress,and her shoes flatly set on the floor.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” she ejaculated, and then walked to where shecould face Eileen, and seated herself without making any attempt toconceal her amazement.

“Linda,” said Eileen sweetly, “you would stand far better chanceof being popular and making a host of friends if you would not beso coarse. I am quite sure you never heard Mama or me use such anexpression.”

For one long instant Linda was too amazed to speak. Then she recoveredherself.

“Look here, Eileen, you needn’t try any ‘perfect lady’ business on me,”she said shortly. “Do you think I have forgotten the extent of yourvocabulary when the curling iron gets too hot or you fail to receive aninvitation to the Bachelors’ Ball?”

Linda never had been capable of understanding Eileen. At that minuteshe could not know that Eileen had been facing facts through the longhours of the night and all through the day, and that she had reachedthe decision that for the future her only hope of working Linda to herwill was to conciliate her, to ignore the previous night, to try to puttheir relationship upon the old basis by pretending that there neverhad been a break. She laughed softly.

“On rare occasions, I grant it. Of course a little swear slips outsometimes. What I am trying to point out is that you do too much of it.”

“How did you ever get the idea,” said Linda, “that I wanted to bepopular and have hosts of friends? What would I do with them if I hadthem?”

“Why, use them, my child, use them,” answered Eileen promptly.

“Let’s cut this,” said Linda tersely. “I am not your child. I’m gettingto the place where I have serious doubt as to whether I am your sisteror not. If I am, it’s not my fault, and the same clay never made twoobjects quite so different. I came up here to fight, and I’m going tosee it through. I’m on the war-path, so you may take your club andproceed to battle.”

“What have we to fight about?” inquired Eileen.

“Every single thing that you have done that was unfair to me all mylife,” said Linda. “Since all of it has been deliberate you probablyknow more about the details than I do, so I’ll just content myself withtelling you that for the future, last night marked a change in therelations between us. I am going to be eighteen before so very long,and I have ceased to be your maid or your waitress or your dupe. Youare not going to work me one single time when I have got brains tosee through your schemes after this. Hereafter I take my place in myfather’s house and at my father’s table on an equality with you.”

Eileen looked at Linda steadily, trying to see to the depths of hersoul. She saw enough to convince her that the young creature in frontof her was in earnest.

“Hm,” she said, “have I been so busy that I have failed to notice whata great girl you are getting?”

“Busy!” scoffed Linda. “Tell that to Katy. It’s a kumquat!”

“Perhaps you are too big,” continued Eileen, “to be asked to wait onthe table any more.”

“I certainly am,” retorted Linda, “and I am also too big to wear suchshoes or such a dress as I have on at the present minute. I know allabout the war and the inflation of prices and the reduction in income,but I know also that if there is enough to run the house, and dressyou, and furnish you such a suite of rooms as you’re enjoying rightnow, there is enough to furnish me suitable clothes, a comfortablebedroom and a place where I can leave my work without putting awayeverything I am doing each time I step from the room. I told you fouryears ago that you might take the touring car and do what you pleasedwith it. I have never asked what you did or what you got out of it, soI’ll thank you to observe equal silence about anything I choose to donow with the runabout, which I reserved for myself. I told you to takethis suite, and this is the first time that I have ever mentioned toyou what you spent on it.”

Linda waved an inclusive hand toward the fully equipped, daintydressing table, over rugs of pale blue, and beautifully decoratedwalls, including the sleeping room and bath adjoining.

“So now I’ll ask you to keep off while I do what I please about thelibrary and the billiard room. I’ll try to get along without much moneyin doing what I desire there, but I must have some new clothes. I wantmoney to buy me a pair of new shoes for school. I want a pair of pumpssuitable for evenings when there are guests to dinner. I want a coupleof attractive school dresses. This old serge is getting too hot and tooworn for common decency. And I also want a couple of dresses somethinglike you are wearing, for afternoons and evenings.”

Eileen stared aghast at Linda.

“Where,” she inquired politely, “is the money for all this to comefrom?”

“Eileen,” said Linda in a low tense voice, “I have reached the placewhere even the boysof the high school are twitting me about howI am dressed, and that is the limit. I have stood it for three yearsfrom the girls. I am an adept in pretending that I don’t see, and Idon’t hear. I have got to the point where I am perfectly capable ofwalking into your wardrobe and taking out enough of the clothes thereand selling them at a second-hand store to buy me what I require todress me just plainly and decently. So take warning. I don’t know whereyou are going to get the money, but you are going to get it. If youwould welcome a suggestion from me, come home only half the times youdine yourself and your girl friends at tearooms and cafes in the city,and you will save my share that way. I am going to give you a chanceto total your budget, and then I demand one half of the income fromFather’s estate above household expenses; and if I don’t get it, on theday I am eighteen I shall go to John Gilman and say to him what I havesaid to you, and I shall go to the bank and demand that a division bemade there, and that a separate bank book be started for me.”

Linda’s amazement on entering the room had been worthy of note.Eileen’s at the present minute was beyond description. Dumbfounded wasa colourless word to describe her state of mind.

“You don’t mean that,” she gasped in a quivering voice when at last shecould speak.

“I can see, Eileen, that you are taken unawares,” said Linda. “I havehad four long years to work up to this hour. Hasn’t it even dawned onyou that this worm was ever going to turn? You know exquisite moths andbutterflies evolve in the canyons from very unprepossessing and lowlyliving worms. You are spending your life on the butterfly stunt. Have Ibeen such a weak worm that it hasn’t ever occurred to you that I mightwant to try a plain, every-day pair of wings sometime myself?”

Eileen’s face was an ugly red, her hands were shaking, her voice wasunnatural, but she controlled her temper.

“Of course,” she said, “I have always known that the time would come,after you finished school and were of a proper age, when you would wantto enter society.”

“No, you never knew anything of the kind,” said Linda bluntly, “becauseI have not the slightest ambition to enter society either now or then.All I am asking is to enter the High School in a commonly decent,suitable dress; to enter our dining room as a daughter; to enter aworkroom decently equipped for my convenience. You needn’t be surprisedif you hear some changes going on in the billiard room and see somechanges going on in the library. And if I feel that I can muster thenerve to drive the runabout, it’s my car, it’s up to me.”

“Linda!” wailed Eileen, “how can you think of such a thing? Youwouldn’t dare.”

“Because I haven’t dared till the present is no reason why I shoulddeprive myself of every single pleasure in life,” said Linda. “Youspend your days doing exactly what you please; driving that runaboutfor Father was my one soul-satisfying diversion. Why shouldn’t I do thething I love most, if I can muster the nerve?”

Linda arose, and walking over to a table, picked up a magazine lyingamong some small packages that Eileen evidently had placed there onentering her room.

“Are you subscribing to this?” she asked.

She turned in her hands and leafed through the pages of a mostattractive magazine, Everybody’s Home. It was devoted topoetry, good fiction, and everything concerning home life from beef tobiscuits, and from rugs to roses.

“I saw it on a news-stand,” said Eileen. “I was at lunch with somegirls who had a copy and they were talking about some articles bysomebody named something—Meredith, I think it was—Jane Meredith, maybeshe’s a Californian, and she is advocating the queer idea that we goback to nature by trying modern cooking on the food the aboriginesate. If we find it good then she recommends that we specialize on thegrowing of these native vegetables for home use and for export—as a newindustry.”

“I see,” said Linda. “Out-Burbanking Burbank, as it were.”

“No, not that,” said Eileen. “She is not proposing to evolve new forms.She is proposing to show us how to make delicious dishes for luncheonor dinner from wild things now going to waste. What the girls said wasso interesting that I thought I’d get a copy and if I see anything goodI’ll turn it over to Katy.”

“And where’s Katy going to get the wild vegetables?” asked Lindasceptically.

“Why you might have some of them in your wild garden, or you couldeasily find enough to try—all the prowling the canyons you do ought toresult in something.”

“So it should,” said Linda. “I quite agree with you. Did I understandyou to say that I should be ready to go to the bank with you to arrangeabout my income next week?”

Again the colour deepened in Eileen’s face, again she made a visibleeffort at self-control.

“Oh, Linda,” she said, “what is the use of being so hard? You will makethem think at the bank that I have not treated you fairly.”

“I?” said Linda, “Iwill make them think? Don’t you thinkit is youwho will make them think? Will you kindly answer myquestion?”

“If I show you the books,” said Eileen, “if I divide what is left afterthe bills are paid so that you say yourself that it is fair, what morecan you ask?”

Linda hesitated.

“What I ought to do is exactly what I have said I would do,” she saidtersely, “but if you are going to put it on that basis I have no desireto hurt you or humiliate you in public. If you do that, I can’t seethat I have any reason to complain, so we’ll call it a bargain andwe’ll say no more about it until the first of the month, unless thespirit moves you, after taking a good square look at me, to producesome shoes and a school dress instanter.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” answered Eileen.

“All right then,” said Linda. “See you at dinner.”

She went to her own room, slipped off her school dress, brushed herhair, and put on the skirt and blouse she had worn the previousevening, these being the only extra clothing she possessed. As shestraightened her hair she looked at herself intently.

“My, aren’t you coming on!” she said to the figure in the glass.“Dressing for dinner! First thing you know you’ll be a perfect lady.”

CHAPTER VI

When Eileen came down to dinner that evening Linda understood at aglance that an effort was to be made to efface thoroughly from themind of John Gilman all memory of the Eileen of the previous evening.She had decided on redressing her hair, while she wore one of her mostbecoming and attractive gowns. To Linda and Katy during the dinner shewas simply charming. Having said what she wanted to say and receivedthe assurance she desired, Linda accepted her advances cordiallyand displayed such charming proclivities herself that Eileen begancovertly to watch her, and as she watched there slowly grew in herbrain the conviction that something had happened to Linda. At once shebegan studying deeply in an effort to learn what it might be. Therewere three paramount things in Eileen’s cosmos that could happen to agirl: She could have lovely clothing. Linda did not have it. She couldhave money and influential friends. Since Marian’s going Linda hadpractically no friend; she was merely acquainted with almost everyoneliving in Lilac Valley. She could have a lover. Linda had none. Butstay! Eileen’s thought halted at the suggestion. Maybe she had! Shehad been left completely to her own devices when she was not wantedabout the house. She had been mingling with hundreds of boys and girlsin High School. She might have met some man repeatedly on the streetcars, going to and from school. In school she might have attractedthe son of some wealthy and influential family; which was the onlykind of son Eileen chose to consider in connection with Linda. ThroughEileen’s brain ran bits of the conversation of the previous evening.She recalled that the men she had intended should spend the eveningwaiting on her and paying her pretty compliments had spent it eatinglike hungry men, laughing and jesting with Linda and Marian, givingevery evidence of a satisfaction with their entertainment that neverhad been evinced with the best brand of attractions she had to offer.

Eileen was willing to concede that Marian Thorne had been a beautifulgirl, and she had known, previous to the disaster, that it was quiteas likely that any man might admire Marian’s flashing dark beauty asher blonde loveliness. Between them then it would have been merely aquestion of taste on the part of the man. Since Marian’s dark head hadturned ashen, Eileen had simply eliminated her at one sweep. That whitehair would brand Marian anywhere as an old woman. Very likely no manever would want to marry her. Eileen was sure she would not want to ifshe were a man. No wonder John Gilman had ceased to be attracted by agirl’s face with a grandmother setting.

As for Linda, Eileen never had considered her at all except as aconvenience to serve her own purposes. Last night she had learned thatLinda had a brain, that she had wit, that she could say things to whichmen of the world listened with interest. She began to watch Linda. Sheappraised with deepest envy the dark hair curling naturally on hertemples. She wondered how hair that curled naturally could be so thickand heavy, and she thought what a crown of glory would adorn Linda’shead when the day came to coil those long dark braids around it andfasten them with flashing pins. She drew some satisfaction from thesunburned face and lean figure before her, but it was not satisfactionof soul-sustaining quality. There was beginning to be somethingdisquieting about Linda. A roundness was creeping over her lean frame;a glow was beginning to colour her lips and cheek bones; a dewy lookcould be surprised in her dark eyes occasionally. She had the effect ofa creature with something yeasty bottled inside it that was beginningto ferment and might effervesce at any minute. Eileen had been sosurprised the previous evening and again before dinner, that she madeup her mind that hereafter one might expect almost anything from Linda.She would no longer follow a suggestion unless the suggestion accordedwith her sense of right and justice. It was barely possible that itmight be required to please her inclinations. Eileen’s mind worked withunbelievable swiftness. She tore at her subject like a vulture tearingat a feast, and like a vulture she reached the vitals swiftly. Sheprefaced her question with a dry laugh. Then she leaned forward andasked softly: “Linda, dear, why haven’t you told me?”

Linda’s eyes were so clear and honest as they met Eileen’s that shealmost hesitated.

“A little more explicit, please,” said the girl quietly.

“Who is he?” asked Eileen abruptly.

“Oh, I haven’t narrowed to an individual,” said Linda largely. “Youhave noticed a flock of boys following me from school and hangingaround the front door? I have such hosts to choose from that it’s goingto take a particularly splendid knight on a snow-white charger—I think‘charger’ is the proper word—to capture my young affections.”

Eileen was satisfied. There wasn’t any he. She might for a shorttime yet cut Linda’s finances to the extreme limit. Whenever a manappeared on the horizon she would be forced to make a division at leastapproaching equality.

Linda followed Eileen to the living room and sat down with a bookuntil John Gilman arrived. She had a desire to study him for a fewminutes. She was going to write Marian a letter that night. She wantedto know if she could honestly tell her that Gilman appeared lonelyand seemed to miss her. Katy had no chance to answer the bell when itrang. Eileen was in the hall. Linda could not tell what was happeningfrom the murmur of voices. Presently John and Eileen entered the room,and as Linda greeted him she did have the impression that he appearedunusually thoughtful and worried. She sat for half an hour, takingslight part in the conversation. Then she excused herself and went toher room, and as she went she knew that she could not honestly writeMarian what she had hoped, for in thirty minutes by the clock Eileen’sblandishments had worked, and John Gilman was looking at her as if shewere the most exquisite and desirable creature in existence.

Slowly Linda climbed the stairs and entered her room. She slid thebolt of her door behind her, turned on the lights, unlocked a drawer,and taking from it a heap of materials she scattered them over a smalltable, and picking up her pencil, she sat gazing at the sheet beforeher for some time. Then slowly she began writing:

It appeals to me that, far as modern civilization has gone inculinary efforts, we have not nearly reached the limits availableto us as I pointed out last month. We consider ourselves capableof preparing and producing elaborate banquets, yet at no time arewe approaching anything even to compare in lavishness and delicacywith the days of Lucullus. We are not feasting on baked swans,peacock tongues and drinking our pearls. I am not recommendingthat we should revive the indulgence of such lavish and uselessexpenditure, but I would suggest that if we tire with the samenessof our culinary efforts, we at least try some of the new dishesdescribed in this department, established for the sole purpose oftheir introduction. In so doing we accomplish a multiple purpose.We enlarge the resources of the southwest. We tease stale appetiteswith a new tang. We offer the world something different, yet nativeto us. We use modern methods on Indian material and the resultsare most surprising. In trying these dishes I would remind youthat few of us cared for oysters, olives, celery—almost any fruitor vegetable one could mention on first trial. Try several timesand be sure you prepare dishes exactly right before condemningthem as either fad or fancy. These are very real, nourishing anddelicious foods that are being offered you. Here is a salad thatwould have intrigued the palate of Lucullus, himself. If you donot believe me, try it. The vegetable is slightly known by a fewnative mountaineers and ranchers. Botanists carried it abroad whereunder the name of winter-purslane it is used in France and Englandfor greens or salad, while remaining practically unknown at home.Boiled and seasoned as spinach it makes equally good greens. But itis in salad that it stands pre-eminent.

Go to any canyon—I shall not reveal the name of my particularcanyon—and locate a bed of miner’s lettuce (Montiaperfoliata). Growing in rank beds beside a cold, clean stream,you will find these pulpy, exquisitely shaped, pungent roundleaves from the center of which lifts a tiny head of misty whitelace, sending up a palate-teasing, spicy perfume. The crisp,pinkish stems snap in the fingers. Be sure that you wash theleaves carefully so that no lurking germs cling to them. Fill yoursalad bowl with the crisp leaves, from which the flowerhead hasbeen plucked. For dressing, dice a teacup of the most deliciousbacon you can obtain and fry it to a crisp brown together witha small sliced onion. Add to the fat two tablespoons of sugar,half a teaspoon of mustard; salt will scarcely be necessary, thebacon will furnish that. Blend the fat, sugar, and mustard, andpour in a measure of the best apple vinegar, diluted to taste.Bring this mixture to the boiling point, and when it has cooledslightly pour it over the lettuce leaves, lightly turning with asilver fork. Garnish the edge of the dish with a deep border ofthe fresh leaves, bearing their lace of white bloom intact, aroundthe edge of the bowl, and sprinkle on top the sifted yolks of twohard-boiled eggs, heaping the diced whites in the center.

Linda paused and read this over carefully.

“That is all right,” she said. “I couldn’t make that much better.”

She made a few corrections here and there, and picking up a colouredpencil, she deftly sketched in a head piece of delicate sprays ofminers’ lettuce tipped at differing angles, fringy white with bloom.Below she printed: “A delicious Indian salad. The second of a seriesof new dishes to be offered made from materials used by the Indians.Compounded and tested in her own diet kitchen by the author.” Swiftlyshe sketched a tail piece representing a table top upon which sat atempting-looking big salad bowl filled with fresh green leaves, rimmedwith a row of delicate white flowers, from which you could almost scenta teasing delicate fragrance arising; and beneath, in a clear, firmhand, she stroked in the name, Jane Meredith. She went over her workcarefully, then laid it flat on a piece of cardboard, shoved it into anenvelope, directed it to the editor of Everybody’s Home, laid itinside her geometry, and wrote her letter to Marian before going to bed.

In the morning on her way to the street car she gaily waved to apassing automobile going down Lilac Valley, in which sat John Gilmanand Peter Morrison and his architect, and as they were driving inthe direction from which she had come, Linda very rightly surmisedthat they were going to pick up Eileen and make a tour of the valley,looking for available building locations; and she wondered why Eileenhad not told her that they were coming. Linda had been right about thedestination of the car. It turned in at the Strong driveway and stoppedat the door. John Gilman went to ring the bell and learn if Eileen wereready. Peter followed him. Henry Anderson stepped from the car andwandered over the lawn, looking at the astonishing array of bushes,vines, flowers, and trees.

From one to another he went, fingering the waxy leaves, studying thebrilliant flower faces. Finally turning a corner and crossing thewild garden, to which he paid slight attention, he started down theother side of the house. Here an almost overpowering odour greeted hisnostrils, and he went over to a large tree covered with rough, darkgreen, almost brownish, lance-shaped leaves, each branch terminating ina heavy spray of yellowish-green flowers, whose odour was of cloyingsweetness. The bees were buzzing over it. It was not a tree with whichhe was familiar, and stepping back, he looked at it carefully. Then atits base, wind-driven into a crevice between the roots, his attentionwas attracted to a crumpled sheet of paper, upon which he could seelines that would have attracted the attention of any architect. He wentforward instantly, picked up the sheet, and straightening it out hestood looking at it.

“Holy smoke!” he breathed softly. “What a find!”

He looked at the reverse of the sheet, his face becoming more intentevery minute. When he heard Peter Morrison’s voice calling him hehastily thrust the paper into his coat pocket; but he had gone onlya few steps when he stopped, glanced keenly over the house and lawn,turned his back, and taking the sheet from his pocket, he smoothedit out, folded it carefully, and put it in an inside pocket. Then hejoined the party.

At once they set out to examine the available locations that yetremained in Lilac Valley. Nature provided them a wonderful day ofsnappy sunshine and heady sea air. Spring favoured them with lilacwalls at their bluest, broken here and there with the rose-misted whitemahogany. The violet nightshade was beginning to add deeper colour tothe hills in the sunniest wild spots. The panicles of mahonia bloomwere showing their gold colour. Wild flowers were lifting leaves offeather and lace everywhere, and most agreeable on the cool morningair was a faint breath of California sage. Up one side of the valley,weaving in and out, up and down, over the foothills they worked theirway. They stopped for dinner at one of the beautiful big hotels,practically filled with Eastern tourists. Eileen never had known aprouder moment than when she took her place at the head of the tableand presided over the dinner which was served to three most attractivespecimens of physical manhood, each of whom was unusually well endowedwith brain, all flattering her with the most devoted attention. Thistriumph she achieved in a dining room seating hundreds of people, itsmirror-lined walls reflecting her exquisite image from many angles, tothe click of silver, and the running accompaniment of many voices. Whatshe had expected to accomplish in her own dining room had come to herbefore a large audience, in which, she had no doubt, there were manyenvious women. Eileen rayed loveliness like a Mariposa lily, and purredin utter contentment like a deftly stroked kitten.

When they parted in the evening Peter Morrison had memoranda of threelocations that he wished to consider. That he might not seem to beunduly influenced or to be giving the remainder of Los Angeles Countyits just due, he proposed to motor around for a week before reachingan ultimate decision, but in his heart he already had decided thatsomewhere near Los Angeles he would build his home, and as yet he hadseen nothing nearly so attractive as Lilac Valley.

CHAPTER VII

On her way to school that morning Linda stopped at the post office andpasted the required amount of stamps upon the package that she wasmailing to New York. She hurried from her last class that afternoon tothe city directory to find the street and number of James Brothers,figuring that the firm with whom Marian dealt would be the properpeople for her to consult. She had no difficulty in finding the placefor which she was searching, and she was rather agreeably impressedwith the men to whom she talked. She made arrangements with their buyerto call at her home in Lilac Valley at nine o’clock the followingSaturday morning to appraise the articles with which she wished to part.

Then she went to one of the leading book stores of the city and madeinquiries which guided her to a reliable second-hand book dealer, andshe arranged to be ready to receive his representative at ten o’clockon Saturday.

Reaching home she took a note book and pencil, and studied the billiardroom and the library, making a list of the furniture which she did notactually need. After that she began on the library shelves, listingsuch medical works as were of a technical nature. Books of fiction,history, art, and biography, and those books written by her father shedid not include. She found that she had a long task which would occupyseveral evenings. Her mind was methodical and she had been with herfather through sufficient business transactions to understand that inorder to drive a good bargain she must know how many volumes she had tooffer and the importance of their authors as medical authorities; sheshould also know the exact condition of each set of books. Since shehad made up her mind to let them go, and she knew the value of many ofthe big, leather-bound volumes, she determined that she would not sellthem until she could secure the highest possible price for them.

Two months previously she would have consulted John Gilman and askedhim to arrange the transaction for her. Since he had allowed himself tobe duped so easily—or at least it had seemed easy to Linda; for, muchas she knew of Eileen, she could not possibly know the weeks of secretplotting, the plans for unexpected meetings, the trumped-up businessproblems necessary to discuss, the deliberate flaunting of her physicalcharms before him, all of which had made his conquest extremely hardfor Eileen, but Linda, seeing only results, had thought it contemptiblyeasy—she would not ask John Gilman anything. She would go ahead on thebasis of her agreement with Eileen and do the best she could alone.

She counted on Saturday to dispose of the furniture. The books mightgo at her leisure. Then the first of the week she could select suchfurniture as she desired in order to arrange the billiard room for herstudy. If she had a suitable place in which to work in seclusion, thereneed be no hurry about the library. She conscientiously prepared allthe lessons required in her school course for the next day and then,stacking her books, she again unlocked the drawer opened the previousevening, and taking from it the same materials, set to work. She wrote:

Botanists have failed to mention that there is any connectionbetween asparagus, originally a product of salt marshes, andYucca, a product of the alkaline desert. Very probably there is nobotanical relationship, but these two plants are alike in flavor.From the alkaline, sunbeaten desert where the bayonet plant thrustsup a tender bloom head six inches in height, it slowly increases instature as it travels across country more frequently rain washed,and winds its way beside mountain streams to where in more fertilesoil and the same sunshine it develops magnificent specimens fromten to fifteen and more feet in height. The plant grows a numberof years before it decides to flower. When it reaches maturity itthrows up a bloom stem as tender as the delicate head of asparagus,thick as one’s upper arm, and running to twice one’s height.This bloom stem in its early stages is coloured the pale pink ofasparagus, with faint touches of yellow, and hints of blue. Atmaturity it breaks into a gorgeous head of lavender-tinted, creamypendent flowers covering the upper third of its height, billowingout slightly in the centre, so that from a distance the waxentorch takes on very much the appearance of a flaming candle. Forthis reason, in Mexico, where the plant flourishes in even greaterabundance than in California, with the exquisite poetry commonto the tongue and heart of the Spaniard, Yucca Whipplei has beencommonly named “Our Lord’s Candle.” At the most delicate time oftheir growth these candlesticks were roasted and eaten by theIndians. Based upon this knowledge, I would recommend two dishes,almost equally delicious, which may be prepared from this plant.

Take the most succulent young bloom stems when they have exactlythe appearance of an asparagus head at its moment of deliciousperfection. With a sharp knife, cut them in circles an inch indepth. Arrange these in a shallow porcelain baking dish, sprinklewith salt, dot them with butter, add enough water to keep themfrom sticking and burning. Bake until thoroughly tender. Use apancake turner to slide the rings to a hot platter, and garnishwith circles of hard-boiled egg. This you will find an extremelydelicate and appetizing dish.

The second recipe I would offer is to treat this vegetableprecisely as you would creamed asparagus. Cut the stalks insix-inch lengths, quarter them to facilitate cooking and handling,and boil in salted water. Drain, arrange in a hot dish, and pourover a carefully made cream sauce. I might add that one stalk wouldfurnish sufficient material for several families. This dish shouldbe popular in southwestern states where the plant grows profusely;and to cultivate these plants for shipping to Eastern marketswould be quite as feasible as the shipping of asparagus, rhubarb,artichokes, or lettuce.

I have found both these dishes peculiarly appetizing, but I shouldbe sorry if, in introducing Yucca as a food, I became instrumentalin the extermination of this universal and wonderfully beautifulplant. For this reason I have hesitated about including Yucca amongthese articles; but when I see the bloom destroyed ruthlessly bythousands who cut it to decorate touring automobiles and fruit andvegetable stands beside the highways, who carry it from its nativelocation and stick it in the parching sun of the seashore as atemporary shelter, I feel that the bloom stems might as well beused for food as to be so ruthlessly wasted.

The plant is hardy in the extreme, growing in the most unfavourableplaces, clinging tenaciously to sheer mountain and canyon walls.After blooming and seeding the plant seems to have thrown everyparticle of nourishment it contains into its development, it driesout and dies (the spongy wood is made into pin-cushions for the artstores); but from the roots there spring a number of young plants,which, after a few years of growth, mature and repeat their lifecycle, while other young plants develop from the widely scatteredseeds. The Spaniards at times call the plant Quiota. This wordseems to be derived from quiotl, which is the Aztec name forAgave, from which plant a drink not unlike beer is produced, andsuggests the possibility that there might have been a time when thesucculent flower stem of the Yucca furnished drink as well as foodfor the Indians.

After carefully re-reading and making several minor corrections, Lindapicked up her pencil, and across the top of a sheet of heavy papersketched the peaks of a chain of mountains. Across the base she drew astretch of desert floor, bristling with the thorns of many differentcacti brilliant with their gold, pink, and red bloom, intermingled withfine grasses and desert flower faces. At the left she painstakinglydrew a huge plant of yucca with a perfect circle of bayonets, from thecenter of which uprose the gigantic flower stem the length of her page,and on the misty bloom of the flaming tongue she worked quite as lateas Marian Thorne had ever seen a light burning in her window. When shehad finished her drawing she studied it carefully a long time, adding atouch here and there, and then she said softly: “There, Daddy, I feelthat even you would think that a faithful reproduction To-morrow nightI’ll paint it.”

John Gilman saw the light from Linda’s window when he brought Eileenhome that night, and when he left he glanced that way again, and wassurprised to see the room still lighted, and the young figure bendingover a work table. He stood very still for a few minutes, wonderingwhat could keep Linda awake so far into the night, and while histhoughts were upon her he wondered, too, why she did not care tohave beautiful clothes such as Eileen wore; and then he went furtherand wondered why, when she could be as entertaining as she had beenthe night she joined them at dinner, she did not make her appearanceoftener; and then, because the mind is a queer thing, and he hadwondered about a given state of affairs, he went a step further, andwondered whether the explanation lay in Linda’s inclinations or inEileen’s management, and then his thought fastened tenaciously upon thesubject of Eileen’s management.

He was a patient man. He had allowed his reason and better judgmentto be swayed by Eileen’s exquisite beauty and her blandishments. Hedid not regret having discovered before it was too late that MarianThorne was not the girl he had thought her. He wanted a wife cut afterthe clinging-vine pattern. He wanted to be the dominating figure inhis home. It had not taken Eileen long to teach him that Marian wasself-assertive and would do a large share of dominating herself. He hadthought that he was perfectly satisfied and very happy with Eileen; yetthat day he repeatedly had felt piqued and annoyed with her. She hadopenly cajoled and flirted with Henry Anderson past a point which wasagreeable for any man to see his sweetheart go with another man. WithPeter Morrison she had been unspeakably charming in a manner with whichJohn was very familiar.

He turned up his coat collar, thrust his hands in his pockets, andswore softly. Looking straight ahead of him, he should have seen astretch of level sidewalk, bordered on one hand by lacy, tropicalfoliage, on the other, by sheets of level green lawn, broken everywhereby the uprising boles of great trees, clumps of rare vines, and rowsof darkened homes, attractive in architectural design, vine covered,hushed for the night. What he really saw was a small plateau, sunillumined, at the foot of a mountain across the valley, where the lilacwall was the bluest, where the sun shone slightly more golden thananywhere else in the valley, where huge live oaks outstretched ruggedarms, where the air had a tang of salt, a tinge of sage, an odour oforange, shot through with snowy coolness, thrilled with bird song, andthe laughing chuckle of a big spring breaking from the foot of themountain. They had left the road and followed a narrow, screened pathby which they came unexpectedly into this opening. They had stood uponit in wordless enchantment, looking down the slope beneath it, acrossthe peace of the valley, to the blue ranges beyond.

“Just where are we?” Peter Morrison had asked at last.

John Gilman had been looking at a view which included Eileen. Shelifted her face, flushed and exquisite, to Peter Morrison and answeredin a breathless undertone, yet John had distinctly heard her:

“How wonderful it would be if we were at yourhouse. Oh, I envythe woman who shares this with you!”

It had not been anything in particular, yet all day it had teased JohnGilman’s sensibilities. He felt ashamed of himself for not being moreenthusiastic as he searched records and helped to locate the owner ofthat particular spot. To John, there was a new tone in Peter’s voice,a possessive light in his eyes as he studied the location, and madeexcursions in several directions, to fix in his mind the exact positionof the land.

He had indicated what he considered the topographical location for ahouse—stood on it facing the valley, and stepped the distance suitablyfar away to set a garage and figured on a short private road down tothe highway. He very plainly was deeply prepossessed with a locationJohn Gilman blamed himself for not having found first. Certainly naturehad here grown and walled a dream garden in which to set a house ofdreams. So, past midnight, Gilman stood in the sunshine, looking atthe face of the girl he had asked to marry him and who had said thatshe would; and a small doubt crept into his heart, and a feeling thatperhaps life might be different for him if Peter Morrison decided tocome to Lilac Valley to build his home. Then the sunlight faded, nightclosed in, but as he went his homeward way John Gilman was thinking,thinking deeply and not at all happily.

CHAPTER VIII

Linda was chanting happily as she entered the kitchen early Saturdaymorning.

“Katy, me blessing,” she said gaily, “did I ever point out to you theinteresting fact that I was born on Saturday? And a de’ilish piece ofluck it was, for I have been hustling ever since. It’s bad enough tohave been born on Monday and spoiled wash day, but I call Saturday thevanishing point, the end of the extreme limit.”

Katy laughed, and, as always, turned adoring eyes on Linda.

“I am not needing ye, lambie,” she said. “Is it big business in thecanyon ye’re having to-day? Shall I be ready to be cooking up one ofthem God-forsaken Red Indian messes for ye when ye come back?”

Linda held up a warning finger.

“Hist, Katy,” she said. “That is a dark secret. Don’t you be forgettingyourself and saying anything like that before anyone, or I would beruined entirely.”

“Well, I did think when ye began it,” said Katy, “that of all the wildfoolishness ye and your pa had ever gone through with, that was theworst, but that last mess ye worked out was so tasty to the tongue thatI thought of it a lot, and I’m kind o’ hankering for more.”

Linda caught Katy and swung her around the kitchen in a wild war dance.Her gayest laugh bubbled clear from the joy peak of her soul.

“Katy,” she said, “if you had lain awake all night trying to saysomething that would particularly please me, you couldn’t have donebetter. That was a quaint little phrase and a true little phrase, and Iknow a little spot that it will fit exactly. What am I doing the day?Well, several things, Katy. First, anything you need about the house.Next, I am going to empty the billiard room and sell some of the excessfurniture of the library, and with the returns I am going to buy me arug and a table and some tools to work with, so I won’t have to clutterup my bedroom with my lessons and things I bring in that I want tosave. And then I am going to sell the technical stuff from the libraryand use that money where it will be of greatest advantage to me. Andthen, Katy, I am going to manicure the Bear-cat and I am going to driveit again.”

Linda hesitated. Katy stood very still, thinking intently, but finallyshe said: “That’s all right; ye have got good common sense; your nervesare steady; your pa drilled ye fine. Many’s the time he has braggedto me behind your back what a fine little driver he was making of ye.I don’t know a girl of your age anywhere that has less enjoyment thanye. If it would be giving ye any happiness to be driving that car, yejust go ahead and drive it, lambie, but ye promise me here and now thatye will be mortal careful. In all my days I don’t think I have seen ameaner looking little baste of a car.”

“Of course I’ll be careful, Katy,” said Linda. “That car was not boughtfor its beauty. Its primal object in this world was to arrive. Gee,how we shot curves, and coasted down the canyons, and gassed up on thelevel when some poor soul went batty from nerve strain! The truth is,Katy, that you can’t drive very slowly. You have got to go the speedfor which it was built. But I have had my training. I won’t forget. Iadore that car, Katy, and I don’t know how I have ever kept my fingersoff it this long. To-day it gets a bath and a facial treatment, andwhen I have thought up some way to meet my big problem, you’re going tohave a ride, Katy, that will quite uplift your soul. We’ll go scootingthrough the canyons, and whizzing around the mountains, and roaringalong the beach, as slick as a white sea swallow.”

“Now, easy, lambie, easy,” said Katy. “Ye’re planning to speed thatthing before ye’ve got it off the jacks.”

“No, that was mere talk,” said Linda. “But, Katy, this is my great day.I feel in my bones that I shall have enough money by night to get mesome new tires, which I must have before I can start out in safety.”

“Of course ye must, honey. I would just be tickled to pieces to let yehave what ye need.”

Linda slid her hand across Katy’s lips and gathered her close in herarms.

“You blessed old darling,” she said. “Of course you would, but I don’tneed it, Katy. I can sit on the floor to work, if I must, and insteadof taking the money from the billiard table to buy a work table, Ican buy tires with that. But here’s another thing I want to tell you,Katy. This afternoon a male biped is coming to this house, and he’s notcoming to see Eileen. His name is Donald Whiting, and when he tellsyou it is, and stands very straight and takes off his hat, and looksyou in the eye and says, ‘Calling on Miss Linda Strong,’ walk him intothe living room, Katy, and seat him in the best chair and put a bookbeside him and the morning paper; and don’t you forget to do it with aflourish. He is nothing but a high-school kid, but he’s the first boythat ever in all my days asked to come to see me so it’s a big event;and I wish to my soul I had something decent to wear.”

“Well, with all the clothes in this house,” said Katy; and then shestopped and shut her lips tight and looked at Linda with belligerentIrish eyes.

“I know it,” nodded Linda in acquiescence; “I know what you think; butnever mind. Eileen has agreed to make me a fair allowance the first ofthe month, and if that isn’t sufficient, I may possibly figure up someway to do some extra work that will bring me a few honest pennies, soI can fuss up enough to look feminine at times, Katy. In the meantime,farewell, oh, my belovedest. Call me at half-past eight, so I will beready for business at nine.”

Then Linda went to the garage and began operations. She turned thehose on the car and washed the dust from it carefully. Then she driedit with the chamois skins as she often had done before. She carefullyexamined the cushioning, and finding it dry and hard, she gave it abath of olive oil and wiped and manipulated it. She cleaned the enginewith extreme care. At one minute she was running to Katy for keroseneto pour through the engine to loosen the carbon. At another she wastelephoning for the delivery of oil, gasoline, and batteries for whichshe had no money to pay, so she charged them to Eileen, ordering thebill to be sent on the first of the month. It seemed to her that shehad only a good start when Katy came after her.

The business of appraising the furniture was short, and Linda was wellsatisfied with the price she was offered for it. After the man hadgone she showed Katy the pieces she had marked to dispose of, and toldher when they would be called for. She ate a few bites of lunch whilewaiting for the book man, and the results of her business with himquite delighted Linda. She had not known that the value of books hadrisen with the price of everything else. The man with whom she dealthad known her father. He had appreciated the strain in her nature whichmade her suggest that he should number and appraise the books, but shemust be allowed time to go through each volume in order to remove anyscraps of paper or memoranda which her father so frequently left inbooks to which he was referring. He had figured carefully and he hadmade Linda a far higher price than could have been secured by a man. Asthe girl went back to her absorbing task in the garage, she could seeher way clear to the comforts and conveniences and the material thatshe needed for her work. When she reached the car she patted it as ifit had been a living creature.

“Cheer up, nice old thing,” she said gaily. “I know how to get newtires for you, and you shall drink all the gasoline and oil your tummycan hold. Now let me see. What must I do next? I must get you off yourjacks; and oh, my gracious! there are the grease cups, and that’s anasty job, but it must be done; and what is the use of Saturday if Ican’t do it? Daddy often did.”

Linda began work in utter absorption. She succeeded in getting the caroff the jacks. She was lying on her back under it, filling some of themost inaccessible grease cups, and she was softly singing as she worked:

“The shoes I wear are common-sense shoes——”

At that minute Donald Whiting swung down the street, turned in at theStrong residence, and rang the bell. Eileen was coming down the stairs,dressed for the street. She had inquired for Linda, and Katy had toldher that she thought Miss Linda had decided to begin using her car, andthat she was in the garage working on it. To Eileen’s credit it may besaid that she had not been told that a caller was expected. Linda neverbefore had had a caller and, as always, Eileen was absorbed in her ownconcerns. Had she got the rouge a trifle brighter on one cheek thanon the other? Was the powder evenly distributed? Would the veil holdthe handmade curls in exactly the proper place? When the bell rang herone thought might have been that some of her friends were calling forher. She opened the door, and when she learned that Linda was beingasked for, it is possible that she mistook the clean, interesting, andwell-dressed youngster standing before her for a mechanician. What shesaid was: “Linda’s working on her car. Go around to the left and youwill find her in the garage, and for heaven’s sake, get it right beforeyou let her start out, for we’ve had enough horror in this family frommotor accidents.”

Then she closed the door before him and stood buttoning her gloves; awicked and malicious smile spreading over her face.

“Just possibly,” she said, “that youngster is from a garage, but if heis, he’s the best imitation of the real thing that I have seen in thesechaotic days.”

Donald Whiting stopped at the garage door and looked in, before Lindahad finished her grease cups, and in time to be informed that he mightwear common-sense shoes if he chose. At his step, Linda rolled herblack head on the cement floor and raised her eyes. She dropped thegrease cup, and her face reddened deeply.

“Oh, my Lord!” she gasped breathlessly. “I forgot to tell Katy when tocall me!”

In that instant she also forgot that the stress of the previous fouryears had accustomed men to seeing women do any kind of work in anykind of costume; but soon Linda realized that Donald Whiting was notpaying any particular attention either to her or to her occupation. Hewas leaning forward, gazing at the car with positively an enrapturedexpression on his eager young face.

“Shades of Jehu!” he cried. “It’s a Bear-cat!”

Linda felt around her head for the grease cup.

“Why, sure it’s a Bear-cat,” she said with the calmness of completerecovery. “And it’s just about ready to start for its very own cave inthe canyon.”

Donald Whiting pitched his hat upon the seat, shook off his coat, andsent it flying after the hat. Then he began unbuttoning and turningback his sleeves.

“Here, let me do that,” he said authoritatively. “Gee! I have never yetridden in a Bear-cat. Take me with you, will you, Linda?”

“Sure,” said Linda, pressing the grease into the cup with a littlepaddle and holding it up to see if she had it well filled. “Sure, butthere’s no use in you getting into this mess, because I have only gottwo more. You look over the engine. Did you ever grind valves, and doyou think these need it?”

“Why, they don’t need it,” said Donald, “if they were all right when itwas jacked up.”

“Well, they were,” said Linda. “It was running like a watch when itwent to sleep. But do we dare take it out on these tires?”

“How long has it been?” asked Donald, busy at the engine.

“All of four years,” answered Linda.

Donald whistled softly and started a circuit of the car, kicking thetires and feeling them.

“Have you filled them?” he asked.

“No,” said Linda. “I did not want to start the engine until I hadfinished everything else.”

“All right,” he said, “I’ll look at the valves first and then, ifit is all ready, there ought to be a garage near that we can run tocarefully, and get tuned up.”

“There is,” said Linda. “There is one only a few blocks down the streetwhere Dad always had anything done that he did not want to do himself.”

“That’s that, then,” said Donald.

Linda crawled from under the car and stood up, wiping her hands on abit of waste.

“Do you know what tires cost now?” she asked anxiously.

“They have ’em at the garage,” answered Donald, “and if I were you,I wouldn’t get a set; I would get two. I would put them on the rearwheels. You might be surprised at how long some of these will last.Anyway, that would be the thing to do.”

“Of course,” said Linda, in a relieved tone. “That wouldbe thething to do.”

“Now,” she said, “I must be excused a few minutes till I clean up so Iam fit to go on the streets. I hope you won’t think I forgot you werecoming.”

Donald laughed drily.

“When ‘shoes’ was the first word I heard,” he said, “I did not for aminute think you had forgotten.”

“No, I didn’t forget,” said Linda. “What I did do was to become soexcited about cleaning up the car that I let time go faster than Ithought it could. That was what made me late.”

“Well, forget it!” said Donald. “Run along and jump into something, andlet us get our tires and try Kitty out.”

Linda reached up and released the brakes. She stepped to one side ofthe car and laid her hands on it.

“Let us run it down opposite the kitchen door,” she said, “then you goaround to the front, and I’ll let you in, and you can read something afew minutes till I make myself presentable.”

“Oh, I’ll stay out here and look around the yard and go over the caragain,” said the boy. “What a bunch of stuff you have got growing here;I don’t believe I ever saw half of it before.”

“It’s Daddy’s and my collection,” said Linda. “Some day I’ll show yousome of the things, and tell you how we got them, and why they arerare. To-day I just naturally can’t wait a minute until I try my car.”

“Is it really yours?” asked Donald enviously.

“Yes,” said Linda. “It’s about the only thing on earth that ispeculiarly and particularly mine. I haven’t a doubt there are improvedmodels, but Daddy had driven this car only about nine months. It wasgoing smooth as velvet, and there’s no reason why it should not keepit up, though I suspect that by this time there are later models thatcould outrun it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the boy. “It looks like some little old car tome. I bet it can just skate.”

“I know it can,” said Linda, “if I haven’t neglected something. We’llstart carefully, and we’ll have the inspector at the salesrooms look itover.”

Then Linda entered the kitchen door to find Katy with everything ediblethat the house afforded spread before her on the table.

“Why, Katy, what are you doing?” she asked.

“I was makin’ ready,” explained Katy, “to fix ye the same kind of lunchI would for Miss Eileen. Will ye have it under the live oak, or in theliving room?”

“Neither,” said Linda. “Come upstairs with me, and in the storeroomyou’ll find the lunch case and the thermos bottles; and don’t stintyourself, Katy. This is a rare occasion. It never happened before.Probably it will never happen again. Let’s make it high altitude whilewe are at it.”

“I’ll do my very best with what I happen to have,” said Katy; “but Iwarn you right now I am making a good big hole in the Sunday dinner.”

“I don’t give two whoops,” said Linda, “if there isn’t any Sundaydinner. In memory of hundreds of times that we have eaten bread andmilk, make it a banquet, Katy, and we’ll eat bread and milk to-morrow.”

Then she took the stairway at a bound, and ran to her room. In a veryshort time she emerged, clad in a clean blouse and breeches’ herclimbing boots, her black hair freshly brushed and braided.

“I ought to have something,” said Linda, “to shade my eyes. The glare’shard on them facing the sun.”

Going down the hall she came to the storeroom, opened a drawer, andpicked out a fine black felt Alpine hat that had belonged to herfather. She carried it back to her room and, standing at the glass,tried it on, pulling it down on one side, turning it up at the other,and striking a deep cleft across the crown. She looked at herselfintently for a minute, and then she reached up and deliberatelyloosened the hair at her temples.

“Not half bad, all things considered, Linda,” she said. “But, oh, howyou do need a tich of colour.”

She ran down the hall and opened the door to Eileen’s room, and goingto her chiffonier, pulled out a drawer containing an array of gloves,veils, and ribbons. At the bottom of the ribbon stack, her eye caughtthe gleam of colour for which she was searching, and she deftly slippedout a narrow scarf of Roman stripes with a deep black fringe at theend. Sitting down, she fitted the hat over her knee, picked up thedressing-table scissors, and ripped off the band. In its place shefitted the ribbon, pinning it securely and knotting the ends so thatthe fringe reached her shoulder. Then she tried the hat again. Theresult was blissfully satisfactory. The flash of orange, the blaze ofred, the gleam of green, were what she needed.

“Thank you very much, sister mine,” she said, “I know you would beperfectly delighted to loan me this.”

CHAPTER IX

Then she went downstairs and walked into the kitchen, prepared for whatshe would see, by what she heard as she approached.

With Katy’s apron tied around his waist, Donald Whiting was occupied insqueezing orange, lemon, and pineapple juice over a cake of ice in abig bowl, preparatory to the compounding of Katy’s most delicious brandof fruit punch. Without a word, Linda stepped to the bread board andbegan slicing the bread and building sandwiches, while Katy hurried herpreparations for filling the lunch box. A few minutes later Katy packedthem in the car, kissed Linda good-bye, and repeatedly cautioned Donaldto make her be careful.

As the car rolled down the driveway and into the street, Donald lookedappraisingly at the girl beside him.

“Is it the prevailing custom in Lilac Valley for young ladies to kissthe cook?” inquired Donald laughingly.

“Now, you just hush,” said Linda. “Katy is notthe cook, alone.Katy’s my father, and my mother, and my family, and my best friend——”

“Stop right there,” interposed Donald. “That is quite enough for anyhuman to be. Katy’s a multitude. She came out to the car with thecanteen, and when I offered to help her, without any ‘polly foxin’,’she just said: ‘Sure. Come in and make yourself useful.’ So I went, andI am expecting amazing results from the job she gave me.”

“Come to think of it,” said Linda, “I have small experience withanybody’s cooking except Katy’s and my own, but so far as I know, shecan’t very well be beaten.”

Carefully she headed the car into the garage adjoining the salesrooms.There she had an ovation. The manager and several of the men rememberedher. The whole force clustered around the Bear-cat and began to examineit, and comment on it, and Linda climbed out and asked to have thecarburetor adjusted, while the mechanician put on a pair of tires. Wheneverything was satisfactory, she backed to the street, and after a fewblocks of experimental driving, she headed for the Automobile Club toarrange for her license and then turned straight toward MultifloresCanyon, but she did not fail to call Donald Whiting’s attention toevery beauty of Lilac Valley as they passed through. When they hadreached a long level stretch of roadway leading to the canyon, Lindaglanced obliquely at the boy beside her.

“It all comes back as natural as breathing,” she said. “I couldn’tforget it any more than I could forget how to walk, or to swim. Sittight. I am going to step on the gas for a bit, just for old sake’ssake.”

“That’s all right,” said Donald, taking off his hat and giving his heada toss so that the wind might have full play through his hair. “Butremember our tires are not safe. Better not go the limit until we getrid of these old ones, and have a new set all around.”

Linda settled back in her seat, took a firm grip on the wheel, andstarted down the broad, smooth highway, gradually increasing the speed.The colour rushed to her cheeks. Her eyes were gleaming.

“Listen to it purr!” she cried to Donald. “If you hear it begin togrowl, tell me.”

And then for a few minutes they rode like birds on the path of thewind. When they approached the entrance to the canyon, gradually Lindaslowed down. She turned an exultant flashing face to Donald Whiting.

“That was a whizzer,” said the boy. “I’ll tell you I don’t know whatI’d give to have a car like this for my very own. I’ll bet not anothergirl in Los Angeles has a car that can go like that.”

“And I don’t believe I have any business with it,” said Linda; “butsince circumstances make it mine, I am going to keep it and I am goingto drive it.”

“Of course you are,” said Donald emphatically. “Don’t you ever letanybody fool you out of this car, because if they wanted to, it wouldbe just because they are jealous to think they haven’t one that will goas fast.”

“There’s not the slightest possibility of my giving it up so long as Ican make the engine turn over,” she said. “I told you how Father alwaystook me around with him, and there’s nothing in this world I am so sureof as I am sure that I am spoiled for a house cat. I have probablyless feminine sophistication than any girl of my age in the world, andI probably know more about camping and fishing and the scientific whyand wherefore of all outdoors than most of them. I just naturally hadsuch a heavenly time with Daddy that it never has hurt my feelings tobe left out of any dance or party that ever was given. The one thingthat has hurt is the isolation. Since I lost Daddy I haven’t any onebut Katy. Sometimes, when I see a couple of nice, interesting girlsvisiting with their heads together, a great feeling of envy wells up inmy soul, and I wish with all my heart that I had such a friend.”

“Ever try to make one?” asked Donald. “There are mighty fine girls inthe High School.”

“I have seen several that I thought I would like to be friends with,”said Linda, “but I am so lacking in feminine graces that I haven’tknown how to make advances, in the first place, and I haven’t had thecourage, in the second.”

“I wish my sister were not so much older than you,” said Donald.

“How old is your sister?” inquired Linda.

“She will be twenty-three next birthday,” said Donald; “and of all thenice girls you ever saw, she is the queen.”

“Yes,” she assented, “I am sure I have heard your sister mentioned. Butdidn’t you tell me she had been reared for society?”

“No, I did not,” said Donald emphatically. “I told you Mother believedin dressing her as the majority of other girls were dressed, but Ididn’t say she had been reared for society. She has been reared with aneye single to making a well-dressed, cultured, and gracious woman.”

“I call that fine,” said Linda. “Makes me envious of you. Now forgeteverything except your eyes and tell me what you see. Have you everbeen here before?”

“I have been through a few times before, but seems to me I never saw itlooking quite so pretty.”

Linda drove carefully, but presently Donald uttered an exclamation asshe swerved from the road and started down what appeared to be quite asteep embankment and headed straight for the stream.

“Sit tight,” she said tersely. “The Bear-cat just loves its cave. Itknows where it is going.”

She broke through a group of young willows and ran the car into a tinyplateau, walled in a circle by the sheer sides of the canyon reachingupward almost out of sight, topped with great jagged overhangingboulders. Crowded to one side, she stopped the car and sat quietly,smiling at Donald Whiting.

“How about it?” she asked in a low voice.

The boy looked around him, carefully examining the canyon walls, andthen at the level, odorous floor where one could not step withoutcrushing tiny flowers of white, cerise, blue, and yellow. Big fernsgrew along the walls, here and there “Our Lord’s Candles” lifted hightorches not yet lighted, the ambitious mountain stream skipped andcircled and fell over its rocky bed, while many canyon wrens weresinging.

“Do you think,” she said, “that anyone driving along here at anordinary rate of speed would see that car?”

“No,” said Donald, getting her idea, “I don’t believe they would.”

“All right, then,” said Linda. “Toe up even and I’ll race YoU to thethird curve where you see the big white sycamore.”

Donald had a fleeting impression of a flash of khaki, a gleam of red,and a wave of black as they started. He ran with all the speed he hadever attained at a track meet. He ran with all his might. He ran untilhis sides strained and his breath came short; but the creature besidehim was not running; she was flying; and long before they neared thesycamore he knew he was beaten, so he laughingly cried to her to stopit. Linda turned to him panting and laughing.

“I make that dash every time I come to the canyon, to keep my muscleup, but this is the first time I have had anyone to race with in a longtime.”

Then together they slowly walked down the smooth black floor betweenthe canyon walls. As they crossed a small bridge Linda leaned over andlooked down.

“Anyone at your house care about ‘nose twister’?” she asked lightly.

“Why, isn’t that watercress?” asked Donald.

“Sure it is,” said Linda. “Anyone at your house like it?”

“Every one of us,” answered Donald. “We’re all batty about cresssalad—and, say, that reminds me of something! If you know so much aboutthis canyon and everything in it, is there any place in it where afellow could find a plant, a kind of salad lettuce, that the Indiansused to use?”

“Might be,” said Linda carelessly. “For why?”

“Haven’t you heard of the big sensation that is being made in femininecircles by the new department in Everybody’s Home?” inquiredDonald. “Mother and Mary Louise were discussing it the other day atlunch, and they said that some of the recipes for dishes to be madefrom stuff the Indians used sounded delicious. One reminded them ofcress, and when we saw the cress I wondered if I could get them some ofthe other.”

“Might,” said Linda drily, “if you could give me a pretty good idea ofwhat it is that you want.”

“When you know cress, it’s queer that you wouldn’t know other things inyour own particular canyon,” said Donald.

Linda realized that she had overdone her disinterestedness a trifle.

“I suspect it’s miners’ lettuce you want,” she said. “Of course I knowwhere there’s some, but you will want it as fresh as possible if youtake any, so we’ll finish our day first and gather it the last thingbefore we leave.”

How it started neither of them noticed, but they had not gone farbefore they were climbing the walls and hanging to precarious footings.Her cheeks flushed, her eyes brilliant, her lips laughing, Linda wasshowing Donald thrifty specimens of that Cotyledon known as “old henand chickens,” telling him of the rare Echeveria of the same family,and her plunge down the canyon side while trying to uproot it, exultingthat she had brought down the plant without a rift in the exquisitebloom on its leaves.

Linda told about her fall, and the two men who had passed at thatinstant, and how she had met them later, and who they were, and whatthey were doing. Then Donald climbed high for a bunch of larkspur, andLinda showed him how to turn his back to the canyon wall and come downwith the least possible damage to his person and clothing. When at lastboth of them were tired they went back to the car. Linda spread anold Indian blanket over the least flower-grown spot she could select,brought out the thermos bottles and lunch case, and served their lunch.With a glass of fruit punch in one hand and a lettuce sandwich in theother, Donald smiled at Linda.

“I’ll agree about Katy. She knows how,” he said appreciatively.

“Katy is more than a cook,” said Linda quietly. “She is a human being.She has the biggest, kindest heart. When anybody’s sick or in troubleshe’s the greatest help. She is honest; she has principles; she isintelligent. In her spare time she reads good books and magazines. Sheknows what is going on in the world. She can talk intelligently onalmost any subject. It’s no disgrace to be a cook. If it were, Katywould be unspeakable. Fact is, at the present minute there’s no one inall the world so dear to me as Katy. I always talk Irish with her.”

“Well, I call that rough on your sister,” said Donald.

“Maybe it is,” conceded Linda. “I suspect a lady wouldn’t have saidthat, but Eileen and I are so different. She never has made theslightest effort to prove herself lovable to me, and so I have neverlearned to love her. Which reminds me—how did you happen to come to thegarage?”

“The very beautiful young lady who opened the door mistook me for amechanician. She told me I would find you working on your car and forgoodness’ sake to see that it was in proper condition before you droveit.”

Linda looked at him with wide, surprised eyes in which a trace ofindignation was plainly discernible.

“Now listen to me,” she said deliberately. “Eileen is a mostsophisticated young lady. If she saw you, she never in this world,thought you were a mechanic sent from a garage presenting yourself atour front door.”

“There might have been a spark of malice in the big blue-gray I eyesthat carefully appraised me,” said Donald.

“Your choice of words is good,” said Linda, refilling the punch glass.“‘Appraise’ fits Eileen like her glove. She appraises every thing on amonetary basis, and when she can’t figure that it’s going to be worthan appreciable number of dollars and cents to her—‘to the garage widit,’ as Katy would say.”

When they had finished their lunch Linda began packing the box andDonald sat watching her.

“At this point,” said Linda, “Daddy always smoked. Do you smoke?”

There was a hint of deeper colour in the boy’s cheeks.

“I did smoke an occasional cigarette,” he said lightly, “up to the day,not a thousand years ago, when a very emphatic young lady who shouldhave known, insinuated that it was bad for the nerves, and going onthe presumption that she knew, I haven’t smoked a cigarette since andI’m not going to until I find out whether I can do better work withoutthem.”

Linda folded napkins and packed away accessories thoughtfully. Then shelooked into the boy’s eyes.

“Now we reach the point of our being here together,” she said. “It’stime to fight, and I am sorry we didn’t go at it gas and bomb theminute we met. You’re so different from what I thought you were. Ifanyone had told me a week ago that you would take off your coat andmess with my automobile engine, or wear Katy’s apron and squeeze lemonsin our kitchen I would have looked him over for Daddy’s high sign ofhysteria, at least. It’s too bad to I have such a good time as I havehad this afternoon, and then end with a fight.”

“That’s nothing,” said Donald. “You couldn’t have had as good a time asI have had. You’re like another boy. A fellow can be just a fellow withyou, and somehow you make everything you touch mean something it nevermeant before. You have made me feel that I would be about twice the manI am if I had spent the time I have wasted in plain jazzing around,hunting Cotyledon or trap-door spiders’ nests.”

“I get you,” said Linda. “It’s the difference between a girl reared inan atmosphere of georgette and rouge, and one who has grown up in thecanyons with the oaks and sycamores. One is natural and the other isartificial. Most boys prefer the artificial.”

“I thought I did myself,” said Donald, “but to-day has taught me that Idon’t. I think, Linda, that you would make the finest friend a fellowever had. I firmly and finally decline to fight with you; but for God’ssake, Linda, tell me how I can beat that little cocoanut-headed Jap.”

Linda slammed down the lid to the lunch box. Her voice was smooth andeven but there was battle in her eyes and she answered decisively:“Well, you can’t beat him calling him names. There is only one way onGod’s footstool that you can beat him. You can’t beat him legislatingagainst him. You can’t beat him boycotting him. You can’t beat him withany tricks. He is as sly as a cat and he has got a whole bag full oftricks of his own, and he has proved right here in Los Angeles thathe has got a brain that is hard to beat. All you can do, and be a mancommendable to your own soul, is to take his subject and put your brainon it to such purpose that you cut pigeon wings around him. What areyou studying in your classes, anyway?”

“Trigonometry, Rhetoric, Ancient History, Astronomy,” answered Donald.

“And is your course the same as his?” inquired Linda.

“Strangely enough it is,” answered Donald. “We have been in the sameclasses all through high school. I think the little monkey——”

“Man, you mean,” interposed Linda.

“‘Man,’” conceded Donald. “Has waited until I selected my course allthe way through, and then he has announced what he would take. Heprobably figured that I had somebody with brains back of the course Iselected, and that whatever I studied would be suitable for him.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” said Linda. “They are quick; oh! they arequick; and they know from their cradles what it is that they have inthe backs of their heads. We are not going to beat them driving them toMexico or to Canada, or letting them monopolize China. That is merelytemporizing. That is giving them fertile soil on which to take the bestof their own and the level best of ours, and by amalgamating the two,build higher than we ever have. There is just one way in all this worldthat we can beat Eastern civilization and all that it intends to do tous eventually. The white man has dominated by his colour so far in thehistory of the world, but it is written in the Books that when the menof colour acquire our culture and combine it with their own methods ofliving and rate of production, they are going to bring forth greaternumbers, better equipped for the battle of life, than we are. When theyhave got our last secret, constructive or scientific, they will takeit, and living in a way that we would not, reproducing in numbers wedon’t, they will beat us at any game we start, if we don’t take warningwhile we are in the ascendancy, and keep there.”

“Well, there is something to think about,” said Donald Whiting, staringpast Linda at the side of the canyon as if he had seen the samehandwriting on the wall that dismayed Belshazzar at the feast thatpreceded his downfall.

“I see what you’re getting at,” he said. “I had thought that theremight be some way to circumvent him.”

“There is!” broke in Linda hastily. “There is. You can beat him, butyou have got to beat him in an honourable way and in a way that is opento him as it is to you.”

“I’ll do anything in the world if you will only tell me how,” saidDonald. “Maybe you think it isn’t grinding me and humiliating meproperly. Maybe you think Father and Mother haven’t warned me. Maybeyou think Mary Louise isn’t secretly ashamed of me. How can I beat him,Linda?”

Linda’s eyes were narrowed to a mere line. She was staring at the wallback of Donald as if she hoped that Heaven would intercede in herfavour and write thereon a line that she might translate to the boy’sbenefit.

“I have been watching pretty sharply,” she said. “Take them as a race,as a unit—of course there are exceptions, there always are—but thegreat body of them are mechanical. They are imitative. They are notdeveloping anything great of their own in their own country. Theyare spreading all over the world and carrying home sewing machinesand threshing machines and automobiles and cantilever bridges andsubmarines and aeroplanes—anything from eggbeaters to telescopes. Theyare not creating one single thing. They are not missing imitatingeverything that the white man can do anywhere else on earth. They arejust like the Germans so far as that is concerned.”

“I get that, all right enough,” said Donald. “Now go on. What is yourdeduction? How the devil am I to beat the best? He is perfect, rightstraight along in everything.”

The red in Linda’s cheeks deepened. Her eyes opened their widest. Sheleaned forward, and with her closed fist, pounded the blanket beforehim.

“Then, by gracious,” she said sternly, “you have got to do somethingnew. You have got to be perfect, plus.”

“‘Perfect, plus?’” gasped Donald.

“Yes, sir!” said Linda emphatically. “You have got to be perfect, plus.If he can take his little mechanical brain and work a thing out till hehas got it absolutely right, you have got to go further than that anddiscover something pertaining to it not hitherto thought of and startsomething new. I tell you you must use your brains. You shouldbe more than an imitator. You must be a creator!”

Donald started up and drew a deep breath.

“Well, some job I call that,” he said. “Who do you think I am, theAlmighty?”

“No,” said Linda quietly, “you are not. You are merely His son, createdin His own image, like Him, according to the Book, and you have gotto your advantage the benefit of all that has been learned down theages. We have got to take up each subject in your course, and to findsome different books treating this same subject. We have got to getat it from a new angle. We must dig into higher authorities. We havegot to coach you till, when you reach the highest note possible forthe parrot, you can go ahead and embellish it with a few mocking-birdflourishes. All Oka Sayye knows how to do is to learn the lesson inhis book perfectly, and he is 100 per cent. I have told you what youmust do to add the plus, and you can do it if you are the boy I takeyou for. People have talked about the ‘yellow peril’ till it’s got tobe a meaningless phrase. Somebody must wake up to the realization thatit’s the deadliest peril that ever has menaced white civilization. Whyshouldn’t you have your hand in such wonderful work?”

“Linda,” said the boy breathlessly, “do you realize that you have beensaying ‘we’? Can you help me? Will you help me?”

“No,” said Linda, “I didn’t realize that I had said ‘we.’ I didn’t meantwo people, just you and me. I meant all the white boys and girls ofthe High School and the city and the state and the whole world. If weare going to combat the ‘yellow peril’ we must combine against it. Wehave got to curb our appetites and train our brains and enlarge ourhearts till we are something bigger and finer and numerically greaterthan this yellow peril. We can’t take it and pick it up and push itinto the sea. We are not Germans and we are not Turks. I never wantedanything in all this world worse than I want to see you graduate aheadof Oka Sayye. And then I want to see the white boys and girls of Canadaand of England and of Norway and Sweden and Australia, and of the wholeworld doing exactly what I am recommending that you do in your classand what I am doing personally in my own. I have had Japs in my classesever since I have been in school, but Father always told me to studythem, to play the game fairly, but to beatthem in some way, insome fair way, to beat them at the game they are undertaking.”

“Well, there is one thing you don’t take into consideration,” saidDonald. “All of us did not happen to be fathered by Alexander Strong.Maybe we haven’t all got your brains.”

“Oh, pother!” said Linda. “I know of a case where a little Indian waspicked up from a tribal battlefield in South America and brought tothis country and put into our schools, and there was nothing that anywhite pupil in the school could do that he couldn’t, so long as it wasimitative work. You have got to be constructive. You have got to workout some way to get ahead of them; and if you will take the historyof the white races and go over their great achievements in mechanics,science, art, literature—anything you choose—when a white man isconstructive, when he does create, he can simply cut circles aroundthe coloured races. The thing is to get the boys and girls of to-dayto understand what is going on in the world, what they must do astheir share in making the world safe for their grandchildren. Life isa struggle. It always has been. It always will be. There is no betterstudy than to go into the canyons or the deserts and efface yourselfand watch life. It’s an all-day process of the stronger annihilatingthe weaker. The one inexorable thing in the world is Nature. The eagledominates the hawk; the hawk, the falcon; the falcon, the raven; and soon down to the place where the humming bird drives the moth from hisparticular trumpet flower. The big snake swallows the little one. Thebig bear appropriates the desirable cave.”

“And is that what you are recommending people to do?”

“No,” said Linda, “it is not. That is wild. We go a step ahead of thewild, or we ourselves become wild. We have brains, and with our brainswe must do in a scientific way what Nature does with tooth and claw.In other words, and to be concrete, put these things in the car whileI fold the blanket. We’ll gather our miners’ lettuce and then we’ll gohome and search Daddy’s library and see if there is anything bearing ina higher way on any subject you are taking, so that you can get fromit some new ideas, some different angle, some higher light, somethingthat will end in speedily prefacing Oka Sayye’s perfect with yourpluperfect!”

CHAPTER X

Linda delivered Donald Whiting at his door with an armload of booksand a bundle of miners’ lettuce and then drove to her home in LilacValley—in the eye of the beholder on the floor-level macadam road; inher own eye she scarcely grazed it. The smooth, easy motion of the car,the softly purring engine were thrilling. The speed at which she wasgoing was like having wings on her body. The mental stimulus she hadexperienced in concentrating her brain on Donald Whiting’s problem hadstimulated her imagination. The radiant colour of spring; the chilled,perfumed, golden air; the sure sense of having found a friend, hadruffled the plumes of her spirit. On the home road Donald had plainlyindicated that he would enjoy spending the morrow with her, and shehad advised him to take the books she had provided and lock himself inhis room and sweat out some information about Monday’s lessons whichwould at least arrest his professor’s attention, and lead his mindto the fact that something was beginning to happen. And then she hadlaughingly added: “To-morrow is Katy’s turn. I told the old dear Iwould take her as soon as I felt the car was safe. Every day she doesmany things that she hopes will give me pleasure. This is one thing Ican do that I know will delight her.”

“Next Saturday, then?” questioned Donald. And Linda nodded.

“Sure thing. I’ll be thinking up some place extra interesting. Come inthe morning if you want, and we’ll take a lunch and go for the day.Which do you like best, mountains or canyons or desert or sea?”

“I like it best wherever what you’re interested in takes you,” saidDonald simply.

“All right, then,” answered Linda, “we’ll combine business andpleasure.”

So they parted with another meeting arranged.

When she reached home she found Katy tearfully rejoicing, plainlyrevealing how intensely anxious she had been. But when Linda toldher that the old tires had held, that the car ran wonderfully, thateverything was perfectly safe, that she drove as unconsciously as shebreathed, and that to-morrow Katy was to go for a long ride, her joywas incoherent.

Linda laughed. She patted Katy and started down the hallway, when shecalled back: “What is this package?”

“A delivery boy left it special only a few minutes ago. Must besomething Miss Eileen bought and thought she would want to-morrow, andthen afterward she got this invitation and went on as she was.”

Linda stood gazing at the box. It did look so suspiciously like a dressbox.

“Katy,” she said, “I have just about got an irresistible impulse topeep. I was telling Eileen last night of a dress I saw that I thoughtperfect. It suited me better than any other dress I ever did see.It was at ‘The Mode.’ This box is from ‘The Mode.’ Could there be apossibility that she sent it up specially for me?”

“I think she would put your name on it if she meant it for ye,” saidKaty.

“One peep would show me whether it is my dress or not,” said Linda,“and peep I’m going to.”

She began untying the string.

“There’s one thing,” said Katy, “Miss Eileen’s sizes would never fitye.”

“Might,” conceded Linda. “I am taller than she is, but I could wearher waists if I wanted to, and she always alters her skirts herselfto save the fees. Glory be! This is my dress, and there’s a petticoatand stockings to match it. Why, the nice old thing! I suggested hardenough, but in my heart I hardly thought she would do it. Oh, dear, nowif I only had some shoes, and a hat.”

Linda was standing holding the jacket in one hand, the stockings in theother, her face flaming. Katy drew herself to full height. She reachedover and picked the things from Linda’s fingers.

“If ye know that is your dress, lambie,” she said authoritatively, “yego right out and get into that car and run to town and buy ye a pair ofshoes.”

“But I have no credit anywhere and I have no money, yet,” said Linda.

“Well, I have,” said Katy, “and this time ye’re going to stop yourstubbornness and take enough to get ye what you need. Ye go to the beststore in Los Angeles and come back here with a pair of shoes that justmatch those stockings, and ye go fast, before the stores close. Ifye’ve got to speed a little, do it in the country and do it judacious.”

“Katy, you’re arriving!” cried Linda. “‘Judicious speeding’ is onething I learned better than any other lesson about driving a motorcar. Three fourths of the driving Father and I did we were speedingjudiciously.”

Katy held the skirt to Linda’s waist.

“Well, maybe it’s a little shorter than any you have been wearing, butit ain’t as short as Eileen and all the rest of the girls your age havethem, so that’s all right, honey. Slip on your coat.”

Katy’s fingers were shaking as she lifted the jacket and Linda slippedinto it.

“Oh, Lord,” she groaned, “ye can’t be wearing that! The sleeves don’tcome much below your elbows.”

“You will please to observe,” said Linda, “that they are flowingsleeves and they are not intended to come below the elbows; but it’s apiece of luck I tried it on, for it reminds me that it’s a jacket suitand I must have a blouse. When you get the shoe money, make it enoughfor a blouse—two blouses, Katy, one for school and one to fuss up in alittle.”

Without stopping to change her clothing, Linda ran to the garage andhurried back to the city. It was less than an hour’s run, but she madeit in ample time to park her car and buy the shoes. She selected a pairof low oxfords of beautiful colour, matching the stockings. Then shehurried to one of the big dry-goods stores and bought the two waistsand an inexpensive straw hat that would harmonize with the suit; a hatsmall enough to stick, in the wind, with brim enough to shade her eyes.In about two hours she was back with Katy and they were in her roomtrying on the new clothing.

“It dumbfounds me,” said Linda, “to have Eileen do this for me.”

She had put on the shoes and stockings, a plain georgette blouse of asoft, brownish wood-gray, with a bit of heavy brown silk embroiderydecorating the front, and the jacket. The dress was of silky changeabletricolette, the skirt plain. Where a fold lifted and was stronglylighted, it was an exquisite silver-gray; where a shadow fell deeplyit was gray-brown. The coat reached half way to the knees. It had arippling skirt with a row of brown embroidery around it, a deep beltwith double buttoning at the waistline, and collar and sleeves in amore elaborate pattern of the same embroidery as the skirt. Lindaperched the hat on her head, pulled it down securely, and faced Katy.

“Now then!” she challenged.

“And it’s a perfect dress!” said Katy proudly, “and you’re just thecolleen to wear it. My, but I wisht your father could be seeing ye thenow.”

With almost reverent hands Linda removed the clothing and laid it away.Then she read a letter from Marian that was waiting for her, tellingKaty scraps of it in running comment as she scanned the sheets.

“She likes her boarding place. There are nice people in it. She has gota wonderful view from the windows of her room. She is making friends.She thinks one of the men at Nicholson and Snow’s is just fine; he ishelping her all he can, on the course she is taking. And she wants usto look carefully everywhere for any scrap of paper along the hedge oraround the shrubbery on the north side of the house. One of her threesheets of plans is missing. I don’t see where in the world it couldhave gone, Katy.”

Katy spread out her hands in despair.

“There was not a scrap of a sheet of paper in the room when I cleanedit,” she said, “not a scrap. And if I had seen a sheet flying aroundthe yard I would have picked it up. She just must be mistaken abouthaving lost it here. She must have opened her case on the train andlost it there.”

Linda shook her head.

“I put that stuff in the case myself,” she said, “and the clothes ontop of it, and she wouldn’t have any reason for taking those thingsout on the train. I can’t understand, but she did have three roughsketches. She had her heart set on winning that prize and it would bea great help to her, and certainly it was the most comprehensive andconvenient plan for a house of that class that I ever have seen. If Iever have a house, she is going to plan it, even if she doesn’t get toplan John Gilman’s as he always used to say that she should. And by theway, Katy, isn’t it kind of funny for Eileen to go away over Sundaywhen it’s his only holiday?”

“Oh, she’ll telephone him,” said Katy, “and very like, he’ll go down,or maybe he is with her. Ye needn’t waste any sympathy on him. Eileenwill take care that she has him so long as she thinks she wants him.”

Later it developed that Eileen had secured the invitation because shewas able to produce three most eligible men. Not only was John Gilmanwith the party, but Peter Morrison and Henry Anderson were there aswell. It was in the nature of a hastily arranged celebration, becausethe deal for three acres of land that Peter Morrison most coveted onthe small plateau, mountain walled, in Lilac Valley, was in escrow.He had made a payment on it. Anderson was working on his plans.Contractors had been engaged, and on Monday work would begin. The housewas to be built as soon as possible, and Peter Morrison had arrangedthat the garage was to be built first. This he meant to occupy as aresidence so that he could be on hand to superintend the constructionof the new home and to protect, as far as possible, the natural beautyand the natural growth of the location.

Early Sunday morning Linda and Katy, with a full lunch box and a fullgasolene tank, slid from the driveway and rolled down the main streetof Lilac Valley toward the desert.

“We’ll switch over and strike San Fernando Road,” said Linda, “and I’llscout around Sunland a bit and see if I can find anything that willfurnish material for another new dish.”

That day was wonderful for Katy. She trotted after Linda over sandydesert reaches, along the seashore, up mountain trails, and throughcanyons connected by long stretches of motoring that was more likeflying than riding. She was tired but happy when she went to bed.Monday morning she was an interested spectator as Linda dressed forschool.

“Sure, and hasn’t the old chrysalis opened up and let out the nicestlittle lady-bird moth, Katy?” inquired Linda as she smoothed hergray-gold skirts. “I think myself that this dress is a trifle too goodfor school. When I get my allowance next week I think I’ll buy me acloth skirt and a couple of wash waists and save this for better; butit really was good of Eileen to take so much pains and send it to me,when she was busy planning a trip.”

Katy watched Linda go, and she noted the new light in her eyes, the newlift of her head, and the proud sureness of her step, and she wonderedif a new dress could do all that for a girl; she scarcely believed thatit could. And, too, she had very serious doubts about the dress. Shekept thinking of it during the day, and when Eileen came, in the middleof the afternoon, at the first words on her lips: “Has my dress come?”Katy felt a wave of illness surge through her. She looked at Eileenso helplessly that that astute reader of human nature immediatelySuspected something.

“I sent it special,” she said, “because I didn’t know at the time thatI was going to Riverside and I wanted to work on it. Isn’t it here yet?”

Then Katy prepared to do battle for the child of her heart.

“Was the dress ye ordered sent the one Miss Linda was telling yeabout?” she asked tersely.

“Yes, it was,” said Eileen. “Linda has got mighty good taste. Any dressshe admired was sure to be right. She said there was a beautiful dressat ‘The Mode’. I went and looked, and sure enough there was, a perfectbeauty.”

“But she wanted the dress for herself,” said Katy.

“It was not a suitable dress for school,” said Eileen.

“Well, it strikes me,” said Katy, “that it was just the spittin’ imageof fifty dresses I’ve seen ye wear to school.

“What do you know about it?” demanded Eileen.

“I know just this,” said Katy with determination. “Ye’ve had one newdress in the last few days and you’re not needin’ another. The blessedVirgin only knows when Miss Linda’s had a dress. She thought ye’d doneyourself proud and sent it for her, and she put it on, and a becomingand a proper thing it was too! I advanced her the money myself and senther to get some shoes to match it since she had her car fixed and couldgo in a hurry. A beautiful dress it is, and on her back this minute itis!”

Eileen was speechless with anger. Her face was a sickly white and therouge spots on her cheeks stood a glaring admission.

“Do you mean to tell me?——” she gasped.

“Not again,” said the daughter of Erin firmly, “because I have alreadytold ye wance. Linda’s gone like a rag bag since the Lord knows when.She had a right to the dress, and she thought it was hers, and she tookit. And if ye ever want any more respect or obedience or love from thekiddie, ye better never let her know that ye didn’t intend it for her,for nothing was ever quite so fair and right as that she should haveit; and while you’re about it you’d better go straight to the storeand get her what she is needin’ to go with it, or better still, ye hadbetter give her a fair share of the money of which there used to besuch a plenty, and let her get her things herself, for she’s that tastynobody can beat her when she’s got anything to do with.”

Eileen turned on Katy in a gust of fury.

“Katherine O’Donovan,” she said shrilly, “pack your trunk and see howquick you can get out of this house. I have stood your insolence foryears, and I won’t endure it a minute longer!”

Katy folded her red arms and lifted her red chin, and a steel-bluelight flashed from her steel-gray eyes.

“Humph!” she said, “I’ll do nothing of the sort. I ain’t working forye and I never have been no more than I ever worked for your mother.Every lick I ever done in this house I done for Linda and Doctor Strongand for nobody else. Half of this house and everything in it belongsto Linda, and it’s a mortal short time till she’s of age to claim it.Whichever is her half, that half I’ll be staying in, and if ye manageso as she’s got nothing to pay me, I’ll take care of her without paytill the day comes when she can take care of me. Go to wid ye, yetriflin’, lazy, self-possessed creature. Ten years I have itched totell ye what I thought of ye, and now ye know it.”

As Katy’s rage increased, Eileen became intimidated. Like everyextremely selfish person she was a coward in her soul.

“If you refuse to go on my orders,” she said, “I’ll have John Gilmanissue his.”

Then Katy set her left hand on her left hip, her lower jaw shot pastthe upper, her doubled right fist shook precious near the tip ofEileen’s exquisite little nose.

“I’m darin’ ye,” she shouted. “I’m just darin’ ye to send John Gilmanin the sound of my voice. If ye do, I’ll tell him every mean andselfish thing ye’ve done to me poor lambie since the day of the BlackShadow. Send him to me? Holy Mither, I wish ye would! If ever I getmy chance at him, don’t ye think I won’t be tellin’ him what he haslost, and what he has got? And as for taking orders from him, I amtaking my orders from the person I am working for, and as I told yebefore, that’s Miss Linda. Be off wid ye, and primp up while I get mysupper, and mind ye this, if ye tell Miss Linda ye didn’t mean thatgown for her and spoil the happy day she has had, I won’t wait for yeto send John Gilman to me; I’ll march straight to him. Put that in yourcigarette and smoke it! Think I’ve lost me nose as well as me sense?”

Then Katy started a triumphal march to the kitchen and cooled down bythe well-known process of slamming pots and pans for half an hour. Soonher Irish sense of humor came to her rescue.

“Now, don’t I hear myself telling Miss Linda a few days ago to kape hertemper, and to kape cool, and to go aisy. Look at the aise of me when Igot started. By gracious, wasn’t I just itching to wallop her?”

Then every art that Katy possessed was bent to the consummation ofpreparing a particularly delicious dinner for the night.

Linda came in softly humming something to herself about the kind ofshoes that you might wear if you chose. She had entered the high schoolthat morning with an unusually brilliant colour. Two or three girls,who never had noticed her before, had nodded to her that morning, andone or two had said: “What a pretty dress you have!” She had caught theflash of approval in the eyes of Donald Whiting, and she had noted theflourish with which he raised his hat when he saw her at a distance,and she knew what he meant when he held up a book, past the covers ofwhich she could see protruding a thick fold of white paper. He hadforesworn whatever pleasure he might have thought of for Sunday. Hehad prepared notes on some subject that he thought would further him.The lift of his head, the flourish of his hat, and the book all toldLinda that he had struggled, and that he felt the struggle had broughtan exhilarating degree of success. That had made the day particularlybright for Linda. She had gone home with a feeling of uplift andexultation in her heart. As she closed the front door she cried up thestairway: “Eileen, are you there?”

“Yes,” answered a rather sulky voice from above.

Linda ascended, two steps at a bound.

“Thank you over and over, old thing!” she cried as she raced down thehallway. “Behold me! I never did have a more becoming dress, and Katyloaned me money, till my income begins, to get shoes and a little scuffhat to go with it. Aren’t I spiffy?”

She pirouetted in the doorway. Eileen gripped the brush she waswielding, tight.

“You have good taste,” she said. “It’s a pretty dress, but You’realways howling about things being suitable. Do you call that suitablefor school?”

“It certainly is an innovation for me,” said Linda, “but there aredozens of dresses of the same material, only different cut and coloursin the High School to-day. As soon as I get my money I’ll buy a skirtand some blouses so I won’t have to wear this all the time; but Isurely do thank you very much, and I surely have had a lovely day. Didyou have a nice time at Riverside?”

Eileen slammed down the brush and turned almost a distorted face toLinda. She had temper to vent. In the hour’s reflection previous toLinda’s coming, she realized that she had reached the limit with Katy.If she antagonized her by word or look, she would go to John Gilman,and Eileen dared not risk what she would say.

“No, I did not have a lovely time,” she said. “I furnished the men forthe party and I expected to have a grand time, but the first thingwe did was to run into that inflated egotist calling herself MaryLouise Whiting, and like a fool, Janie Brunson introduced her to PeterMorrison. I had paired him with Janie on purpose to keep my eye on him.”

Linda tried hard but she could not suppress a chuckle: “Of course youwould!” she murmured softly.

Eileen turned her back. That had been her first confidence toLinda. She was so aggrieved at that moment that she could have toldunanswering walls her tribulations. It would have been better if shehad done so. She might have been able to construe silence as sympathy.Linda’s laughter she knew exactly how to interpret. “Served you right,”was what it meant.

“I hadn’t the least notion you would take an interest in anythingconcerning me,” she said. “People can talk all they please about MaryLouise Whiting being a perfect lady but she is a perfect beast. I havemet her repeatedly and she has always ignored me, and yesterday shesingled out for her special attention the most desirable man in myparty——”

“‘Most desirable,’” breathed Linda. “Poor John! I see his secondfiasco. Lavender crystals, please!”

Eileen caught her lip in mortification. She had not intended to saywhat she thought.

“Well, you can’t claim,” she hurried on to cover her confusion, “thatit was not an ill-bred, common trick for her to take possession of aman of my party, and utterly ignore me. She has everything on earththat I want; she treats me like a dog, and she could give me a glorioustime by merely nodding her head.”

“I am quite sure you are mistaken,” said Linda. “From what I’ve heardof her, she wouldn’t mistreat anyone. Very probably what she doesis merely to feel that she is not acquainted with you. You have anunfortunate way, Eileen, of defeating your own ends. If you wanted toattract Mary Louise Whiting, you missed the best chance you ever couldhave had, at three o’clock Saturday afternoon, when you maliciouslytreated her only brother as you would a mechanic, ordered him to ourgarage, and shut our door in his face.”

Eileen turned to Linda. Her mouth fell open. A ghastly greenish whiteflooded her face.

“What do you mean?” she gasped.

“I mean,” said Linda, “that Donald Whiting was calling on me, and youpurposely sent him to the garage.”

Crash down among the vanities of Eileen’s dressing table went herlovely head, and she broke into deep and violent sobs. Linda stoodlooking at her a second, slowly shaking her head. Then she turned andwent to her room.

Later in the evening she remembered the Roman scarf and told Eileen ofwhat she had done, and she was unprepared for Eileen’s reply: “Thatscarf always was too brilliant for me. You’re welcome to it if you wantit.”

“Thank you,” said Linda gravely, “I want it very much indeed.”

CHAPTER XI

Linda went to the library to see to what state of emptiness it had beenreduced by the removal of several pieces of furniture she had orderedtaken away that day. As she stood on the threshold looking over theroom as usual, a throb of loving appreciation of Katy swept throughher heart. Katy had been there before her. The room had been freshlyswept and dusted, the rugs had been relaid, the furniture rearrangedskilfully, and the table stood at the best angle to be lighted eitherby day or night. On the table and the mantel stood big bowls of lovelyfresh flowers. Linda was quite certain that anyone entering the roomfor the first time would have felt it completely furnished, and shedoubted if even Marian would notice the missing pieces. Cheered inher heart, she ran up to the billiard room, and there again Katy hadpreceded her. The windows were shining. The walls and floor had beencleaned. Everything was in readiness for the new furniture. Her heartfull of gratitude, Linda went to her room, prepared her lessons for thenext day, and then drew out her writing materials to answer Marian’sletter. She wrote:

I have an acute attack of enlargement of the heart. So many thingshave happened since your leaving. But first I must tell you aboutyour sketch. We just know you did not leave it here. Katy saysthere was not a scrap in our bedroom when she cleaned it; andas she knows you make plans and how precious they are to you, Iguarantee she would have saved it if she had found anything lookinglike a parallelogram on a piece of paper. And I have very nearlycombed the lawn, not only the north side, but the west, south, andeast; and then I broke the laws and went over to your house andcrawled through a basement window and worked my way up, and I havehunted every room in it, but there is nothing there. You must havelost that sketch after you reached San Francisco. I hope to allthat’s peaceful you did not lay it down in the offices of Nicholsonand Snow, or where you take your lessons. I know nothing aboutarchitecture, but I do know something about comfort in a home, andI thought that was the most comfortable and convenient-lookinghouse I ever had seen.

Now I’ll go on and tell you all the news, and I don’t know whichis the bigger piece to burst on you first. Would you be moreinterested in knowing that Peter Morrison has bought three acreson the other side of the valley from us and up quite a way, or inthe astonishing fact that I have a new dress, a perfect love of adress, really too good for school? You know there was blood in myeye when you left, and I didn’t wait long to start action. I havemanaged to put the fear of God into Eileen’s heart so that she hasagreed to a reasonable allowance for me from the first of nextmonth; but she must have felt at least one small wave of contritionwhen I told her about a peculiarly enticing dress I had seen atThe Mode. She sent it up right away, and Katy, blessed be herloving footprints, loaned me money to buy a blouse and some shoesto match, so I went to school to-day looking very like the GreatGeneral Average, minus rouge, lip-stick, hair-dress, and Frenchheels.

I do hope you will approve of two things I have done.

Then Linda recounted the emptying of the billiard room, the inroads inthe library, the listing of the technical books, and what she proposedto do with the money. And then, her face slightly pale and her fingersslightly trembling, she wrote:

And, Marian dear, I hope you won’t be angry with me when I tell youthat I have put the Bear-cat into commission and driven it threetimes already. It is running like the feline it is, and I am beingas careful as I can. I know exactly how you will feel. It is thesame feeling that has held me all these months, when I wouldn’teven let myself think of it. But something happened at school oneday, Marian. You know the Whitings? Mary Louise Whiting’s brotheris in the senior class. He is a six-footer, and while he is nothandsome he is going to be a real man when he is fully developed,and steadied down to work. One day last week he made it hisbusiness to stop me in the hall and twit me about my shoes, andincidentally to ask me why I didn’t dress like the other girls; andsome way it came rougher than if it had been one of the girls. Themore I thought about it the more wronged I felt, so I ended in ayoung revolution that is to bring me an income, a suitable placeto work in and has brought me such a pretty dress. I think it hasbrought Eileen to a sense of at least partial justice about money,and it brought me back the Bear-cat. You know the proudest momentof my life was when Father would let me drive the little beast,and it all came back as natural as breathing. Please don’t worry,Marian. Nothing shall happen, I promise you.

It won’t be necessary to tell you that Katy is her darling oldself, loyal and steadfast as the sun, and quite as necessary and ascomforting to me. And I have a couple of other interests in lifethat are going to—I won’t say make up for your absence, becausenothing could do that—but they are going to give me somethinginteresting to think about, something agreeable to work at, whileyou are gone. But, oh, Marian, do hurry. Work all day and part ofthe night. Be Saturday’s child yourself if you must, just so youget home quick, and where your white head makes a beacon light forthe truest, lovingest pal you will ever have,

Linda.

Linda laid down the pen, slid down in her chair, and looked from thewindow across the valley, and she wondered if in her view lay thelocation that had been purchased by Peter Morrison. She glanced back ather letter and sat looking at the closing lines and the signature.

“Much good that will do her,” she commented. “When a woman loves a manand loves him with all her heart, as Marian loved John, and when sheloses him, not because she has done a single unworthy thing herself,but because he is so rubber spined that he will let another womansuccessfully intrigue him, a lot of comfort she is going to get fromthe love of a schoolgirl!”

Linda’s eyes strayed to the window again, and traveled down to thecity and up the coast, all the way to San Francisco, and out of thethousands of homes there they pictured a small, neat room, full ofMarian’s belongings, and Marian herself bending over a work table,absorbed in the final draft of her precious plans. Linda could seeMarian as plainly as she ever had seen her, but she let her imaginationrun, and she fancied that when Marian was among strangers and where noone knew of John Gilman’s defection, that hers might be a very heavyheart, that hers might be a very sad face. Then she went to planning.She had been desolate, heart hungry, and isolated herself. First shehad endured, then she had fought; the dawn of a new life was breakingover her hill. She had found work she was eager to do. She could putthe best of her brain, the skill of her fingers, the creative impulseof her heart, into it.

She was almost sure that she had found a friend. She had a feelingthat when the coming Saturday had been lived Donald Whiting would beher friend. He would want her advice and her help in his work. Shewould want his companionship and the stimulus of his mind, in hers.What Linda had craved was a dear friend among the girls, but no girlhad offered her friendship. This boy had, so she would accept what thegods of time and circumstance provided. It was a very wonderful thingthat had happened to her. Now why could not something equally wonderfulhappen to Marian? Linda wrinkled her brows and thought deeply.

“It’s the worst thing in all this world to work and work with nobody toknow about it and nobody to care,” thought Linda. “Marian could break arecord if she thought John Gilman cared now as he used to. It’s almosta necessary element to her success. If he doesn’t care, she ought to bemade to feel that somebody cares. This thing of standing alone, sinceI have found a friend, appeals to me as almost insupportable. Let methink.”

It was not long until she had worked out a scheme for putting aninterest in Marian’s life and giving her something for which to work,until a more vital reality supplanted it. The result was that she tooksome paper, went down to the library, and opening the typewriter,wrote a letter. She read it over, making many changes and corrections,and then she copied it carefully. When she came to addressing it shewas uncertain, but at last she hit upon a scheme of sending it in thecare of Nicholson and Snow because Marian had told her that she meantto enter their contest immediately she reached San Francisco, and shewould have left them her address. On the last reading of the lettershe had written, she decided that it was a manly, straightforwardproduction, which should interest and attract any girl. But how was sheto sign it? After thinking deeply for a long time, she wrote “PhilipSanders, General Delivery,” and below she added a postscript:

To save you the trouble of inquiring among your friends as to whoPhilip Sanders is, I might as well tell you in the beginning thathe isn’t. He is merely an assumption under which I shall hide mypersonality until you let me know whether it is possible that youcould become even slightly interested in me, as a small return forthe very deep and wholesome interest abiding in my heart for you.

“Abiding,” said Linda aloud. “It seems to me that there is nothingin all the world quite so fine as a word. Isn’t ‘abiding’ a goodword? Doesn’t it mean a lot? Where could you find one other wordthat means being with you and also means comforting you and lovingyou and sympathizing with you and surrounding you with firm wallsand a cushioned floor and a starry roof? I love that word. I hope itimpresses Marian with all its wonderful meaning.”

She went back to her room, put both letters into her Geometry, and inthe morning mailed them. She stood a long time hesitating with thetypewritten letter in her hand, but finally dropped it in the letterbox also.

“It will just be something,” she said, “to make her think that some manappreciates her lovely face and doesn’t care if her hair is white, andsees how steadfast and fine she is.”

And then she slowly repeated, “‘steadfast,’ that is another fine word.It has pearls and rubies all over it.”

After school that evening she visited James Brothers’ and was paid thefull amount of the appraisement of her furniture. Then she went to anart store and laid in a full supply of the materials she needed for thework she was trying to do. Her fingers were trembling as she handledthe boxes of water colours and selected the brushes and pencils forher work, and sheets of drawing paper upon which she could do herselfjustice. When the transaction was finished, she had a few dollarsremaining. As she put them in her pocket she said softly:

“That’s gasolene. Poor Katy! I’m glad she doesn’t need her money,because she is going to have to wait for the allowance or the sale ofthe books or on Jane Meredith. But it’s only a few days now, so that’llbe all right.”

CHAPTER XII

Linda entered the street car for her daily ride to Lilac Valley. Shenoticed Peter Morrison and Henry Anderson sitting beside each other,deeply engrossed in a drawing. She had been accustomed to ride in theopen section of the car as she liked the fresh air. She had a fleetingthought of entering the body of the car and sitting where they wouldsee her; and then a perverse spirit in Linda’s heart said to her:

“That is precisely what Eileen would do. You sit where you belong.”

Whereupon Linda dropped into the first vacant seat she could reach,but it was only a few moments before Peter Morrison, looking up fromthe plans he was studying, saw her, and lifting his hat, beckoned herto come and sit with him. They made room for her between them andspreading the paper across her lap, all three of them began to discussthe plans for the foundation for Peter’s house. Anderson had roughlyoutlined the grounds, sketching in the trees that were to be saved,the spring, and the most available route for reaching the road. Thediscussion was as to where the road should logically enter the grounds,and where the garage should stand.

“Which reminds me,” said Linda—“haven’t you your car with you? Or wasthat a hired one you were touring in?”

“Mine,” said Peter Morrison, “but we toured so far, it’s in the shopfor a general overhauling to-day.”

“That being the case,” said Linda, “walk home with me and I’ll take youto your place in mine and bring you back to the cars, if you only wantto stay an hour or two.”

“Why, that would be fine,” said Peter. “You didn’t mention, the otherevening, that you had a car.”

“No,” said Linda, “I had been trying to keep cars out of my thought fora long time, but I could endure it no longer the other day, so I gotmine out and tuned it up. If you don’t mind stacking up a bit, threecan ride in it very comfortably.”

That was the way it happened that Linda walked home after school thatafternoon between Peter Morrison and his architect, brought out theBear-cat, and drove them to Peter’s location.

All that day, workmen had been busy under the management of awell-instructed foreman, removing trees and bushes and stonesand clearing the spot that had been selected for the garage andapproximately for the house.

The soft brownish gray of Linda’s dress was exactly the colour tointensify the darker brown of her eyes. There was a fluctuating red inher olive cheeks, a brilliant red framing her even white teeth. Oncedressed so that she was satisfied with the results, Linda immediatelyforgot her clothes, and plunged into Morrison’s plans.

“Peter,” she said gravely, with Peter perfectly cognizant of thetwinkle in her dark eyes, “Peter, you may save money in a straight-lineroad, but you’re going to sin against your soul if you build it. You’llhave to economize in some other way, and run your road around thebase of those boulders, then come in straight to the line here, andthen you should swing again and run out on this point, where guestscan have one bewildering glimpse of the length of our blue valley,and then whip them around this clump of perfumy lilac and elders, runthem to your side entrance, and then scoot the car back to the garage.I think you should place the front of your house about here.” Lindaindicated where. “So long as you’re buying a place like this you don’twant to miss one single thing; and you do want to make the very mostpossible out of every beauty you have. And you mustn’t fail to open upand widen the runway from that energetic, enthusiastic spring. Carryit across your road, sure. It will cost you another little somethingfor a safe bridge, but there’s nothing so artistic as a bridge with acold stream running under it. And think what a joyful time I’ll have,gathering specimens for you of every pretty water plant that grows inmy particular canyon. Any time when you’re busy in your library and youhear my car puffing up the incline and around the corner and rattlingacross the bridge, you’ll know that I am down here giving you a startof watercress and miners’ lettuce and every lovely thing you couldmention that likes to be nibbled or loved-up, while it dabbles its toesin the water.”

Peter Morrison looked at Linda reflectively. He looked for such a longmoment that Henry Anderson reached a nebulous conclusion. “Fine!” hecried. “Every one of those suggestions is valuable to an inexperiencedman. Morrison, shan’t I make a note of them?”

“Yes, Henry, you shall,” said Peter. “I am going to push this thingas fast as possible, so far as building the garage is concerned andgetting settled in it. After that I don’t care if I live on this spotuntil we know each other by the inch, before I begin building my home.At the present minute it appeals to me that ‘home’ is about the bestword in the language of any nation. I have a feeling that what I buildhere is going to be my home, very possibly the only one I shall everhave. We must find the spot on which the Lord intended that a houseshould grow on this hillside, and then we must build that house so thatit has a room suitable for a workshop in which I may strive, underthe best conditions possible, to get my share of the joy of life andto earn the money that I shall require to support me and entertain myfriends; and that sounds about as selfish as anything possibly could.It seems to be mostly ‘me’ and ‘mine,’ and it’s not the real truthconcerning this house. I don’t believe there is a healthy, normalman living who has not his dream. I have no hesitation whatever inadmitting that I have mine. This house must be two things. It has gotto be a concrete workshop for me, and it has got to be an abstractabiding place for a dream. It’s rather difficult to build a dream housefor a dream lady, so I don’t know what kind of a fist I am going tomake of it.”

Linda sat down on a boulder and contemplated her shoes for a minute.Then she raised her ever-shifting, eager, young eyes to Peter, and itseemed to him as he looked into them that there were little gold lightsflickering at the bottom of their darkness.

“Why, that’s just as easy,” she said. “A home is merely a home. Itincludes a front porch and a back porch and a fireplace and a bathtuband an ice chest and a view and a garden around it; all the rest isincidental. If you have more money, you have more incidentals. If youdon’t have so much, you use your imagination and think you have just asmuch on less.”

“Now, I wonder,” said Peter, “when I find my dream lady, if she willhave an elastic imagination.”

“Haven’t you found her yet?” asked Linda casually.

“No,” said Peter, “I haven’t found her, and unfortunately she hasn’tfound me. I have had a strenuous time getting my start in life. It’smostly a rush from one point of interest to another, dropping atany wayside station for refreshment and the use of a writing table.Occasionally I have seen a vision that I have wanted to follow, but Inever have had time. So far, the lady of this house is even more of adream than the house.”

“Oh, well, don’t worry,” said Linda comfortingly. “The world is full ofthe nicest girls. When you get ready for a gracious lady I’ll find youone that will have an India-rubber imagination and a great big lovingheart and Indian-hemp apron strings so that half a dozen babies canswing from them.”

Morrison turned to Henry Anderson.

“You hear, Henry?” he said. “I’m destined to have a large family. Youmust curtail your plans for the workroom and make that big room back ofit into a nursery.”

“Well, what I am going to do,” said Henry Anderson, “is to build aplace suitable for your needs. If any dream woman comes to it, she willhave to fit herself to her environment.”

Linda frowned.

“Now, that isn’t a bit nice of you,” she said, “and I don’t believePeter will pay the slightest attention to you. He’ll let me make youbuild a lovely room for the love of his heart, and a great big brightnursery on the sunny side for his small people.”

“I never believed,” said Henry Anderson, “in counting your chickensbefore they are hatched. There are a couple of acres around Peter’shouse, and he can build an addition as his needs increase.”

“Messy idea,” said Linda promptly. “Thing to do, when you build ahouse, is to build it the way you want it for the remainder of yourlife, so you don’t have to tear up the scenery every few years,dragging in lumber for expansion. And I’ll tell you another thing. Ifthe homemakers of this country don’t get the idea into their headspretty soon that they are not going to be able to hold their own withthe rest of the world, with no children, or one child in the family,there’s a sad day of reckoning coming. With the records at the patentoffice open to the world, you can’t claim that the brain of the whiteman is not constructive. You can look at our records and compare themwith those of countries ages and ages older than we are, which neverdiscovered the beauties of a Dover egg-beater or a washing machineor a churn or a railroad or a steamboat or a bridge. We are headand shoulders above other nations in invention, and just as fast aspossible, we are falling behind in the birth rate. The red man andthe yellow man and the brown man and the black man can look at ouregg-beaters and washing machines and bridges and big guns, and go homeand copy them; and use them while rearing even bigger families thanthey have now. If every home in Lilac Valley had at least six sturdyboys and girls growing up in it with the proper love of country and theproper realization of the white man’s right to supremacy, and if allthe world now occupied by white men could make an equal record, wherewould be the talk of the yellow peril? There wouldn’t be any yellowperil. You see what I mean?”

Linda lifted her frank eyes to Peter Morrison.

“Yes, young woman,” said Peter gravely, “I see what you mean, but thisis the first time I ever heard a high-school kid propound such ideas.Where did you get them?”

“Got them in Multiflores Canyon from my father to start with,” saidLinda, “but recently I have been thinking, because there is a boy inHigh School who is making a great fight for a better scholarship recordthan a Jap in his class. I brood over it every spare minute, day ornight, and when I say my prayers I implore high Heaven to send him anidea or to send me one that I can pass on to him, that will help him tobeat that Jap.”

“I see,” said Peter Morrison. “We’ll have to take time to talk thisover. It’s barely possible I might be able to suggest something.”

“You let that kid fight his own battles,” said Henry Anderson roughly.“He’s no proper bug-catcher. I feel it in my bones.”

For the first time, Linda’s joy laugh rang over Peter Morrison’spossession.

“I don’t know about that,” she said gaily. “He’s a wide-awake specimen;he has led his class for four years when the Jap didn’t get ahead ofhim. But, all foolishness aside, take my word for it, Peter, you’ll besorry if you don’t build this house big enough for your dream lady andfor all the little dreams that may spring from her heart.”

“Nightmares, you mean,” said Henry Anderson. “I can’t imagine a bunchof kids muddying up this spring and breaking the bushes and usingslingshots on the birds.”

“Yes,” said Linda with scathing sarcasm, “and wouldn’t our governmentbe tickled to death to have a clear spring and a perfect bush and asinging bird, if it needed six men to go over the top to handle aregiment of Japanese!”

Then Peter Morrison laughed.

“Well, your estimate is too low, Linda,” he said in his nicest drawlingtone of voice. “Believe me, one U. S. kid will never march in a wholeregiment of Japanese. They won’t lay down their guns and walk tosurrender as bunches of Germans did. Nobody need ever think that. Theyare as good fighters as they are imitators. There’s nothing for youto do, Henry, but to take to heart what Miss Linda has said. Plan thehouse with a suite for a dream lady, and a dining room, a sleepingporch and a nursery big enough for the six children allotted to me.”

“You’re not really in earnest?” asked Henry Anderson in doubtingastonishment.

“I am in the deepest kind of earnest,” said Peter Morrison. “What MissLinda says is true. As a nation, our people are pampering themselvesand living for their own pleasures. They won’t take the trouble orendure the pain required to bear and to rear children; and the day isrolling toward us, with every turn of the planet one day closer, whenwe are going to be outnumbered by a combination of peoples who can takeour own tricks and beat us with them. We must pass along the good wordthat the one thing America needs above every other thing on earth ishomes and hearts big enough for children, as were the homes ofour grandfathers, when no joy in life equaled the joy of a new childin the family, and if you didn’t have a dozen you weren’t doing yourmanifest duty.”

“Well, if that is the way you see the light, we must enlarge thishouse. As designed, it included every feminine convenience anyway. Butwhen I build my house I am going to build it for myself.”

“Then don’t talk any more about being my bug-catcher,” said Lindapromptly, “because when I build my house it’s going to be a nest thatwill hold six at the very least. My heart is perfectly set on a broodof six.”

Linda was quite unaware that the two men were studying her closely, butif she had known what was going on in their minds she would have hadnothing to regret, because both of them found her very attractive, andboth of them were wondering how anything so superficial as Eileen couldbe of the same blood as Linda.

“Are we keeping you too late?” inquired Peter.

“No,” said Linda, “I am as interested as I can be. Finish everythingyou want to do before we go. I hope you’re going to let me come overoften and watch you with your building. Maybe I can get an idea forsome things I want to do. Eileen and I have our house divided by aMason and Dixon line. On her side is Mother’s suite, the dining room,the living room and the front door. On mine there’s the garage and thekitchen and Katy’s bedroom and mine and the library and the billiardroom. At the present minute I am interested in adapting the library tomy requirements instead of Father’s, and I am emptying the billiardroom and furnishing it to make a workroom. I have a small talent witha brush and pencil, and I need some bare walls to tack my prints on todry, and I need numerous places for all the things I am always draggingin from the desert and the canyons; and since I have the Bear-catrunning, what I have been doing in that line with a knapsack won’t beworthy of mention.”

“How did it come,” inquired Henry Anderson, “that you had that carjacked up so long?”

“Why, hasn’t anybody told you,” asked Linda, “about our day of theBlack Shadow?”

“John Gilman wrote me when it happened,” said Peter softly, “but Idon’t believe it has been mentioned before Henry. You tell him.”

Linda turned to Henry Anderson, and with trembling lips and palingcheeks, in a few brief sentences she gave him the details. Then shesaid to Peter Morrison in a low voice: “And that is the why of MarianThorne’s white head. Anybody tell you that?”

“That white head puzzled me beyond anything I ever saw,” he said. “Imeant to ask John about it. He used to talk to me and write to me oftenabout her, and lately he hasn’t; when I came I saw the reason, and soyou see I felt reticent on the subject.”

“Well, there’s nothing the matter with my tongue,” said Linda. “It’sloose at both ends. Marian was an expert driver. She drove with thesame calm judgment and precision and graceful skill that she doeseverything else, but the curve was steep and something in the brakeswas defective. It broke with a snap and there was not a thing she coulddo. Enough was left of the remains of the car to prove that. Ten daysafterward her head was almost as white as snow. Before that it was asdark as mine. But her body is just as young and her heart is just asyoung and her face is even more beautiful. I do think that a whitecrown makes her lovelier than she was before. I have known Marian eversince I can remember, and I don’t know one thing about her that I couldnot look you straight in the eye and tell you all about. There is not asubterfuge or an evasion or a small mean deceit in her soul. She is thebrainiest woman and the biggest woman I know.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” said Peter Morrison. “And while you aretalking about nice women, we met a mighty fine one at Riverside onSunday. Her name is Mary Louise Whiting. Do you know her?”

“Not personally,” said Linda. “I don’t recall that I ever saw her. Iknow her brother, Donald. He is the high-school boy who is having thewrestle with the Jap.”

“I liked her too,” said Henry Anderson. “And by the way, Miss Linda,haven’t bug-catchers any reputation at all as nest builders? Is it truethat among feathered creatures the hen builds the home?”

“No, it’s not,” said Linda promptly. “Male birds make a splendid recordcarrying nest material. What is true is that in the majority of casesthe female does the building.”

“Well, what I am getting at,” said Henry Anderson, “is this. Is thereanything I can do to help you with that billiard room that you’re goingto convert to a workroom? What do you lack in it that you would like tohave? Do you need more light or air, or a fireplace, or what? When youtake us to the station, suppose you drive us past your house and giveme a look at that room and let me think over it a day or two. I mightbe able to make some suggestion that would help you.”

“Now that is positively sweet of you,” said Linda. “I never thoughtof such a thing as either comfort or convenience. I thought I had totake that room as it stands and do the best I could with it, but sinceyou mention it, it’s barely possible that more air might be agreeableand also more light, and if there could be a small fireplace built infront of the chimney where it goes up from the library fireplace, itcertainly would be a comfort, and it would add something to the roomthat nothing else could. “No workroom really has a soul if you can’tsmell smoke and see red when you go to it at night.”

“You little outdoor heathen,” laughed Peter Morrison. “One would thinkyou were an Indian.”

“I am a fairly good Indian,” said Linda. “I have been scouting aroundwith my father a good many years. How about it, Peter? Does the road gocrooked?”

“Yes,” said Peter, “the road goes crooked.”

“Does the bed of the spring curve and sweep across the lawn and dropoff to the original stream below the tree-tobacco clump there?”

“If you say so, it does,” said Peter.

“Including the bridge?” inquired Linda.

“Including the bridge,” said Peter. “I’ll have to burn some midnightoil, but I can visualize the bridge.”

“And is this house where you ‘set up your rest,’ as you so beautifullysaid the other night at dinner, going to lay its corner stone and growto its roof a selfish house, or is it going to be generous enough for agracious lady and a flight of little footsteps?”

Peter Morrison took off his hat. He turned his face toward the lengthof Lilac Valley and stood, very tall and straight, looking far awaybefore him. Presently he looked down at Linda.

“Even so,” he said softly. “My shoulders are broad enough; I have abrain; and I am not afraid to work. If my heart is not quite big enoughyet, I see very clearly how it can be made to expand.”

“I have been told,” said Linda in a low voice, “that Mary LouiseWhiting is a perfect darling.”

Peter looked at her from the top of her black head to the tips of herbrown shoes. He could have counted the freckles bridging her nose. Thesunburn on her cheeks was very visible; there was something arrestingin the depth of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the lithe slendernessof her young body; she gave the effect of something smoldering insidethat would leap at a breath.

“I was not thinking of Miss Whiting,” he said soberly.

Henry Anderson was watching. Now he turned his back and commencedtalking about plans, but in his heart he said: “So that’s the lay ofthe land. You’ve got to hustle yourself, Henry, or you won’t have theghost of a show.”

Later, when they motored down the valley and stopped at the Strongresidence, Peter refused to be monopolized by Eileen. He climbed thetwo flights of stairs with Henry Anderson and Linda and exhausted hisfund of suggestions as to what could be done to that empty billiardroom to make an attractive study of it. Linda listened quietly to alltheir suggestions, and then she said:

“It would be fine to have another window, and a small skylight would bea dream, and as for the fireplace you mention, I can’t even conceivehow great it would be to have that; but my purse is much more limitedthan Peter’s, and while I have my school work to do every day, myearning capacity is nearly negligible. I can only pick up a bit hereand there with my brush and pencil—place cards and Easter cards andvalentines, and once or twice magazine covers, and little things likethat. I don’t see my way clear to lumber and glass and bricks andchimney pieces.”

Peter looked at Henry, and Henry looked at Peter, and a male high sign,ancient as day, passed between them.

“Easiest thing in the world,” said Peter. “It’s as sure as shootingthat when my three or four fireplaces, which Henry’s present plans callfor, are built, there is going to be all the material left that canbe used in a light tiny fireplace such as could be built on a thirdfloor, and when the figuring for the house is done it could very easilyinclude the cutting of a skylight and an extra window or two here,and getting the material in with my stuff, it would cost you almostnothing.”

Linda’s eyes opened wide and dewy with surprise and pleasure.

“Why, you two perfectly nice men!” she said. “I haven’t felt as I dothis minute since I lost Daddy. It’s wonderful to be taken care of.It’s better than cream puffs with almond flavoring.”

Henry Anderson looked at Linda keenly.

“You’re the darndest kid!” he said. “One minute you’re smacking yourlips over cream puffs, and the next you’re going to the bottom of theyellow peril. I never before saw your combination in one girl. What’sthe explanation?” For the second time that evening Linda’s specialty inrapture floated free.

“Bunch all the component parts into the one paramount fact that I amSaturday’s child,” she said, “so I am constantly on the job of workingfor a living, and then add to that the fact that I was reared by anerve specialist.”

Then they went downstairs, and the men refused both Eileen’s andLinda’s invitation to remain for dinner. When they had gone Eileenturned to Linda with a discontented and aggrieved face.

“In the name of all that’s holy, what are you doing or planning to do?”she demanded.

“Not anything that will cost you a penny beyond my natural rights,”said Linda quietly.

“That is not answering my question,” said Eileen. “You’re not of ageand you’re still under the authority of a guardian. If you can’t answerme, possibly you can him. Shall I send John Gilman to ask what I wantto know of you?”

“When did I ever ask you any questions about what you chose todo?” asked Linda. “I am merely following the example that you havepreviously set me. John Gilman and I used to be great friends. It mighthelp both of us to have a family reunion. Send him by all means.”

“You used to take pride,” suggested Eileen, “in leading your class.”

“And has anyone told you that I am not leading my class at the presentminute?” asked Linda.

“No,” said Eileen, “but what I want to point out to you is that theminute you start running with the boys you will quit leading yourclass.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said Linda quietly. “I’m not built that way.I shan’t concentrate on any boy to the exclusion of chemistry andgeometry, never fear it.”

Then she thoughtfully ascended the stairs and went to work.

Eileen went to her room and sat down to think; and the more shethought, the deeper grew her anger and chagrin; and to the indifferencethat always had existed in her heart concerning Linda was added in thatmoment a new element. She was jealous of her. How did it come that alanky, gangling kid in her tees had been paid a visit by the son ofpossibly the most cultured and influential family of the city, peopleof prestige, comfortable wealth, and unlimited popularity? For fouryears she had struggled to gain an entrance in some way into LouiseWhiting’s intimate circle of friends, and she had ended by shuttingthe door on the only son of the family. And why had she ever allowedLinda to keep the runabout? It was not proper that a young girl shouldown a high powered car like that. It was not proper that she shoulddrive it and go racing around the country, heaven knew where, and withheaven knew whom. Eileen bit her lip until it almost bled. Her eyeswere hateful and her hands were nervous as she reviewed the past week.She might think any mean thing that a mean brain could conjure up, butwhen she calmed down to facts she had to admit that there was not areason in the world why Linda should not drive the car she had drivenfor her father, or why she should not take with her Donald Whitingor Peter Morrison or Henry Anderson. The thing that rankled was thatthe car belonged to Linda. The touring car which she might have ownedand driven, had she so desired, lay in an extremely slender string ofpearls around her neck at that instant. She reflected that if she hadkept her car and made herself sufficiently hardy to drive it, she mighthave been the one to have taken Peter Morrison to his home location andto have had many opportunities for being with him.

“I’ve been a fool,” said Eileen, tugging at the pearls viciously. “Theyare nothing but a little bit of a string that looks as if I were tryingto do something and couldn’t, at best. What I’ve got to do is to thinkmore of myself. I’ve got to plan some way to prevent Linda from beingtoo popular until I really get my mind made up as to what I want to do.”

CHAPTER XIII

“‘A house that is divided against itself cannot stand,’” quoted Linda.“I must keep in mind what Eileen said, not that there is the slightestdanger, but to fall behind in my grades is a thing that simply must nothappen. If it be true that Peter and Henry can so easily and so cheaplyadd a few improvements in my workroom in connection with Peter’sbuilding, I can see no reason why they shouldn’t do it, so long as Ipay for it. I haven’t a doubt but that there will be something I cando for Peter, before he finishes his building, that he would greatlyappreciate, while, since I’m handy with my pencil, I mightbeable to make a few head and tail pieces for some of his articles thatwould make them more attractive. I don’t want to use any friend ofmine: I don’t want to feel that I am not giving quite as much as I get,but I think I see my way clear, between me and the Bear-cat, to pay forall the favours I would receive in altering my study.

“First thing I do I must go through Father’s books and get the moneyfor them, so I’ll know my limitation when I come to select furniture.And I don’t know that I am going to be so terribly modest when itcomes to naming the sum with which I’ll be satisfied for my allowance.Possibly I shall exercise my age-old prerogative and change my mind;I may just say ‘half’ right out loud and stick to it. And there’sanother thing. Since the editor of Everybody’s Homehas startedmy department and promised that if it goes well he will give it to mepermanently, I can certainly depend on something from that. He has usedmy Introduction and two instalments now. I should think it might befair to talk payments pretty soon. He should give me fifty dollars fora recipe with its perfectly good natural history and embellished withmy own vegetable and floral decorations.

“In the meantime I think I might buy my work table and possibly aneasel, so I can have real room to spread out my new material and seehow it would feel to do one drawing completely unhampered. I’ll orderthe table to-night, and then I’ll begin on the books, because I musthave Saturday free; and I must be thinking about the most attractiveand interesting place I can take Donald to. I just have to keep himinterested until he gets going of his own accord, because he shall beatOka Sayye. I wouldn’t let Donald say it but I don’t mind saying myselfto myself with no one present except myself that in all my life I havenever seen anything so mask-like as the stolid little square head onthat Jap. I have never seen anything I dislike more than the oily,stiff, black hair standing up on it like menacing bristles. I havenever had but one straight look deep into his eyes, but in that lookI saw the only thing that ever frightened me in looking into a man’seyes in my whole life. And there is one thing that I have to rememberto caution Donald about. He must carry on this contest in a perfectlyopen, fair, and above-board way, and he simply must not antagonize OkaSayye. There are so many of the Japs. They all look so much alike, andthere’s a blood brotherhood between them that will make them protecteach other to the death against any white man. It wouldn’t be safe forDonald to make Oka Sayye hate him. He had far better try to make himhis friend and put a spirit of honest rivalry into his heart; but cometo think of it, there wasn’t anything like that in my one look intoOka Sayye’s eyes. I don’t know what it was, but whatever it was it wassomething repulsive.”

With this thought in her mind Linda walked slowly as she approachedthe High School the next time. Far down the street, over the walksand across the grounds, her eyes were searching eagerly for the tallslender figure of Donald Whiting. She did not see him in the morning,but at noon she encountered him in the hall.

“Looking for you,” he cried gaily when he saw her. “I’ve got my pry inon Trig. The professor’s interested. Dad fished out an old Trig thathe used when he was a boy and I have some new angles that will keep myesteemed rival stirring up his gray matter for some little time.”

“Good for you! Joyous congratulations! You’ve got the idea!” criedLinda. “Go to it! Start something all along the line, but make itsomething founded on brains and reason and common sense. But, Donald, Iwas watching for you. I wanted to say a word.”

Donald Whiting bent toward her. The faintest suspicion of a tinge ofcolour crept into his cheeks.

“That’s fine,” he said. “What was it you wanted?”

“Only this,” she said in almost a breathless whisper. “There is nothingin California I am afraid of except a Jap, and I am afraid of them, notpotentially, not on account of what all of us know they are planningin the backs of their heads for the future, but right here and now,personally and physically. Don’t antagonize Oka Sayye. Don’t be tooprecipitate about what you’re trying to do. Try to make it appear thatyou’re developing ideas for the interest and edification of the wholeclass. Don’t incur his personal enmity. Use tact.”

“You think I am afraid of that little jiu-jitsu?” he scoffed. “Ican lick him with one hand.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” said Linda, measuring his height andapparent strength and fitness. “I haven’t a doubt of it. But let meask you this confidentially: Have you got a friend who would slip inand stab him in the back in case you were in an encounter and he wasgetting the better of you?”

Donald Whiting’s eyes widened. He looked at Linda amazed.

“Wouldn’t that be going rather far?” he asked. “I think I have somefairly good friends among the fellows, but I don’t know just whom Iwould want to ask to do me that small favour.”

“That is precisely the point,” cried Linda. “You haven’t a friend youwould ask; and you haven’t a friend who would do it, if you did. Butdon’t believe for one second that Oka Sayye hasn’t half a dozen whowould make away with you at an unexpected time and in a secluded place,and vanish, if it would in any way further Oka Sayye’s ambition, orhelp establish the supremacy of the Japanese in California.”

“Um-hm,” said Donald Whiting.

He was looking far past Linda and now his eyes were narrowed inthought. “I believe you’re rightabout it.”

“I’ve thought of you so often since I tried to spur you to beat OkaSayye,” said Linda. “I feel a sort of responsibility for you. It’s tothe honour and glory of all California, and the United States, and thewhite race everywhere for you to beat him, but if any harm should cometo you I would always feel that I shouldn’t have urged it.”

“Now that’s foolishness,” said Donald earnestly. “If I am such a dubthat I didn’t have the ambition to think up some way to beat a Japmyself, no matter what happens you shouldn’t regret having been the oneto point out to me my manifest duty. Dad is a Harvard man, you know,and that is where he’s going to send me, and in talking about it theother night I told him about you, and what you had said to me. He’s thegreatest old scout, and was mightily interested. He went at once andopened a box of books in the garret and dug out some stuff that will bea big help to me. He’s going to keep posted and see what he can do; hesaid even worse things to me than you did; so you needn’t feel that youhave any responsibility; besides that, it’s not proved yet that I canbeat Oka Sayye.”

“Yes, it is!” said Linda, sending a straight level gaze deep into hiseyes. “Yes, it is! Whenever a white man makes up his mind what he’sgoing to do, and puts his brain to work, he beats any man, of any othercolour. Sure you’re going to beat him.”

“Fat chance I have not to,” said Donald, laughing ruefully. “If I don’tbeat him I am disgraced at home, and with you; before I try very longin this highly specialized effort I am making, every professor in theHigh School and every member of my class is bound to become aware ofwhat is going on. You’re mighty right about it. I have got to beat himor disgrace myself right at the beginning of my nice young career.”

“Of course you’ll beat him,” said Linda.

“At what hour did you say I should come, Saturday?”

“Oh, come with the lark for all I care,” said Linda. “Early morning inthe desert is a mystery and a miracle, and the larks have been therejust long enough to get their voices properly tuned for their purestnotes.”

Then she turned and hurried away. Her first leisure minute afterreaching home she went to the library wearing one of Katy’s big aprons,and carrying a brush and duster. Beginning at one end of each shelf,she took down the volumes she intended to sell, carefully dusted them,wiped their covers, and the place on which they had stood, and thenopened and leafed through them so that no scrap of paper containingany notes or memoranda of possible value should be overlooked. It waswhile handling these volumes that Linda shifted several of the bookswritten by her father, to separate them from those with which she meantto part. She had grown so accustomed to opening each book she handledand looking through it, that she mechanically opened the first one shepicked up and from among its leaves there fell a scrap of loose paper.She picked it up and found it was a letter from the publishers of thebook. Linda’s eyes widened suddenly as she read:

My dear Strong:

Sending you a line of congratulations. You have gone to the headof the list of “best sellers” among medical works, and the chequeI draw you for the past six months’ royalties will be considerablylarger than that which goes to your most esteemed contemporary onyour chosen subject.

Very truly yours,

The signature was that of Frederic Dickman, the editor of one of thebiggest publishing houses of the country.

“Hm,” she said to herself softly. “Now that is a queer thing. Thatletter was written nearly five years ago. I don’t know why I neverthought of royalties since Daddy went. I frequently heard himmention them before. I suppose they’re being paid to John Gilman asadministrator, or to the Consolidated Bank, and cared for with Father’sother business. There’s no reason why these books should not keep onselling. There are probably the same number of young men, if not agreater number, studying medicine every year. I wonder now, about theseroyalties. I must do some thinking.”

Then Linda began to examine books more carefully than before. Theletter she carried with her when she went to her room; but she madea point of being on the lawn that evening when John Gilman came, andafter talking to him a few minutes, she said very casually: “John, asFather’s administrator, does a royalty from his medical books come toyou?”

“No,” said Gilman. “It is paid to his bank.”

“I don’t suppose,” said Linda casually, “it would amount to enough tokeep one in shoes these inflated days.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said John testily. “I have seen a few ofthose cheques in your Father’s time. You should be able to keep fairlywell supplied with shoes.”

“So I should,” said Linda drily. “So I should.”

Then she led him to the back of the house and talked the incidentout of his mind as cleverly as possible by giving him an intensivebotanical study of Cotyledon. But she could not interest him quite sodeeply as she had hoped, for presently he said: “Eileen tells me thatyou’re parting with some of the books.”

“Only technical ones for which I could have no possible use,” saidLinda. “I need clothes, and have found that had I a proper place towork in and proper tools to work with, I could earn quite a bit withmy brush and pencil, and so I am trying to get enough money togetherto fit up the billiard room for a workroom, since nobody uses it foranything else.”

“I see,” said John Gilman. “I suppose running a house is extremelyexpensive these days, but even so the income from your estate shouldbe sufficient to dress a schoolgirl and provide for anything you wouldwant in the way of furnishing a workroom.”

“That’s what I have always thought myself,” said Linda; “but Eileendoesn’t agree with me, and she handles the money. When the first of themonth comes, we are planning to go over things together, and she isgoing to make me a proper allowance.”

“That is exactly as it should be,” said Gilman. “I never realized tillthe other night at dinner that you have grown such a great girl, Linda.That’s fine! Fix your workroom the way you would like to have it, andif there’s anything I can do to help you in any way, you have only tocommand me. I haven’t seen you often lately.”

“No,” said Linda, “but I don’t feel that it is exactly my fault. Marianand I were always pals. When I saw that you preferred Eileen, I keptwith Marian to comfort her all I could. I don’t suppose she cared,particularly. She couldn’t have, or she would at least have made someeffort to prevent Eileen from monopolizing you. She probably was mightyglad to be rid of you; but since you had been together so much, Ithought she might miss you, so I tried to cover your defection.”

John Gilman’s face flushed. He stood very still, while he seemed deeplythoughtful.

“Of course you were free to follow your inclinations, or Eileen’smachinations, whichever you did follow,” Linda said lightly, “but ‘themas knows’ could tell you, John, as Katy so well puts it, that you havemade the mistake of your young life.”

Then she turned and went to the garage, leaving John to his visit withEileen.

The Eileen who took possession of John was an Eileen with whom he wasnot acquainted. He had known, the night of the dinner party, thatEileen was pouting, but there had been no chance to learn from herwhat her grievance was, and by the next time they met she was a bundleof flashing allurement, so he ignored the occurrence. This evening,for the first time, it seemed to him that Eileen was not so beautifula woman as he had thought her. Something had roiled the blood in herdelicate veins until it had muddied the clear freshness of her smoothsatiny skin. There was discontent in her eyes, which were her mostconvincing attraction. They were big eyes, wide open and candid. Shehad so trained them through a lifetime of practice that she could meetother eyes directly while manipulating her most dextrous evasion.Whenever Eileen was most deceptively subtle, she was looking straightat her victim with the innocent appeal of a baby in her gaze.

John Gilman had had his struggle. He had succeeded. He had watched, andwaited, and worked incessantly, and when his opportunity came he wasready. Success had come to such a degree that in a short time he hadassured himself of comfort for any woman he loved. He knew that hisappearance was quite as pleasing as that of his friend. He knew thatin manner and education they were equals. He was now handling largebusiness affairs. He had made friends in high places. Whenever Eileenwas ready, he would build and furnish a home he felt sure would beequal, if not superior, to what Morrison was planning. Why had Eileenfelt that she would envy any woman who shared life with Peter Morrison?

All that day she had annoyed him, because there must have been in thevery deeps of his soul “a still, small voice” whispering to him that hehad not lived up to the best traditions of a gentleman in his coursewith Marian. While no definite plans had been made, there had beenendless assumption. Many times they had talked of the home they wouldmake together. When he reached the point where he decided that he neverhad loved Marian as a man should love the woman he marries, he feltjustified in turning to Eileen, but in his heart he knew that if he hadbeen the man he was pleased to consider himself, he would have gone toMarian Thorne and explained, thereby keeping her friendship, while henow knew that he must have earned her contempt.

The day at Riverside had been an enigma he could not solve. Eileen wasgay to a degree that was almost boisterous. She had attracted attentionand comment which no well-bred woman would have done.

The growing discontent in John’s soul had increased under Linda’sdirect attack. He had known Linda since she was four years old andhad been responsible for some of her education. He had been a largeinfluence in teaching Linda from childhood to be a good sport, to besure she was right and then go ahead, and if she hurt herself in thegoing, to rub the bruise, but to keep her path.

A thing patent to the eye of every man who turned an appraising lookupon Linda always had been one of steadfast loyalty. You could dependupon her. She was the counterpart of her father; and Doctor Strong hadbeen loved by other men. Wherever he had gone he had been surrounded.His figure had been one that attracted attention. When he had spoken,his voice and what he had to say had commanded respect. And then therehad emanated from him that peculiar physical charm which gives suchpleasing and distinguished personality to a very few people in thisworld. This gift too had descended to Linda. She could sit and lookstraight at you with her narrow, interested eyes, smile faintly, andmake you realize what she thought and felt without opening her lips.John did not feel very well acquainted with the girl who had dominatedthe recent dinner party, but he did see that she was attractive, thatboth Peter Morrison and Henry Anderson had been greatly amused and verymuch entertained by her. He had found her so interesting himself thathe had paid slight attention to Eileen’s pouting.

To-night he was forced to study Eileen, for the sake of his own comfortto try to conciliate her. He was uncomfortable because he was unableto conduct himself as Eileen wished him to, without a small sickeningdisgust creeping into his soul. Before the evening was over he becameexasperated, and ended by asking flatly: “Eileen, what in the dickensis the matter with you?”

It was a new tone and a new question on nerves tensely strung.

“If you weren’t blind you’d know without asking,” retorted Eileen hotly.

“Then I am ‘blind,’ for I haven’t the slightest notion. What have Idone?”

“Isn’t it just barely possible,” asked Eileen, “that there might beother people who would annoy and exasperate me? I have not hinted thatyou have done anything, although I don’t know that it’s customary for aman calling on his betrothed to stop first for a visit with her sister.”

“For the love of Mike!” said John Gilman. “Am I to be found fault withfor crossing the lawn a minute to see how Linda’s wild garden is comingon? I have dug and helped set enough of those plants to justify someinterest in them as they grow.”

“And the garden was your sole subject of conversation?” inquiredEileen, implied doubt conveyed nicely.

“No, it was not,” answered Gilman, all the bulldog in his nature comingto the surface.

“As I knew perfectly,” said Eileen. “I admit that I’m not feelingmyself. Things began going wrong recently, and everything has gonewrong since. I think it all began with Marian Thorne’s crazy idea ofselling her home and going to the city to try to ape a man.”

“Marian never tried to ape a man in her life,” said John, instantlyyielding to a sense of justice. “She is as strictly feminine as anywoman I ever knew.”

“Do you mean to say that you think studying architecture is a woman’swork?” sneered Eileen.

“Yes, I do,” said Gilman emphatically. “Women live in houses. They’rein them nine tenths of the time to a man’s one tenth. Next to rockinga cradle I don’t know of any occupation in this world more distinctlyfeminine than the planning of comfortable homes for homekeeping people.”

Eileen changed the subject swiftly. “What was Linda saying to you?” sheasked.

“She was showing me a plant, a rare Echeveria of the Cotyledon family,that she tobogganed down one side of Multiflores Canyon and deliveredsafely on the roadway without its losing an appreciable amount of‘bloom’ from its exquisitely painted leaves.”

Eileen broke in rudely. “Linda has missed Marian. There’s not apossible thing to make life uncomfortable for me that she is not doing.You needn’t tell me you didn’t see and understand her rude forwardnessthe other night!”

“No, I didn’t see it,” said John, “because the fact is I thought thekid was positively charming, and so did Peter and Henry because bothof them said so. There’s one thing you must take into consideration,Eileen. The time has come when she should have clothes and liberty andopportunity to shape her life according to her inclinations. Let metell you she will attract attention in georgette and laces.”

“And where are the georgette and laces to come from?” inquired Eileensarcastically. “All outgo and no income for four years is leaving theStrong finances in mighty precarious shape, I can tell you.”

“All right,” said Gilman, “I’m financially comfortable now. I’m ready.Say the word. We’ll select our location and build our home, and letLinda have what there is of the Strong income till she is settled inlife. You have pretty well had all of it for the past four years.”

“Yes,” said Eileen furiously, “I have ‘pretty well’ had it, in a fewlittle dresses that I have altered myself and very frequently madeentirely. I have done the best I could, shifting and skimping, and it’snot accomplished anything that I have really wanted. According to men,the gas and the telephone and the electric light and the taxes andfood and cook pay for themselves. All a woman ever spends money on isclothes!”

“Eileen,” chuckled John Gilman, “this sounds exactly as if we weremarried, and we’re not, yet.”

“No,” said Eileen, “thank heaven we’re not. If it’s come to the placewhere you’re siding with everybody else against me, and where you’remore interested in what my kid sister has to say to you than you are inme, I don’t think we ever shall be.”

Then, from stress of nerve tension and long practice, some big tearsgushed up and threatened to overflow Eileen’s lovely eyes. That nevershould happen, for tears are salt water and they cut little riversthrough even the most carefully and skillfully constructed complexion,while Eileen’s was looking its worst that evening. She hastily appliedher handkerchief, and John Gilman took her into his arms; so theremainder of the evening it was as if they were not married. But whenJohn returned to the subject of a home and begged Eileen to announcetheir engagement and let him begin work, she evaded him, and put himoff, and had to have time to think, and she was not ready, and therewere many excuses, for none of which Gilman could see any sufficientreason. When he left Eileen that night, it was with a heavy heart.

CHAPTER XIV

Throughout the week Linda had worked as never during her lifepreviously, in order to save Saturday for Donald Whiting. She ran theBear-cat down to the garage and had it looked over once more to be surethat everything was all right. Friday evening, on her way from school,she stopped at a grocery where she knew Eileen kept an account, and forthe first time ordered a few groceries. These she carried home withher, and explained to Katy what she wanted.

Katy fully realized that Linda was still her child, with no thought inher mind save standing at the head of her classes, carrying on the workshe had begun with her father, keeping up her nature study, and gettingthe best time she could out of life in the open as she had been taughtto do from her cradle.

Katy had not the slightest intention of opening her lips to say oneword that might put any idea into the head of her beloved child, butshe saw no reason why she herself should not harbor all the ideas shepleased.

Whereupon, actuated by a combination of family pride, love, ambition inher chosen profession, Katy made ready to see that on the morrow theson of Frederick Whiting should be properly nourished on his outingwith Linda.

At six o’clock Saturday morning Linda ran the Bear-cat to the backdoor, where she and Katy packed it. Before they had finished, DonaldWhiting came down the sidewalk, his cheeks flushed with the exercise ofwalking, his eyes bright with anticipation, his cause forever won—incase he had a cause—with Katy, because she liked the wholesome, heartymanner in which he greeted Linda, and she was dumbfounded when he heldout his hand to her and said laughingly: “Blessed among women, did youput in a fine large consignment of orange punch?”

“No,” said Katy, “I’ll just tell ye flat-footed there ain’t going to beany punch, but, young sir, you’re eshcortin’ a very capable young lady,and don’t ye bewail the punch, because ye might be complimenting yourface with something ye would like a hape better.”

“Can’t be done, Katy,” cried Donald.

“Ye must have a poor opinion of us,” laughed Katy, “if ye are thinkingye can get to the end of our limitations in one lunch. Fourteen yearsme and Miss Linda’s been on this lunch-box stunt. Don’t ye be thinkin’ye can exhaust us in any wan trip, or in any wan dozen.”

So they said good-bye to Katy and rolled past Eileen’s room on the wayto the desert. Eileen stood at the window watching them, and never hadher heart been so full of discontent and her soul the abiding placeof such envy or her mind so busy. Just when she had thought life wasgoing to yield her what she craved, she could not understand how or whythings should begin to go wrong.

As the Bear-cat traversed Lilac Valley, Linda was pointing out PeterMorrison’s location. She was telling Donald Whiting where to findPeter’s articles, and what a fine man he was, and that he had promisedto think how he could help with their plan to make of Donald a betterscholar than was Oka Sayye.

“Well, I call that mighty decent of a stranger,” said Donald.

“But he is scarcely more of a stranger than I am,” answered Linda. “Heis a writer. He is interested in humanity. It’s the business of everyman in this world to reach out and help every boy with whom he comes incontact into the biggest, finest manhood possible. He only knows thatyou’re a boy tackling a big job that means much to every white boy tohave you succeed with, and for that reason he’s just as interested as Iam. Maybe, when we come in this evening, I’ll run up to his place, andyou can talk it over with him. If your father helped you at one angle,it’s altogether probable that Peter Morrison could help you at another.”

Donald Whiting rubbed his knee reflectively. He was sitting half turnedin the wide seat so that he might watch Linda’s hands and her facewhile she drove.

“Well, that’s all right,” he said heartily. “You can write me down aswilling and anxious to take all the help I can get, for it’s going tobe no microscopic job, that I can tell you. One week has waked up theJap to the fact that there’s something doing, and he’s digging in andhas begun, the last day or two, to speak up in class and suggest thingshimself. Since I’ve been studying him and watching him, I have come tothe conclusion that he is much older than I am. Something he said inclass yesterday made me think he had probably had the best schoolingJapan could give him before he came here. The next time you meet himlook for a suspicion of gray hairs around his ears. He’s too blamedcomprehensive for the average boy of my age. You said the Japs were thebest imitators in the world and I have an idea in the back of my headthat before I get through with him, Oka Sayye is going to prove yourproposition.”

Linda nodded as she shot the Bear-cat across the streetcar tracks andheaded toward the desert. The engine was purring softly as it warmedup. The car was running smoothly. The sun of early morning was shiningon them through bracing, salt, cool air, and even in the valley thelarks were busy, and the mocking birds, and from every wayside bush therosy finches were singing. All the world was coming to the exquisitebloom of a half-tropical country. Up from earth swept the heavy odorsof blooming citrus orchards, millions of roses, and the overpoweringsweetness of gardens and cultivated flowers; while down from themountains rolled the delicate breath of the misty blue lilac, thepungent odour of California sage, and the spicy sweet of the lemonadebush. They were two young things, free for the day, flying down aperfect road, adventuring with Providence. They had only gone a fewmiles when Donald Whiting took off his hat, stuffed it down beside him,and threw back his head, shaking his hair to the wind in a gestureso soon to become familiar to Linda. She glanced across at him andfound him looking at her. A smile broke over her lips. One of her mostspontaneous laughs bubbled up in her throat.

“Topping, isn’t it!” she cried gaily.

“It’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” answered Donald Whitinginstantly. “Our car is a mighty good one and Dad isn’t mean aboutletting me drive it. I can take it frequently and can have plenty ofgas and take my crowd; but lordy, I don’t believe there’s a boy or girlliving that doesn’t just positively groan when they see one of theselittle gray Bear-cats go loping past. And I never even had a ride inone before. I can’t get over the fact that it’s yours. It wouldn’t seemso funny if it belonged to one of the fellows.”

With steady hand and gradually increasing speed, Linda put the Bear-catover the roads of early morning. Sometimes she stopped in the shade ofpepper, eucalyptus, or palm, where the larks were specializing in theirage-old offertory. And then again they went racing until they reachedthe real desert. Linda ran the car under the shade of a tall clump ofbloom-whitened alders. She took off her hat, loosened the hair at hertemples, and looked out across the long morning stretch of desert.

“It’s just beginning to be good,” she said. She began pointing withher slender hand. “That gleam you see over there is the gold of asmall clump of early poppies. The purple beyond it is lupin. All theseexquisite colours on the floor are birds’-eyes and baby blue eyes, andthe misty white here and there is forget-me-not. It won’t be long tilthousands and thousands of yucca plants will light their torches allover the desert and all the alders show their lacy mist. Of courseyou know how exquisitely the Spaniards named the yucca ‘Our Lord’sCandles.’ Isn’t that the prettiest name for a flower, and isn’t it theprettiest thought?”

“It certainly is,” answered Donald.

“Had any experience with the desert?” Linda asked lightly.

“Hunted sage hens some,” answered Donald.

“Oh, well, that’ll be all right,” said Linda. “I wondered if you’d gomurdering yourself like a tenderfoot.”

“What’s the use of all this artillery?” inquired Donald as he steppedfrom the car.

“Better put on your hat. You’re taller than most of the bushes; you’llfind slight shade,” cautioned Linda. “The use is purely a matterof self-protection. The desert has got such a de’il of a fight forexistence, without shade and practically without water, that it can’tafford to take any other chance of extermination, and so it protectsitself with needles here and spears there and sabers at other placesand roots that strike down to China everywhere. First thing we aregoing to get is some soap.”

“Great hat!” exclaimed Donald. “If you wanted soap why didn’t you bringsome?”

“For all you know,” laughed Linda, “I may be going to education you upa little. Dare you to tell me how many kinds of soap I can find to-daythat the Indians used, and where I can find it.”

“Couldn’t tell you one to save my life,” said Donald.

“And born and reared within a few miles of the desert!” scoffed Linda.“Nice Indian you’d make. We take our choice to-day between findingdeer-brush and digging for amole, because the mock oranges aren’t ripeenough to be nice and soapy yet. I’ve got the deer-brush spotted, andwe’ll pass an amole before we go very far. Look for a wavy blue-greenleaf like a wide blade of grass and coming up like a lily.”

So together they went to the deer-brush and gathered a bunch of flowersthat Linda bound together with some wiry desert grass and fastened toher belt. It was not long before Donald spied an amole, and havingfound one, discovered many others growing near. Then Linda led the waypast thorns and brush, past impenetrable beds of cholla, until theyreached a huge barrel cactus that she had located with the glasses.Beside this bristling monstrous growth Linda paused, and reached forthe axe, which Donald handed to her. She drew it lightly across thearmor protecting the plant.

“Short of Victrola needles?” she inquired. “Because if you are, thesemake excellent ones. A lot more singing quality to them than the steelneedles, not nearly so metallic.”

“Well, I am surely going to try that,” said Donald. “Never heard ofsuch a thing.”

Linda chopped off a section of plant. Then she picked one of the knivesfrom the bucket and handed it to him.

“All right, you get what you want,” she said, “while I operate on thebarrel.”

She set her feet firmly in the sand, swung the axe, and with a coupleof deft strokes sliced off the top of the huge plant, and from theheart of it lifted up half a bucketful of the juicy interior, with herdipper.

“If we didn’t have drink, here is where we would get it, and mightygood it is,” she said, pushing down with the dipper until she formeda small pool in the heart of the plant which rapidly filled. “Have ataste.”

“Jove, that is good!” said Donald. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Show you later,” laughed Linda. “Think I’ll take a sip myself.”

Then by a roundabout route they started on their return to the car.Once Linda stopped and gathered a small bunch of an extremely curiouslittle plant spreading over the ground, a tiny reddish vine with quaintround leaves that looked as if a drop of white paint rimmed with maroonhad fallen on each of them.

“I never saw that before,” said Donald. “What are you going to do withit?”

“Use it on whichever of us gets the first snake bite,” said Linda.“That is rattlesnake weed and if a poisonous snake bites you, scoreeach side of the wound with the cleanest, sharpest knife you have andthen bruise the plant and bind it on with your handkerchief, and forgetit.”

“Is that what you do?” inquired Donald.

“Why sure,” said Linda, “that is what I would do if a snake were soungallant as to bite me, but there doesn’t seem to be much of theantagonistic element in my nature. I don’t go through the desertexhaling the odour of fright, and so snakes lie quiescent or slip awayso silently that I never see them.”

“Now what on earth do you mean by that?” inquired Donald.

“Why that is the very first lesson Daddy ever taught me when he took meto the mountains and the desert. If you are afraid, your system throwsoff formic acid, and the animals need only the suspicion of a scent ofit to make them ready to fight. Any animal you encounter or even a bee,recognizes it. One of the first things that I remember about Daddy wasseeing him sit on the running board of the runabout buckling up hisdesert boots while he sang to me,

as he got ready to take me on his back and go into the desert for ourfirst lesson; he told me that a man was perfectly safe in going to theforest or the desert or anywhere he chose among any kind of animalsif he had sufficient self-control that no odour of fear emanated fromhim. He said that a man was safe to make his way anywhere he wanted togo, if he started his journey by recognizing a blood brotherhood withanything living he would meet on the way; and I have heard Enos Millssay that when he was snow inspector of Colorado he traveled the crestof the Rockies from one end of the state to the other without a gun orany means of self-defense.”

“Now, that is something new to think about,” said Donald.

“And it’s something that is very true,” said Linda. “I have seen itwork times without number. Father and I went quietly up the mountains,through the canyons, across the desert, and we would never see a snakeof any kind, but repeatedly we would see men with guns and dogs out tokill, to trespass on the rights of the wild, and they would be huntingfor sticks and clubs and firing their guns where we had passed neverthinking of lurking danger. If you start out in accord, at one withNature, you’re quite as safe as you are at home, sometimes more so. Butif you start out to stir up a fight, the occasion is very rare on whichyou can’t succeed.”

“And that reminds me,” said Donald, with a laugh, “that a week ago Icame to start a fight with you. What has become of that fight we weregoing to have, anyway?”

“You can search me,” laughed Linda, throwing out her hands in agraceful gesture. “There’s not a scrap of fight in my system concerningyou, but if Oka Sayye were having a fight with you and I were anywherearound, you’d have one friend who would help you to handle the Jap.”

Donald looked at Linda thoughtfully.

“By the great hocus-pocus,” he said, “you know, I believe you! If twofellows were having a pitched battle most of the girls I know wouldquietly faint or run, but I do believe that you would stand by and helpa fellow if he needed it.”

“That I surely would,” said Linda; “but don’t you say ‘most of thegirls I know’ and then make a statement like that concerning girls,because you prove that you don’t know them at all. A few years ago, Ivery distinctly recall how angry many women were at this line in one ofKipling’s poems:

and there was nothing to it save that a great poet was trying to paywomanhood everywhere the finest compliment he knew how. He always hasbeen fundamental in his process of thought. He gets right back to theheart of primal things. When he wrote that line he was not reallythinking that there was a nasty poison in the heart of a woman or deathin her hands. What he was thinking was that in the jungle the femalelion or tiger or jaguar must go and find a particularly secluded caveand bear her young and raise them to be quite active kittens beforeshe leads them out, because there is danger of the bloodthirsty fathereating them when they are tiny and helpless. And if perchance a malefinds the cave of his mate and her tiny young and enters it to domischief, then there is no recorded instance I know of in which thefemale, fighting in defense of her young, has not been ‘more deadlythan the male.’ And that is the origin of the much-discussed lineconcerning the female of the species, and it holds good fairly welldown the line of the wild. It’s even true among such tiny things asguinea pigs and canary birds. There is a mother element in the heart ofevery girl. Daddy used to say that half the women in the world marriedthe men they did because they wanted to mother them. You can’t tellwhat is in a woman’s heart by looking at her. You must bring her faceto face with an emergency before you can say what she’ll do, but Iwould be perfectly willing to stake my life on this: There is scarcelya girl you know who would see you getting the worst of a fight, saywith Oka Sayye, or someone who meant to kill you or injure you, whowould not pick up the first weapon she could lay her hands on, whetherit was an axe or a stick or a stone, and go to your defense, and if shehad nothing else to fight with, I have heard of women who put up rathera tidy battle with their claws. Sounds primitive, doesn’t it?”

“It sounds true,” said Donald reflectively. “I see, young lady, whereone is going to have to measure his words and think before he talks toyou.”

“Pretty thought!” said Linda lightly. “We’ll have a great time if youmust stop to consider every word before you say it.”

“Well, anyway,” said Donald, “when are we going to have that fightwhich was the purpose of our coming together?”

“Why, we’re not ever going to have it,” answered Linda. “I have gotnothing in this world to fight with you about since you’re doing yourlevel best to beat Oka Sayye. I have watched your head above theremainder of your class for three years and wanted to fight with you onthat point.”

“Now that’s a queer thing,” said Donald, “because I have watched youfor three years and wanted to fight with you about your drygoods, andnow since I’ve known you only such a short while, I don’t care twowhoops what you wear. It’s a matter of perfect indifference to me. Youcan wear French heels or baby pumps, or go barefoot. You would still beyou.”

“Is it a truce?” asked Linda.

“No, ma’am,” said Donald, “it’s not a truce. That implies war and wehaven’t fought. It’s not armed neutrality; it’s not even watchfulwaiting. It’s my friend, Linda Strong. Me for her and her for me, ifyou say so.”

He reached out his hand. Linda laid hers in it, and looking into hiseyes, she said: “That is a compact. We’ll test this friendship businessand see what there is to it. Now come on; let’s run for the canyon.”

It was only a short time until the Bear-cat followed its trail ofthe previous Saturday, and, rushing across the stream, stopped atits former resting place, while Linda and Donald sat looking at thesheer-walled little room before them.

“I can see,” said Linda, “a stronger tinge in the green. There are moreflowers in the carpet. There is more melody in the birds’ song. We aregoing to have a better time than we had last Saturday. First let’s fixup our old furnace, because we must have a fire to-day.”

So they left the car, and under Linda’s direction they reconstructedthe old fireplace at which the girl and her father had cooked whenbotanizing in Multiflores. In a corner secluded from wind, using thewall of the canyon for a back wall, big boulders the right distanceapart on each side, and small stones for chinking, Linda superintendedthe rebuilding of the fireplace.

She unpacked the lunch box, set the table, and when she had everythingin readiness she covered the table, and taking a package, she carriedit on a couple of aluminium pie pans to where her fire was burningcrisply. With a small field axe she chopped a couple of small greenbranches, pointed them to her liking, and peeled them. Then she madea poker from one of the saplings they had used to move the rocks, andbeat down her fire until she had a bright bed of deep coals. When thesewere arranged exactly to her satisfaction, she pulled some sprays ofdeer weed bloom from her bundle and, going down to the creek, madea lather and carefully washed her hands, tucking the towel she usedin drying them through her belt. Then she came back to the fire and,sitting down beside it, opened the package and began her operations.On the long, slender sticks she strung a piece of tenderloin beef,about three inches in circumference and one fourth of an inch inthickness, then half a slice of bacon, and then a slice of onion. Thisshe repeated until her skewer would bear no more weight. Then shelaid it across the rocks walling her fire, occasionally turning itwhile she filled the second skewer. Then she brought from the car thebucket of pulp she had taken from the barrel cactus, transferred itto a piece of cheesecloth and deftly extracted the juice. To this sheadded the contents of a thermos bottle containing a pint of sugar thathad been brought to the boiling point with a pint of water and pouredover some chopped spearmint to which had been added the juice of halfa dozen lemons and three or four oranges. From a small, metal-linedcompartment, Linda took a chunk of ice and dropped it into this mixture.

She was sitting on the ground, one foot doubled under her, the otherextended. She had taken off her hat; the wind and the bushes hadroughened her hair. Exercise had brought deep red to her cheeks andher lips. Happiness had brought a mellow glow to her dark eyes. Shehad turned back her sleeves, and her slender hands were fascinatinglygraceful in their deft handling of everything she touched. They werea second edition of the hands with which Alexander Strong had feltout defective nerve systems and made delicate muscular adjustments.She was wholly absorbed in what she was doing. Sitting on the blanketacross from her Donald Whiting was wholly absorbed in her and he wasthinking. He was planning how he could please her, how he could earnher friendship. He was admitting to himself that he had very little,if anything, to show for hours of time that he had spent in dancing,at card games, beach picnics, and races. All these things had beenamusing. But he had nothing to show for the time he had spent or themoney he had wasted. Nothing had happened that in any way equippedhim for his battle with Oka Sayye. Conversely, this girl, whom he hadresented, whom he had criticized, who had claimed his notice only byher radical difference from the other girls, had managed, during thefew minutes he had first talked with her in the hall, to wound hispride, to spur his ambition, to start him on a course that must endin lasting and material benefit to him even if he failed in makinga higher record of scholarship than Oka Sayye. It was very certainthat the exercise he was giving his brain must be beneficial. He hadlearned many things that were intensely interesting to him and he hadnot even touched the surface of what he could see that she had beentaught by her father or had learned through experience and personalinvestigation. She had been coming to the mountains and the canyonsalone, for four years doing by herself what she would have done underher father’s supervision had he lived. That argued for steadfastnessand strength of character. She would not utter one word of flattery.She would say nothing she did not mean. Watching her intently, DonaldWhiting thought of all these things. He thought of what she had saidabout fighting for him, and he wondered if it really was true thatany girl he knew would fight for him. He hardly believed it whenhe remembered some of his friends, so entirely devoted to personaladornment and personal gratification. But Linda had said that allwomen were alike in their hearts. She knew about other things. Shemust know about this. Maybe all women would fight for their young orfor their men, but he knew of no other girl who could drive a Bear-catwith the precision and skill with which Linda drove. He knew no othergirl who was master of the secrets of the desert and the canyonsand the mountains. Certainly he knew no other girl who would tug atgreat boulders and build a fireplace and risk burning her fingers andscorching her face to prepare a meal for him. So he watched Linda andso he thought.

At first he thought she was the finest pal a boy ever had, and then hethought how he meant to work to earn and keep her friendship; and then,as the fire reddened Linda’s cheeks and she made running comments whileshe deftly turned her skewers of brigand beefsteak, food that half theBoy Scouts in the country had been eating for four years, there came anidea with which he dallied until it grew into a luring vision.

“Linda,” he asked suddenly, “do you know that one of these days you’regoing to be a beautiful woman?”

Linda turned her skewers with intense absorption. At first he almostthought she had not heard him, but at last she said quietly: “Do youreally think that is possible, Donald?”

“You’re lovely right now!” answered the boy promptly.

“For goodness’ sake, have an eye single to your record for truth andveracity,” said Linda. “Doesn’t this begin to smell zippy?”

“It certainly does,” said Donald. “It’s making me ravenous. But honest,Linda, you area pretty girl.”

“Honest, your foot!” said Linda scornfully. “I am not a pretty girl.I am lean and bony and I’ve got a beak where I should have a nose.Speaking of pretty girls, my sister, Eileen, is a pretty girl. She is adownright beautiful girl.”

“Yes,” said Donald, “she is, but she can’t hold a candle to you. Howdid she look when she was your age?”

“I can’t remember Eileen,” said Linda, “when she was not exquisitelydressed and thinking more about taking care of her shoes than anythingelse in the world. I can’t remember her when she was not curled, andeven when she was a tiny thing Mother put a dust of powder on her nose.She said her skin was so delicate that it could not bear the sun. Shenever could run or play or motor much or do anything, because shehas always had to be saved for the sole purpose of being exquisitelybeautiful. Talk about lilies of the field, that’s what Eileen is! Sheis an improvement on the original lily of the field—she’s a lily of thedrawing room. Me, now, I’m more of a Joshua tree.”

Donald Whiting laughed, as Linda intended that he should.

A minute afterward she slid the savory food from a skewer upon one ofthe pie pans, tossed back the cover from the little table, stackedsome bread-and-butter sandwiches beside the meat and handed the pan toDonald.

“Fall to,” she said, “and prove that you’re a man with an appreciativetummy. Father used to be positively ravenous for this stuff. I like itmyself.”

She slid the food from the second skewer to a pan for herself, settledthe fire to her satisfaction and they began their meal. Presently shefilled a cup from the bucket beside her and handed it to Donald. At thesame time she lifted another for herself.

“Here’s to the barrel cactus,” she said. “May the desert grow enoughof them so that we’ll never lack one when we want to have a Saturdaypicnic.”

Laughingly they drank this toast; and the skewers were filled a secondtime. When they could eat no more they packed away the lunch things,buried the fire, took the axe and the field glasses, and started on atrip of exploration down the canyon. Together they admired delicateand exquisite ferns growing around great gray boulders. Donald tastedhunters’ rock leek, and learned that any he found while on a huntingexpedition would furnish a splendid substitute for water. Linda toldhim of rare flowers she lacked and what they were like and how he wouldbe able to identify what she wanted in case he should ever find anywhen he was out hunting or with his other friends. They peeped intothe nesting places of canyon wrens and doves and finches, and listenedto the exquisite courting songs of the birds whose hearts were almostbursting with the exuberance of spring and the joy of home making. Whenthey were tired out they went back to the dining room and after restinga time, they made a supper from the remnants of their dinner. When theywere seated in the car and Linda’s hand was on the steering wheel,Donald reached across and covered it with his own.

“Wait a bit,” he said. “Before we leave here I want to ask you aquestion and I want you to make me a promise.”

“All right,” said Linda. “What’s your question?”

“What is there,” said Donald, “that I can do that would give you suchpleasure as you have given me?”

Linda could jest on occasions, but by nature she was a serious person.She looked at Donald reflectively.

“Why, I think,” she said at last, “that having a friend, having someonewho understands and who cares for the things I do, and who likes to goto the same places and to do the same things, is the biggest thing thathas happened to me since I lost my father. I don’t see that you are inany way in my debt, Donald.”

“All right then,” said the boy, “that brings me to the promise I wantyou to make me. May we always have our Saturdays together like this?”

“Sure!” said Linda, “I would be mightily pleased. I’ll have to worklater at night and scheme, maybe. By good rights Saturday belongs to meanyway because I am born Saturday’s child.”

“Well, hurrah for Saturday! It always was a grand old day,” saidDonald, “and since I see what it can do in turning out a girl like you,I’ve got a better opinion of it than ever. We’ll call that settled.I’ll always ask you on Friday at what hour to come, and hereafterSaturday is ours.”

“Ours it is,” said Linda.

Then she put the Bear-cat through the creek and on the road and,driving swiftly as she dared, ran to Lilac Valley and up to PeterMorrison’s location.

She was amazed at the amount of work that had been accomplished. Thegarage was finished. Peter’s temporary work desk and his cot were init. A number of his personal belongings were there. The site for hishouse had been selected and the cellar was being excavated.

Linda descended from the Bear-cat and led Donald before Peter.

“Since you’re both my friends,” she said, “I want you to know eachother. This is Donald Whiting, the Senior I told you about, Mr.Morrison. You know you said you would help him if you could.”

“Certainly,” said Peter. “I am very glad to know any friend of yours,Miss Linda. Come over to my workroom and let’s hear about this.”

“Oh, go and talk it over between yourselves,” said Linda. “I am goingup here to have a private conversation with the spring. I want it totell me confidentially exactly the course it would enjoy running sothat when your house is finished and I come to lay out your grounds Iwill know exactly how it feels about making a change.”

“Fine!” said Peter. “Take your time and become extremely confidential,because the more I look at the location and the more I hear the gaychuckling song that that water sings, the more I am in love with yourplan to run it across the lawn and bring it around the boulder.”

“It would be a downright sin not to have that water in a convenientplace for your children to play in, Peter,” said Linda.

“Then that’sall settled,” said Peter. “Now, Whiting, come thisway and we’ll see whether I can suggest anything that will help youwith your problem.”

“Whistle when you are ready, Donald,” called Linda as she turned away.

Peter Morrison glanced after her a second, and then he led DonaldWhiting to a nail keg in the garage and impaled that youngster onthe mental point of a mental pin and studied him as carefully as anyscientist ever studied a rare specimen. When finally he let him go, hismental comment was: “He’s a mighty fine kid. Linda is perfectly safewith him.”

CHAPTER XV

Early the following week Linda came from school one evening to find aload of sand and a heap of curiously marked stones beside the back door.

“Can it possibly be, Katy,” she asked, “that those men are planningto begin work on my room so soon? I am scared out of almost seven ofmy five senses. I had no idea they would be ready to begin work untilafter I had my settlement with Eileen or was paid for the books.”

“Don’t ye be worried,” said Katy. “There’s more in me stocking than meleg, and you’re as welcome to it as the desert is welcome to rain, an’nadin’ it ’most as bad.”

“Anyway,” said Linda, “it will surely take them long enough so that Ican pay by the time they finish.”

But Linda was not figuring that back of the projected improvementsstood two men, each of whom had an extremely personal reason forgreatly desiring to please her. Peter Morrison had secured a slab ofsandstone. He had located a marble cutter to whom he meant to carryit, and was spending much thought that he might have been using on anarticle in trying to hit upon exactly the right line or phrase to buildin above Linda’s fire—something that would convey to her in a few wordsa sense of friendship and beauty.

While Peter gazed at the unresponsive gray sandstone and wrote lineafter line which he immediately destroyed, Henry Anderson explored themountain and came in, red faced and perspiring, from miles of climbingwith a bright stone in each hand, or took the car to bring in smallheaps too heavy to carry that he had collected near the roads. Theywere two men striving for the favour of the same girl. How Linda wouldhave been amused had she understood the situation, or how Eileen wouldhave been provoked, neither of the men knew nor did they care.

The workmen came after Linda left and went before her return. Havingbeen cautioned to silence, Katy had not told her when work actuallybegan; and so it happened that, going to her room one evening, sheunlocked the door and stepped inside to face the completed fireplace.The firebox was not very large but ample. The hearthstone was abig sheet of smooth gray sandstone. The sides and top were Henry’scollection of brilliant boulders, carefully and artistically laidin blue mortar, and over the firebox was set Peter’s slab of graysandstone. On it were four deeply carved lines. The quaint Old Englishlettering was filled even to the surface with a red mortar, while thecapitals were done in dull blue. The girl slowly read:

In the firebox stood a squat pair of black andirons, showing age andusage. A rough eucalyptus log waited across them while the shavingsfrom the placing of the mantel and the cutting of the windows weretucked beneath it. Linda stood absorbed a minute. She looked at theskylight, flooding the room with the light she so needed coming fromthe right angle. She went over to the new window that gave her a viewof the length of the valley she loved and a most essential draft. Whenshe turned back to the fireplace her hands were trembling.

“Now isn’t that too lovely of them?” she said softly. “Isn’t thataltogether wonderful? How I wish Daddy were here to sit beside my fireand share with me the work I hope to do here.”

In order to come as close to him as possible she did the next bestthing. She sat down at her table and wrote a long letter to Marian,telling her everything she could think of that would interest her. Thenshe re-read with extreme care the letter she had found at the PostOffice that day in reply to the one she had written Marian purportingto come from an admirer. Writing slowly and thinking deeply, sheanswered it. She tried to imagine that she was Peter Morrison and shetried to say the things in that letter that she thought Peter wouldsay in the circumstances, because she felt sure that Marian would beentertained by such things as Peter would say. When she finished, sheread it over carefully, and then copied it with equal care on thetypewriter, which she had removed to her workroom.

When she heard Katy’s footstep outside her door, she opened it and drewher in, slipping the bolt behind her. She led her to the fireplace andrecited the lines.

“Now ain’t they jist the finest gentlemen?” said Katy. “Cut right offof a piece of the same cloth as your father. Now some way we must gettogether enough money to get ye a good-sized rug for under your worktable, and then ye’ve got to have two bits of small ones, one for yourhearthstone and one for your aisel; and then ye’re ready, colleen,to show what ye can do. I’m so proud of ye when I think of the grandsecret it’s keepin’ for ye I am; and less and less are gettin’ mechances for the salvation of me soul, for every night I’m a-sittin’starin’ at the magazines ye gave me when I ought to be tellin’ me beadsand makin’ me devotions. Ain’t it about time the third was comin’ in?”

“Any day now,” said Linda in a whisper. “And, Katy, you’ll be careful?That editor must think that ‘Jane Meredith’ is full of years andripe experience. I probably wouldn’t get ten cents, no not even afor-nothing chance, if he knew those articles were written by a Junior.”

“Junior nothing!” scoffed Katy. “There was not a day of his life thatyour pa did not spend hours drillin’ ye in things the rest of the girlsin your school never heard of. ’Tain’t no high-school girl that’swritten them articles. It’s Alexander Strong speakin’ through themedium of his own flesh and blood.”

“Why, so it is, Katy!” cried Linda delightedly. “You know, I neverthought of that. I have been so egoistical I thought I was doing themmyself.”

“Paid ye anything yet?” queried Katy.

“No,” said Linda, “they haven’t. It seems that the amount of interestthe articles evoke is going to decide what I am to be paid for them,but they certainly couldn’t take the recipe and the comments and thesketch for less than twenty-five or thirty dollars, unless recipes arelike poetry. Peter said the other day that if a poet did not have someother profession to support him, he would starve to death on all he waspaid for writing the most beautiful things that ever are written in allthis world. Peter says even an effort to write a poem is a beautifulthing.”

“Well, maybe that used to be the truth,” said Katy as she startedtoward the door, “but I have been reading some things labeled ‘poetry’in the magazines of late, and if the holy father knows what they mean,he’s even bigger than ever I took him to be.”

“Katy,” said Linda, “we are dreadful back numbers. We are letting thisworld progress and roll right on past us without a struggle. We haven’teither one been to a psycho-analyst to find out the colour of ourauras.”

“Now God forbid,” said Katy. “I ain’t going to have one of them thingsaround me. The colours I’m wearin’ satisfy me entoirely.”

“And mine are going to satisfy me very shortly, now,” laughed Linda,“because to-morrow is my big day with Eileen. Next time we have aminute together, old dear, I’ll have started my bank account.”

“Right ye are,” said Katy, “jist exactly right. You’re getting such agreat girl it’s the proper thing ye should be suitably dressed, anddon’t ye be too modest.”

“The unfortunate thing about that, Katy, is that I intimated the otherday that I would be content with less than half, since she is older andshe should have her chance first.”

“Now ain’t that jist like ye?” said Katy. “I might have known ye wouldbe doing that very thing.”

“After I have gone over the accounts,” said Linda, “I’ll know betterwhat to demand. Now fly to your cooking, Katy, and let me sit down atthis table and see if I can dig out a few dollars of honest coin; butI’m going to have hard work to keep my eyes on the paper with thatfireplace before me. Isn’t that red and blue lettering the prettiestthing, Katy, and do you notice that tiny ‘P. M.’ cut down in the lowerleft-hand corner nearly out of sight? That, Katy, stands for ‘PeterMorrison,’ and one of these days Peter is going to be a large figure onthe landscape. The next Posthe has an article in I’ll buy foryou.”

“It never does,” said Katy, “to be makin’ up your mind in this world sohard and fast that ye can’t change it. In the days before John Gilmangot bewitched out of his senses I did think, barrin’ your father, thathe was the finest man the Lord ever made; but I ain’t thought so muchof him of late as I did before.”

“Same holds good for me,” said Linda.

“I’ve studied this Peter,” continued Katy, “like your pa used to studythings under his microscope. He’s the most come-at-able man. He’s gotsuch a kind of a questionin’ look on his face, and there’s a bit of astoop to his shoulders like they had been whittled out for carryin’a load, and there’s a kind of a whimsy quiverin’ around his lipsthat makes me heart stand still every time he speaks to me, becauseI can’t be certain whether he is going to make me laugh or going tomake me cry, and when what he’s sayin’ does come with that little slowdrawl, I can’t be just sure whether he’s meanin’ it or whether he’sjist pokin’ fun at me. He said the quarest thing to me the other daywhen he was here fiddlin’ over the makin’ of this fireplace. He wasstandin’ out beside your desert garden and I come aven with him and Isays to him: ‘Them’s the rare plants Miss Linda and her pa have beengoin’ to the deserts and the canyons, as long as he lived, to fetch in;and then Miss Linda went alone, and now the son of Judge Whiting, thebiggest lawyer in Los Angeles, has begun goin’ with her. Ain’t it thebrightest, prettiest place?’ I says to him. And he stood there lookin’,and he says to me: ‘No, Katy, that is a graveyard.’ Now what in thename of raison was the man meanin’ by that?”

Linda stared at the hearth motto reflectively.

“A graveyard!” she repeated. “Well, if anything could come farther froma graveyard than that spot, I don’t know how it would do it. I haven’tthe remotest notion what he meant. Why didn’t you ask him?”

“Well, the truth is,” said Katy, “that I proide myself on being able tokape me mouth shut when I should.”

“I’ll leave to think over it,” said Linda. “At present I have nomore idea than you in what respect my desert garden could resemble agraveyard. Oh! yes, there’s one thing I wanted to ask you, Katy. HasEileen been around while this room was being altered?”

“She came in yesterday,” answered Katy, “when the hammerin’ and sawin’was goin’ full blast.”

“What I wanted to find out’” said Linda, “was whether she had been hereand seen this room or not, because if she hasn’t and she wants to seeit, now is her time. After I get things going here and these walls arecovered with drying sketches this room is going to be strictly private.You see that you keep your key where nobody gets hold of it.”

“It’s on a string round me neck this blessed minute,” said Katy. “Ididn’t see her come up here, but ye could be safe in bettin’ anythingye’ve got that she came.”

“Yes, I imagine she did,” said Linda. “She would be sufficientlycurious that she would come to learn how much I have spent if she hadno other interest in me.”

She looked at the fireplace reflectively.

“I wonder,” she said, “what Eileen thought of that and I wonder if shenoticed that little ‘P. M.’ tucked away down there in the corner.”

“Sure she did,” said Katy. “She has got eyes like a cat. She can seemore things in a shorter time than anybody I ever knew.”

So that evening at dinner Linda told Eileen that the improvements shehad made for her convenience in the billiard room were finished, andasked her if she would like to see them.

“I can’t imagine what you want to stick yourself off up there alonefor,” said Eileen. “I don’t believe I am sufficiently interestedin garret skylights and windows to climb up to look at them. Whateverybody in the neighborhood can see is that you have absolutelyruined the looks of the back part of the house.”

“Good gracious!” said Linda. “Have I? You know I never thought of that.”

“Of course! But all you’ve got to do is go on the east lawn and takea look at that side and the back end of the house to see what youhave done,” said Eileen. “Undoubtedly you’ve cut the selling price ofthe house one thousand, at least. But it’s exactly like you not tohave thought of what chopping up the roof and the end of the houseas you have done, would make it look like. You have got one of thosesingle-track minds, Linda, that can think of only one thing at a time,and you never do think, when you start anything, of what the end isgoing to be.”

“Very likely there’s a large amount of truth in that,” said Lindasoberly. “Perhaps I do get an idea and pursue it to the exclusion ofeverything else. It’s an inheritance from Daddy, this concentratingwith all my might on one thing at a time. But I am very sorry if I havedisfigured the house.”

“What I want to know,” said Eileen, “is how in this world, at presentwages and cost of material, you’re expecting to pay men for the workyou have had done.”

“I can talk more understandingly about that,” said Linda quietly, “dayafter to-morrow. I’ll get home from school to-morrow as early as I can,and then we’ll figure out our financial situation exactly.”

Eileen made no reply.

CHAPTER XVI

When Linda hurried home the next evening, her first word to Katy was toask if Eileen were there.

“No, she isn’t here,” said Katy, “and she’s not going to be.”

“Not going to be!” cried Linda, her face paling perceptibly.

“She went downtown this morning and she telephoned me about threesayin’ she had an invoitation to go with a motor party to Pasadena thisafternoon, an’ she wasn’t knowin’ whether she could get home the nightor not.”

“I don’t like it,” said Linda. “I don’t like it at all.”

She liked it still less when Eileen came home for a change of clothingthe following day, and again went to spend the night with a friend,without leaving any word whatever.

“I don’t understand this,” said Linda, white lipped and tense. “Shedoes not want to see me. She does not intend to talk business withme if she can possibly help it. She is treating me as if I were afour-year-old instead of a woman with as much brain as she has. If sheappears while I am gone to-morrow and starts away again, you tell her——Come to think of it, you needn’t tell her anything; I’ll give you anote for her.”

So Linda sat down and wrote:

Dear Eileen:

It won’t be necessary to remind you of our agreement night beforelast to settle on an allowance from Father’s estate for me. Ofcourse I realize that you are purposely avoiding seeing me, forwhat reason I can’t imagine; but I give you warning, that if youhave been in this house and have read this note, and are not herewith your figures ready to meet me when I get home to-morrow night,I’ll take matters into my own hands, and do exactly what I thinkbest without the slightest reference to what you think about it. Ifyou don’t want something done that you will dislike, even more thanyou dislike seeing me, you had better heed this warning.

Linda.

She read it over slowly: “My, that sounds melodramatic!” she commented.“It’s even got a threat in it, and it’s a funny thing to threatenmy own sister. I don’t think that it’s a situation that occurs veryfrequently, but for that matter I sincerely hope that Eileen isn’t thekind of sister that occurs frequently.”

Linda went up to her room and tried to settle herself to work, butfound that it was impossible to fix her attention on what she wasdoing. Her mind jumped from one thing to another in a way that totallyprohibited effective work of any kind. A sudden resolve came into herheart. She would not wait any longer. She would know for herself justhow she was situated financially. She wrote a note to the editor ofEverybody’s Home, asking him if it would be convenient to lether know what reception her work was having with his subscribers,whether he desired her to continue the department in his magazines,and if so, what was the best offer he could make her for the recipes,the natural history comments accompanying them, and the sketches. Thenshe went down to the telephone book and looked up the location of theConsolidated Bank. She decided that she would stop there on her wayfrom school the next day and ask to be shown the Strong accounts.

While she was meditating these heroic measures the bell rang and Katyadmitted John Gilman. Strangely enough, he was asking for Linda, notfor Eileen. At the first glimpse of him Linda knew that something waswrong; so without any prelude she said abruptly: “What’s the matter,John? Don’t you know where Eileen is either?”

“Approximately,” he answered. “She has ’phoned me two or three times,but I haven’t seen her for three days. Do you know where she is orexactly why she is keeping away from home as she is?”

“Yes,” said Linda, “I do. I told you the other day the time had comewhen I was going to demand a settlement of Father’s estate and a fixedincome. That time came three days ago and I have not seen Eileen since.”

They entered the living room. As Linda passed the table, proppedagainst a candlestick on it, she noticed a note addressed to herself.

“Oh, here will be an explanation,” she said. “Here is a note for me.Sit down a minute till I read it.”

She seated herself on the arm of a chair, tore open the note, andinstantly began reading aloud.

“Dear little sister——”

“Pathetic,” interpolated Linda, “in consideration of the fact that I amabout twice as big as she is. However, we’ll let that go, and focus onthe enclosure.” She waved a slender slip of paper at Gilman. “I neverwas possessed of an article like this before in all my tender younglife, but it seems to me that it’s a cheque, and I can’t tell you quitehow deeply it amuses me. But to return to business, at the presentinstant I am:

Dear little Sister:

It seems that all the friends I have are particularly insistent onseeing me all at once and all in a rush. I don’t think I ever had quiteso many invitations at one time in my life before, and the next twoor three days seem to be going to be equally as full. But I took timeto run into the bank and go over things carefully. I find that afterthe payment of taxes and insurance and all the household expenses,that by wearing old clothes I have and making them over I can affordto turn over at least seventy-five dollars a month to you for yourclothing and personal expenses. As I don’t know exactly when I can gethome, I am enclosing a cheque which is considerably larger than I hadsupposed I could make it, and I can only do this by skimping myself;but of course you are getting such a big girl and beginning to attractattention, so it is only right that you should have the very best thatI can afford to do for you. I am not taking the bill from The Mode intoconsideration. I paid that with last month’s expenses.

With love,
Eileen.

Linda held the letter in one hand, the cheque in the other, and staredquestioningly at John Gilman.

“What do you think of that?” she inquired tersely.

“It seems to me,” said Gilman, “that a more pertinent question wouldbe, what do you think of it?”

“Rot!” said Linda tersely. “If I were a stenographer in your officeI would think that I was making a fairly good start; but I happen tobe the daughter of Alexander Strong living in my own home with myonly sister who can afford to flit like the flittingest of socialbutterflies from one party to another as well dressed as, and betterdressed than, the Great General Average. You have known us, John, eversince Eileen sat in the sun to dry her handmade curls, while I wasleaving a piece of my dress on every busk in Multiflores Canyon. Righthere and now I am going to show you something!”

Linda started upstairs, so John Gilman followed her. She went to thedoor of Eileen’s suite and opened it.

“Now then,” she said, “take a look at what Eileen feels she canafford for herself. You will observe she has complete and exquisitefurnishings and all sorts of feminine accessories on her dressingtable. You will observe that she has fine rugs in her dressing room andbathroom. Let me call your attention to the fact that all these drawersare filled with expensive comforts and conveniences.”

Angrily Linda began to open drawers filled with fancy feminine apparel,daintily and neatly folded, everything in perfect order: gloves,hose, handkerchiefs, ribbons, laces, all in separate compartments Shepointed to the high chiffonier, the top decorated with candlesticks andsilver-framed pictures. Here the drawers revealed heaps of embroideredunderclothing and silken garments. Then she walked to the closet andthrew the door wide.

She pushed hangers on their rods, sliding before the perplexed andbewildered man dress after dress of lace and georgette, walking suitsof cloth, street dresses of silk, and pretty afternoon gowns, heavycoats, light coats, a beautiful evening coat. Linda took this down andheld it in front of John Gilman.

“I see things marked in store windows,” she said. “Eileen paid not apenny less than three hundred for this one coat. Look at the rows ofshoes, and pumps, and slippers, and what that box is for I don’t know.”

Linda slid to the light a box screened by the hanging dresses, andwith the toe of her shoe lifted the lid, disclosing a complete smokingoutfit—case after case of cigarettes. Linda dropped the lid and shovedthe box back. She stood silent a second, then she looked at John Gilman.

“That is the way things go in this world,” she said quietly. “Wheneveryou lose your temper, you always do something you didn’t intend to dowhen you started. I didn’t know that, and I wouldn’t have shown it toyou purposely if I had known it; but it doesn’t alter the fact that youshould know it. If you did know it no harm’s done but if you didn’tknow it, you shouldn’t be allowed to marry Eileen without knowing asmuch about her as you did about Marian, and there was nothing aboutMarian that you didn’t know. I am sorry for that, but since I havestarted this I am going through with it. Now give me just one minutemore.”

Then she went down the hall, threw open the door to her room, andwalking in said: “You have seen Eileen’s surroundings; now take a lookat mine. There’s my bed; there’s my dresser and toilet articles; andthis is my wardrobe.”

She opened the closet door and exhibited a pair of overalls in whichshe watered her desert garden. Next ranged her khaki breeches andfelt hat. Then hung the old serge school dress, beside it the extraskirt and orange blouse. The stack of underclothing on the shelves waspitifully small, visibly dilapidated. Two or three outgrown ginghamdresses hung forlornly on the opposite wall. Linda stood tall andstraight before John Gilman.

“What I have on and one other waist constitute my wardrobe,” she said,“and I told Eileen where to get this dress and suggested it before Igot it.”

Gilman looked at her in a dazed fashion.

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “If that isn’t the dress I sawEileen send up for herself, I’m badly mistaken. It was the Saturday wewent to Riverside. It surely is the very dress.”

Linda laughed bleakly.

“That may be,” she said. “The one time she ever has any respect forme is in a question of taste. She will agree that I know when coloursare right and a thing is artistic. Now then, John, you are theadministrator of my father’s estate; you have seen what you have seen.What are you going to do about it?”

“Linda,” he said quietly, “what my heart might prompt me to do inconsideration of the fact that I am engaged to marry Eileen, and whatmy legal sense tells me I must do as executor of your father’s wishes,are different propositions. I am going to do exactly what you tellme to. What you have shown me, and what I’d have realized, if I hadstopped to think, is neither right nor just.”

Then Linda took her turn at deep thought.

“John,” she said at last, “I am feeling depressed over what I have justdone. I am not sure that in losing my temper and bringing you up here Ihave played the game fairly. You don’t need to do anything. I’ll managemy affairs with Eileen myself. But I’ll tell you before you go, thatyou needn’t practice any subterfuges. When she reaches the point whereshe is ready to come home, I’ll tell her that you were here, and whatyou have seen. That is the best I can do toward squaring myself with myown conscience.”

Slowly they walked down the hall together. At the head of the stairsLinda took the cheque that she carried and tore it into bits. Steppingacross the hall, she let the little heap slowly flutter to the rug infront of Eileen’s door. Then she went back to her room and left JohnGilman to his own reflections.

CHAPTER XVII

The first time Linda entered the kitchen after her interview withGilman, Katy asked in deep concern, “Now what ye been doing, lambie?”

“Doing the baby act, Katy,” confessed Linda. “Disgracing myself. Losingmy temper. I wish I could bring myself to the place where I would thinkhalf a dozen times before I do a thing once.”

“Now look here,” said Katy, beginning to bristle, “ain’t it the truththat ye have thought for four years before ye did this thing once?”

“Quite so,” said Linda. “But since I am the daughter of the finestgentleman I ever knew, I should not do hasty, regrettable things.On the living-room table I found a note sweeter than honey, and itcontained a cheque for me that wouldn’t pay Eileen’s bills for lunches,candy, and theatres for a month; so in undue heat I reduced it to bitsand decorated the rug before her door. But before that, Katy, I led myguardian into the room, and showed him everything. I meant to tell himthat, since he had neglected me for four years, he could see that I hadjustice now, but when I’d personally conducted him from Eileen’s roomto mine, and when I took a good look at him there was something on hisface, Katy, that I couldn’t endure. So I told him to leave it to me;that I would tell Eileen myself what I had done, and so I will. But Iam sorry I did it, Katy; I am awfully sorry. You always told me to keepmy temper and I lost it completely. From now on I certainly will tryto behave myself more like a woman than a spoiled child. Now give me adust cloth and brushes. I am almost through with my job in the libraryand I want to finish, because I shall be forced to use the money fromthe books to pay for my skylight and fireplace.”

Linda went to the library and began work, efficiently, carefully, yetwith a precise rapidity habitual to her. Down the long line of heavytechnical books, she came to the end of the shelf. Three books fromthe end she noticed a difference in the wall behind the shelf. Hastilyremoving the other two volumes, she disclosed a small locked doorhaving a scrap of paper protruding from the edge which she pulled outand upon which she read:

In the event of my passing, should anyone move these books andfind this door, these lines are to inform him that it is to remainuntouched. The key to it is in my safety-deposit vault at theConsolidated Bank. The Bank will open the door and attend to thecontents of the box at the proper time.

Linda fixed the paper back exactly as she had found it. She stoodlooking at the door a long time, then she carefully wiped it, the wallaround it, and the shelf. Going to another shelf, she picked out thebooks that had been written by her father and, beginning at the endof the shelf, she ranged them in a row until they completely coveredthe opening. Then she finished filling the shelf with other books thatshe meant to keep, but her brain was working, milling over and overthe question of what that little compartment contained and when it wasto be opened and whether John Gilman knew about it, and whether theConsolidated Bank would remember the day specified, and whether itwould mean anything important to her.

She carried the dusters back to Katy, and going to her room,concentrated resolutely upon her work; but she Was unable to doanything constructive. Her routine lessons she could prepare, but shecould not even sketch a wild rose accurately. Finally she laid downher pencil, washed her brushes, put away her material, and lockingher door, slipped the key into her pocket. Going down to the garageshe climbed into the Bear-cat and headed straight for Peter Morrison.She drove into his location and blew the horn. Peter stepped from thegarage, and seeing her, started in her direction. Linda sprang down andhurried toward him. He looked at her intently as she approached andformed his own conclusions.

“Sort of restless,” said Linda. “Couldn’t evolve a single new ideawith which to enliven the gay annals of English literature and Greekhistory. A personal history seems infinitely more insistent andunusual. I ran away from my lessons, and my work, and came to you,Peter, because I had a feeling that there was something you could giveme, and I thought you would.”

Peter smiled a slow curious smile.

“I like your line of thought, Linda,” he said quietly. “It greatlyappeals to me. Any time an ancient and patriarchal literary man namedPeter Morrison can serve as a rock upon which a young thing can rest,why he’ll be glad to be that rock.”

“What were you doing?” asked Linda abruptly.

“Come and see,” said Peter.

He led the way to the garage. His work table and the cement flooraround it were littered with sheets of closely typed paper.

“I’ll have to assemble them first,” said Peter, getting down on hisknees and beginning to pick them up.

Linda sat on a packing case and watched him. Already she feltcomforted. Of course Peter was a rock, of course anyone could trusthim, and of course if the tempest of life beat upon her too stronglyshe could always fly to Peter.

“May I?” she inquired, stretching her hand in the direction of a sheet.

“Sure,” said Peter.

“What is it?” inquired Linda lightly. “The bridge or the road or theplayroom?”

“Gad!” he said slowly. “Don’t talk about me being a rock! Rocks arestolid, stodgy unresponsive things. I thought I was struggling withone of the biggest political problems of the day from an economic andpsychological standpoint. If I’d had sense enough to realize that itwas a bridge I was building, I might have done the thing with someimagination and subtlety. If you want a rock and you say I am a rock, arock I’ll be, Linda. But I know what you are, and what you will be tome when we really become the kind of friends we are destined to be.”

“I wonder now,” said Linda, “if you are going to say that I could beany such lovely thing on the landscape as a bridge.”

“No,” said Peter slowly, “nothing so prosaic. Bridges are common inthis world. You are going to be something uncommon. History recordsthe experiences of but one man who has seen a flame in the open. I ama second Moses and you are going to be my burning bush. I intended toread this article to you.”

Peter massed the sheets, straightened them on the desk, anddeliberately ripped them across several times. Linda sprang to her feetand stretched out her hands.

“Why, Peter!” she cried in a shocked voice. “That is perfectlyinexcusable. There are hours and hours of work on that, and I have nota doubt but that it was good work.”

“Simple case of mechanism,” said Peter, reducing the bits to smallersize and dropping them into the empty nail keg that served as hiswastebasket. “A lifeless thing without a soul, mere clock-work. I havegot the idea now. I am to build a bridge and make a road. Every wayI look I can see a golden-flame tongue of inspiration burning. I’llrewrite that thing and animate it. Take me for a ride, Linda.”

Linda rose and walked to the Bear-cat. Peter climbed in and sat besideher. Linda laid her hands on the steering wheel and started the car.She ran it down to the highway and chose a level road leading straightdown the valley through cultivated country. In all the world therewas nothing to equal the panorama that she spread before Peter thatevening. She drove the Bear-cat past orchards, hundreds of acresof orchards of waxen green leaves and waxen white bloom of orange,grapefruit, and lemon. She took him where seas of pink outlined peachorchards, and other seas the more delicate tint of the apricots.She glided down avenues lined with palm and eucalyptus, pepper andolive, and through unbroken rows, extending for miles, of roses, longstretches of white, again a stretch of pink, then salmon, yellow, andred. Nowhere in all the world are there to be found so many acres oforchard bloom and so many miles of tree-lined, rose-decorated roadwayas in southern California. She sent the little car through the eveninguntil she felt that it was time to go home, and when at last shestopped where they had started, she realized that neither she nor Peterhad spoken one word. As he stepped from the car she leaned toward himand reached out her hand.

“Thank you for the fireplace, Peter,” she said.

Peter took the hand she extended and held it one minute in both hisown. Then very gently he straightened it out in the palm of one of hishands and with the other hand turned back the fingers and laid his lipsto the heart of it.

“Thank you, Linda, for the flame,” he said, and turning abruptly, hewent toward his workroom.

Stopping for a bite to eat in the kitchen, Linda went back to her room.She sat down at the table and picking up her pencil, began to work,and found that she could work. Every stroke came true and strong.Every idea seemed original and unusual. Quite as late as a light everhad shone in her window, it shone that night, the last thing she didbeing to write another anonymous letter to Marian, and when she re-readit Linda realized that it was an appealing letter. She thought itcertainly would comfort Marian and surely would make her feel thatsomeone worth while was interested in her and in her work. She lovedsome of the whimsical little touches she had put into it, and shewondered if she had made it so much like Peter Morrison that it wouldbe suggestive of him to Marian. She knew that she had no right to dothat and had no such intention. She merely wanted a model to copy fromand Peter seemed the most appealing model at hand.

After school the next day Linda reported that she had finished goingthrough the books and was ready to have them taken. Then, after a fewminutes of deep thought, she made her way to the Consolidated Bank. Atthe window of the paying teller she explained that she wished to seethe person connected with the bank who had charge of the safety-depositboxes and who looked after the accounts pertaining to the estate ofAlexander Strong. The teller recognized the name. He immediately becamedeferential.

“I’ll take you to the office of the president,” he said. “He and DoctorStrong were very warm friends. You can explain to him what it is youwant to know.”

Before she realized what was happening, Linda found herself in anoffice that was all mahogany and marble. At a huge desk stacked withpapers sat a man, considerably older than her father. Linda rememberedto have seen him frequently in their home, in her father’s car, and sherecalled one fishing expedition to the Tulare Lake region where he hadbeen a member of her father’s party.

“Of course you have forgotten me, Mr. Worthington,” she said as sheapproached his desk. “I have grown such a tall person during the pastfour years.”

The white-haired financier rose and stretched out his hand.

“You exact replica of Alexander Strong,” he said laughingly, “Icouldn’t forget you any more than I could forget your father. That finefishing trip where you proved such a grand little scout is bright in mymemory as one of my happiest vacations. Sit down and tell me what I cando for you.”

Linda sat down and told him that she was dissatisfied with the mannerin which her father’s estate was being administered.

He listened very carefully to all she had to say, then he pressed abutton and gave a few words of instruction to the clerk who answeredit. When several ledgers and account books were laid before him, withpracticed hand he turned to what he wanted. The records were notcomplicated. They covered a period of four years. They showed exactlywhat monies had been paid into the bank for the estate. They showedwhat royalties had been paid on the books. Linda sat beside him andwatched his pencil running up and down columns, setting down a list ofitems, and making everything plain. Paid cheques for household expensesI and drygoods bills were all recorded and deducted. With narrow,alert eyes, Linda was watching, and her brain was keenly alive. As sherealized the discrepancy between the annual revenue from the estateand the totalling of the expenses, she had an inspiration. Somethingshe never before had thought of occurred to her. She looked the bankerin the eye and said very quietly: “And now, since she is my sisterand I am going to be of age very shortly and these things must all begone into and opened up, would it be out of place for me to ask youthis afternoon to let me have a glimpse at the private account of MissEileen Strong?”

The banker drew a deep breath and looked at Linda keenly.

“That would not be customary,” he said slowly.

“No?” said Linda. “But since Father and Mother went out at the sametime and there was no will and the property would be legally dividedequally between us upon my coming of age, would my sister be entitledto a private account?”

“Had she any sources of obtaining money outside the estate?”

“No,” said Linda. “At least none that I know of. Mother had I somerelatives in San Francisco who were very wealthy people, but they nevercame to see us and we never went there. I know nothing about them. Inever had any money from them and I am quite sure Eileen never had.”

Linda sat very quietly a minute and then she looked at the banker.

“Mr. Worthington,” she said, “the situation is slightly peculiar.My guardian, John Gilman, is engaged to marry my sister Eileen. Sheis a beautiful girl, as you no doubt recall, and he is very much inlove with her. Undoubtedly she has been able, at least recently, tomanage affairs very much in her own way. She is more than four yearsmy senior, and has always had charge of the household accounts and thehandling of the bank accounts. Since there is such a wide discrepancybetween the returns from the property and the expenses that these booksshow, I am forced to the conclusion that there must be upon your books,or the books of some other bank in the city, a private account inEileen’s name or in the name of the Strong estate.”

“That I can very easily ascertain,” said Mr. Worthington, reachingagain toward the button on his desk. A few minutes later the reportcame that there was a private account in the name of Miss EileenStrong. Again Linda was deeply thoughtful.

“Is there anything I can do,” she inquired, “to prevent that accountfrom being changed or drawn out previous to my coming of age?”

Then Mr. Worthington grew thoughtful.

“Yes,” he said at last. “If you are dissatisfied, if you feel thatyou have reason to believe that money rightfully belonging to youis being diverted to other channels, you have the right to issue aninjunction against the bank, ordering it not to pay out any furthermoney on any account nor to honour any cheques drawn by Miss Stronguntil the settlement of the estate. Ask your guardian to execute anddeliver such an injunction, or merely ask him, as your guardian and theadministrator of the estate, to give the bank a written order to thateffect.”

“But because he is engaged to Eileen, I told him I would not bringhim into this matter,” said Linda. “I told him that I would do what Iwanted done, myself.”

“Well, how long is it until this coming birthday of yours?” inquiredMr. Worthington.

“Less than two weeks,” answered Linda.

For a time the financier sat in deep thought, then he looked at Linda.It was a keen, searching look. It went to the depths of her eyes; itincluded her face and hair; it included the folds of her dress, the cutof her shoe, and rested attentively on the slender hands lying quietlyin her lap.

“I see the circumstances very clearly,” he said. “I sympathize withyour position. Having known your father and being well acquaintedwith your guardian, would you be satisfied if I should take theresponsibility of issuing to the clerks an order not to allow anythingto be drawn from the private account until the settlement of theestate?”

“Perfectly satisfied,” said Linda.

“It might be,” said Mr. Worthington, “managing matters in that way,that no one outside of ourselves need ever know of it. Should yoursister not draw on the private account in the meantime, she would befree to draw household cheques on the monthly income, and if in thesettlement of the estate she turns in this private account or accounts,she need never know of the restriction concerning this fund.”

“Thank you very much,” said Linda. “That will fix everything finely.”

On her way to the street car, Linda’s brain whirled.

“It’s not conceivable,” she said, “that Eileen should be enrichingherself at my expense. I can’t imagine her being dishonest in moneyaffairs, and yet I can recall scarcely a circumstance in life in whichEileen has ever hesitated to be dishonest when a lie served her purposebetter than the truth. Anyway, matters are safe now.”

The next day the books were taken and a cheque for their value waswaiting for Linda when she reached home. She cashed this cheque andwent straight to Peter Morrison for his estimate of the expenses forthe skylight and fireplace. When she asked for the bill Peter hesitated.

“You wouldn’t accept this little addition to your study as a gift fromHenry and me?” he asked lightly. “It would be a great pleasure to us ifyou would.”

“I could accept stones that Henry Anderson had gathered from themountains and canyons, and I could accept a verse carved on stone, andbe delighted with the gift; but I couldn’t accept hours of day labourat the present price of labour, so you will have to give me the bill,Peter.”

Peter did not have the bill, but he had memoranda, and when Linda paidhim she reflected that the current talk concerning the inflated priceof labour was greatly exaggerated.

For two evenings as Linda returned from school and went to her roomshe glanced down the hall and smiled at the decoration remainingon Eileen’s rug. The third evening it was gone, so that she knewEileen was either in her room or had been there. She did not meet hersister until dinner time. She was prepared to watch Eileen, to studyher closely. She was not prepared to admire her, but in her heartshe almost did that very thing. Eileen had practiced subterfuges solong, she was so accomplished, that it would have taken an expertto distinguish reality from subterfuge. She entered the diningroom humming a gay tune. She was carefully dressed and appealinglybeautiful. She blew a kiss to Linda and waved gaily to Katy.

“I was rather afraid,” she said lightly, “that I might find you two inmourning when I got back. I never stayed so long before, did I? Seemedas if every friend I had made special demand on my time all at once.Hope you haven’t been dull without me.”

“Oh, no,” said Linda quietly. “Being away at school all day, of courseI wouldn’t know whether you were at home or not, and I have grown soaccustomed to spending my evenings alone that I don’t rely on you forentertainment at any time.”

“In other words,” said Eileen, “it doesn’t make any difference to youwhere I am.”

“Not so far as enjoying your company is concerned,” said Linda.“Otherwise, of course it makes a difference. I hope you had a happytime.”

“Oh, I always have a happy time,” answered Eileen lightly. “I certainlyhave the best friends.”

“That’s your good fortune,” answered Linda.

At the close of the meal Linda sat waiting. Eileen gave Katyinstructions to have things ready for a midnight lunch for her and JohnGilman and then, humming her tune again, she left the dining room andwent upstairs. Linda stood looking after her.

“Now or never,” she said at last. “I have no business to let her meetJohn until I have recovered my self-respect. But the Lord help me to dothe thing decently!”

So she followed Eileen up the stairway. She tapped at the door, andwithout waiting to hear whether she was invited or not, opened it andstepped inside. Eileen was sitting before the window, a big box ofcandy beside her, a magazine in her fingers. Evidently she intendedto keep her temper in case the coming interview threatened to becomepainful.

“I was half expecting you,” she said, “you silly hothead. I found thecheque I wrote you when I got home this afternoon. That was a foolishthing to do. Why did you tear it up? If it were too large or if it werenot enough why didn’t you use it and ask for another? Because I had tobe away that was merely to leave you something to go on until I gotback.”

Then Linda did the most disconcerting thing possible. In her effortat self-control she went too far. She merely folded her hands in herlap and sat looking straight at Eileen without saying one word. Itdid not show much on the surface, but Eileen really had a conscience,she really had a soul; Linda’s eyes, resting rather speculatively onher, were honest eyes, and Eileen knew what she knew. She flushed andfidgeted, and at last she broke out impatiently: “Oh, for goodness’sake, Linda, don’t play ‘Patience-on-a-monument.’ Speak up and saywhat it is that you want. If that cheque was not big enough, what willsatisfy you?”

“Come to think of it,” said Linda quietly, “I can get along with what Ihave for the short time until the legal settlement of our interests isdue. You needn’t bother any more about a cheque.”

Eileen was surprised and her face showed it; and she was also relieved.That too her face showed.

“I always knew,” she said lightly, “that I had a little sister witha remarkably level head and good common sense. I am glad that yourecognize the awful inflation of prices during the war period, and howI have had to skimp and scheme and save in order to make ends meet andto keep us going on Papa’s meager income.”

All Linda’s good resolutions vanished. She was under strong nervoustension. It irritated her to have Eileen constantly referring to theirmonetary affairs as if they were practically paupers, as if theirfather’s life had been a financial failure, as if he had not been ableto realize from achievements recognized around the world a comfortableliving for two women.

“Oh, good Lord!” she said shortly. “Bluff the rest of the world likea professional, Eileen, but why try it with me? You’re right aboutmy having common sense. I’ll admit that I am using it now. I will beof age in a few days, and then we’ll take John Gilman and go to theConsolidated Bank, and if it suits your convenience to be absent forfour or five days at that period, I’ll take John Gilman and we’ll gotogether.”

Eileen was amazed. The receding colour in her cheeks left the rouge onthem a ghastly, garish thing.

“Well, I won’t do anything of the sort,” she said hotly, “and neitherwill John Gilman.”

“Unfortunately for you,” answered Linda, “John Gilman is my guardian,not yours. He’ll be forced to do what the law says he must, and whatcommon decency tells him he must, no matter what his personal feelingsare; and I might as well tell you that your absence has done you nogood. You’d far better have come home, as you agreed to, and gone overthe books and made me a decent allowance, because in your absence Johncame here to ask me where you were, and I know that he was anxious.”

“He came here!” cried Eileen.

“Why, yes,” said Linda. “Was it anything unusual? Hasn’t he been cominghere ever since I can remember? Evidently you didn’t keep him as wellposted this time as you usually do. He came here and asked for me.”

“And I suppose,” said Eileen, an ugly red beginning to rush into herwhite cheeks, “that you took pains to make things uncomfortable for me.”

“I am very much afraid,” said Linda, “that you are right. You have madethings uncomfortable for me ever since I can remember, for I can’tremember the time when you were not finding fault with me, putting mein the wrong and getting me criticized and punished if you possiblycould. It was a fair understanding that you should be here, and youwere not, and I was seeing red about it; and just as John came in Ifound your note in the living room and read it aloud.’

“Oh, well, there was nothing in that,” said Eileen in a relieved tone.

“Nothing in the wording of it, no,” said Linda, “but there waseverything in the intention back of it. Because you did not live up toyour tacit agreement, and because I had been on high tension for two orthree days, I lost my temper completely. I brought John Gilman up hereand showed him the suite of rooms in which you have done for yourself,for four years. I gave him rather a thorough inventory of your dressingtable and drawers, and then I opened the closet door and called hisattention to the number and the quality of the garments hanging there.The box underneath them I thought was a shoe box, but it didn’t proveto be exactly that; and for that I want to tell you, as I have alreadytold John, I am sorry. I wouldn’t have done that if I had known what Iwas doing.”

“Is that all?” inquired Eileen, making a desperate effort atself-control.

“Not quite,” said Linda. “When I finished with your room, I took himback and showed him mine in even greater detail than I showed himyours. I thought the contrast would be more enlightening than anythingeither one of us could say.”

“And I suppose you realize,” said Eileen bitterly, “that you lost meJohn Gilman when you did it.”

“I?” said Linda. “Ilost you John Gilman when I did it?But I didn’t do it. You did it. You have been busy for four yearsdoing it. If you hadn’t done it, it wouldn’t have been there for me toshow him. I can’t see that this is profitable. Certainly it’s the mostdistressing thing that ever has occurred for me. But I didn’t feel thatI could let you meet John Gilman to-night without telling you what heknows. If you have any way to square your conscience and cleanse yoursoul before you meet him, you had better do it, for he’s a mighty fineman and if you lose him you will have lost the best chance that islikely ever to come to you.”

Linda sat studying Eileen. She saw the gallant effort she was makingto keep her self-possession, to think with her accustomed rapidity, tostrike upon some scheme whereby she could square herself. She rose andstarted toward the door.

“What you’ll say to John I haven’t the faintest notion,” she said. “Itold him very little. I just showed him.”

Then she went out and closed the door after her. At the foot of thestairs she met Katy admitting Gilman. Without any preliminaries shesaid: “I repeat, John, that I’m sorry for what happened the other day.I have just come from Eileen. She will be down as soon as Katy tellsher you’re here, no doubt. I have done what I told you I would. Sheknows what I showed you so you needn’t employ any subterfuges. You canbe frank and honest with each other.”

“I wish to God we could,” said John Gilman.

Linda went to her work. She decided that she would gauge what happenedby the length of time John stayed. If he remained only a few minutesit would indicate that there had been a rupture. If he stayed as longas he usually did, the chances were that Eileen’s wit had triumphed asusual.

At twelve o’clock Linda laid her pencils in the box, washed thebrushes, and went down the back stairs to the ice chest for a glassof milk. The living room was still lighted and Linda thought Eileen’slaugh quite as gay as she ever had heard it. Linda closed her lips verytight and slowly climbed the stairs. When she entered her room shewalked up to the mirror and stared at herself in the glass for a longtime, and then of herself she asked this question:

“Well, how do you suppose she did it?”

CHAPTER XVIII

Just as Linda was most deeply absorbed with her own concerns there camea letter from Marian which Linda read and reread several times; forMarian wrote:

My dearest Pal:

Life is so busy up San Francisco way that it makes Lilac Valleylook in retrospection like a peaceful sunset preliminary to bedtime.

But I want you to have the consolation and the comfort of knowingthat I have found at least two friends that I hope will endure.One is a woman who has a room across the hall from mine in myapartment house. She is a newspaper woman and life is very fullfor her, but it is filled with such intensely interesting thingsthat I almost regret having made my life work anything so prosaicas inanimate houses; but then it’s my dream to enliven each houseI plan with at least the spirit of home. This woman—her name isDana Meade—enlivens every hour of her working day with somethingconcerning the welfare of humanity. She is a beautiful woman in hersoul, so extremely beautiful that I can’t at this minute write youa detailed description of her hair and her eyes and her complexion,because this nice, big, friendly light that radiates from her solights her up and transfigures her that everyone says how beautifulshe is, and yet I have a vague recollection that her nose is whatyou would call a “beak,” and I am afraid her cheek bones are toohigh for good proportion, and I know that her hair is not alwaysso carefully dressed as it should be, but what is the differencewhen the hair is crowned with a halo? I can’t swear to any of thesethings; they’re sketchy impressions. The only thing I am absolutelysure about is the inner light that shines to an unbelievabledegree. I wish she had more time and I wish I had more time andthat she and I might become such friends as you and I are. I can’ttell you, dear, how much I think of you. It seems to me that you’rerunning a sort of undercurrent in my thoughts all day long.

You will hardly credit it, Linda, but a few days ago I drove a carthrough the thickest traffic, up a steep hill, and round a curve.I did it, but practically collapsed when it was over. The why ofit was this: I think I told you before that in the offices ofNicholson and Snow there is a man who is an understanding person.He is the junior partner and his name is Eugene Snow. I happenedto arrive at his desk the day I came for my instructions and tomake my plans for entering their contest. He was very kind to meand went out of his way to smooth out the rough places. Ever since,he makes a point of coming to me and talking a few minutes when Iam at the office or when he passes me on my way to the draughtingrooms where I take my lessons. The day I mention I had worked lateand hard the night before. I had done the last possible thing tothe plans for my dream house. At the last minute, getting it allon paper, working at the specifications, at which you know I amwobbly, was nervous business; and when I came from the desk afterhaving turned in my plans, perhaps I showed fatigue. Anyway, hesaid to me that his car was below. He said also that he was alonely person, having lost his wife two years ago, and not beingable very frequently to see his little daughter who is in the careof her grandmother, there were times when he was hungry for thecompanionship he had lost. He asked me if I would go with him fora drive and I told him that I would. I am rather stunned yet overwhat happened. The runabout he led me to was greatly like yours,and, Linda, he stopped at a florist’s and came out with an armloadof bloom—exquisite lavender and pale pink and faint yellow andwaxen white—the most enticing armload of spring. For one minute Itruly experienced a thrill. I thought he was going to give thatmass of flowers to me, but he did not. He merely laid it across mylap and said: “Edith adored the flowers from bulbs. I never seesuch bloom that my heart does not ache with a keen, angry ache tothink that she should be taken from the world, and the beauty thatshe so loved, so early and so ruthlessly. We’ll take her these as Iwould take them to her were she living.”

So, Linda dear, I sat there and looked at colour and drank infragrance, and we whirled through the city and away to a cemeteryon a beautiful hill, and filled a vase inside the gates of amausoleum with these appealing flowers. Then we sat down, and aman with a hurt heart told me about his hurt, and what an efforthe was making to get through the world as the woman he loved wouldhave had him; and before I knew what I was doing, Linda, I toldhim the tellable part of my own hurts. I even lifted my turbanand bowed my white head before him. This hurt—it was one of theinexorable things that come to people in this world—I could talkabout. That deeper hurt, which has put a scar that never will beeffaced on my soul, of course I could not tell him about. But whenwe went back to the car he said to me that he would help me to getback into the sunlight. He said the first thing I must do to regainself-confidence was to begin driving again. I told him I could not,but he said I must, and made me take the driver’s seat of a car Ihad never seen and take the steering wheel of a make of machine Ihad never driven, and tackle two or three serious problems for adriver. I did it all right, Linda, because I couldn’t allow myselfto fail the kind of a man Mr. Snow is, when he was truly trying tohelp me, but in the depths of my heart I am afraid I am a cowardfor ever, for there is a ghastly illness takes possession of me asI write these details to you. But anyway, put a red mark on yourcalendar beside the date on which you get this letter, and joyfullysay to yourself that Marian has found two real, sympathetic friends.

In a week or ten days I shall know about the contest. If I win,as I really have a sneaking hope that I shall, since I havecondensed the best of two dozen houses into one and exhausted myimagination on my dream home, I will surely telegraph, and you canmake it a day of jubilee. If I fail, I will try to find out wheremy dream was not true and what can be done to make it materializeproperly; but between us, Linda girl, I am going to be dreadfullydisappointed. I could use the material value that prize represents.I could start my life work which I hope to do in Lilac Valley onthe prestige and the background that it would give me. I don’tknow, Linda, whether you ever learned to pray or not, but I have,and it’s a thing that helps when the black shadow comes, when youreach the land of “benefits forgot and friends remembered not.”

And this reminds me that I should not write to my very dearestfriend who has her own problems and make her heart sad with mine;so to the joyful news of my two friends add a third, Linda, for Iam going to tell you a secret because it will make you happy. SinceI have been in San Francisco some man, who for a reason of his owndoes not tell me his name, has been writing me extremely attractiveletters. I have had several of them and I can’t tell you, Linda,what they mean to me or how they help me. There is a touch ofwhimsy about them. I can’t as yet connect them with anybody I evermet, but to me they are taking the place of a little lunch on thebread of life. They are such real, such vivid, such alive lettersfrom such a real person that I have been doing the very foolish andromantic thing of answering them as my heart dictates and signingmy own name to them, which on the surface looks unwise when theman in the case keeps his identity in the background; but since heknows me and knows my name it seems useless to do anything else;and answer these letters I shall and must; because every one ofthem is to me a strong light thrown on John Gilman. Every time oneof these letters comes to me I have the feeling that I would liketo reach out through space and pick up the man who is writing themand dangle him before Eileen and say to her: “Take him.I dare you to take him.” And my confidence, Linda, ispositively supreme that she could not do it.

You know, between us, Linda, we regarded Eileen as a rare creature,a kind of exotic thing, made to be kept in a glass house withtempered air and warmed water; but as I go about the city and attimes amuse myself at concerts and theaters, I am rather dazed totell you, honey, that the world is chock full of Eileens. On thestreets, in the stores, everywhere I go, sometimes half a dozentimes in a day I say to myself: “There goes Eileen.” I haven’t adoubt that Eileen has a heart, if it has not become so callousedthat nobody could ever reach it, and I suspect she has a soul, butthe more I see of her kind the more I feel that John Gilman mayhave to breast rather black water before he finds them.

With dearest love, be sure to remember me to Katherine O’Donovan.Hug her tight and give her my unqualified love. Don’t let herforget me.

As ever,
Marian.

This was the letter that Linda read once, then she read it again andthen she read it a third time, and after that she lost count andreread it whenever she was not busy doing something else, for it was aletter that was the next thing to laying hands upon Marian. The partof the letter concerning the unknown man who was writing Marian, Lindapondered over deeply.

“That is the best thing I ever did in my life,” she said inself-commendation. “It’s doing more than I hoped it would. It’s givingMarian something to think about. It’s giving her an interest in life.It’s distracting her attention. Without saying a word about John Gilmanit is making her see for herself the weak spots in him through the verysubtle method of calling her attention to the strength that may liein another man. For once in your life, Linda, you have done somethingstrictly worth while. The thing for you to do is to keep it up, and inorder to keep it up, to make each letter fresh and original, you willhave to do a good deal of sticking around Peter Morrison’s location andabsorbing rather thoroughly the things he says. Peter doesn’t know heis writing those letters, but he is in them till it’s a wonder Mariandoes not hear him drawl and see the imps twisting his lips as she readsthem. Before I write another single one I’ll go see Peter. Maybe hewill have that article written. I’ll take a pencil, and as he readsI’ll jot down the salient points and then I’ll come home and work outa head and tail piece for him to send in with it, and in that way I’llease my soul about the skylight and the fireplace.”

So Linda took pad and pencils, raided Katy for everything she couldfind that was temptingly edible, climbed into the Bear-cat, and wentto see Peter as frankly as she would have crossed the lawn to visitMarian. He was not in the garage when she stopped her car before it,but the workmen told her that he had strolled up the mountain and thatprobably he would return soon. Learning that he had been gone but ashort time, Linda set the Bear-cat squalling at the top of its voice.Then she took possession of the garage, and clearing Peter’s work tablespread upon it the food she had brought, and then started out to findsome flowers for decorations. When Peter came upon the scene he foundLinda, flushed and brilliant eyed, holding before him a big bouquet ofalder bloom, the last of the lilacs she had found in a cool, shadedplace, pink filaree, blue lupin, and white mahogany panicles.

“Peter,” she cried. “you can’t guess what I have been doing!”

Peter glanced at the flowers.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he inquired.

“No, it isn’t,” said Linda, “because I am capable of two processes atonce. The work of my hands is visible; with it I am going to decorateyour table. You won’t have to go down to the restaurant for your supperto-night because I have brought my supper up to share with you, andafter we finish, you’re going to read me your article as you havere-written it. I am going to decorate it and we are going to make ahit with it that will be at least a start on the road to greater fame.What you see is material. You can pick it up, smell it, admire it andeat it. But what I have truly been doing is setting Spanish iris foryards down one side of the bed of your stream. When I left it was afoot and a half high, Peter, and every blue that the sky ever knew inits loveliest moments, and a yellow that is the concentrated essenceof the best gold from the heart of California. Oh, Peter, there isenchantment in the way I set it. There are irregular deep beds, andthere are straggly places where there are only one or two in a raggedstreak, and then it runs along the edge in a fringy rim, and then itstretches out in a marshy place that is going to have some other wildthings, arrowheads, and orchids, and maybe a bunch of paint brush on ahigh, dry spot near by. I wish you could see it!”

Peter looked at Linda reflectively and then he told her that hecouldsee it. He told her that he adored it, that he was crazyabout her straggly continuity and her fringy border, but there was notone word of truth in what he said, because what he saw was a slenderthing, willowy, graceful; roughened wavy black hair hanging half herlength in heavy braids, dark eyes and bright cheeks, a vivid red lineof mouth, and a bright brown line of freckles bridging a prominentand aristocratic nose. What he was seeing was a soul, a young thing,a thing he coveted with every nerve and fiber of his being. And whilehe glibly humored her in her vision of decorating his brook, in hisown consciousness he was saying to himself: “Is there any reason why Ishould not try for her?”

And then he answered himself. “There is no reason in your life. Thereis nothing ugly that could offend her or hurt her. The reason, the realreason, probably lies in the fact that if she were thinking of caringfor anyone it would be for that attractive young schoolmate she broughtup here for me to exercise my wits upon. It is very likely that sheregards me in the light of a grandfatherly person to whom she can comewith her joys or her problems, as frankly as she has now.”

So Peter asked if the irises crossed the brook and ran down both sides.Linda sat on a packing case and concentrated on the iris, and finallyshe announced that they did. She informed him that his place was goingto be natural, that Nature evolved things in her own way. She did notgrow irises down one side of a brook and arrowheads down the other.They waded across and flew across and visited back and forth, ridingthe water or the wind or the down of a bee or the tail of a cow. As sheserved the supper she had brought she very gravely informed him thatthere would be iris on both sides of his brook, and cress and miners’lettuce under the bridge; and she knew exactly where the wild clematisgrew that would whiten his embankment after his workmen had extractedthe last root of poison oak.

“It may not scorch you, Peter,” she said gravely, “but you must lookout for the Missus and the little things. I haven’t definitely decidedon her yet, but she looks a good deal like Mary Louise Whiting to me.I saw her the other day. She came to school after Donald. I liked herlooks so well that I said to myself: ‘Everybody talks about how fineshe is. I shouldn’t wonder if I had better save her for Peter’; but ifI decide to, you should get that poison stuff out, because it’s sure asshooting to attack any one with the soft, delicate skin that goes witha golden head.”

“Oh, let’s leave it in,” said Peter, “and dispense with the goldenhead. By the time you get that stream planted as you’re planning, I’llhave become so accustomed to a dark head bobbing up and down beside itthat I won’t take kindly to a sorrel top.”

“That is positively sacrilegious,” said Linda, lifting her hands to herrough black hair. “Never in my life saw anything lovelier than the richgold on Louise Whiting’s bare head as she bent to release her brakesand start her car. A black head looks like a cinder bed beside it; andonly think what a sunburst it will be when Mary Louise kneels downbeside the iris.”

When they had finished their supper Linda gathered up the remnants andput them in the car, then she laid a notebook and pencil on the table.

“Now I want to hear that article,” she said. “I knew you would do itover the minute I was gone, and I knew you would keep it to read to mebefore you sent it.”

“Hm,” said Peter. “Is it second sight or psychoanalysis or telepathy,or what?”

“Mostly ‘what’,” laughed Linda. “I merely knew. The workmen are goneand everything is quiet now, Peter. Begin. I am crazy to get theparticular angle from which you ‘make the world safe for democracy.’John used to call our attention to your articles during the war. Hesaid we had not sent another man to France who could write as humanelyand as interestingly as you did. I wish I had kept those articles;because I didn’t get anything from them to compare with what I can getsince I have a slight acquaintance with the procession that marchesaround your mouth. Peter, you will have to watch that mouth of yours.It’s an awfully betraying feature. So long as it’s occupied withpolitics and the fads and the foibles and the sins and the foolishnessand the extravagances of humanity, it’s all very well. But if you everget in trouble or if ever your heart hurts, or you get mad enoughto kill somebody, that mouth of yours is going to be a most awfullyrevealing feature, Peter. You will have hard work to settle it downinto hard-and-fast noncommittal lines.”

Peter looked at the girl steadily.

“Have you specialized on my mouth?” he asked.

“Huh-umph!” said Linda, shaking her head vigorously. “When I specializeI use a pin and a microscope and go right to the root of matters as Iwas taught. This is superficial. I am extemporizing now.”

“Well, if this is extemporizing,” said Peter, “God help my soul if youever go at me with a pin and a microscope.”

“Oh, but I won’t!” cried Linda. “It wouldn’t be kind to pin yourfriends on a setting board and use a microscope on them. You might seethings that were strictly private. You might see things they wouldn’twant you to see. They might not be your friends any more if you didthat. When I make a friend I just take him on trust like I did Donald.You’re my friend, aren’t you, Peter?”

“Yes, Linda,” said Peter soberly. “Put me to any test you can think ofif you want proof.”

“But I don’t believe in provingfriends, either,” said Linda.“I believe in nurturing them. I would set a friend in my garden andwater his feet and turn the sunshine on him and tell him to stay thereand grow. I might fertilize him, I might prune him, and I might useinsecticide on him. I might spray him with rather stringent solutions,but I give you my word I would not test him. If he flourished under mycare I would know it, and if he did not I would know it, and that wouldbe all I would want to know. I have watched Daddy search for the seatof nervous disorders, and sometimes he had to probe very deep to findwhat developed nerves unduly, but he didn’t ever do any picking andravelling and fringing at the soul of a human being merely for the sakeof finding out what it was made of; and everyone says I am like him.”

“I wish I might have known him,” said Peter.

“Don’t I wish it!” said Linda. “Now then, Peter, go ahead. Read yourarticle.”

Peter opened a packing case, picked out a sheaf of papers, and sittingopposite Linda, began to read. He was dumbfounded to find that he, aman who had read and talked extemporaneously before great bodies oflearned men, should have cold feet and shaking hands and a hammeringheart because he was trying to read an article on America for Americansbefore a high-school Junior. But presently, as the theme engrossed him,he forgot the vision of Linda interesting herself in his home-making,and saw instead a vision of his country threatened on one side by thered menace of the Bolshevik, on the other by the yellow menace of theJap, and yet on another by the treachery of the Mexican and the slowlyuprising might of the black man, and presently he was thundering hisbest-considered arguments at Linda until she imperceptibly drew backfrom him on the packing case, and with parted lips and wide eyes shelistened in utter absorption. She gazed at a transformed Peter witharoused eyes and a white light of patriotism on his forehead, and aconception even keener than anything that the war had brought heryoung soul was burning in her heart of what a man means when he triesto express his feeling concerning the land of his birth. Presently,without realizing what she was doing, she reached for her pad andpencils and rapidly began sketching a stretch of peaceful countrysideover which a coming storm of gigantic proportions was gathering. Firedby Peter’s article, the touch of genius in Linda’s soul became creativeand she fashioned huge storm clouds, wind driven, that floated in sucha manner as to bring the merest suggestion of menacing faces, blackfaces, yellow faces, brown faces, and under the flash of lightning,just at the obscuring of the sun, a huge, evil, leering red face.She swept a stroke across her sheet and below this she began again,sketching the same stretch of country she had pictured above, strollingin cultivated fields, dotting it with white cities, connecting it withsmooth roadways, sweeping the sky with giant planes. At one side,winging in from the glow of morning, she drew in the strong-wingedflight of a flock of sea swallows, peacefully homing toward thefar-distant ocean. She was utterly unaware when Peter stopped reading.Absorbed, she bent over her work. When she had finished she looked up.

“Now I’ll take this home,” she said. “I can’t do well on colourwith pencils. You hold that article till I have time to put this onwater-colour paper and touch it up a bit here and there, and I believeit will be worthy of starting and closing your article.”

She pushed the sketches toward him.

“You little wonder!” said Peter softly.

“Yes, ‘little’ is good,” scoffed Linda, rising to very nearly hisheight and reaching for the lunch basket. “‘Little’ is good, Peter. IfI could do what I like to myself I would get in some kind of a pressand squash down about seven inches.”

“Oh, Lord!” said Peter. “Forget it. What’s the difference what theinches of your body are so long as your brain has a stature worthy ofmention?”

“Good-bye!” said Linda. “On the strength of that I’ll jazz that sketchall up, bluey and red-purple and jade-green. I’ll make it as gloriousas a Catalina sunset.”

As she swung the car around the sharp curve at the boulders she lookedback and laughingly waved her hand at Peter, and Peter experienced awild desire to shriek lest she lose control of the car and plunge downthe steep incline. A second later, when he saw her securely on the roadbelow, he smiled to himself.

“Proves one thing,” he said conclusively. “She is over the horrors. Sheis driving unconsciously. Thank God she knew that curve so well shecould look the other way and drive it mentally.”

CHAPTER XIX

Not a mile below the exit from Peter’s grounds, Linda perceived aheavily laden person toiling down the roadway before her and when sheran her car abreast and stopped it, Henry Anderson looked up at herwith joyful face.

“Sorry I can’t uncover, fair lady,” he said, “but you see I am verymuch otherwise engaged.”

What Linda saw was a tired, disheveled man standing in the roadwaybeside her car, under each arm a boulder the size of her head, onealmost jet-black, shot through with lines of white and flying figuresof white crossing between these bands that almost reminded one ofwinged dancers. The other was a combination stone made up of matrixthickly imbedded with pebbles of brown, green, pink, and dull blue.

“For pity’s sake!” said Linda. “Where are you going and why are youpersonally demonstrating a new method of transporting rock?”

“I am on my way down Lilac Valley to the residence of a friend ofmine,” said Henry Anderson. “I heard her say the other day that shesaved every peculiarly marked boulder she could find to preservecoolness and moisture in her fern bed.”

Linda leaned over and opened the car door.

“All well and good,” she said; “but why in the cause of reason didn’tyou leave them at Peter’s and bring them down in his car?”

Henry Anderson laid the stones in the bottom of the car, stepped in andclosed the door behind him. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket andwiped his perspiring face and soiled hands.

“I had two sufficient personal reasons,” he said. “One was that the carat our place is Peter Morrison’s car, not mine; and the other was thatit’s none of anybody’s business but my own if I choose to ‘say it’ withstones.”

Linda started the car, being liberal with gas—so liberal that it wasonly a few minutes till Henry Anderson protested.

“This isn’t the speedway,” he said. “What’s your hurry?”

“Two reasons seem to be all that are allowed for things at the presentminute,” answered Linda. “One of mine is that you can’t drive thisbeast slow, and the other is that my workroom is piled high with thingsI should be doing. I have two sketches I must complete while I am inthe mood, and I have had a great big letter from my friend, MarianThorne, to-day that I want to answer before I go to bed to-night.”

“In other words,” said Henry Anderson bluntly, “you want me tounderstand that when I have reached your place and dumped these stonesI can beat it; you have no further use for me.”

“You said that,” retorted Linda.

“And who ever heard of such a thing,” said Henry, “as a young womansending away a person of my numerous charms and attractions in order towork, or to write a letter to another woman?”

“But you’re not taking into consideration,” said Linda, “that I mustwork, and I scarcely know you, while I have known Marian ever since Iwas four years old and she is my best friend.”

“Well, she has no advantage over me,” said Henry instantly, “because Ihave known you quite as long as Peter Morrison has at least, and I’myour official bug-catcher.”

“I had almost forgotten about the bugs,” said Linda.

“Well, don’t for a minute think I am going to give you an opportunityto forget,” said Henry Anderson.

He reached across and laid his hand over Linda’s on the steering gear.Linda said nothing, neither did she move. She merely added more gas andput the Bear-cat forward at a dizzy whirl. Henry laughed.

“That’s all right, my beauty,” he said. “Don’t you think for a minutethat I can’t ride as fast as you can drive.”

A dull red mottled Linda’s cheeks. As quickly as it could be done shebrought the Bear-cat to a full stop. Then she turned and looked atHenry Anderson. The expression in her eyes was disconcerting even tothat cheeky young individual—he had not borne her gaze a second untilhe removed his hand.

“Thanks,” said Linda in a dry drawl. “And you will add to my obligationif in the future you will remember not to deal in assumptions. I amnot your ‘beauty,’ and I’m not anyone’s beauty; while the only thingin this world that I am interested in at present is to get the besteducation I can and at the same time carry on work that I love to do. Ihave a year to finish my course in the high school and when I finish Iwill only have a good beginning for whatever I decide to study next.”

“That’s nothing,” said the irrepressible Henry. “It will take me twoyears to catch a sufficient number of gold bugs to be really serious,but there wouldn’t be any harm in having a mutual understanding andsomething definite to work for, and then we might be able, you know,to cut out some of that year of High-school grinding. If the plans Ihave submitted in the Nicholson and Snow contest should just happen tobe the prize winners, that would put matters in such a shape for youngHenry that he could devote himself to crickets and tumble-bugs at once.”

“Don’t you think,” said Linda quietly, “that you would better forgetthat silly jesting and concentrate the best of your brains on improvingyour plans for Peter Morrison’s house?”

“Why, surely I will if that’s what you command me to do,” said Henry,purposely misunderstanding her.

“You haven’t mentioned before,” said Linda, “that you had submittedplans in that San Francisco contest.”

“All done and gone,” said Henry Anderson lightly. “I had an inspirationone day and I saw a way to improve a house with comforts andconveniences I never had thought of before. I was enthusiastic overthe production when I got it on paper and figured it. It’s exactly thehouse that I am going to build for Peter, and when I’ve cut my eyeteeth on it I am going to correct everything possible and build it inperfection for you.”

“Look here,” said Linda soberly, “I’m not accustomed to this sort oftalk. I don’t care for it. If you want to preserve even the semblanceof friendship with me you must stop it, and get to impersonal mattersand stay there.”

“All right,” he agreed instantly, “but if you don’t like my line oftalk, you’re the first girl I ever met that didn’t.”

“You have my sympathy,” said Linda gravely. “You have been extremelyunfortunate.”

Then she started the Bear-cat, and again running at undue speed shereached her wild-flower garden. Henry Anderson placed the stones as shedirected and waited for an invitation to come in, but the invitationwas not given. Linda thanked him for the stones. She told him that incombination with a few remaining from the mantel they would make allshe would require, and excusing herself she drove to the garage. Whenshe came in she found the irrepressible Henry sitting on the back stepsexplaining to Katy the strenuous time he had had finding and carryingdown the stones they had brought. Katy had a plate of refreshmentsready to hand him when Linda laughingly passed them and went to herroom.

When she had finished her letter to Marian she took a sheet of drawingpaper, and in her most attractive lettering sketched in the heading, “APalate Teaser,” which was a direct quotation from Katy. Below she wrote:

You will find Tunas in the cacti thickets of any desert, but ifyou are so fortunate as to be able to reach specimens which werebrought from Mexico and set as hedges around the gardens of the oldmissions, you will find there the material for this salad in itsmost luscious form. Naturally it can be made from either OpuntiaFiscus-Indicaor Opuntia Tuna, but a combination ofthese two gives the salad an exquisite appearance and a tiny touchmore delicious flavor, because Tuna, which is red, has to my tastea trifle richer and fuller flavor than Indica, which is yellow.Both fruits taste more like the best well-ripened watermelon thanany other I recall.

Bring down the Tunas with a fishing rod or a long pole with a nailin the end. With anything save your fingers roll them in the sandor in tufts of grass to remove the spines. Slice off either end,score the skin down one side, press lightly, and a lush globule ofpale gold or rosy red fruit larger than a hen’s egg lies beforeyou. With a sharp knife, beginning with a layer of red and endingwith one of yellow, slice the fruits thinly, stopping to shake outthe seeds as you work. In case you live in San Diego County orfarther south, where it is possible to secure the scarlet berriesof the Strawberry Cactus—it is the Mammillaria Goodridgeispecies that you should use—a beautiful decoration for finishingyour salad can be made from the red strawberries of these. If youlive too far north to find these, you may send your salad to thetable beautifully decorated by cutting fancy figures from the redTuna, or by slicing it lengthwise into oblong pieces and weavingthem into a decoration over the yellow background.

For your dressing use the juice of a lemon mixed with that of anorange, sweetened to taste, into which you work, a drop at a time,four tablespoons of the best Palermo olive oil. If the salad islarge more oil and more juice should be used.

To get the full deliciousness of this salad, the fruit must havebeen on ice, and the dressing made in a bowl imbedded in crackedice, so that when ready to blend both are ice-cold, and must beserved immediately.

Gigantic specimens of fruit-bearing Cacti can be found all overthe Sunland Desert near to the city, but they are not possessedof the full flavor of the cultivated old mission growths, so thatit is well worth your while to make a trip to the nearest ofthese for the fruit with which to prepare this salad. And if, asyou gather it, you should see a vision of a white head, a thin,ascetic, old face, a lean figure trailing a brown robe, slenderwhite hands clasping a heavy cross; if you should hear the music ofworship ascending from the throats of Benedictine fathers leadinga clamoring choir of the blended voices of Spaniard, Mexican, andIndian, combining with the music of the bells and the songs of themocking birds, nest making among the Tunas, it will be good foryour soul in the line of purging it from selfishness, since in thisday we are not asked to give all of life to the service of others,only a reasonable part of it.

Linda read this over, working in changes here and there, then shepicked up her pencil and across the top of her sheet indicated an opensky with scarcely a hint of cloud. Across the bottom she outlined abit of Sunland Desert she well remembered, in the foreground a bedof flat-leaved nopal, flowering red and yellow, the dark red pricklypears, edible, being a near relative of the fruits she had used in hersalad. After giving the prickly pear the place of honour to the left,in higher growth she worked in the slender, cylindrical, jointed stemsof the Cholla, shading the flowers a paler, greenish yellow. On theright, balancing the Cholla, she drew the oval, cylindrical columns ofthe hedgehog cactus, and the colour touch of the big magenta flowersblended exquisitely with the colour she already had used. At the left,the length of her page, she drew a gigantic specimen of Opuntia Tuna,covered with flowers, and well-developed specimens of the pears whosecolouring ran into the shades of the hedgehog cactus.

She was putting away her working materials when she heard steps andvoices on the stairs, so she knew that Eileen and John Gilman werecoming. She did not in the least want them, yet she could think of noexcuse for refusing them admission that would not seem ungracious. Shehurried to the wall, snatched down the paintings for Peter Morrison,and looked around to see how she could dispose of them. She ended bylaying one of them in a large drawer which she pushed shut and locked.The other she placed inside a case in the wall which formerly hadbeen used for billiard cues. At their second tap she opened the door.Eileen was not at her best. There was a worried look across her eyes, arestlessness visible in her movements, but Gilman was radiant.

“What do you think, Linda?” he cried. “Eileen has just named the day!”

“I did no such thing,” broke in Eileen.

“Your pardon, fair lady, you did not,” said Gilman. “That was merely afigure of speech. I meant named the month. She has definitely promisedin October, and I may begin to hunt a location and plan a home for us.I want the congratulations of my dear friend and my dearer sister.”

Linda held out her hand and smiled as bravely as she could.

“I am very glad you are so pleased, John,” she said quietly, “and Ihope that you will be as happy as you deserve to be.”

“Now exactly what do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Oh, Linda prides herself on being deep and subtle and conveying hiddenmeanings,” said Eileen. “She means what a thousand people will tell youin the coming months: merely that they hope you will be happy.”

“Of course,” Linda hastened to corroborate, wishing if possible toavoid any unpleasantness.

“You certainly have an attractive workroom here,” said John, “much as Ihate to see it spoiled for billiards.”

“It’s too bad,” said Linda, “that I have spoiled it for you forbilliards. I have also spoiled the outside appearance of the house forEileen.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said John. “I looked at it carefully the other dayas I came up, and I thought your changes enhanced the value of theproperty.”

“I am surely glad to hear that,” said Linda. “Take a look through myskylight and my new window. Imagine you see the rugs I am going to haveand a few more pieces of furniture when I can afford them; and letme particularly point out the fireplace that Henry Anderson and yourfriend Peter designed and had built for me. Doesn’t it add a soul and aheart to my study?”

John Gilman walked over and looked at the fireplace critically. He readthe lines aloud, then he turned to Eileen.

“Why, that is perfectly beautiful,” he said. “Let’s duplicate it in ourhome.”

“You bungler!” scoffed Eileen.

“I think you’re right,” said Gilman reflectively, “exactly right. Ofcourse I would have no business copying Linda’s special fireplace wherethe same people would see it frequently; and if I had stopped to thinka second, I might have known that you would prefer tiling to fieldstone.”

“Linda seems very busy to-night,” said Eileen. “Perhaps we arebothering her.”

“Yes,” said John, “we’ll go at once. I had to run up to tell our goodnews; and I wanted to tell you too, Linda dear, that I think both of usmisjudged Eileen the other day. You know, Linda, you havealwaysdressed according to your father’s ideas, which were so much simplerand plainer than the manner in which your mother dressed Eileen, thatshe merely thought that you wished to continue in his way. She had noobjection to your having any kind of clothes you chose, if only you hadconfided in her, and explained to her what you wanted.”

Linda stood beside her table, one lean hand holding down the letter shehad been writing. She stood very still, but she was powerless to raiseher eyes to the face of either John or Eileen. Above everything shedid not wish to go any further in revealing Eileen to John Gilman. Ifhe knew what he knew and if he felt satisfied, after what he had seen,with any explanation that Eileen could trump up to offer, Linda had nodesire to carry the matter further. She had been ashamed of what shealready had done. She had felt angry and dissatisfied with herself, soshe stood before them downcast and silent.

“And it certainly was a great joke on both of us,” said John jovially,“what we thought about that box of cigarettes, you know. They were aprize given by a bridge club at an ‘Ambassador’ benefit for the GoodSamaritan Hospital. Eileen, the little card shark she is, won it, andshe was keeping it hidden away there to use as a gift for my birthday.Since we disclosed her plans prematurely, she gave it to me at once,and I’m having a great time treating all my friends.”

At that instant Linda experienced a revulsion. Previously she had notbeen able to raise her eyes. Now it would have been quite impossible toavoid looking straight into Eileen’s face. But Eileen had no intentionof meeting anyone’s gaze at that minute. She was fidgeting with a sheetof drawing paper.

“Careful you don’t bend that,” cautioned Linda. Then she looked at JohnGilman. He believedwhat he was saying; he was happy again.Linda evolved the best smile she could.

“How stupid of us not to have guessed!” she said.

Closing the door behind them, Linda leaned against it and looked upthrough the skylight at the deep blue of the night, the low-hung stars.How long she stood there she did not know. Presently she went to herchair, picked up her pencil, and slowly began to draw. At first shescarcely realized what she was doing, then she became absorbed in herwork. Then she reached for her colour box and brushes, and shortlyafterward tacked against the wall an extremely clever drawing of agreatly enlarged wasp. Skillfully she had sketched a face that wasrecognizable round the big insect eyes. She had surmounted the face bya fluff of bejewelled yellow curls, encased the hind legs upon whichthe creature stood upright in pink velvet Turkish trousers and puttiny gold shoes on the feet. She greatly exaggerated the wings intolong trails and made them of green gauze with ruffled edges. All theremainder of the legs she had transformed into so many braceleted arms,each holding a tiny fan, or a necklace, a jewel box, or a handkerchiefof lace. She stood before this sketch, studying it for a few minutes,then she walked over to the table and came back with a big blackpencil. Steadying her hand with a mahl stick rested against the wall,with one short sharp stroke she drew a needle-pointed stinger, soscreened by the delicate wings that it could not be seen unless youscrutinized the picture minutely. After that, with careful, interestedhands she brought out Peter Morrison’s drawings and replaced them onthe wall to dry.

CHAPTER XX

Toward the last of the week Linda began to clear the mental decks ofher ship of life in order that she might have Saturday free for herpromised day with Donald. She had decided that they would devote thatday to wave-beaten Laguna. It was a long drive but delightful. It ranover the old King’s Highway between miles of orange and lemon orchardsin full flower, bordered by other miles of roses in their prime.

Every minute when her mind was not actively occupied with her lessonsor her recipes Linda was dreaming of the King’s Highway. Almostunconsciously she began to chant:

You must have ridden this road with an understanding heart and thearm of God around you to know the exact degree of disappointment thatswelled in Linda’s heart when she answered the telephone early Saturdaymorning and heard Donald Whiting’s strained voice speaking into it. Hewas talking breathlessly in eager, boyish fashion.

“Linda, I am in a garage halfway downtown,” he was saying, “and itlooks to me as if to save my soul I couldn’t reach you before noon. Ihave had the darnedest luck. Our Jap got sick last week and he sent anew man to take his place. There wasn’t a thing the matter with our carwhen I drove it in Friday night. This morning Father wanted to use iton important business, and it wouldn’t run. He ordered me to tinker itup enough to get it to the shop. I went at it and when it would go, Istarted. You can imagine the clip I was going, and the thing went topieces. I don’t know yet how it comes that I saved my skin. I’m prettybadly knocked out, but I’ll get there by noon if it’s a possible thing.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Linda, fervently hoping that the ache inher throat would not tincture her voice.

It was half-past eleven when Donald came. Linda could not bring herselfto give up the sea that day. She found it impossible to drive theKing’s Highway. It seemed equally impossible not to look on the face ofthe ocean, so she compromised by skirting Santa Monica Bay, and takingthe foothill road she ran it to the north end of the beach drive. Whenthey had spread their blankets on the sand, finished their lunch andwere resting, Linda began to question Donald about what had happened.She wanted to know how long Whitings’ gardener had been in theiremploy; if they knew where he lived and about his family; if they knewwho his friends were, or anything concerning him. She inquired aboutthe man who had taken his place, and wanted most particularly to knowwhat the garage men had found the trouble with a car that ran perfectlyon Friday night, and broke down in half a dozen different places onSaturday morning. Finally Donald looked at her, laughingly quizzical.

“Linda,” he said, “you’re no nerve specialist and no naturalist. You’rethe cross examiner for the plaintiff. What are you trying to get at?Make out a case against Yogo Sani?”

“Of course it’s all right,” said Linda, watching a distant pelican turnhead down and catapult into the sea. “It has to be all right, but youmust admit that it looks peculiar. How have you been getting along thisweek?”

Donald waved his hand in the direction of a formation of stone the sizeof a small house.

“Been rolling that to the top of the mountain,” he said lightly.

Linda’s eyes narrowed, her face grew speculative. She looked at Donaldintently.

“Is it as difficult as that?” she asked in a lowered voice as if thesurf and the sea chickens might hear.

“It is just as difficult as that,” said Donald. “While you’re talkingabout peculiar things, I’ll tell you one. In class I came right upagainst Oka Sayye on the solution of a theorem in trigonometry. Weboth had the answer, the correct answer, but we had arrived at it bywidely different routes, and it was up to me to prove that my line ofreasoning was more lucid, more natural, the inevitable one by which thesolution should be reached. We got so in earnest that I am afraid bothof us were rather tense. I stepped over to his demonstration to pointout where I thought his reasoning was wrong. I got closer to the Japthan I had ever been before; and by gracious, Linda! scattered, butnevertheless still there, and visible, I saw a sprinkling of gray hairsjust in front of and over his ears. It caught me unawares, and before Iknew what I was doing, before the professor and the assembled classroomI blurted it out: ‘Say, Oka Sayye, how old are you?’ If the Jap had hadany way of killing me, I believe he would have done it. There was alook in his eyes that was what I would call deadly. It was only a flashand then, very courteously, putting me in the wrong, of course, heremarked that he was ‘almost ninekleen’; and it struck me from his lookand the way he said it that it was a lie. If he truly was the averageage of the rest of the class there was nothing for him to be angryabout. Then I did take a deliberate survey. From the settled solidityof his frame and the shape of his hands and the skin of his face andthe set of his eyes in his head, I couldn’t see that much youth. I’llbet he’s thirty if he’s a day, and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if hehas graduated at the most worth-while university in Japan, before heever came to this country to get his English for nothing.”

Linda was watching a sea swallow now, and slowly her lean fingers weregathering handfuls of sand and sifting them into a little pyramid shewas heaping beside her. Again almost under her breath she spoke.

“Donald, do you really believe that?” she asked. “Is it possible thatmature Jap men are coming here and entering our schools and availingthemselves of the benefits that the taxpayers of California provide fortheir children?”

“Didn’t you know it?” asked Donald. “I hadn’t thought of it inconnection with Oka Sayye, but I do know cases where mature Japs havebeen in grade schools with children under ten.”

“Oh, Donald!” exclaimed Linda. “If California is permitting that orever has permitted it, we’re too easy. We deserve to become their preyif we are so careless.”

“Why, I know it’s true,” said Donald. “I have been in the same classeswith men more than old enough to be my father.”

“I never was,” said Linda, industriously sifting sand. “I have beenin classes with Japs ever since I have been at school, but it waswith girls and boys of our gardeners and fruit dealers and curio-shoppeople, and they were always of my age and entitled to be in school,since our system includes the education of anybody who happens to be inCalifornia and wants to go to school.”

“Did my being late spoil any particular plan you had made, Linda?”

“Yes,” said Linda, “it did.”

“Oh, I am so sorry!” cried Donald. “I certainly shall try to see thatit doesn’t occur again. Could we do it next Saturday?”

“I am hoping so,” said Linda.

“I told Dad,” said Donald, “where I wanted to go and what I wanted todo, and he was awfully sorry but he said it was business and it wouldtake only a few minutes and he thought I could do it and be on time. Ifhe had known I would be detained I don’t believe he would have asked itof me. He’s a grand old pater, Linda.”

“Yes, I know,” said Linda. “There’s not much you can tell me aboutpaters of the grand sort, the real, true flesh-and-blood, big-hearted,human-being fathers, who will take you to the fields and the woodsand take the time to teach you what God made and how He made it andwhy He made it and what we can do with it, and of the fellowship andbrotherhood we can get from Nature by being real kin. The one thingthat I have had that was the biggest thing in all this world was one ofthese real fathers.”

Donald watched as she raised the pyramid higher and higher.

“Did you tell your father whom you were to go with?” she asked.

“Sure I did,” said Donald. “Told the whole family at dinner lastnight. Told ’em about all the things I was learning, from where to getsoap off the bushes to the best spot for material for wooden legs orinstantaneous relief for snake bite.”

“What did they say?” Linda inquired laughingly.

“Unanimously in favour of continuing the course,” he said. “I hadalready told Father about you when I asked him for books and any helpthat he could give me with Oka Sayye. Since I had mentioned you lastnight he told Mother and Louise about that, and they told me to bringyou to the house some time. All of them are crazy to know you. Mothersays she is just wild to know whether a girl who wears boots andbreeches and who knows canyons and the desert and the mountains as youdo can be a feminine and lovable person.”

“If I told her how many friends I have, she could have speedily decidedwhether I am lovable or not,” said Linda; “but I would make an effortto convince her that I am strictly feminine.”

“You would convince her of that without making the slightest effort.You’re infinitely more feminine than any other girl I have ever known.”

“How do you figure that?” asked Linda.

“Well,” said Donald, “it’s a queer thing about you, Linda. I take anyliberty I pretty nearly please with most of the girls I have beenassociated with. I tie their shoes and pull their hair—down if I wantto—and hand them round ’most any way the notion takes me, and theyjust laugh and take the same liberties with me, which proves that I ampretty much a girl with them or they are pretty much boys with me. Butit wouldn’t occur to me to touch your hair or your shoe lace or thetips of your fingers; which proves that you’re more feminine than anyother girl I know, because if you were not I would be treating you morelike another boy. I thought, the first day we were together, that youwere like a boy, and I said so, and I thought it because you did nottease me and flirt with me, but since I have come to know you better,you’re less like a boy than any other girl I ever have known.”

“Don’t get psychological, Donald,” said Linda. “Go on with the Jap. Ihaven’t got an answer yet to what I really want to know. Have you madethe least progress this week? Can you beat him?”

Donald hesitated, studying over the answer.

“Beat him at that trig proposition the other day,” he said. “Gotan open commendation before the class. There’s not a professor inany of my classes who isn’t ‘hep’ to what I’m after by this time,and if I would cajole them a little they would naturally be on myside, especially if their attention were called to that incident ofyesterday; but you said I have to beat him with my brains, by doingbetter work than he does; so about the biggest thing I can honestlytell you is that I have held my own. I have only been ahead of him oncethis week, but I haven’t failed in anything that he has accomplished.I have been able to put some additional touches to some work that hehas done for which he used to be marked A which means your One Hundred.Double A which means your plus I made in one instance. And you needn’tthink that Oka Sayye does not realize what I am up to as well as anyof the rest of the class, and you needn’t think that he is not goingto give me a run for my brain. All I’ve got will be needed before wefinish this term.”

“I see,” said Linda, slowly nodding her head.

“I wish,” said Donald, “that we had started this thing two years ago,or better still, four. But of course you were not in the High Schoolfour years ago and there wasn’t a girl in my class or among my friendswho cared whether I beat the Jap or not. They greatly preferred that Itake them motoring or to a dance or a picture show or a beach party.You’re the only one except Mother and Louise who ever inspired me toget down to business.”

Linda laid her palm on the top of the sand heap and pressed it flat.She looked at Donald with laughing eyes.

“Symbolical,” she announced. “That sand was the Jap.” She stretched herhand toward him. “That was you. Did you see yourself squash him?”

Donald’s laugh was grim.

“Yes, I saw,” he said. “I wish it were as easy as that.”

“That was not easy,” said Linda; “make a mental computation of all theseconds that it took me to erect that pyramid and all the millions ofgrains of sand I had to gather.”

Donald was deeply thoughtful, yet a half smile was playing round hislips.

“Of all the queer girls I ever knew, you’re the cap sheaf, Linda,” hesaid.

Linda rose slowly, shook the sand from her breeches and stretched outher hand.

“Let’s hotfoot it down to the African village and see what the moviesare doing that is interesting to-day,” she proposed.

CHAPTER XXI

On her pillow that night before dropping to almost instantaneous sleepLinda reflected that if you could not ride the King’s Highway, racingthe sands of Santa Monica was a very excellent substitute. It had beena wonderful day after all. When she had left Donald at the Lilac-Valleyend of the car line he had held her hand tight an instant and lookedinto her face with the most engaging of clear, boyish smiles.

“Linda, isn’t our friendship the nicest thing that ever happened tous?” he demanded.

“Yes,” answered Linda promptly, “quite the nicest. Make your plans forall day long next Saturday.”

“I’ll be here before the birds are awake,” promised Donald.

At the close of Monday’s sessions, going down the broad walk from theHigh School, Donald overtook Linda and in a breathless whisper he said:“What do you think? I came near Oka Sayye again this morning in trig,and his hair was as black as jet, dyed to a midnight, charcoal finish,and I am not right sure that he had not borrowed some girl’s lipstickand rouge pot for the benefit of his lips and cheeks. Positively he’shectically youthful to-day. What do you know about that?”

Then he hurried on to overtake the crowd of boys he had left. Linda’sheart was racing in her breast.

Turning, she re-entered the school building, and taking a telephonedirectory she hunted an address, and then, instead of going to the carline that took her to Lilac Valley she went to the address she hadlooked up. With a pencil she wrote a few lines on a bit of scratchpaper in one of her books. That note opened a door and admitted her tothe presence of a tall, lean, gray-haired man with quick, blue-grayeyes and lips that seemed capable of being either grave or gay on shortnotice. With that perfect ease which Linda had acquired through theyoung days of her life in meeting friends of her father, she went tothe table beside which this man was standing and stretched out her hand.

“Judge Whiting?” she asked.

“Yes,” said the Judge.

“I am Linda Strong, the younger daughter of Alexander Strong. I thinkyou knew my father.”

“Yes,” said the Judge, “I knew him very well indeed, and I have somesmall acquaintance with his daughter through very interesting reportsthat my son brings home.”

“Yes, it is about Donald that I came to see you,” said Linda.

If she had been watching as her father would have watched, Linda wouldhave seen the slight uplift of the Judge’s figure, the tensing of hismuscles, the narrowing of his eyes in the swift, speculative look hepassed over her from the crown of her bare, roughened black head downthe gold-brown of her dress to her slender, well-shod feet. The lastpart of that glance Linda caught. She slightly lifted one of the feetunder inspection, thrust it forward and looked at the Judge with a gaychallenge in her dark eyes.

“Are you interested in them too?” she asked.

The Judge was embarrassed. A flush crept into his cheeks. He wassupposed to be master of any emergency that might arise, but one hadarisen in connection with a slip of a schoolgirl that left him wordless.

“It is very probable,” said Linda, “that if my shoes had been likemost other girls’ shoes I wouldn’t be here to-day. I was in the sameschoolroom with your son for three years, and he never saw me or spoketo me until one day he stopped me to inquire why I wore the kind ofshoes I did. He said he had a battle to wage with me because I triedto be a law to myself, and he wanted to know why I wasn’t like othergirls. And I told him I had a crow to pick with himbecause hehad the kind of brain that would be content to let a Jap beat him inhis own school, in his own language and in his own country; so we madean engagement to fight to a finish, and it ended by his becoming theonly boy friend I have and the nicest boy friend a girl ever had, I amvery sure. That’s why I’m here.”

Linda lifted her eyes and Judge Whiting looked into them till he sawthe same gold lights in their depths that Peter Morrison had seen. Hecame around the table and placed a big leather chair for Linda. Then hewent back and resumed his own.

“Of course,” said the Judge in his most engaging manner. “I gather fromwhat Donald has told me that you have a reason for being here, and Iwant you to understand that I am intensely interested in anything youhave to say to me. Now tell me why you came.”

“I came,” said Linda, “because I started something and am afraid of thepossible result. I think very likely if, in retaliation for what Donaldsaid to me about my hair and my shoes, I had not twitted him about theuse he was making of his brain and done everything in my power to drivehim into competition with Oka Sayye in the hope that a white man wouldgraduate with the highest honours, he would not have gone into thiscompetition, which I am now certain has antagonized Oka Sayye.”

Linda folded her slim hands on the table and leaned forward.

“Judge Whiting,” she said earnestly, “I know very little about men. Themost I know was what I learned about my father and the men with whom heoccasionally hunted and fished. They were all such fine men that I musthave grown up thinking that every man was very like them, but one dayI came in direct contact with the Jap that Donald is trying to beat,and the thing I saw in his face put fear into my heart and it has beenthere ever since. I have almost an unreasoning fear of that Jap, notbecause he has said anything or done anything. It’s just instinctive.I may be wholly wrong in having come to you and in taking up yourtime, but there are two things I wanted to tell you. I could have toldDonald, but if I did and his mind went off at a tangent thinking ofthese things he wouldn’t be nearly so likely to be in condition to givehis best thought to his studies. If I really made him see what I thinkI have seen, and fear what I know I fear, he might fail where I wouldgive almost anything to see him succeed; so I thought I would come toyou and tell you about it and ask you please to think it over, and totake extra care of him, because I really believe that he may be indanger; and if he is I never shall be able to rid myself of a sense ofresponsibility.”

“I see,” said Judge Whiting. “Now tell me, just as explicitly as youhave told me this, exactly what it is that you fear.”

“Last Saturday,” said Linda, “Donald told me that while standing at theboard beside Oka Sayye, demonstrating a theorem, he noticed that therewere gray hairs above the Jap’s ears, and he bluntly asked him, beforethe professor and the class, how old he was. In telling me, he said hehad the feeling that if the Jap could have done so in that instant, hewould have killed him. He said he was nineteen, but Donald says fromthe matured lines of his body, from his hands and his face and hishair, he is certain that he is thirty or more, and he thinks it veryprobable that he may have graduated at home before he came here to gethis English for nothing from our public schools. I never before had thefact called to my attention that this was being done, but Donald toldme that he had been in classes with matured men when he was less thanten years of age. That is not fair, Judge Whiting; it is not right.There should be an age specified above which people may not be allowedto attend public school.”

“I quite agree with you,” said the Judge. “That has been done in thegrades, but there is nothing fair in bringing a boy under twenty incompetition with a man graduated from the institutions of anothercountry, even in the high schools. If this be the case——”

“You can be certain that it is,” said Linda, “because Donald whisperedto me as he passed me half an hour ago, coming from the schoolbuilding, that to-dayOka Sayye’s hair is a uniform, shiningblack, and he also thought that he had used a lipstick and rouge in aneffort at rejuvenation. Do you think, from your knowledge of Donald,that he would imagine that?”

“No,” said Judge Whiting, “I don’t think such a thing would occur tohim unless he saw it.”

“Neither do I,” said Linda. “From the short acquaintance I have withhim I should not call him at all imaginative, but he is extremely quickand wonderfully retentive. You have to show him but once from whichcactus he can get Victrola needles and fishing hooks, or where to findmaterial for wooden legs.”

The Judge laughed. “Doesn’t prove much,” he said. “You wouldn’t haveto show me that more than once either. If anyone were giving me anintensive course on such interesting subjects, I would guarantee toremember, even at my age.”

Linda nodded in acquiescence. “Then you can regard it as quitecertain,” she said, “that Oka Sayye is making up in an effort toappear younger than he is, which means that he doesn’t want his rightquestioned to be in our schools, to absorb the things that we aretaught, to learn our language, our government, our institutions, ourideals, our approximate strength and our only-too-apparent weakness.”

The Judge leaned forward and waited attentively.

“The other matter,” said Linda, “was relative to Saturday. There maynot be a thing in it, but sometimes a woman’s intuition proves truerthan what a man thinks he sees and knows. I haven’t seenathing, and I don’t knowa thing, but I don’t believe yourgardener was sick last week. I believe he had a dirty job he wanteddone and preferred to save his position and avoid risks by gettingsome other Jap who had no family and no interests here, to do itfor him. I don’t believethat your car, having run all rightFriday night, was shot to pieces Saturday morning so that Donald wentsmash with it in a manner that might very easily have killed him, orsent him to the hospital for months, while Oka Sayye carried off thehonours without competition. I want to ask you to find out whether yourregular gardener truly was ill, whether he has a family and intereststo protect here, or whether he is a man who could disappear in a nightas Japs who have leased land and have families cannot. I want to knowabout the man who took your gardener’s place, and I want the man who isrepairing your car interviewed very carefully as to what he found thetrouble with it.”

Linda paused. Judge Whiting sat in deep thought, then he looked atLinda.

“I see,” he said at last. “Thank you very much for coming to me. Allthese things and anything that develops from them shall be handledcarefully. Of course you know that Donald is my only son and you canrealize what he is to me and to his mother and sister.”

“It is because I do realize that,” said Linda, “that I am here. Iappreciate his friendship, but it is not for my own interests thatI am asking to have him taken care of while he wages his mental warwith this Jap. I want Donald to have the victory, but I want it to bea victory that will be an inspiration to any boy of white blood amongany of our allies or among peoples who should be our allies. There’sa showdown coming between the white race and a mighty aggregationof coloured peoples one of these days, and if the white man doesn’trealize pretty soon that his supremacy is not only going to becontested but may be lost, it just simply will be lost; that is allthere is to it.”

The Judge was studying deeply now. Finally he said: “Young lady, Igreatly appreciate your coming to me. There may be nothinginwhat you fear. It mightbe a matter of national importance. Inany event, it shows that your heart is in the right place. May Mrs.Whiting and I pay you a visit some day soon in your home?”

“Of course,” said Linda simply. “I told Donald to bring his mother thefirst time he came, but he said he did not need to be chaperoned whenhe came to see me, because my father’s name was a guarantee to hismother that my home would be a proper place for him to visit.”

“I wonder how many of his other girl friends invited him to bring hismother to see them,” said the Judge.

“Oh, he probably grew up with the other girls and was acquainted withthem from tiny things,” said Linda.

“Very likely,” conceded the Judge. “I think, after all, I would ratherhave an invitation to make one of those trips with you to the desert orthe mountains. Is there anything else as interesting as fish hooks andVictrola needles and wooden legs to be learned?”

“Oh, yes,” said Linda, leaning farther forward, a lovely coloursweeping up into her cheeks, her eyes a-shine. She had missed the factthat the Judge was jesting. She had thought him in sober, scientificearnest.

“It’s an awfully nice thing if you dig a plant or soil your hands inhunting, or anything like that, to know that there are four or fivedifferent kinds of vegetable soap where you can easily reach them, ifyou know them. If you lose your way or have a long tramp, it’s goodto know which plants will give you drink and where they are. And ifyou’re short of implements, you might at any time need a mescal stick,or an arrow shaft or an arrow, even. If Donald were lost now, he couldkeep alive for days, because he would know what wood would make him abow and how he could take amole fiber and braid a bow string and wherehe could make arrows and arrow points so that he could shoot game forfood. I’ve taught him to make a number of snares, and he knows whereto find and how to cook his greens and potatoes and onions and whereto find his pickles and how to make lemonade and tea, and what to usefor snake bite. It’s been such fun, Judge Whiting, and he has been sointerested.”

“Yes, I should think he would be,” said the Judge. “I am interestedmyself. If you would take an old boy like me on a few of those trips, Iwould be immensely pleased.”

“You’d like brigand beefsteak,” suggested Linda, “and you’d like cresssalad, and I am sure you’d like creamed yucca.”

“Hm,” said the Judge. “Sounds to me like Jane Meredith.”

Linda suddenly sat straight. A dazed expression crossed her face.Presently she recovered.

“Will you kindly tell me,” she said, “what a great criminal judge knowsabout Jane Meredith?”

“Why, I hear my wife and daughter talking about her,” said the Judge.

“I wonder,” said Linda, “if a judge hears so many secrets that heforgets what a secret is and couldn’t possibly keep one to save hislife.”

“On the other hand,” said Judge Whiting, “a judge hears so many secretsthat he learns to be a very secretive person himself, and if a younglady just your size and so like you in every way as to be you, told meanything and told me that it was a secret, I would guarantee to carryit with me to my grave, if I said I would.”

One of Linda’s special laughs floated out of the windows. Her righthand slipped across the table toward the Judge.

“Cross your heart and body?” she challenged.

The Judge took the hand she offered in both of his own.

“On my soul,” he said, “I swear it.”

“All right,” bubbled Linda. “Judge Whiting, allow me to present to youJane Meredith, the author and originator of the Aboriginal Cookeryarticles now running in Everybody’s Home.”

Linda stood up as she made the presentation and the Judge arose withher. When she bowed her dark head before him the Judge bowed equally aslow, then he took the hand he held and pressed it against his lips.

“I am not surprised,” he said. “I am honoured, deeply honoured, and Iam delighted. For a High-School girl that is a splendid achievement.”

“But you realize, of course,” said Linda, “that it is vicarious. Ireally haven’t done anything. I am just passing on to the world whatAlexander Strong found it interesting to teach his daughter, because hehadn’t a son.”

“I certainly am fortunate that my son is getting the benefit ofthis,” said Judge Whiting earnestly. “There are girls who make myold-fashioned soul shudder, but I shall rest in great comfort wheneverI know that my boy is with you.”

“Sure!” laughed Linda. “I’m not vamping him. I don’t know the firstprinciples. We’re not doing a thing worse than sucking ‘hunters’ rockleek’ or roasting Indian potatoes or fishing for trout with cactusspines. I have had such a lovely time I don’t believe that I’llapologize for coming. But you won’t waste a minute in making sure aboutOka Sayye?”

“I won’t waste a minute,” said the Judge.

CHAPTER XXII

Coming from school a few days later on an evening when she had beendetained, Linda found a radiant Katy awaiting her.

“What’s up, old dear?” cried Linda. “You seem positively illumined.”

“So be,” said Katy. “It’s a good time I’m havin’. In the first placethe previous boss of this place ain’t nowise so bossy as she used tobe, an’ livin’ with her is a dale aisier. An’ then, when Miss Eileenis around these days, she is beginning to see things, and she isjust black with jealousy of ye. Something funny happened here theafternoon, an’ she was home for once an’ got the full benefit of it. Iwas swapin’ the aist walk, but I know she was inside the window an’ Iknow she heard. First, comes a great big loaded automobile drivin’ up,and stopped in front with a flourish, an’ out hops as nice an’ nate alookin’ lad as ever you clapped your eyes on, an’ up he comes to me an’off goes his hat with a swape, an’ he hands me that bundle an’ he says:‘Here’s something Miss Linda is wantin’ bad for her wild garden.’”

Katy handed Linda a bundle of newspaper, inside which, wrapped in aman’s handkerchief, she found several plants, carefully lifted, theroots properly balled, the heads erect, crisp, although in full flower.

“Oh, Katy!” cried Linda. “Look, it’s Gallito, ‘little rooster’!”

“Now ain’t them jist yellow violets?” asked Katy dubiously.

“No,” said Linda, “they are not. They are quite a bit rarer. They arereally a wild pansy. Bring water, Katy, and help me.”

“But I’ve something else for ye,” said Katy.

“I don’t care what you have,” answered Linda. “I am just compelled topark these little roosters at once.”

“What makes ye call them that ungodly name?” asked Katy.

“Nothing ungodly about it,” answered Linda. “It’s funny. Gallitois the Spanish name for these violets, and it means ‘little rooster.’”

Linda set the violets as carefully as they had been lifted and rinsedher hands at the hydrant.

“Now bring on the remainder of the exhibit,” she ordered.

“It’s there on the top of the rock pile, which you notice has incrasedsince ye last saw it.”

“So it has!” said Linda. “So it has! And beautifully coloured specimensthose are too. My fern bed will lift up its voice and rejoice in them.And rocks mean Henry Anderson. The box I do not understand.”

Linda picked it up, untied the string, and slipped off the wrapping.Katy stared in wide-mouthed amazement.

“I was just tickled over that because Miss Eileen saw a good-lookingand capable young man leave a second package, right on the heels ofyoung Whiting,” she said. “Whatever have ye got, lambie? What does thatmean?”

Linda held up a beautiful box of glass, inside of which could be seenswarming specimens of every bug, beetle, insect, and worm that HenryAnderson had been able to collect in Heaven only knew what hours ofsearch. Linda opened the box. The winged creatures flew, the beetlestumbled, the worms went over the top. She set it on the ground andlaughed to exhaustion. Her eyes were wet as she looked up at Katy.

“That first night Henry Anderson and Peter Morrison were here todinner, Katy,” she said, “Anderson made a joke about being mybug-catcher when I built my home nest, and several times since hehas tried to be silly about it, but the last time I told him it wasfoolishness to which I would listen no more, so instead of talking,he has taken this way of telling me that he is fairly expert as abug-catcher. Really, it is awfully funny, Katy.”

Katy was sober. She showed no appreciation of the fun.

“Ye know, lambie,” she said, her hands on her hips, her elbowswide-spread, her jaws argumentative, “I’ve done some blarneying withthat lad, an’ I’ve fed him some, because he was doin’ things that wouldhelp an’ please ye, but now I’m tellin’ ye, just like I’ll be tellin’ye till I die, I ain’t strongfor him. If ever the day comeswhen ye ask me to take on that Whiting kid for me boss, I’ll bow myhead an’ I’ll fly at his bidding, because he is real, he’s goin’ tocome out a man lots like your pa, or hisn. An’ if ever the day comeswhen ye will be telling me ye want me to serve Pater Morrison, I’llwell nigh get on my knees to him. I think he’d be the closest we’d evercome to gettin’ the master back. But I couldn’t say I’d ever take toAnderson. They’s something about him, I can’t just say what, but heputs me back up amazin’.”

“Don’t worry, ancient custodian of the family,” said Linda. “That samesomething in Henry Anderson that antagonizes you, affects me in evenstronger degree. You must not get the foolish notion that any man has aspeculative eye on me, because it is not true. Donald Whiting is only aboy friend, treating me as a brother would, and Peter Morrison is muchtoo sophisticated and mature to pay any serious attention to a girlwith a year more high school before her. I want to be decent to HenryAnderson, because he is Peter’s architect, and I’m deeply interestedin Peter’s house and the lady who will live in it. Sometimes I hopeit will be Donald’s sister, Mary Louise. Anyway, I am going to getacquainted with her and make it my business to see that she and Peterget their chance to know each other well. My job for Peter is to helprun his brook at the proper angle, build his bridge, engineer his road,and plant his grounds; so don’t be dreaming any foolish dreams, Katy.”

Katy folded her arms, tilted her chin at an unusually aspiring angle,and deliberately sniffed.

“Don’t ye be lettin’ yourself belave your own foolishness,” she said.“I ain’t done with me exhibit yet. On the hall table ye will find apackage from the Pater Morrison man that Miss Eileen had the joy oftakin’ in and layin’ aside for ye, an atop of it rists a big letterthat I’m thinkin’ might mean Miss Marian.”

“Oh,” cried Linda. “Why are you wasting all this time? If there is aletter from Marian it may mean that the competition is decided; but ifit is, she loses, because she was to telegraph if she won.”

Linda rushed into the house and carried her belongings to her workroom.She dropped them on the table and looked at them.

“I’ll get you off my mind first,” she said to the Morrison package,which enclosed a new article entitled “How to Grow Good Citizens.” Withit was a scrawled line, “I’m leaving the head and heels of the futureto you.”

“How fine!” exulted Linda. “He must have liked the head and tail piecesI drew for his other article, so he wants the same for this, and if heis well paid for his article, maybe in time, after I’ve settled for myhearth motto, he will pay me something for my work. Gal-lum-shus!”

As she opened the letter from Marian she slowly shook her head.

“Drat the luck,” she muttered, “no good news here.”

Slowly and absorbedly she read:

Dearest Linda:

No telegram to send. I grazed the first prize and missed the secondbecause Henry Anderson wins with plans so like mine that theyare practically duplicates. I have not seen the winning plans.Mr. Snow told me as gently as he could that the judges had ruledme out entirely. The winning plans are practically a reversal ofmine, more professionally drawn, and no doubt the specificationsare far ahead of mine, as these are my weak spot, although I haveworked all day and far into the night on the mathematics of housebuilding. Mr. Snow was very kind, and terribly cut up about it. Imade what I hope was a brave fight, I did so believe in those plansthat I am afraid to say just how greatly disappointed I am. All Ican do is to go to work again and try to find out how to better mybest, which I surely put into the plans I submitted. I can’t seehow Henry Anderson came to hit upon some of my personal designsfor comforts and conveniences. I had hoped that no man wouldthink of my especial kitchen plans. I rather fancied myself as abenefactor to my sex, an emancipator from drudgery, as it were. Ihad a concealed feeling that it required a woman who had expendedher strength combating the construction of a devilish kitchen, todevise some of my built-in conveniences, and I worked as carefullyon my kitchen table, as on any part of the house. If I find laterthat the winning plans include these things I shall believe thatHenry Anderson is a mind reader, or that lost plans naturallygravitate to him. But there is no use to grouch further. I seem tobe born a loser. Anyway, I haven’t lost you and I still have DanaMeade.

I have nothing else to tell you except that Mr. Snow has waitedfor me two evenings out of the week ever since I wrote you, andhe has taken me in his car and simply forced me to drive him foran hour over what appeals to me to be the most difficult roads hecould select. So far I have not balked at anything, but he hashad the consideration not to direct me to the mountains. He isextremely attractive, Linda, and I do enjoy being with him, but Idread it too, because his grief is so deep and so apparent that itconstantly keeps before me the loss of my own dear ones, and thosethings to which the hymn books refer as “aching voids” in my ownlife.

But there is something you will be glad to hear. That unknowncorrespondent of mine is still sending letters, and I am crazyabout them. I don’t answer one now until I have mulled over it twoor three days and I try to give him as good as he sends.

I judge from your letters that you are keeping at least evenwith Eileen, and that life is much happier for you. You seem tobe broadening. I am so glad for the friendship you have formedwith Donald Whiting. My mother and Mrs. Whiting were friends.She is a charming woman and it has seemed to me that in herdaughter Louise she has managed a happy compound of old-fashionedstraightforwardness and unswerving principle, festooned with happytrimmings of all that is best in the present days. I hope that youdo become acquainted with her. She is older than you, but she isthe kind of girl I know you would like.

Don’t worry because I have lost again, Linda dear. To-day is myblue day. To-morrow I shall roll up my sleeves and go at it againwith all my might, and by and by it is written in the books thatthings will come right for me. They cannot go wrong for ever.

With dearest love,
Marian.

Linda looked grim as she finished the letter.

“Confound such luck,” she said emphatically. “I do not understandit. How can a man like Henry Anderson know more about comforts andconveniences in a home than a woman with Marian’s experience andcomprehension? And she has been gaining experience for the past tenyears. That partner of his must be a six-cylinder miracle.”

Linda went to the kitchen, because she was in pressing need of someoneto whom to tell her troubles, and there was no one except Katy. WhatKaty said was energetic and emphatic, but it comforted Linda, becauseshe agreed with it and what she was seeking at the minute was someonewho agreed with her. As she went back upstairs, she met Eileen on herway to the front door. Eileen paused and deliberately studied Linda’sface, and Linda stopped and waited quietly until she chose to speak.

“I presume,” said Eileen at last, “that you and Katy would call theprocess through which you are going right now, ‘taking the bit in yourteeth,’ or some poetic thing like that, but I can’t see that you aregetting much out of it. I don’t hear the old laugh or the clatter ofgay feet as I did before all this war of dissatisfaction broke out.This minute if you haven’t either cried, or wanted to, I miss my guess.”

“You win,” said Linda. “I have not cried, because I make it a rulenever to resort to tears when I can help it; so what you see now isunshed tears in my heart. They in no way relate to what you so aptlyterm my ‘war of dissatisfaction’; they are for Marian. She has lostagain, this time the Nicholson and Snow prize in architecture.”

“Serves her right,” said Eileen, laughing contemptuously. “Theridiculous idea of her trying to compete in a man’s age-old occupation!As if she ever could learn enough about joists and beams and girdersand installing water and gas and electricity to build a house. Sheshould have had the sense to know she couldn’t do it.”

“But,” said Linda quietly, “Marian wasn’t proposing to be a contractor,she only wants to be an architect. And the man who beat her is PeterMorrison’s architect, Henry Anderson, and he won by such a narrowmargin that her plans were thrown out of second and third place,because they were so very similar to his. Doesn’t that strike you ascurious?”

“That is more than curious,” said Eileen slowly. “That is a verystrange coincidence. They couldn’t have had anything from each other,because they only met at dinner, before all of us, and Marian went awaythe next morning; it does seem queer.” Then she added with a flash ofgenerosity and justice, “It looks pretty good for Marian, at that. Ifshe came so near winning that she lost second and third because she wastoo near first to make any practical difference, I must be wrong andshe must be right.”

“You are wrong,” said Linda tersely, “if you think Marian cannotmake wonderful plans for houses. But going back to what my ‘war ofdissatisfaction’ is doing to me, it’s a pale affair compared with whatit is doing to you, Eileen. You look a debilitated silhouette of thenear recent past. Do you feel that badly about giving up a little moneyand authority?”

“I never professed to have the slightest authority over you,” saidEileen very primly, as she drew back in the shadows. “You have come andgone exactly as you pleased. All I ever tried to do was to keep up adecent appearance before the neighbors and make financial ends meet.”

“That never seemed to wear on you as something seems to do now,” saidLinda. “I am thankful that this week ends it. I was looking for youbecause I wanted to tell you to be sure not to make any date thatwill keep you from meeting me at the office of the president of theConsolidated Bank Thursday afternoon. I am going to arrange with Johnto be there and it shouldn’t take fifteen minutes to run throughmatters and divide the income in a fair way between us. I am willingfor you to go on paying the bills and ordering for the house as youhave been.”

“Certainly you are,” sneered Eileen. “You are quite willing for all thework and use the greater part of my time to make you comfortable.”

Linda suddenly drew back. Her body seemed to recoil, but her headthrust forward as if to bring her eyes in better range to read Eileen’sface.

“That is utterly unjust, Eileen,” she cried.

Then two at a time she rushed the stairs in a race for her room.

CHAPTER XXIII

Linda started to school half an hour earlier Wednesday morning becausethat was the day for her weekly trip to the Post Office for any mailwhich might have come to her under the name of Jane Meredith. She hadhard work to keep down her colour when she recognized the heavy grayenvelope used by the editor of Everybody’s Home. As she turnedfrom the window with it in her fingers she was trembling slightly andwondering whether she could have a minute’s seclusion to face theanswer which her last letter might have brought. There was a smallalcove beside a public desk at one side of the room. Linda stepped intothis, tore open the envelope and slipped out the sheet it contained.Dazedly she stared at the slip that fell from it. Slowly the colourleft her cheeks and then came rushing back from her surcharged heartuntil her very ears were red, because that slip was very manifestly acheque for five hundred dollars. Mentally and physically Linda shookherself, then she straightened to full height, tensing her muscles andholding the sheet before her with a hand on each side to keep it fromshaking, while she read:

My dear Madam:

I sincerely apologize for having waited so long before writingyou of the very exceptional reception which your articles havehad. I think one half their attraction has been the exquisite andappealing pictures you have sent for their illustration. At thepresent minute they are forming what I consider the most uniquefeature in the magazine. I am enclosing you a cheque for fivehundred dollars as an initial payment on the series. Just whatthe completed series should be worth I am unable to say until youinform me how many months you can keep it up at the same grade ofculinary and literary interest and attractive illustration; but Ishould say at a rough estimate that you would be safe in countingupon a repetition of this cheque for every three articles you sendin. This of course includes payment for the pictures also, whichare to me if anything more attractive than the recipes, since thelocal colour and environment they add to the recipe and the wordsketch are valuable in the extreme.

If you feel that you can continue this to the extent of even asmall volume, I shall be delighted to send you a book contract.In considering this proposition, let me say that if you couldnot produce enough recipes to fill a book, you could piece itout to the necessary length most charmingly and attractively bylengthening the descriptions of the environment in which theparticular fruits and vegetables you deal with are to be found;and in book form you might allow yourself much greater latitudein the instructions concerning the handling of the fruits and thepreparation of the recipes. I think myself that a wonderfullyattractive book could be made from this material, and hope that youwill agree with me. Trusting that this will be satisfactory to youand that you will seriously consider the book proposition beforeyou decline it, I remain, my dear madam,

Very truly yours,
Hugh Thompson,
Editor, Everybody’s Home.

Gripping the cheque and the letter, Linda lurched forward against thewindow casement and shut her eyes tight, because she could feel big,nervous gulps of exultation and rejoicing swelling up in her throat.She shifted the papers to one hand and surreptitiously slipped theother to her pocket. She tried to keep the papers before her and lookedstraight from the window to avoid attracting attention. The tumultof exultation in her heart was so wild that she did not surely knowwhether she wanted to sink to the floor, lay her face against theglass, and indulge in what for generations women have referred to as “agood cry,” or whether she wanted to leap from the window and sport onthe wind like a driven leaf.

Then she returned the letter and cheque to the envelope, and slippedit inside her blouse, and started on her way to school. She might aswell have gone to Multiflores Canyon and pitted her strength againstclimbing its walls for the day, for all the good she did in her schoolwork. She heard no word of any recitation by her schoolmates. Shehad no word ready when called on for a recitation herself. She heardnothing that was said by any of the professors. On winged feet shewas flying back and forth from the desert to the mountains, from thecanyons to the sea. She was raiding beds of camass and devising waysto roast the bulbs and make a new dish. She was compounding drinksfrom mescal and bisnaga. She was hunting desert pickles and trying toremember whether Indian rhubarb ever grew so far south. She was gladwhen the dismissal hour came that afternoon. With eager feet she wentstraight to the Consolidated Bank and there she asked again to beadmitted to the office of the president. Mr. Worthington rose as shecame in.

“Am I wrong in my dates?” he inquired. “I was not expecting you untilto-morrow.”

“No, you’re quite right,” said Linda. “At this hour to-morrow. But, Mr.Worthington, I am in trouble again.”

Linda looked so distressed that the banker pushed a chair to thetable’s side for her, and when she had seated herself, he said quietly:“Tell me all about it, Linda. We must get life straightened out as bestwe can.”

“I think I must tell you all about it,” said Linda, “because I knowjust enough about banking to know that I have a proposition that Idon’t know how to handle. Are bankers like father confessors anddoctors and lawyers?”

“I think they are even more so,” laughed Mr. Worthington. “Perhaps thefather confessor takes precedence, otherwise I believe people are quiteas much interested in their financial secrets as in anything else inall this world. Have you a financial secret?”

“Yes,” said Linda, “I have what is to me a big secret, and I don’t inthe least know how to handle it, so right away I thought about you andthat you would be the one to tell me what I could do.”

“Go ahead,” said Mr. Worthington kindly. “I’ll give you my word ofhonour to keep any secret you confide to me.”

Linda produced her letter. She opened it and without any preliminarieshanded it and the cheque to the banker. He looked at the chequespeculatively, and then laid it aside and read the letter. He gaveevery evidence of having read parts of it two or three times, then heexamined the cheque again, and glanced at Linda.

“And just how did you come into possession of this, young lady?” heinquired. “And what is it that you want of me?”

“Why, don’t you see?” said Linda. “It’s myletter and mycheque; I’m ‘Jane Meredith.’ Now how am I going to get my money.”

For one dazed moment Mr. Worthington studied Linda; then he threw backhis head and laughed unrestrainedly. He came around the table and tookboth Linda’s hands.

“Bully for you!” he cried exultantly. “How I wish your father could seethe seed he has sown bearing its fruit. Isn’t that fine? And do youwant to go on with this anonymously?”

“I think I must,” said Linda. “I have said in my heart that no Jap,male or female, young or old, shall take first honours in a class fromwhich I graduate; and you can see that if people generally knew this,it would make it awfully hard for me to go on with my studies, and Idon’t know that the editor who is accepting this work would take it ifhe knew it were sent him by a high-school Junior. You see the dignifiedway in which he addresses me as ‘madam’?”

“I see,” said Mr. Worthington reflectively.

“I’m sure,” said Linda with demure lips, though the eyes above themwere blazing and dancing at high tension, “I’m sure that the editor isattaching a husband, and a house having a well-ordered kitchen, andrather wide culinary experience to that ‘dear madam.’”

“And what about this book proposition?” asked the banker gravely.“That would be a big thing for a girl of your age. Can you do it, andcontinue your school work?”

“With the background I have, with the unused material I have, and withvacation coming before long, I can do it easily,” said Linda. “Myschool work is not difficult for me. It only requires concentration forabout two hours in the preparation that each day brings. The remainderof the time I could give to amplifying and producing new recipes.”

“I see,” said the banker. “So you have resolved, Linda, that you don’twant your editor to know your real name.”

“Could scarcely be done,” said Linda.

“But have you stopped to think,” said the banker, “that you will beasked for personal history and about your residence, and no doubt aphotograph of yourself. If you continue this work anonymously you’regoing to have trouble with more matters than cashing a cheque.”

“But I am not going to have any trouble cashing a cheque,” she said,“because I have come straight to the man whose business is cheques.”

“True enough,” he said; “I shallhave to arrange the cheque;there’s not a doubt about that; and as for your other bugbears——”

“I refuse to be frightened by them,” interposed Linda.

“Have you ever done any business at the bank?”

“No,” said Linda.

“None of the clerks know you?”

“Not that I remember,” said Linda. “I might possibly be acquainted withsome of them. I have merely passed through the bank on my way to yourroom twice.”

“Then,” said the banker, “we’ll have to risk it. After this estatebusiness is settled you will want to open an account in your name.”

“Quite true,” said Linda.

“Then I would advise you,” said Mr. Worthington, “to open this accountin your own name. Endorse this cheque ‘Jane Meredith’ and make itpayable to me personally. Whenever one of these comes, bring it to meand I’ll take care of it for you. One minute.”

He left Linda sitting quietly reading and rereading her letter, andpresently returned and laid a sheaf of paper money before her.

“Take it to the paying teller. Tell him that you wish to deposit it,and ask him to give you a bank book and a cheque book,” he said. “Thankyou very much for coming to me and for confiding in me.”

Linda gathered up the money, and said good-bye to the banker. Justas she started forward she recognized Eileen at the window of thepaying teller. It was an Eileen she never before had seen. Her facewas strained to a ghastly gray. Her hat was not straight and her handswere shaking. Without realizing that she was doing it, Linda steppedbehind one of the huge marble pillars supporting the ceiling and stoodthere breathlessly, watching Eileen. She could gather that she wasdiscussing the bank ledger which lay before the teller and that he wasrefusing something that Eileen was imploring him to do. Linda thoughtshe understood what it was. Then very clearly Eileen’s voice, sharp andstrained, reached her ears.

“You mean that you are refusing to pay me my deposits on my privateaccount?” she cried; and Linda could also hear the response.

“I am very sorry if it annoys or inconveniences you, Miss Strong, butsince the settlement of the estate takes place to-morrow, our ordersare to pay out no funds in any way connected with the estate untilafter that settlement has been arranged.”

“But this is my money, my own private affair,” begged Eileen. “Theestate has nothing to do with it.”

“I am sorry,” repeated the teller. “If that is the case, you will haveno difficulty in establishing the fact in a few minutes’ time.”

Eileen turned and left the bank, and it seemed that she was almostswaying. Linda stood a second with narrowed eyes, in deep thought.

“I think,” she said at last, deep down in her heart, “that it looksprecious much as if there had been a bit of transgression in thisaffair. It looks, too, as if ‘the way of the transgressor’ were adarned hard way. Straight ahead, open and aboveboard for you, my girl!”

Then she went quietly to the desk and transacted her own business;but her beautiful day was clouded. Her heart was no longer leapingexultantly. She was sickened and sorrowful over the evident nervestrain and discomfort which Eileen seemed to have brought upon herself.She dreaded meeting her at dinner that night, and she wondered all theway home where Eileen had gone from the bank and what she had beendoing. What she felt was a pale affair compared with what she wouldhave felt if she could have seen Eileen leave the bank and enter anear-by store, go to a telephone booth and put in a long-distance callfor San Francisco. Her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks by nature redderthan the rouge she had used upon them. She squared her shoulders,lifted her head, as if she irrevocably had made a decision and wouldnot be thwarted in acting upon it. While she waited she straightenedher hat, and tucked up her pretty hair, once more evincing concernabout her appearance. After a nervous wait she secured her party.

“Am I speaking with Mr. James Heitman?” she asked.

“Yes,” came the answer.

“Well, Uncle Jim, this is Eileen.”

“Why, hello, girlie,” was the quick response. “Delighted that you’recalling your ancient uncle. Haven’t changed the decision in the lastletter I had from you, have you?”

“Yes,” said Eileen, “I have changed it. Do you and Aunt Caroline stillwant me, Uncle Jim?”

“You bet we want you!” roared the voice over the ’phone. “Herewe are, with plenty of money and not a relation on earth but you toleave it to. You belong to us by rights. We’d be tickled to death tohave you, and for you to have what’s left of the money when we getthrough with it. May I come after you? Say the word, and I’ll startthis minute.”

“Oh, Uncle Jim, could you? Would you?” cried Eileen.

“Well, I’d say I could. We’d be tickled to death, I tell you!”

“How long would it take you to get here?” said Eileen.

“Well, I could reach you by noon to-morrow. Eleven something is theshortest time it’s been made in; that would give me thirteen—more thanenough. Are you in that much of a hurry?”

“Yes,” gasped Eileen, “yes, I am in the biggest kind of a hurry thereis, Uncle Jim. This troublesome little estate has to be settledto-morrow afternoon. There’s going to be complaint about everythingthat I have seen fit to do. I’ve been hounded and harassed till I amdisgusted with it. Then I’ve promised to marry John Gilman as I wroteyou, and I don’t believe you would think that was my best chance withthe opportunities you could give me. It seems foolish to stay here,abused as I have been lately, and as I will be to-morrow. You have thehouse number. If you come and get me out of it by noon to-morrow, I’llgo with you. You may take out those adoption papers you have alwaysentreated me to agree to and I’ll be a daughter that you can be proudof. It will be a relief to have some real money and some real position,and to breathe freely and be myself once more.”

“All right for you, girlie!” bellowed the great voice over the line.“Pick up any little personal bits you can put in a suitcase, and bytwelve o’clock to-morrow I’ll whisk you right out of that damn mess.”

Eileen walked from the telephone booth with her head high, triumphwritten all over her face and figure. They were going to humiliate her.She would show them!

She went home immediately. Entering her room, she closed the door andstood looking at her possessions. How could she get her trunk from thegarret? How could she get it to the station? Would it be possible forUncle James to take it in his car? As she pondered these things Eileenhad a dim memory of a day in her childhood when her mother had goneon business to San Francisco and had taken her along. She remembereda huge house, all turrets and towers and gables, all turns and twistsand angles, closed to the light of day and glowing inside with shiningartificial lights. She remembered stumbling over deep rugs. One vividimpression was of walls covered with huge canvases, some of them havingframes more than a foot wide. She remembered knights in armor, and bigfireplaces, and huge urns and vases. It seemed to her like the mostwonderful bazaar she ever had been in. She remembered, too, that shehad been glad when her mother had taken her out into the sunshine againand from the presence of two ponderous people who had objected stronglyto everything her mother had discussed with them. She paused oneinstant, contemplating this picture. The look of triumph on her facetoned down considerably. Then she comforted herself aloud.

“I’ve heard Mother say,” she said softly, “that everybody overdidthings and did not know how to be graceful with immense fortunes gotfrom silver and gold mines, and lumber. It will be different now.Probably they don’t live in the same house, even. There is a small armyof servants, and there is nothing I can think of that Uncle Jim won’tgladly get me. I’ve been too big a fool for words to live this way aslong as I have. Crush me, will they? I’ll show them! I won’t even touchthese things I have strained so to get.”

Eileen jerked from her throat the strand of pearls that she had worncontinuously for four years and threw it contemptuously on her dressingtable.

“I’ll make Uncle Jim get me a rope with two or three strands in it thatwill reach to my waist. ‘A suitcase!’ I don’t know what I would fill asuitcase with from here. The trunk may stay in the garret, and while Iam leaving all this rubbish, I’ll just leave John Gilman with it. UncleJim will give me an income that will buy all the cigarettes I wantwithout having to deceive anyone; and I can have money if I want tostake something at bridge without being scared into paralysis for fearsomebody may find it out or the accounts won’t balance. I’ll put on themost suitable thing I have to travel in, and just walk out and leaveeverything else.”

That was what Eileen did. At noon the next day her eyes were brightwith nervousness. Her cheeks alternately paled with fear and floodedred with anxiety. She had dressed herself carefully, laid out her hatand gloves and a heavy coat in case the night should be chilly. Onceshe stood looking at the dainty, brightly coloured dresses hanging inher wardrobe A flash of regret passed over her face.

“Tawdry little cheap things and makeshifts,” she said. “If Linda feelsthat she has been so terribly defrauded, she can help herself now!”

By twelve o’clock she found herself standing at the window, strainingher eyes down Lilac Valley. She was not looking at its helpful hills,at its appealing curves, at its brilliant colours. She was watching theroadway. When Katy rang to call her to lunch, she told her to put thethings away; she was expecting people who would take her out to lunchpresently. In the past years she had occasionally written to her uncle.Several times when he had had business in Los Angeles she had methim at his hotel and dined with him. She reasoned that he would comestraight to the house and get her, and then they would go to one of thebig hotels for lunch before they started.

“I shan’t feel like myself,” said Eileen, “until we are well on the wayto San Francisco.”

At one o’clock she was walking the floor. At two she was almostfrantic. At half past she almost wished that she had had the good senseto have some lunch, since she was very hungry and under tense nervestrain. Once she paused before the glass, but what she saw frightenedher. Just when she felt that she could not endure the strain anotherminute, grinding brakes, the blast of a huge Klaxon, and the sound ofa great voice arose from the street. Eileen rushed to the window. Shetook one look, caught up the suitcase and raced down the stairs. At thedoor she met a bluff, big man, gross from head to foot. It seemed toEileen strange that she could see in him even a trace of her mother,and yet she could. Red veins crossed his cheeks and glowed on his nose.His tired eyes were watery; his thick lips had an inclination to sag;but there was heartiness in his voice and earnestness in the manner inwhich he picked her up.

“What have they been doing to you down here?” he demanded. “Nevershould have left you this long. Ought to have come down and taken youand showed you what you wanted, and then you would have knownwhether you wanted it or not.”

At this juncture a huge woman, gross in a feminine way as her husbandwas in his, paddled up the walk.

“I’m comin’ in and rest a few minutes,” she said. “I’m tired to deathand I’m pounded to pieces.”

Her husband turned toward her. He opened his lips to introduce Eileen.His wife forestalled him.

“So this is the Eileen you have been ravin’ about for years,” she said.“I thought you said she was a pretty girl.”

Eileen’s soul knew one sick instant of recoil. She looked from JamesHeitman to Caroline, his wife, and remembered that he had a habitof calling her “Cally.” All that paint and powder and lip-stick andbrilliantine could do to make the ponderous, big woman more ghastly hadbeen done, but in the rush of the long ride through which her husbandhad forced her, the colours had mixed and slipped, the false waves weredisplaced. She was not in any condition to criticize the appearance ofanother woman. For one second Eileen hesitated, then she lifted hershaking hands to her hat.

“I have been hounded out of my senses,” she said apologetically, “andhave been so terribly anxious for fear you wouldn’t get here on time.Please, Aunt Caroline, let us go to a hotel, some place where we canstraighten up comfortably.”

“Well, what’s your hurry?” said Aunt Caroline coolly. “You’re not afugitive from justice, are you? Can’t a body rest a few minutes andhave a drink, even? Besides, I am going to see what kind of a placeyou’ve been living in, and then I’ll know how thankful you’ll be forwhat we got to offer.”

Eileen turned and threw open the door. The big woman walked in. Shelooked down the hall, up the stairway, and went on to the living room.She gave it one contemptuous glance, and turning, came back to the door.

“All right, Jim,” she said brusquely. “I have seen enough. If you knowthe best hotel in the town, take me there. And then, if Eileen’s insuch a hurry, after we have had a bite we’ll start for home.”

“Thank you, Aunt Caroline, oh, thank you!” cried Eileen.

“You needn’t take the trouble to ‘aunt’ me every time you speak to me,”said the lady. “I know you’re my niece, but I ain’t goin’ to remind youof it every time I speak to you. It’s agein’, this ‘auntie’ business.I don’t stand for it, and as for a name, I am free to confess I alwayslike the way Jim calls me ‘Cally.’ That sounds younger and morecompanionable than ‘Caroline.’”

James Heitman looked at Eileen and winked.

“You just bet, old girl!” he said. “They ain’t any of them can beatyou, not even Eileen at her best. Let’s get her out of here. Does thisrepresent your luggage, girlie?”

“You said not to bother with anything else,” said Eileen.

“So I did,” said Uncle Jim, “and I meant just what I said if it’s allright with you. I suppose I did have, in the back of my head, an ideathat there might be a trunk or a box—some things that belonged to yourmother, mebby, and your ‘keepsakes.’”

“Oh, never mind,” interrupted Eileen. “Do let’s go. It’s nearly fouro’clock. Any minute they may send for me from the bank, and I’d be morethan glad to be out of the way.”

“Well, I’m not accustomed to being the porter, but if time’s thatprecious, here we go,” said Uncle Jim.

He picked up the suitcase with one hand and took his wife’s arm withthe other.

“Scoot down there and climb into that boat,” he said proudly to Eileen.“We’ll have a good dinner in a private room when we get to the hotel. Iwon’t even register. And then we’ll get out of here when we have resteda little.”

“Can’t we stay all night and go in the morning?” panted his wife.

“No, ma’am, we can’t,” said James Heitman authoritatively. “We’ll eata bite because we need to be fed up, and I sincerely hope they’s somedecent grub to be had in this burg. The first place we come to outsideof here, that looks like they had a decent bed, we’ll stop and make upfor last night. But we ain’t a-goin’ to stay here if Eileen wants us tostart right away, eh, Eileen?”

“Yes, please!” panted Eileen. “I just don’t want to meet any of them.It’s time enough for them to know what has happened after I am gone.”

“All right then,” said Uncle James. “Pile in and we’ll go.”

So Eileen started on the road to the unlimited wealth her soul hadalways craved.

CHAPTER XXIV

At the bank Linda and John Gilman waited an hour past the time set forEileen’s appearance. Then Linda asserted herself.

“I have had a feeling for some time,” she said quietly, “that Eileenwould not appear to-day, and if she doesn’t see fit to come, there isno particular reason why she should. There is nothing to do but go overthe revenue from the estate. The books will show what Eileen has drawnmonthly for her expense budget. That can be set aside and the remainderdivided equally between us. It’s very simple. Here is a letter I wroteto the publishers of Father’s books asking about royalties. I haven’teven opened it. I will turn it in with the remainder of the business.”

They were in the office with the president of the bank. He rang for theclerk he wanted and the books he required, and an hour’s rapid figuringsettled the entire matter, with the exception of the private account,amounting to several thousands, standing in Eileen’s name. None of themknew any source of separate income she might have. At a suggestion fromLinda, the paying teller was called in and asked if he could accountfor any of the funds that had gone into the private account.

“Not definitely,” he said, “but the amounts always corresponded exactlywith the royalties from the books. I strongly suspect that theyconstitute this private account of Miss Eileen’s.”

But he did not say that she had tried to draw it the day previous.

John Gilman made the suggestion that they should let the matter restuntil Eileen explained about it. Then Linda spoke very quietly, butwith considerable finality in her tone.

“No,” she said, “I know that Eileen hadno source of privateincome. Mother used to mention that she had some wealthy relatives inSan Francisco, but they didn’t approve of her marriage to what theycalled a ‘poor doctor,’ and she would never accept, or allow us toaccept, anything from them. They never came to see us and we neverwent to see them. Eileen knows no more about them than I do. We willwork upon the supposition that everything that is here belonged toFather. Set aside to Eileen’s credit the usual amount for housekeepingexpenses. Turn the private account in with the remainder. Start twonew bank books, one for Eileen and one for me. Divide the surplus eachmonth exactly in halves. And I believe this is the proper time for thebank to turn over to me a certain key, specified by my father as havingbeen left in your possession to be delivered to me on my coming of age.”

With the key in her possession, Linda and John Gilman left the bank. Asthey stood for a moment in front of the building, Gilman removed hishat and ran his hands through his hair as if it were irritating hishead.

“Linda,” he said in a deeply wistful tone, “I don’t understand this.Why shouldn’t Eileen have come to-day as she agreed? What is thereabout this that is not according to law and honour and the plain,simple rights of the case?”

“I don’t know,” said Linda; “but there is something we don’t understandabout it. And I am going to ask you, John, as my guardian, closingup my affairs to-day, to go home with me to be present when I openthe little hidden door I found at the back of a library shelf when Iwas disposing of Daddy’s technical books. There was a slip of paperat the edge of it specifying that the key was in possession of theConsolidated Bank and was to be delivered to me, in the event ofDaddy’s passing, on my coming of age. I have the key, but I wouldlike to have you with me, and Eileen if she is in the house, when Iopen that door. I don’t know what is behind it, but there’s a certainfeeling that always has been strong in my heart and it never was sostrong as it is at this minute.”

So they boarded the street car and ran out to Lilac Valley. When Katyadmitted them Linda put her arm around her and kissed her. She couldsee that the house was freshly swept and beautifully decorated withflowers, and her trained nostrils could scent whiffs of deliciousodours from food of which she was specially fond. In all her world Katywas the one person who was celebrating her birthday. She seemed rathersurprised when Linda and Gilman came in together.

“Where is Eileen?” inquired Linda.

“She must have made some new friends,” said Katy. “About four o’clock,the biggest car that ever roared down this street rolled up, and thebiggest man and woman that I ever see came puffin’ and pantin’ in.Miss Eileen did not tell me where she was goin’ or when she would beback, but I know it won’t be the night, because she took her littledressin’ case with her. Belike it’s another of them trips to Riversideor Pasadena.”

“Very likely,” said Linda quietly. “Katy, can you spare a few minutes?”

“No, lambie, I jist can’t,” said Katy, “because a young person that’sthe apple of me eye is havin’ a birthday the day and I have got mecustard cake in the oven and the custard is in the makin’, and afterMiss Eileen went and I didn’t see no chance for nothin’ special, Ijist happened to look out, one of the ways ye do things unbeknownstto yourself, and there stood Mr. Pater Morrison moonin’ over the‘graveyard’, like he called it, and it was lookin’ like seein’ graveshe was, and I jist took the bull by the horns, and I sings out tohim and I says: ‘Mr. Pater Morrison, it’s a good friend ye were tothe young missus when ye engineered her skylight and her beautifulfireplace, and this bein’ her birthday, I’m takin’ the liberty to askye to come to dinner and help me celebrate.’ And he said he would runup to the garage and get into his raygimentals, whatever them might be,and he would be here at six o’clock. So ye got a guest for dinner, andif the custard’s scorched and the cake’s flat, it’s up to ye for kapin’me here to tell ye all this.”

Then Katy hurried to the kitchen. Linda looked at John Gilman andsmiled.

“Isn’t that like her?” she said.

Then she led the way to the library, pulled aside the books, fitted thekey to the little door, and opened it. Inside lay a single envelope,sealed and bearing her name. She took the envelope, and walking to herfather’s chair beside his library table, sat down in it, and laying theenvelope on the table, crossed her hands on top of it.

“John,” she said, “ever since I have been big enough to think andreason and study things out for myself, there is a feeling I havehad—I used to think it was unreasonable, then I thought it remotepossibility. This minute I think it’s extremely probable. Before I openthis envelope I am going to tell you what I believe it contains. I havenot the slightest evidence except personal conviction, but I believethat the paper inside this envelope is written by my father’s hand andI believe it tells me that he was not Eileen’s father and that I am nother sister. If it does not say this, then there is nothing in race andblood and inherited tendencies.”

Linda picked up the paper cutter, ran it across the envelope, slippedout the sheet, and bracing herself she read:

My darling Linda:

These lines are to tell you that your mother went to her eternalsleep when you were born. Four years later I met and fell in lovewith the only mother you ever have known. At the time of ourmarriage we entered into a solemn compact that her little daughterby a former marriage and mine should be reared as sisters. I wasto give half my earnings and to do for Eileen exactly as I did foryou. She was to give half her love and her best attention to yourinterests.

I sincerely hope that what I have done will not result in anydiscomfort or inconvenience to you.

With dearest love, as ever your father,
Alexander Strong.

Linda laid the sheet on the table and dropped her hands on top of it.Then she looked at John Gilman.

“John,” she said, “I believe you had better face the fact that thebig car and the big people that carried Eileen away to-day were hermother’s wealthy relatives from San Francisco. She must have been intouch with them. I think very likely she sent for them after I saw herin the bank yesterday afternoon, trying with all her might to make thepaying teller turn over to her the funds of the private account.”

John Gilman sat very still for a long time, then he raised tired,disappointed eyes to Linda’s face.

“Linda,” he said, “do you mean you think Eileen was not straight aboutmoney matters?”

“John,” said Linda quietly, “I think it is time for the truth aboutEileen between you and me. If you want me to answer that questioncandidly, I’ll answer it.”

“I want the truth,” said John Gilman gravely.

“Well,” said Linda, “I never knew Eileen to be honest about anything inall her life unless the truth served her better than an evasion. Herhair was not honest colour and it was not honest curl. Her eyebrowswere not so dark as she made them. Her cheeks and lips were not so red,her forehead and throat were not so white, her form was not so perfect.Her friends were selected because they could serve her. As long as youwere poor and struggling, Marian was welcome to you. When you won agreat case and became prosperous and fame came rapidly, Eileen tookyou. I believe what I told you a minute ago: I think she has gone forgood. I think she went because she had not been fair and she would notbe forced to face the fact before you and me and the president of theConsolidated to-day. I think you will have to take your heart hometo-night and I think that before the night is over you will realizewhat Marian felt when she knew that in addition to having been able totake you from her, Eileen was not a woman who would make you happy.I am glad, deeply glad, that there is not a drop of her blood in myveins, sorry as I am for you and much as I regret what has happened. Iwon’t ask you to stay to-night, because you must go through the sameblack waters Marian breasted, and you will want to be alone. Later, ifyou think of any way I can serve you, I will be glad for old sake’ssake; but you must not expect me ever to love you or respect yourjudgment as I did before the shadow fell.”

Then Linda rose, replaced the letter, turned the key in the lock, andquietly slipped out of the room.

When she opened her door and stepped into her room she paused inastonishment. Spread out upon the bed lay a dress of georgette withlittle touches of fur and broad ribbons of satin. In colour it waslike the flame of seasoned beechwood. Across the foot of the bed hungpetticoat, camisole, and hose, and beside the dress a pair of satinslippers exactly matching the hose, and they seemed the right size.Linda tiptoed to the side of the bed and delicately touched the dress,and then she saw a paper lying on the waist front, and picking it upread:

Lambie, here’s your birthday, from loving old Katy.

The lines were terse and to the point. Linda laid them down, andpicking up the dress she walked to the mirror, and holding it under herchin glanced down the length of its reflection. What she saw almoststunned her.

“Oh, good Lord!” she said. “I can’t wear that. That isn’t me.”

Then she tossed the dress on the bed and started in a headlong rush tothe kitchen. As she came through the door, “You blessed old darling!”she cried. “What am I going to say to make you know how I appreciateyour lovely, lovely gift?”

Katy raised her head. There was something that is supposed to be theprerogative of royalty in the lift of it. Her smile was complacent inthe extreme.

“Don’t ye be standin’ there wastin’ no time talkin’,” she said.

“I have oodles of time,” said Linda, “but I warn you, you won’t know meif I put on that frock, Katy.”

“Yes, I will, too,” said Katy.

“Katy,” said Linda, sobering suddenly, “would it make any greatdifference to you if I were the only one here for always, after this?”

Katy laughed contemptuously.

“Well, I’d warrant to survive it,” she said coolly.

“But that is exactly what I must tell you, Katy,” said Linda soberly.“You know I have told you a number of times through these years thatI did not believe Eileen and I were sisters, and I am telling you nowthat I know it. She did not come to the bank to-day, and the settlementof Father’s affairs developed the fact that I was my father’s childand Eileen was her mother’s; and I’m thinking, Katy, that the big caryou saw and the opulent people in it were Eileen’s mother’s wealthyrelatives from San Francisco. My guess is, Katy, that Eileen has gonewith them for good. Lock her door and don’t touch her things until weknow certainly what she wants done with them.”

Katy stood thinking intently, then she lifted her eyes to Linda’s.

“Lambie,” she whispered softly, “are we ixpicted to go into mourningover this?”

A mischievous light leaped into Linda’s eyes.

“Well, if there are any such expectations abroad, Katherine O’Donovan,”she said soberly, “the saints preserve ’em, for we can’t fulfill ’em,can we, Katy?”

“Not to be savin’ our souls,” answered Katy heartily. “I’m jist so gladand thankful that I don’t know what to do, and it’s such good news thatI don’t belave one word of it. And while you’re talkie’, what aboutJohn Gilman?”

“I think,” said Linda quietly, “that to-night is going to teach him howMarian felt in her blackest hours.”

“Well, he needn’t be coming to me for sympathy,” said Katy. “But ifMiss Eileen has gone to live with the folks that come after her theday, ye might be savin’ a wee drap o’ sympathy for her, lambie. Theywas jist the kind of people that you’d risk your neck slidin’ down amountain to get out of their way.”

“That is too bad,” said Linda reflectively; “because Eileen issensitive and constant contact with crass vulgarity certainly wouldwear on her nerves.”

“Now you be goin’ and gettin’ into that dress, lambie,” said Katy.

“Katherine O’Donovan,” said Linda, “you’re used to it; come again toconfession. Tell me truly where and how did you get that dress?”

“’Tain’t no rule of polite society to be lookin’ gift horses in themouth,” said Katy proudly. “HowI got it is me own affair, jistlike ye got any gifts ye was ever makin’ me, is yours. WhereI got it? I went into the city on the strafe car and I went to thebiggest store in the city and I got in the elevator and I says to thenaygur: ‘Let me off where real ladies buy ready-to-wear dresses.’

“And up comes a little woman, and her hair was jist as soft and curlinground her ears, and brown and pretty was her eyes, and the pink thatGod made was in her cheeks, and in a voice like runnin’ water shesays: ‘Could I do anything for you?’ I told her what I wanted. And shesays: ‘How old is the young lady, and what’s her size, and what’s hercolour?’ Darlin’, ain’t that dress the answer to what I told her?”

“Yes,” said Linda. “If an artist had been selecting a dress for me hewould probably have chosen that one. But, old dear, it’s not suitablefor me. It’s not the kind of dress that I intended to wear for yearsand years yet. Do you think, if I put it on to-night, I’ll ever be ableto go back to boots and breeches again, and hunt the canyons for plantsto cook for—you know what?”

Katy stood in what is commonly designated as a “brown study.” Then shelooked Linda over piercingly.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said conclusively. “It’s my judgment that ye will. Ithink ye’ll maybe wrap the braids of ye around your head to-night, andI think ye’ll put on that frock, and I think ye’ll show Pater Morrisonhow your pa’s daughter can sit at the head of his table and entertainher friends. Then I think ye’ll hang it in your closet and put on yourboots and breeches and go back to your old Multiflores and attind toyour business, the same as before.”

“All right, Katy,” said Linda, “if you have that much faith in me Ihave that much faith in myself; but, old dear, I can’t tell you how Ilovehaving a pretty dress for to-night. Katy dear, the ‘Day ofJubilee’ has come. Before you go to sleep I’m coming to your room totell you fine large secrets, that you won’t believe for a minute, but Ihaven’t the time to do it now.”

Then Linda raced to her room and began dressing. She let down the mopof her hair waving below her waist and looked at it despairingly.

“That dress never was made for braids down your back,” she said,glancing toward the bed where it lay shimmering in a mass of lovelycolour. “I am of age to-day; for state occasions I should be a woman.What shall I do with it?”

And then she recalled Katy’s voice saying: “Braids round your head.”

“Of course,” said Linda, “that would be the thing to do. I certainlydon’t need anything to add to my height; I am far too tall now.”

So she parted her hair in the middle, brushed it back, divided it ineven halves, and instead of braiding it, she coiled it around her head,first one side and then the other.

She slipped into the dress and struggled with its many and intricatefastenings. Then she went to the guest room to stand before thefull-length mirror there. Slowly she turned. Critically she examinedherself.

“It’s a bit shorter than I would have ordered it,” she said, “but itreduces my height, it certainly gives wonderful freedom in walking, andit’s not nearly so short as I see other girls wearing.”

Again she studied herself critically.

“Need some kind of ornament for my hair,” she muttered, “but I haven’tgot it, and neither do I own beads, bracelet, or a ring; and my earsare sticking right out in the air. I am almost offensively uncovered.”

Then she went down to show herself to a delighted Katy. When thedoor-bell rang Linda turned toward the hall. Katy reached a detaininghand.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she said. “I answered the bell forMiss Eileen. Answer the bell I shall for you.”

Down the hall went Katy with the light of battle in her eyes and theair of a conqueror in the carriage of her head. She was well trained.Neither eyelid quivered as she flung the door wide to Peter Morrison.He stood there in dinner dress, more imposing than Katy had thoughthe could be. With quick, inner exultation she reached for two parcelshe carried; over them her delight was so overpowering that PeterMorrison must have seen a hint of it. With a flourish Katy seated him,and carried the packages to Linda. She returned a second later for abig vase, and in this Linda arranged a great sheaf of radiant roses.As Katy started to carry them back to the room, Linda said “Wait asecond,” and selecting one half opened, she slipped it out, shortenedthe stem and tucked it among the coils of hair where she would have setan ornament. The other package was a big box that when opened showedits interior to be divided into compartments in each of which nestledan exquisite flower made of spun sugar. The petals, buds, and leaveswere perfect. There were wonderful roses with pale pink outer petalsand deeper-coloured hearts. There were pink mallows that seemed as ifthey must have been cut from the bushes bordering Santa Monica road.There were hollyhocks of white and gold, and simply perfect tulips.Linda never before had seen such a treasure candy box. She cried outin delight, and hurried to show Katy. In her pleasure over the realflowers and the candy flowers Linda forgot her dress, but when she sawPeter Morrison standing tall and straight, in dinner dress, she stoppedand looked the surprise and pleasure she felt. She had grown accustomedto Peter in khaki pottering around his building. This Peter she neverbefore had seen. He represented something of culture, something ofpride, a conformity to a nice custom and something more. Linda wasnot a psycho-analyst. She could not see a wonderful aura of exquisitecolour enveloping Peter. But when Peter saw the girl approaching him,transformed into a woman whose shining coronet was jewelled with hisliving red rose, when he saw the beauty of her lithe slendernessclothed in a soft, flaming colour, something emanated from his innerconsciousness that Linda did see, and for an instant it disturbed heras she went forward holding out her hands.

“Peter,” she said gaily, “do you know that this is my Day of Jubilee? Iam a woman to-day by law, Peter. Hereafter I am to experience at leasta moderate degree of financial freedom, and that I shall enjoy. But thegreatest thing in life is friends.”

Peter took both the hands extended to him and looked smilingly into hereyes.

“You take my breath,” he said. “I knew, the first glimpse I ever hadof you scrambling from the canyon floor, that this transformationcouldtake place. My good fortune is beyond words that I havebeen first to see it. Permit me, fair lady.”

Peter bent and kissed both her hands. He hesitated a second, then heturned the right hand and left one more kiss in its palm.

“To have and to hold!” he said whimsically.

“Thank you,” said Linda, closing her fist over it and holding it up forinspection. “I’ll see that it doesn’t escape. And this minute I thankyou for the candy, which I know is delicious, and for my very firstsheaf of roses from any man. See what I have done with one of them?”

She turned fully around that he might catch the effect of the rose, andin getting that he also got the full effect of the costume, and thepossibilities of the girl before him. And then she gave him a shock.

“Isn’t it a lovely frock?” she said. “Another birthday gift from theStrong rock of ages. I have been making a collection of rocks for myfern bed, and I have got another collection that is not visible toanyone save myself. Katy’s a rock, and you’re a rock, and Donald is arock, and Marian’s a rock, and I am resting securely on all of you. Iwish my father knew that in addition to Marian and Katy I have foundtwo more such wonderful friends.”

“And what about Henry Anderson?” inquired Peter. “Aren’t you going toinclude him?”

Linda walked over to the chair in which she intended to seat herself.

“Peter,” she said, “I wish you hadn’t asked me that.”

Peter’s figure tensed suddenly.

“Look here, Linda,” he said sternly, “has that rather bold youngstermade himself in any way offensive to you?”

“Not in any way that I am not perfectly capable of handling myself,”said Linda. She looked at Peter confidently.

“Do you suppose,” she said, “that I can sit down in this thing withoutruining it? Shouldn’t I really stand up while I am wearing it?”

Peter laughed unrestrainedly.

“Linda, you’re simply delicious,” he said. “It seems to me that I haveseen young ladies in like case reach round and gather the sash to oneside and smooth out the skirt as they sit.”

“Thank you, Peter, of course that would be the way,” said Linda. “Thisbeing my first, I’m lacking in experience.”

And thereupon she sat according to direction; while Peter sat oppositeher.

“Now finish. Just one word more about Henry Anderson,” he said.“Are you perfectly sure there is nothing I need do for you in thatconnection?”

“Oh, perfectly,” said Linda lightly. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. Hemerely carried that bug-catcher nonsense a trifle too far. I wouldn’thave minded humouring him and fooling about it a little. But, Peter, doyou know him quite well? Are you very sure of him?”

“No,” said Peter, “I don’t know him well at all. The only thing I amsure about him is that he is doing well in his profession. I chose himbecause he was an ambitious youngster and I thought I could get morecareful attention from him than I could from some of the older fellowswho had made their reputation. You see, there are such a lot of thingsI want to know about in this building proposition, and the last fouryears haven’t been a time for any man to be careful about saving hismoney.”

“Then,” said Linda, “he is all right, of course. He must be. But Ithink I’m like a cat. I’m very complacent with certain people, but whenI begin to get goose flesh and hair prickles my head a bit, I realizethat there is something antagonistic around, something for me to bewareof. I guess it’s because I am such a wild creature.”

“Do you mean to say,” said Peter, “that these are the sensations thatHenry gives you?”

Linda nodded.

“Now forget Henry,” she said. “I have had such a big day I must tellyou about it, and then we’ll come to that last article you left me.I haven’t had time to put anything on paper concerning it yet, but Ibelieve I have an awfully good idea in the paint pot, and I’ll findtime in a day or two to work it out. Peter, I have just come fromthe bank, where I was recognized as of legal age, and my guardiandischarged. And perhaps I ought to explain to you, Peter, that yourfriend, John Gilman, is not here because this night is going to bea bad one for him. When you knew him best he was engaged, or shouldhave been, to Marian Thorne. When you met him this time he really wasengaged to Eileen. I don’t know what you think about Eileen. I don’tfeel like influencing anyone’s thought concerning her, so I’ll merelysay that to-day has confirmed a conviction that always has been in myheart. Katy could tell you that long ago I said to her that I did notbelieve Eileen was my sister. To-day has brought me the knowledge andproof positive that she is not, and to-day she has gone to some wealthyrelatives of her mother in San Francisco. She expressed her contemptfor what she was giving up by leaving everything, including theexquisite little necklace of pearls which has been a daily part of hersince she owned them. I may be mistaken, but intuition tells me thatwith the pearls and the wardrobe she has also discarded John Gilman.I think your friend will be suffering to-night quite as deeply as myfriend suffered when John abandoned her at a time when she had losteverything else in life but her money. I feel very sure that we won’tsee Eileen any more. I hope she will have every lovely thing in life.”

“Amen,” said Peter Morrison earnestly. “I loved John Gilman when wewere in school together, but I have not been able to feel, since Ilocated here, that he is exactly the same John; and what you have toldme very probably explains the difference in him.”

When Katy announced dinner Linda arose.

Peter Morrison stepped beside her and offered his arm. Linda rested herfinger tips upon it and he led her to the head of the table and seatedher. Then Katy served a meal that, if it had been prepared for Eileen,she would have described as a banquet. She gave them delicious, finelyflavored food, stimulating, exquisitely compounded drinks that she hadconcocted from the rich fruits of California and mints and essencesat her command. When, at the close of the meal, she brought Morrisonsome of the cigars Eileen kept for John Gilman, she set a second traybefore Linda, and this tray contained two packages. Linda looked atKaty inquiringly, and Katy, her face beaming, nodded her sandy red heademphatically.

“More birthday gifts you’re havin’, me lady,” she said in her mellowestIrish voice.

“More?” marveled Linda. She picked up the larger package, and openingit, found a beautiful book inscribed from her friend Donald, over whichshe passed caressing fingers.

“Why, how lovely of him!” she said. “How in this world did he know?”

Katherine O’Donovan could have answered that question, but she did not.The other package was from Marian. When she opened it Linda laughedunrestrainedly.

“What a joke!” she said. “I had promised myself that I would not toucha thing in Eileen’s room, and before I could do justice to Katy’slovely dress I had to go there for pins for my hair and powder for mynose. This is Marian’s way of telling me that I am almost a woman. Willyou look at this?”

“Well, just what is it?” inquired Peter.

“Hairpins,” laughed Linda, “and hair ornaments, and a box of facepowder, and the little, feminine touches that my dressing table needsbadly. How would you like, Peter, to finish your cigar in my workroom?”

“I would like it immensely,” said Peter.

So together they climbed to the top of the house. Linda knelt and madea little ceremony of lighting the first fire in her fireplace. Shepushed one of her chairs to one side for Peter, and taking the otherfor herself, she sat down and began the process of really becomingacquainted with him. Two hours later, as he was leaving her, Peter madea circuit of the room, scrutinizing the sketches and paintings thatwere rapidly covering the walls, and presently he came to the wasp. Helooked at it so closely that he did not miss even the stinger. Lindastood beside him when he made his first dazed comment: “If that isn’tEileen, and true to the life!”

“I must take that down,” said Linda. “I did it one night when my heartwas full of bitterness.”

“Better leave it,” said Peter drily.

“Do you think I need it as a warning?” asked Linda.

Peter turned and surveyed her slowly.

“Linda,” he said quietly, “what I think of you has not yet been writtenin any of the books.”

CHAPTER XXV

As soon as Peter had left her Linda took her box of candy flowers andseveral of her finest roses and went to Katy’s room. She found Katyin a big rocking chair, her feet on a hassock, reading a story inEverybody’s home. When her door opened and she saw her youngmistress framed in it she tossed the magazine aside and sprang to herfeet, but Linda made her resume her seat. The girl shortened the stemsof the roses and put them in a vase on Katy’s dresser.

“They may clash with your colouring a mite, Mother Machree,” she said,“but by themselves they are very wonderful things, aren’t they?”

Linda went over, and drawing her dress aside, sat down on the hassockand leaning against Katy’s knee she held up the box of candy flowersfor amazed and delighted inspection.

“Ah, the foine gintleman!” cried Katy. “Sure ’twas only a pape I hadwhen ye opened the box, an’ I didn’t know how rare them beauties raillywas.”

“Choose the one you like best,” said Linda.

But Katy would not touch the delicate things, so Linda selected abrushy hollyhock for her and then sat at her knee again.

“Katherine O’Donovan,” she said solemnly, “it’s up to a couple of youngthings such as we are, stranded on the shoals of the Pacific as we havebeen, to put our heads together and take counsel. You’re a host, Katy,and while I am taking care of you, I’ll be just delighted to have yougo on looking after your black sheep; but it’s going to be lonely, forall that. After Eileen has taken her personal possessions, what do yousay to fixing up that room with the belongings that Marian kept, andinviting her to make that suite her home until such time as she mayhave a home of her own again?”

“Foine!” cried Katy. “I’d love to be havin’ her. I’d agree to takeorders from Miss Marian and to be takin’ care of her jist almost thesame as I do of ye, Miss Linda. The one thing I don’t like about it isthat it ain’t fair nor right to give aven Marian the best. Ye be takin’that suite yourself, lambie, and give Miss Marian your room all fixedup with her things, or, if ye want her nearer, give her the guest roomand make a guest room of yours.”

“I am willing to follow either of the latter suggestions for myself,”said Linda; “it might be pleasant to be across the hall from Marianwhere we could call back and forth to each other. I wouldn’t mind achange as soon as I have time to get what I’d need to make the change.I’ll take the guest room for mine, and you may call in a decorator andhave my room freshly done and the guest things moved into it.”

Katy looked belligerent. Linda reached up and touched the frowninglines on her forehead.

“Brighten your lovely features with a smile, Katherine me dear,” shesaid gaily. “Don’t be forgetting that this is our Day of Jubilee.We are free—I hope we are free forever—from petty annoyances anddissatisfactions and little, galling things that sear the soul andbring out all the worst in human nature. I couldn’t do anything toEileen’s suite, not even if I resorted to tearing out partitions andmaking it new from start to finish, that would eliminate Eileen fromit for me. If Marian will give me permission to move and install herthings in it, I think she can use it without any such feeling, but Icouldn’t. It’s agreed then, Katy, I am to write to Marian and extend toher a welcome on your part as well as on mine?”

“That ye may, lambie,” said Katy heartily. “And, as the boss used tobe sabin’, just to make assurance doubly sure, if YoU would address itfor me I would be writing’ a bit of a line myself, conveying’ to her mesentiments on the subject.”

“Oh, fine, Katy; Marian would be delighted!” cried Linda, springing up.

“And, Katy dear, it won’t make us feel any more like mourning forEileen when I tell you that it developed at the bank yesterday andto-day, that since she has been managing household affairs she hasdeposited in a separate account all the royalties from Father’s books.I had thought the matter closed at the bank when this fund was addedto the remainder of the estate, the household expenses set aside toEileen, and the remainder divided equally between us. I didn’t getthe proof that she was not my sister until after I came home. I thinkit means that I shall have to go back to the bank, have the matterreopened, and unless she can produce a will or something proving thatshe is entitled to it, it seems to me that what remains of my father’sestate is legally mine. Of course, if it develops that he has made anyspecial provision for her, she shall have it; otherwise, Katy, we’ll bein a position to install you as housekeeper and put some light-footed,capable young person under you for a step-saver in any direction youwant to use her. It means, too, that I shall be able to repay your loanimmediately and to do the things that I wanted to do about the house.”

“Now I ain’t in any hurry about that money, lambie,” said Katy; “andyou understand of course that the dress you’re wearing’ I am given’ ye.”

“Of course, old dear, and you should have seen Peter Morrison light upand admire it. He thinks you have wonderful taste, Katy.”

Katy threw up both her hands.

“Oh, my Lord, lambie!” she cried, aghast. “Was you telling’ him thatthe dress ye were wearin’ was a present from your old cook?”

“Why, certainly I was,” said Linda, wide eyed with astonishment.“Why shouldn’t I? I was proud to. And now, old dear, before I go,the biggest secret of all. I had a letter, Katy, from the editor ofEverybody’s Home, and people like our articles, Katy; they aresomething now and folk are letting the editor know about it, and hewants all I can send him. He likes the pictures I make; and, Katy, youwon’t believe it till I show you my little bank book, but for the threealready published with their illustrations he pays me five hundrednice, long, smooth, beautifully decorated, paper dollars!”

“Judas praste!” cried Katy, her hands once more aloft. “Ye ain’t manin’it, lambie?”

“Yes, I are,” laughed Linda. “I’ve got the money; and for eachsucceeding three with their pictures I am to have that much more, andwhen I finish—now steady yourself, Katy, because this is going to be ashock—when I finish, blessed old dear heart, he is going to make theminto a book! That will be my job for this summer, and you shall helpme, and it will be a part of our great secret. Won’t it be the mostfun?”

“My soul!” said Katy. “You’re jist crazy. I don’t belave a word you’retelling’ me.”

“But I can prove it, because I have the letter and the bank book,” saidLinda.

Katy threw her arms around the girl and kissed the top of her head andcried over her and laughed at the same time and patted her and pettedher and ended by saying: “Oh, lambie, if only the master could beknowin’ it.”

“But he does know, Katy,” said Linda.

She went to her room, removed the beautiful dress and, arranging it ona hanger, left it in her closet. Slipping into an old dressing gown,she ran to her workroom and wrote a letter to Marian from herself.She tried not to tell Marian the big, vital thing that was throbbingin her heart all day concerning her work, the great secret that meantsuch a wonderful thing to her, the thing that was beating in her heartand fluttering behind her lips like a bird trying to escape its cage;but she could tell her in detail of Eileen’s undoubted removal to SanFrancisco; she could tell her enough of the financial transactions ofthe day to make her understand what had been happening in the past; andshe could tell of her latest interview with John Gilman. Once, as shesat with her pen poised, thinking how to phrase a sentence, Linda saidto herself: “I wonder in my heart if he won’t try to come crawfishingback to Marian now, and if he does, I wonder, oh, how I wonder, whatshe will do.” Linda shut her lips very tight and stared up through herskylight to the stars, as she was fast falling into a habit of doingwhen she wanted inspiration.

“Well, I know one thing,” she said to the shining things above her,“Marian will do as she sees fit, of course, but if it were I, and anyman had discarded me as John Gilman discarded Marian, in case he everwanted to pick me up again he would find I was not there. Much as Iplan in my heart for the home and the man and the little people that Ihope to have some day, I would give up all of them before I would bediscarded and re-sought like that; and knowing Marian as I do, I havea conviction that she will feel the same way. From the things she iswriting about this Snow man I think it is highly probable that he mayawake some day to learn that he is not so deeply grieved but that hewould like to have Marian to comfort him in his loneliness; and as forhis little girl I don’t see where he could find a woman who would rearher more judiciously and beautifully than Marian would.”

She finished her letter, sealed and stamped it, and then, takingout a fresh sheet, she lettered in at the top of it, “IndianPotatoes” and continued:

And very good potatoes they are. You will find these growingeverywhere throughout California, blooming from May to July, theirsix long, slender, white petals shading to gold at the base,grayish on the outside, a pollen-laden pistil upstanding, eight orten gold-clubbed stamens surrounding it, the slender brown stembearing a dozen or more of these delicate blooms, springing highfrom a base of leaves sometimes nearly two feet long and an inchbroad, wave margined, spreading in a circle around it. In the soilof the plains and the dry hillsides you will find an amazinglylarge solid bulb, thickly enwrapped in a coat of brown fiber,the long threads of which can be braided, their amazing strengthmaking them suitable for bow strings, lariats, or rope of any kindthat must needs be improvised for use at the moment. The bulbsthemselves have many uses. Crushed and rubbed up in water they makea delightful cleansing lather. The extracted juice, when cookeddown, may be used as glue. Of the roasted bulbs effective poulticesfor bruises and boils may be made. It was an Indian custom to dam asmall stream and throw in mashed Amole bulbs, the effect of whichwas to stupefy the fish so that they could be picked out by hand;all of which does not make it appear that the same bulb would serveas an excellent substitute for a baked potato; but we must rememberhow our grandmothers made starch from our potatoes, used them tobreak in the new ironware, and to purify the lard; which goes toprove that one vegetable may be valuable for many purposes. Amole,whose ponderous scientific name is Chlorógalum pomeridianum,is at its best for my purposes when all the chlorophyll from flowerand stem has been driven back to the bulb, and it lies ripe andfully matured from late August until December.

Remove the fibrous cover down to the second or third layerenclosing the bulb. These jackets are necessary as they keep thebulbs from drying out and having a hard crust. Roast them exactlyas you would potatoes. When they can easily be pierced with asilver fork remove from the oven, and serve immediately with anycourse with which you would use baked potatoes.

“And gee, but they’re good!” commented Linda as she re-read what shehad written.

After that she turned her attention to drawing a hillside whitenedhere and there with amole bloom showing in its purity against the warmgrayish-tan background. The waving green leaves ran among big rocksand overlapped surrounding growth. At the right of her drawing Lindasketched in a fine specimen of monkey flower, deepening the yellowfrom the hearts of the amole lilies for the almost human little monkeyfaces. On the left one giant specimen of amole, reared from a base ofexquisitely waving leaves, ran up the side of the drawing and brokeinto an airy and graceful head of gold-hearted white lilies. For a longtime Linda sat with poised pencil, studying her foreground. What shouldshe introduce that would be most typical of the location and give herthe desired splash of contrasting colour that she used as a distinctivetouch in the foreground of all her drawings?

Her pencil flew busily a few minutes while she sketched in a flatlygrowing bush of prickly phlox, setting the flower faces as closelyas the overlapped scales of a fish, setting them even as they growin nature; and when she resorted to the colour box she painted thesefaces a wonderful pink that was not wild rose, not cerise, not lilac,but it made one think of all of them. When she could make no furtherimprovement on this sketch, she carefully stretched it against the walland tacked it up to dry.

Afterward she cleared her mental decks of all the work she could thinkof in order to have Saturday free, because Saturday was the day uponwhich she found herself planning in the back of her mind throughoutthe strenuous week, to save for riding the King’s Highway with DonaldWhiting. Several times she had met him on the walks or in the hallways,and always he had stopped to speak with her and several times he hadreferred to the high hope in which he waited for Saturday. Lindaalready had held a consultation with Katy on the subject of the lunchbasket. That matter being satisfactorily arranged, there was nothingfor her to do but to double on her work so that Saturday would be free.Friday evening Linda was called from the dinner table to the telephone.She immediately recognized the voice inquiring for her as that of JudgeWhiting, and then she listened breathlessly while he said to her: “Youwill recognize that there is very little I may say over a telephoneconcerning a matter to which you brought my attention. I have a verycompetent man looking into the matter thoroughly, and I find thatyour fear is amply justified. Wherever you go or whatever you do, useparticular care. Don’t have anything to do with any stranger. Just usewhat your judgment and common sense tell you is a reasonable degree ofcaution in every direction, no matter how trivial. You understand?”

“I do,” said Linda promptly. “Would you prefer that we do not go on anymore Saturday trips at present?”

The length of time that the Judge waited to answer proved that he hadtaken time to think.

“I can’t see,” he said finally, “that you would not be safer on such atrip where you are moving about, where no one knows who you are, thanyou would where you are commonly found.”

“All right then,” said Linda. “Ask the party we are considering andhe will tell you where he will be to-morrow. Thank you very much forletting me know. If anything should occur, you will understand that itwas something quite out of my range of foresight.”

“I understand,” said the Judge.

With all care and many loving admonitions Katy assisted in the startmade early Saturday morning. The previous Saturday Linda had felt thatall nature along the road she planned to drive would be at its best,but they had not gone far until she modified her decision. They wereslipping through mists of early morning, over level, carefully maderoads like pavilion floors. If any one objection could have been made,it would have been that the mists of night were weighting too heavilyto earth the perfume from the blooming orchards and millions of flowersin gardens and along the roadside. At that hour there were few carsabroad. Linda was dressed in her outing suit of dark green. She hadremoved her hat and slipped it on the seat beside her. She looked atDonald, a whimsical expression on her most expressive young face.

“Please to ’scuse me,” she said lightly, “if I step on the gas a mitewhile we have the road so much to ourselves and are so familiar withit. Later, when we reach stranger country and have to share withothers, we’ll be forced to go slower.”

“Don’t stint your speed on account of me,” said Donald. “I am justitching to know what Kitty can do.”

“All right, here’s your chance,” said Linda. “Hear her purr?”

She settled her body a trifle tensely, squared her shoulders, andgripped the steering wheel. Then she increased the gas and let theBear-cat roll over the smooth road from Lilac Valley running south intoLos Angeles. At a speed that was near to flying as a non-professionalattains, the youngsters traveled that road. Their eyes were shining;their blood was racing. Until the point where rougher roads andapproaching traffic forced them to go slower, they raced, and when theyslowed down they looked at each other and laughed in morning delight.

“I may not be very wise,” said Linda, “but didn’t I do the smartestthing when I let Eileen have the touring car and saved the Bear-cat forus?”

“Nothing short of inspiration,” said Donald. “The height of my ambitionis to own a Bear-cat. If Father makes any mention of anything I wouldlike particularly to have for a graduation present, I am cocked andprimed as to what I shall tell him.”

“You’d better save yourself a disappointment,” said Linda soberly.“You will be starting to college this fall, and when you do you willbe gone nine months out of the year, and I am fairly sure your fatherwouldn’t think shipping a Bear-cat back and forth a good investment, orfurnishing you one to take to school with you. He would fear you wouldnever make a grade that would be a credit to him if he did.”

“My!” laughed Donald, “you’ve got a long head on your shoulders!”

“When you’re thrown on your own for four of the longest, lonesomestyears of your life, you learn to think,” said Linda soberly.

She was touching the beginning of Los Angeles traffic. Later she wason the open road again. The mists were thinning and lifting. Theperfume was not so heavy. The sheeted whiteness of the orange groveswas broken with the paler white of plum merging imperceptibly into thedelicate pink of apricot and the stronger pink of peach, and there weredeep green orchards of smooth waxen olive foliage and the lacy-leavedwalnuts. Then came the citrus orchards again, and all the way oneither hand running with them were almost uninterrupted miles of rosesof every colour and kind, and everywhere homes ranging from friendlymansions, all written over in adorable flower colour with the happyinvitation “Come in and make yourself at home,” to tiny bungalows alongthe wayside crying welcome to this gay pair of youngsters in greetingsfashioned from white and purple wisteria, gold bignonia, every rosethe world knows, and myriad brilliant annual and perennial flowerfaces gathered from the circumference of the tropical globe and homingenthusiastically on the King’s Highway. Sometimes Linda lifted her handfrom the wheel to wave a passing salute to a particularly appealingflower picture. Sometimes she whistled a note or cried a greeting to amocking bird, a rosy finch, or a song sparrow.

“Look at the pie timber!” she cried to Donald, calling his attentionto a lawn almost covered with red-winged blackbirds. “Four hundred andtwenty might be baked in thatpie,” she laughed.

Then a subtle change began to creep over the world. The sun peered overthe mountains inquiringly, a timid young thing, as if she were askingwhat degree of light and warmth they would like for the day. A newbrilliancy tinged every flower face in this light, a throbbing ecstasymellowed every bird note; the orchards dropped farther apart, meadowsfilled with grazing cattle flashed past them, the earthy scent offreshly turned fields mingled with flower perfume, and on their rightcame drifting in a cool salt breath from the sea. At mid-forenoon, asthey neared Laguna, they ran past great hills, untouched since the dayswhen David cried: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whencecometh my help.” At one particularly beautiful range, draped with theflowing emerald of spring, decorated with beds of gold poppy, setwith flowering madrona and manzanita, with the gold of yellow monkeyflower or the rich red of the related species, with specimens of lupingrowing in small trees, here and there adventurous streams singingand flashing their unexpected way to the mother breast of the waitingocean very near to the road which at one surprising turn carried themto the never-ending wonder of the troubled sea, they drove as slowlyas the Bear-cat would consent to travel, so that they might studygreat boulders, huge as many of the buildings they had passed, theirfaces scarred by the wrack of ages. Studying their ancient recordsone could see that they had been familiar with the star that restedover Bethlehem. On their faces had shone the same moon that opened thehighways journeying into Damascus. They had stood the storms that hadbeaten upon the world since the days when the floods subsided, theland lifted above the face of the waters in gigantic upheavals thathad ripped the surface of the globe from north to south and forced upthe hills, the foothills, and the mountains of the Coast Range. Theyhad been born then, they had first seen the light of day, in glowing,molten, red-hot, high-piled streams of lava that had gushed forth inthat awful evolution of birth.

Sometimes Linda stopped the car, they left it, and climbed over thefaces of these mighty upheavals. Once Linda reached her hand to Donaldand cried, half laughingly, half in tense earnest: “Oh, kid, we havegot to hurry. Compared with the age of these, we’ve only a few minutes.It’s all right to talk jestingly about ‘the crack of doom’ but you knowthere really was a crack of doom, and right here is where it crackedand spewed out the material that hardened into these very rocks. Besidethem I feel as a shrimp must feel beside a whale, and I feel that wemust hurry.”

“And so we must,” said Donald. “I’m hungry as Lucullus when he waitedfor them to find enough peacock tongues to satisfy his appetite.”

“I wonder what brand of home-brew made him think of that,” said Linda.

“Well, you know,” said Donald, “the world was only a smallish placethen. They didn’t have to go far to find everything to which they hadaccess, and it must have been rather a decent time in which to live.Awful lot of light and colour and music and unique entertainment.”

“You’re talking,” said Linda, “from the standpoint of the king or themaster. Suppose you had lived then and had been the slave.”

“There you go again,” said Donald, “throwing a brick into the mostdelicate mechanism of my profound thought. You ought to be ashamed toround me up with something scientific and materialistic every time I goa-glimmering. Don’t you think this would be a fine place to have lunch?”

“You wait and see where we lunch to-day, and you will have the answerto that,” said Linda, starting back to the Bear-cat.

A few miles farther on they followed the road around the frowningmenace of an overhanging rock and sped out directly to the panorama ofthe sea. The sun was shining on it, but, as always round the Lagunashore, the rip tide was working itself into undue fury. It came dashingup on the ancient rocks until one could easily understand why a poet oflong ago wrote of sea horses. Some of the waves did suggest monstrouswhite chargers racing madly to place their feet upon the solid rock.

Through the village, up the steep inclines, past placid lakes, pastwaving yellow mustard beds, beside highways where the breastplateof Mother Earth gleamed emerald and ruby against the background ofbillions of tiny, shining diamonds of the iceplant, past the oldostrich tree reproduced by etchers of note the world over, withgrinding brakes, sliding down the breathless declivity leading to theshore, Linda stopped at last where the rock walls lifted sheer almostto the sky. She led Donald to a huge circle carpeted with cerise sandverbena, with pink and yellow iceplant bloom, with jewelled iceplantfoliage, with the running blue of the lovely sea daisy, with the whiteand pink of the sea fig, where the walls were festooned with ferns,lichens, studded all over with flaming Our Lord’s Candles, and strange,uncanny, grotesque flower forms, almost human in their writhing turnsas they twisted around the rocks and slipped along clinging to thesheer walls. Just where the vegetation met the white, sea-washed sand,Linda spread the Indian blanket, and Donald brought the lunch box.At their feet adventurous waves tore themselves to foam on the sharprocks. On their left they broke in booming spray, tearing and frettingthe base of cliffs that had stood impregnable through aeons of suchceaseless attack and repulse.

“I wonder,” said Donald, “how it comes that I have lived all my lifein California, and to-day it seems to me that most of the worthwhilethings I know about her I owe to you. When I go to college this winterthe things I shall be telling the boys will be how I could gain aliving, if I had to, on the desert, in Death Valley, from the wallsof Multiflores Canyon; and how the waves go to smash on the rocks ofLaguna, not to mention cactus fish hooks, mescal sticks, and brigandbeefsteak. It’s no wonder the artists of all the world come herecopying these pictures. It’s no wonder they build these bungalows andlive here for years, unsatisfied with their efforts to reproduce thepictures of the Master Painter of them all.”

“I wonder,” said Linda, “if anybody is very easily satisfied. I wonderto-day if Eileen is satisfied with being merely rich. I wonder if weare satisfied to have this golden day together. I wonder if the whiteswallows are satisfied with the sea. I wonder if those rocks aresatisfied and proud to stand impregnable against the constant tormentof the tide.”

“I wonder, oh, Lord, how I wonder,” broke in Donald, “about KatherineO’Donovan’s lunch box. If you want a picture of per feet satisfaction,Belinda beloved, lead me to it!”

“Thank heaven you’re mistaken,” she said; “they spared me the ‘Be’—.It’s truly just ‘Linda.’”

“Well, I’m not sparing you the ‘Be—’,” said Donald, busy with thefastenings of the lunch basket. “Did you hear where I used it?”

“Yes, child, and I like it heaps,” said Linda casually. “It’s fine tohave you like me. Awfully proud of myself.”

“You have two members of our family at your feet,” said Donald soberlyas he handed her packages from the box. “My dad is beginning todiscourse on you with such signs of intelligence that I am almost ledto believe, from some of his wildest outbursts, that he has had somepersonal experience in some way.”

“And why not?” asked Linda lightly. “Haven’t I often told you that myfather constantly went on fishing and hunting trips, that he was agreat collector of botanical specimens, that he frequently took hisfriends with him? You might ask your father if he does not recall me ashaving fried fish and made coffee and rendered him camp service when Iwas a slip of a thing in the dawn of my teens.”

“Well, he didn’t just mention it,” said Donald, “but I can easily seehow it might have been.”

After they had finished one of Katy’s inspired lunches, in which alarge part of the inspiration had been mental on Linda’s part andexecutive on Katy’s, they climbed rock faces, skirted wave-beatenpromontories, and stood peering from overhanging cliffs dipping downinto the fathomless green sea, where the water boiled up in turbulentfury. Linda pointed out the rocks upon which she would sit, if she werea mermaid, to comb the seaweed from her hair. She could hear the seabells ringing in those menacing depths, but Donald’s ears were not sofinely tuned. At the top of one of the highest cliffs they climbed,there grew a clump of slender pale green bushes, towering high abovetheir heads with exquisitely cut blue-green leaves, lance shaped andslender. Donald looked at the fascinating growth appraisingly.

“Linda,” he said, “do you know that the slimness and the sheerness andthe audacious foothold and the beauty of that thing remind me of you?It is covered all over with the delicate frost-bloom you taught me tosee upon fruit. I find it everywhere but you have never told me what itis.”

Linda laughingly reached up and broke a spray of greenish-yellowtubular flowers, curving out like clustered trumpets spilling melodyfrom their fluted throats.

“You will see it everywhere. You will find these flowers every monthof the year,” she said, “and I am particularly gladsome that thisplant reminds you of me. I love the bluish-green ‘bloom’ of its sheerfoliage. I love the music these flower trumpets make to me. I love theway it has traveled, God knows how, all the way from the Argentineand spread itself over our country wherever it is allowed footing. Iam glad that there is soothing in these dried leaves for those whorequire it. I shall be delighted to set my seal on you with it. Thereare two little Spanish words that it suggests to the Mexican—Buenamoza—but you shall find out for yourself what they mean.”

Encountering his father that night at his library door, Donald Whitingsaid to him: “May I come in, Dad? I have something I must look upbefore I sleep. Have you a Spanish lexicon, or no doubt you have thisin your head.”

“Well, I’ve a halting vocabulary,” said the Judge. “What’s your phrase?”

“Linda put this flower on me to-day,” said Donald, “and she said shewas pleased because I said the tall, slender bush it grew on remindedme of her. She gave me the Spanish name, but I don’t know the exactsignificance of the decoration I am wearing until I learn the meaningof the phrase.”

“Try me on it,” said the Judge.

“‘Buena moza,’” quoted Donald.

The Judge threw back his head and laughed heartily.

“Son,” he said, “you should know that from the Latin you’re learning.You should translate it instinctively. I couldn’t tell you exactlywhether a Spaniard would translate ‘Buena’ ‘fine’ or ‘good.’Knowing their high-falutin’ rendition of almost everything else I wouldtake my chance on ‘fine.’ Son, your phrase means ‘a fine girl.’”

Donald looked down at the flower in his buttonhole, and then he lookedstraight at his father.

“And only the Lord knows, Dad,” he said soberly, “exactly how fineLinda-girl is.”

CHAPTER XXVI

Linda Dearest:

I am delighted that you had such a wonderful birthday. I would takea shot in air that anything you don’t understand about it you mightwith reasonable safety charge to Katherine O’Donovan. I think itwas great of her to have a suitable and a becoming dress waitingfor you and a congenial man like Peter Morrison to dine with you.He appealed to me as being a rare character, highly original, and,I should think, to those who know him well he must be entertainingand lovable in the extreme. I never shall be worried about you solong as I know that he is taking care of you.

I should not be surprised if some day I meet Eileen somewhere,because Dana and I are going about more than you would believepossible. I heartily join with you in wishing her every good thatlife can bring her. I don’t want to be pessimistic, but I can’thelp feeling, Linda, that she is taking a poor way to win thebest, and I gravely doubt whether she finds it in the spending ofunlimited quantities of the money of a coarse man who stumbledupon his riches accidentally, as has many a man of California andColorado.

I intended, when I sat down to write, the very first thing I said,to thank you for your wonderful invitation, seconded so loyally andcordially by Katy, to make my home with you until the time comes—ifit ever does come—when I shall have a home of my own again. Andjust as simply and whole-heartedly as you made the offer, I acceptit. I am enclosing the address and the receipt for my furniturein storage, and a few lines ordering it delivered at your houseand the bill sent to me. I only kept a few heirlooms and things ofMother’s and Father’s that are very precious to me. Whenever Eileentakes her things you can order mine in and let me know, and I’lltake a day or two off and run down for a short visit.

Mentioning Eileen makes me think of John. I think of him morefrequently than I intend or wish that I did, but I feel my ninthlife is now permanently extinguished concerning him. I thought Idetected in your letter, Linda dear, a hint of fear that he mightcome back to me and that I might welcome him. If you have any suchfeeling in your heart, abandon it, child, because, while I trynot to talk about myself, I do want to say that I rejoice in afamily inheritance of legitimate pride. I couldn’t give the finestloyalty and comradeship I had to give to a man, have it returneddisdainfully, and then furbish up the pieces and present it overagain. If I can patch those same pieces and so polish and refinethem that I can make them, in the old phrase, “as good as new,”possibly in time——

But, Linda, one thing is certain as the hills of morning. Neverin my life will any man make any headway with me again with vaguesuggestions and innuendoes and hints. If ever any man wants tobe anything in my life, he will speak plainly and say what hewants and thinks and hopes and intends and feels in not more thantwo-syllable English. I learned my lesson about the futility ofbuilding your house of dreams on a foundation of sand. Next timeI erect a dream house, it is going to have a proper foundationof solid granite. And that may seem a queer thing for me to saywhen you know that I am getting the joy in my life, that I do nothesitate to admit I am, from letters written by a man whose nameI don’t know. It may be that I don’t knowthe man, but Icertainly am very well acquainted with him, and in some way heseems to me to be taking on more definite form. I should not besurprised if I were to recognize him the first time I met him faceto face.

Linda looked through the skylight and cried out to the stars: “Goodheavens! Have I copied Peter too closely?”

She sat thinking a minute and then she decided she had not.

And in this connection you will want to know how I am progressingin my friendship with the junior partner, and what kind of motoristI am making. I am still driving twice a week, and lately on Sundaysin a larger car, taking Dana and a newspaper friend of hers along.I think I have driven every hazard that this part of Californiaaffords except the mountains; Mr. Snow is still merciful about them.

Linda dear, I know what you’re dying to know. You want to knowwhether Mr. Snow is in the same depths of mourning as whenour acquaintance first began. This, my dear child, is veryreprehensible of you. Young girls with braids down their backs—andby the way, Linda, you did not tell me what happened “after theball was over.” Did you go to school the next morning with braidsdown your back, or wearing your coronet? Because on that dependswhat I have to say to you now; if you went with braids, you’restill my little girl chum, the cleanest, finest kid I have everknown; but if you wore your coronet, then you’re a woman and myequal and my dearest friend, far dearer than Dana even; and I tellyou this, Linda, because I want you always to understand that youcome first.

I have tried and tried to visualize you, and can’t satisfy my mindas to whether the braids are up or down. Going on the assumptionthat they are up, and that life may in the near future begin tohold some interesting experiences for you, I will tell you this,beloved child: I don’t think Mr. Snow ismourning quite sodeeply as he was. I have not been asked, the last four or fivetrips we have been on, to carry an armload of exquisite flowers tothe shrine of a departed love. I have been privileged to take themhome and arrange them in my room and Dana’s. And I haven’t heardso much talk about loneliness, and I haven’t seen such tired, sadeyes. It seems to me that a familiar pair of shoulders are squaringup to the world again, and a very kind pair of eyes are brighterwith interest. I don’t know how you feel about this; I don’t knowhow I feel about it myself. I am sure that Eugene Snow is a manwho, in the years to come, would line up beside your father andmine, and I like him immensely. It is merely a case of not likinghim less, but of liking my unknown man more. I couldn’t quitecommit the sacrilege, Linda dear, of sending you a sample of theletters I am receiving, but they are too fanciful and charming forany words of mine to describe adequately. I don’t know who thisman is, or what he has to offer, or whether he intends to offeranything, but it is a ridiculous fact, Linda, that I would rathersit with him in a chimney corner of field boulders, on a pinefloor, with a palm roof and an Ocotillo candle, than to glow in theparchment-shielded electric light of the halls of a rich man. In arecent letter, Linda, there was a reference to a woman who wore “adiadem of crystallized light.” It was a beautiful thing and I couldnot help taking it personally. It was his way of telling me that heknew me, and knew my tragedy; and, as I said before, I am beginningto feel that I have him rather definitely located; and I canunderstand the fine strain in him that prompted his anonymity, andhis reasons for it. Of course I am not sufficiently confident yetto say anything definite, but my heart is beginning to say thingsthat I sincerely hope my lips never will be forced to deny.

Linda laid down the letter, folded her hands across it, and once morelooked at the stars.

“Good gracious!” she said. “I am tincturing those letters with toomuch Peter. I’ll have to tone down a bit. Next thing I know she willbe losing her chance with that wonderful Snow man for a dream. Inmy efforts to comfort her I must have gone too far. It is all rightto write a gushy love letter and stuff it full of Peter’s whimsicalnonsense, but, in the language of the poet, how am I going to ‘deliverthe goods’? Of course that talk about Louise Whiting was all wellenough. Equally, of course, I outlined and planted the brook anddesigned the bridge for Marian, whether she knows it or Peter knowsit, or not. If they don’t know it, it’s about time they were findingit out. I think it’s my job to visit Peter more frequently and see ifI can’t invent some way to make him see the light. I will give Katya hint in the morning. To-morrow evening I’ll go up and have supperwith him and see if he has another article in the stewpan. I likethis work with Peter. I like having him make me dream dreams and seepictures. I like the punch and the virility he puts into my drawings.It’s all right reproducing monkey flowers and lilies for pastime, butfor serious business, for real life work, I would rather do Peter’sbrainstorming, heart-thrilling pictures than my merely pretty ones. Onthe subject of Peter, I must remember in the morning to take those oldbooks he gave me to Donald. I believe that from one of them he is goingto get the very material he needs to down the Jap in philosophy. Andthey are not text books, which proves that Peter must have been digginginto the subject and hunted them up in some second-hand store, or evensent away an order for them.”

In the hall the next morning Linda stopped Donald and gave him thebooks. In the early stages of their friendship she had looked at himunder half-closed lids and waited to see whether he intended stoppingto say a word with her when they passed each other or came down thehalls together. She knew that their acquaintance would be noted andcommented upon, and she knew how ready the other girls would be tosay that she was bold and forward, so she was careful to let Donaldmake the advances, until he had called to her so often, and had dugflowers and left his friends waiting at her door while he deliveredthem, that she felt free to address him as she chose. He had shownany interested person in the High School that he was her friend, thathe was speaking to her exactly as he did to girls he had known fromchildhood. He was very popular among the boys and girls of his classand the whole school. His friendship, coming at the time of Linda’srebellion on the subject of clothes, had developed a tendency to bringher other friendships. Boys who never had known she was in existencefollowed Donald’s example in stopping her to say a word now and then.Girls who had politely ignored her now found things to say; and severalinvitations she had not had leisure to accept had been sent to her forafternoon and evening entertainments among the young people. Linda hadlaid out for herself something of a task in deciding to be the mentalleader of her class. There were good brains in plenty among the otherpupils. It was only by work, concentration, and purpose, only by havinga mind keenly alert, by independent investigation and introducing newpoints of view that she could hold her prestige. Up to the receiptof her letter containing the offer to publish her book she had beenable rigorously to exclude from her mind the personality and theundertakings of Jane Meredith. She was Linda Strong in the High Schooland for an hour or two at her studies. She was Jane Meredith over thedesert, through the canyons, beside the sea, in her Multiflores kitchenor in Katherine O’Donovan’s. But this book offer opened a new trainof thought, a new series of plans. She could see her way—thanks toher father she had the material in her mind and the art in her fingertips—to materialize what she felt would be even more attractive inbook form than anything her editor had been able to visualize fromher material. She knew herself, she knew her territory so minutely.Frequently she smiled when she read statements in her botanies as towhere plants and vegetables could be found. She knew the high home ofthe rare and precious snow plant. She knew the northern limit of thestrawberry cactus. She knew where the white sea swallow nested. Sheknew where the Monarch butterfly went on his winter migration. She knewwhere the trap-door spider, with cunning past the cunning of any otherarchitect of Nature, built his small, round, silken-lined tower andhinged his trap door so cleverly that only he could open it from theoutside. She had even sat immovable and watched him erect his house,and she would have given much to see him weave its silver lining.

Linda was fast coming to the place where she felt herself to be one inan interested group of fellow workers. She no longer gave a thoughtto what kind of shoes she wore. Other girls were beginning to wearthe same kind. The legislatures of half a dozen states were passinglaws regulating the height of heel which might be worn within theirboundaries. Manufacturers were promising for the coming season thatsuitable shoes would be built for street wear and mountain climbing,for the sands of the sea and the sands of the desert, and the sheerface of canyons. The extremely long, dirt-sweeping skirts were comingup; the extremely short, immodest skirts were coming down. A saneand sensible wave seemed to be sweeping the whole country. Under theimpetus of Donald Whiting’s struggles to lead his classes and thoseof other pupils to lead theirs, a higher grade of scholarship wasbeginning to be developed throughout the High School. Pupils werethinking less of what they wore and how much amusement they could crowdin, and more about making grades that would pass them with credit fromyear to year. The horrors of the war and the disorders following ithad begun to impress upon the young brains growing into maturity theidea that soon it would be their task to take over the problems thatwere now vexing the world’s greatest statesmen and its wisest and mostcourageous women. A tendency was manifesting itself among young peopleto equip themselves to take a worthy part in the struggles yet to come.Classmates who had looked with toleration upon Linda’s common-senseshoes and plain dresses because she was her father’s daughter, nowlooked upon her with respect and appreciation because she started somany interesting subjects for discussion, because she was so rapidlydeveloping into a creature well worth looking at. Always she wouldbe unusual because of her extreme height, her narrow eyes, her vividcolouring. But a greater maturity, a fuller figure, had come to be apart of the vision with which one looked at Linda. In these days no onesaw her as she was. Even her schoolmates had fallen into the habit ofseeing her as she would be in the years to come.

Thus far she had been able to keep her identities apart without anydifficulty; but the book proposition was so unexpected, it was sucha big thing to result from her modest beginning, that Linda realizedthat she must proceed very carefully, she must concentrate with allher might, else her school work would begin to suffer in favour of thebook. Recently so many things had arisen to distract her attention.Many days she had not been able to keep Eileen’s face off her geometrypapers; and again she saw Gilman’s, anxious and pain-filled. Sometimesshe found herself lifting her eyes from tasks upon which she wasconcentrating with all her might, and with no previous thought whatevershe was searching for Donald Whiting, and when she saw him, coming intomuscular and healthful manhood, she returned to her work with morestrength, deeper vision, a quiet, assured feeling around her heart.Sometimes, over the edge of Literature and Ancient History, PeterMorrison looked down at her with gravely questioning eyes and dancingimps twisting his mouth muscles, and Linda paused a second to figureupon what had become an old problem with her. Why did her wild-flowergarden make Peter Morrison think of a graveyard? What was buried therebesides the feet of her rare flowers? She had not as yet found theanswer.

This day her thoughts were on Peter frequently because she intended tosee him that night. She was going to share with him a supper of bakedham and beans and bread and butter and pickled onions and little nutcakes, still warm from Katy’s oven. She was going to take Katy with herin order that she might see Peter Morrison’s location and the house forhis dream lady, growing at the foot of the mountain like a gay orchidhoming on a forest tree. To Linda it was almost a miracle, the rapiditywith which a house could be erected in California. In a few weeks’ timeshe had seen a big cellar scooped out of the plateau, had seen it linedand rising to foundation height above the surface in solid concrete,faced outside with cracked boulders. She had seen a framework erected,a rooftree set, and joists and rafters and beams swinging into place.Fretworks of lead and iron pipe were running everywhere, and wires forelectricity. Soon shingles and flooring would be going into place, andPeter said that when he had finished acrobatic performances on beamsand girders and really stepped out on solid floors where he might treadwithout fear of breaking any of his legs, he would perform a PeacockDance all by himself.

“Peter, you sound like a centipede,” said Linda.

“Dear child,” said Peter, “when I enter my front door and get to theback on two-inch footing, I positively feel that I have numerous legs,and I ache almost as badly in the fear that I shall break the two Ihave, as I should if they were really broken.”

And then he added a few words on a subject of which he had not beforespoken to Linda.

“It was like that in France. When we really got into the heat of thingsand the work was actually being done, we were not afraid: we were toobusy; we were ‘supermen.’ The time when we were all legs and arms andhead, and all of them were being blown away wholesale was when theshells whined over while we had a rest hour and were trying to sleep,or in the cold, dim dawn when we stumbled out stiff, hungry, andsleepy. It’s not the real thingwhen it’s really occurring thatgets one. It’s the devils of imagination tormenting the soul. There isonly one thing in this world can happen to me that is really going tobe as bad as the things I dream.”

Linda looked down Lilac Valley, her eyes absently focusing on Katybusily setting supper on a store box in front of the garage. Then shelooked at Peter.

“Mind telling?” she inquired lightly.

Peter looked at her speculatively.

“And would a man be telling his heart’s best secret to a kid like you?”he asked.

“Now, I call that downright mean,” said Linda. “Haven’t you noticedthat my braids are up? Don’t you see a maturity and a dignity and ageneral matronliness apparent all over me to-day?”

“Matronliness” was too much for Peter. You could have heard his laughfar down the blue valley.

“That’s good!” he cried.

“It is,” agreed Linda. “It means that my braids are up to stay, sohereafter I’m a real woman.”

She lingered over the word an instant, glancing whimsically at Peter,a trace of a smile on her lips, then she made her way down a slantdeclivity and presently returned with an entire flower plant, new toPeter and of unusual beauty.

“And because I am a woman I shall set my seal upon you,” she said.

In the buttonhole of his light linen coat she placed a flower of satinface of purest gold, the five petals rounded, but sharply tipped, aheavy mass of silk stamens, pollen dusted in the heart. She pushed backthe left side of his coat and taking one of the rough, hairy leaves ofthe plant she located it over Peter’s heart, her slim, deft fingerspatting down the leaf and flattening it out until it lay pasted smoothand tight. As she worked, she smiled at him challengingly. Peter knewhe was experiencing a ceremony of some kind, the significance of whichhe must learn. It was the first time Linda had voluntarily touched him.He breathed lightly and held steady, lest he startle her.

“Lovely enough,” he said, “to have come from the hills of the stars.Don’t make me wait, Linda; help me to the interpretation.”

“Buena Mujer,” suggested Linda.

“Good woman,” translated Peter.

Linda nodded, running a finger down the leaf over his heart.

“Because she sticks close to you,” she explained. Then startled by thelook in Peter’s eyes, she cried in swift change: “Now we are all goingto work for a minute. Katy’s spreading the lunch. You take this pailand go to the spring for water, and I shall tidy your quarters for you.”

With the eye of experience Linda glanced over the garage deciding thatshe must ask for clean sheets for the cot and that the Salvation Armywould like the heap of papers. Studying the writing table she heard afaint sound that untrained ears would have missed.

“Ah, ha, Ma wood mouse,” said Linda, “nibbling Peter’s drygoods areyou?”

Her cry a minute later answered the question. She came from the garageupon Katherine O’Donovan rushing to meet her, holding a man’s coat atthe length of her far-reaching arm.

“I wish you’d look at that pocket. I don’t know how long this coat hasbeen hanging there, but there is a nest of field mice in it,” she said.

Katy promptly retreated to the improvised dining table, seated herselfupon an end of it, and raised both feet straight into the air.

“Small help I’ll be getting from you,” said Linda laughingly.

She went to the edge of the declivity that cut back to the garage andwith a quick movement reversed the coat catching it by the skirts andshaking it vigorously.

CHAPTER XXVII

This served exactly the purpose Linda had intended. It dislodged themouse nest and dropped it three feet below her level, but it didsomething else upon which Linda had no time to count. It emptied everypocket in the coat and sent the contents scattering down the roughdeclivity.

“Oh my gracious!” gasped Linda. “Look what I have done! Katy, come helpme quickly; I have to gather up this stuff; but it’s no use; I’ll haveto take it to Peter and tell him. I couldn’t put these things back inthe pockets where his hand will reach for them, because I don’t knowwhich came from inside and which came from out.”

Linda sprang down and began hastily gathering up everything she couldsee that had fallen from the coat pockets. She had almost finishedwhen her fingers chanced upon a very soiled, befigured piece of paperwhose impressed folds showed that it had been carried for some time inan inner pocket. As her fingers touched this paper her eyes narrowed,her breath came in a gasp. She looked at it a second, irresolute, thenshe glanced over the top of the declivity in the direction Peter hadtaken. He was standing in front of the building, discussing some matterwith the contractor. He had not yet gone to the spring. Shielded bythe embankment, with shaking fingers Linda opened the paper barelyenough to see that it was Marian’s lost sheet of plans; but it was notas Marian had left it. It was scored deeply here and there with heavylines suggestive of alterations, and the margin was fairly coveredwith fine figuring. Linda did not know Peter Morrison’s writing orfigures. His articles had been typewritten and she had never seen hishandwriting. She sat down suddenly on account of weakened knees, andgazed unseeingly down the length of Lilac Valley, her heart sick, herbrain tormented. Suddenly she turned and studied the house.

“Before the Lord!” she gasped. “I thoughtthere was somethingmighty familiar even about the skeleton of you! Oh, Peter, Peter, wheredid you get this, and how could you do it?”

For a while a mist blurred her eyes. She reached for the coat andstarted to replace the things she had gathered up, then she shut herlips tight.

“Best time to pull a tooth,” she said tersely to a terra cotta redmanzanita bush, “is when it aches.”

When Peter returned from the spring he was faced by a trembling girl,colourless and trying hard to keep her voice steady. She held out thecoat to him with one hand, the package of papers with the other, thefolded drawing conspicuous on the top. With these she gestured towardthe declivity.

“Mouse nest in your pocket, Peter,” she said thickly. “Reversed thecoat to shake it out, and spilled your stuff.”

Then she waited for Peter to be confounded. But Peter was not in thefaintest degree troubled about either the coat or the papers. What didtrouble him was the face and the blazing eyes of the girl concerningwhom he would not admit, even to himself, his exact state of feeling.

“The mouse did not get on you, Linda?” he asked anxiously.

Linda shook her head. Suddenly she lost her self-control.

“Oh, Peter,” she wailed, “how could you do it?”

Peter’s lean frame tensed suddenly.

“I don’t understand, Linda,” he said quietly. “Exactly what have Idone?”

Linda thrust the coat and the papers toward him accusingly and stoodthere wordless but with visible pain in her dark eyes. Peter smiled ather reassuringly.

“That’s not my coat, you know. If there is anything distressing aboutit, don’t lay it to me.”

“Oh, Peter!” cried Linda, “tell the truth about it. Don’t try anyevasions. I am so sick of them.”

A rather queer light sprang into Peter’s eyes. He leaned forwardsuddenly and caught the coat from Linda’s fingers.

“Well, if you need an alibi concerning this coat,” he said, “I think Ican furnish it speedily.”

As he talked he whirled the garment around and shot his long arms intothe sleeves. Shaking it into place on his shoulders, he slowly turnedin front of Linda and the surprised Katy. The sleeves came halfway tohis wrists and the shoulders slid down over his upper arms. He madesuch a quaint and ridiculous figure that Katy burst out laughing. Shewas very well trained, but she knew Linda was deeply distressed.

“Wake up, lambie!” she cried sharply. “That coat ain’t belonging toMr. Pater Morrison. That gairment is the property of that bug-catchin’architect of his.”

Peter shook off the coat and handed it back to Linda.

“Am I acquitted?” he asked lightly; but his surprised eyes weresearching her from braid to toe.

Linda turned from him swiftly. She thrust the packet into a side pocketand started to the garage with the coat. As she passed inside sheslipped down her hand, slid the sheet of plans from the other papers,and slipped it into the front of her blouse. She hung the coat backwhere she had found it, then suddenly sat down on the side of PeterMorrison’s couch, white and shaken. Peter thought he heard a peculiargasp and when he strayed past the door, casually glancing inward, hesaw what he saw, and it brought him to his knees beside Linda with allspeed.

“Linda-girl,” he implored, “what in this world has happened?”

Linda struggled to control her voice; but at last she buried her facein her hands and frankly emitted a sound that she herself would havedescribed as “howling.” Peter knelt back in wonder.

“Of all the things I ever thought about you, Linda,” he said, “the onething I never did think was that you were hysterical.”

If there was one word in Linda’s vocabulary more opprobrious than“nerves,” which could be applied to a woman, it was “hysterics.” Thegreat specialist had admitted nerves; hysterics had no standing withhim. Linda herself had no more use for a hysterical woman than she hadfor a Gila monster. She straightened suddenly, and in removing herhands from her face she laid one on each of Peter’s shoulders.

“Oh, Peter,” she wailed, “I am not a hysterical idiot, but I couldn’thave stood it if that coat had been yours. Peter, I just couldn’t haveborne it!”

Peter held himself rigidly in the fear that he might disturb the handsthat were gripping him.

“I see I have the job of educating these damned field mice as to wherethey may build with impunity,” he said soberly.

But Linda was not to be diverted. She looked straight and deep into hiseyes.

“Peter,” she said affirmatively, “you don’t know a thing about thatcoat, do you?”

“I do not,” said Peter promptly.

“You never saw what was in its pockets, did you?”

“Not to my knowledge,” answered Peter. “What was in the pockets, Linda?”

Linda thought swiftly. Peter adored his dream house. If she told himthat the plans for it had been stolen by his architect, the house wouldbe ruined for Peter. Anyone could see from the candor of his gaze andthe lines that God and experience had graven on his face that Peter waswithout guile. Suddenly Linda shot her hands past Peter’s shouldersand brought them together on the back of his neck. She drew his faceagainst hers and cried: “Oh Peter, I would have been killed if thatcoat had been yours. I tell you I couldn’t have endured it, Peter. I amjust tickled to death!”

One instant she hugged him tight. If her lips did not brush his cheek,Peter deluded himself. Then she sprang up and ran from the garage.Later he took the coat from its nail, the papers from its pockets,and carefully looked them over. There was nothing among them thatwould give him the slightest clue to Linda’s conduct. He looked again,penetratingly, searchingly, for he must learn from them a reason; andno reason was apparent. With the coat in one hand and the papers in theother he stepped outside.

“Linda,” he said, “won’t you show me? Won’t you tell me? What is thereabout this to upset you?”

Linda closed her lips and shook her head. Once more Peter sought in herface, in her attitude the information he craved.

“Needn’t tell me,” he said, “that a girl who will face the desert andthe mountains and the canyons and the sea is upset by a mouse.”

“Well, you should have seen Katy sitting in the midst of our supperwith her feet rigidly extended before her!” cried the girl, strugglingto regain her composure. “Put back that coat and come to your supper.It’s time for you to be fed now. The last workman has gone and we’llbarely have time to finish nicely and show Katy your dream house beforeit’s time to go.”

Peter came and sat in the place Linda indicated. His mind was whirling.There was something he did not understand, but in her own time, inher own way, a girl of Linda’s poise and self-possession would tellhim what had occurred that could be responsible for the very peculiarthings she had done. In some way she had experienced a shock too greatfor her usual self-possession. The hands with which she fished pickledonions from the bottle were still unsteady, and the corroboration Peterneeded for his thoughts could be found in the dazed way in which Katywatched Linda as she hovered over her in serving her. But that was notthe time. By and by the time would come. The thing to do was to trustLinda and await its coming. So Peter called on all the reserve witand wisdom he had at command. He jested, told stories, and to Linda’ssatisfaction and Katy’s delight, he ate his supper like a hungry man,frankly enjoying it, and when the meal was finished Peter took Katyover the house, explaining to her as much detail as was possible atthat stage of its construction, while Linda followed with mute lipsand rebellion surging in her heart. When leaving time came, while Katypacked the Bear-cat, Linda wandered across toward the spring, andPeter, feeling that possibly she might wish to speak with him, followedher. When he overtook her she looked at him straightly, her eyesshowing the hurt her heart felt.

“Peter,” she said, “that first night you had dinner with us, was HenryAnderson out of your presence one minute from the time you came intothe house until you left it?”

Peter stopped and studied the ground at his feet intently. Finally hesaid conclusively: “I would go on oath, Linda, that he was not. We wereall together in the living room, all together in the dining room. Weleft together at night and John was with us.”

“I see,” said Linda. “Well, then, when you came back the next morningafter Eileen, before you started on your trip, to hunt a location, washe with you all the time?”

Again Peter took his time to answer.

“We came to your house with Gilman,” he said. “John started to thefront door to tell Miss Eileen that we were ready. I followed him.Anderson said he would look at the scenery. He must have made a circuitof the house, because when we came out ready to start, a very fewminutes later, he was coming down the other side of the house.”

“Ah,” said Linda comprehendingly.

“Linda,” said Peter quietly, “it is very obvious that something hasworried you extremely. Am I in any way connected with it?”

Linda shook her head.

“Is there anything I can do?”

The negative was repeated. Then she looked at him.

“No, Peter,” she said quietly, “I confess I have had a shock, but it isin no way connected with you and there is nothing you can do about itbut forget my foolishness. But I am glad—Peter, you will never know howglad I am—that you haven’t anything to do with it.”

Then in the friendliest fashion imaginable she reached him her hand andled the way back to the Bear-cat, their tightly gripped hands swingingbetween them. As Peter closed the door he looked down on Linda.

“Young woman,” he said, “since this country has as yet no nervespecialist to take the place of your distinguished father, if you haveany waves to wave to me to-night, kindly do it before you start orafter you reach the highway. If you take your hands off that steeringwheel as you round the boulders and strike that declivity as I haveseen you do heretofore, I won’t guarantee that I shall not require aspecialist myself.”

Linda started to laugh, then she saw Peter’s eyes and something in themstopped her suddenly.

“I did not realize that I was taking any risk,” she said. “I won’t doit again. I will say good-bye to you right here and now so I needn’tlook back.”

So she shook hands with Peter and drove away. Peter slowly followeddown the rough driveway, worn hard by the wheels of delivery trucks,and stood upon the highest point of the rocky turn, looking after thesmall gray car as it slid down the steep declivity. And he wondered ifthere could have been telepathy in the longing with which he watchedit go, for at the level roadway that followed between the cultivatedland out to the highway Linda stopped the car, stood up in it, andturning, looked back straight to the spot upon which Peter stood. Shewaved both hands to him, and then gracefully and beautifully, withoutstretched, fluttering fingers she made him the sign of birds flyinghome. And with the whimsy in his soul uppermost, Peter reflected, as heturned back for a microscopic examination of Henry Anderson’s coat andthe contents of its pockets, that there was one bird above all otherswhich made him think of Linda; but he could not at the moment featherKatherine O’Donovan. And then he further reflected as he climbed thehill that if it had to be done the best he could do would be a bantamhen contemplating domesticity.

Linda looked the garage over very carefully when she put away theBear-cat. When she closed the garage doors she was particular about thelocks. As she came through the kitchen she said to Katy, busy with thelunch box:

“Belovedest, have there been any strange Japs poking around herelately?”

She nearly collapsed when Katy answered promptly:

“A dale too many of the square-headed haythens. I am pestered to deathwith them. They used to come jist to water the lawn but now they wantto clane the rugs; they want to do the wash. They are willing to clanehouse. They want to get into the garage; they insist on washing thecar. If they can’t wash it they jist want to see if it nades washin’.”

Linda stood amazed.

“And how long has this been going on, Katy?” she finally asked.

“Well, I have had two good months of it,” said Katy; “that is, itstarted two months ago. The past month has been workin’ up and the lastten days it seemed to me they was a Jap on the back steps oftener thanthey was a stray cat, and I ain’t no truck with ayther of them. Theygive me jist about the same falin’. Between the two I would trust thecat a dale further with my bird than I would the Jap.”

“Have you ever unlocked the garage for them, Katy?” asked Linda.

“No,” said Katy. “I only go there when I nade something about me work.”

“Well, Katy,” said Linda, “let me tell you this: the next time you gothere for anything take a good look for Japs before you open the door.Get what you want and get out as quickly as possible and be sure, Katy,desperately sure, that you lock the door securely when you leave.”

Katy set her hands on her hips, flared her elbows, and lifted her chin.

“What’s any of them little haythen been doin’ to scare ye, missy?” shedemanded belligerently. “Don’t you think I’m afraid of them! Comes anyof them around me and I’ll take my mopstick over the heads of them.”

“And you’ll break a perfectly good mopstick and not hurt the Japwhen you do it,” said Linda. “There’s an undercurrent of somethingdeep and subtle going on in this country right now, Katy. When Japansends college professors to work in our kitchens and relatives of hergreatest statesmen to serve our tables, you can depend on it she is notdoing it for the money that is paid them. If California does not wakeup very shortly and very thoroughly she is going to pay an awful pricefor the luxury she is experiencing while she pampers herself with theservice of the Japanese, just as the South has pampered herself forgenerations with the service of the negroes. When the negroes learnwhat there is to know, then the day of retribution will be at hand.And this is not croaking, Katy. It is the truest gospel that was everpreached. Keep your eyes wide open for Japs. Keep your doors locked,and if you see one prowling around the garage and don’t know what he isafter, go to the telephone and call the police.”

Linda climbed the stairs to her workroom, plumped down at the table,set her chin in her palms, and lost herself in thought. For half anhour she sat immovable, staring at her caricature of Eileen throughnarrowed lids. Then she opened the typewriter, inserted a sheet andwrote:

My dear Mr. Snow:

I am writing as the most intimate woman friend of Marian Thorne. As such, I have spent much thought trying to figure out exactly the reason for the decision in your recent architectural competition; why a man should think of such a number of very personal, intimate touches that, from familiarity with them, I know that Miss Thorne had incorporated in her plans, and why his winning house should be her winning house, merely reversed.

To-day I have found the answer, which I am forwarding to you, knowing that you will understand exactly what should be done. Enclosed you will find one of the first rough sketches Marian made of her plans. In some mysterious manner it was lost on a night when your prize-winning architect had dinner at our house where Miss Thorne was also a guest. Before retiring she showed to me and explained the plans with which she hoped to win your competition. In the morning I packed her suitcase and handed it to the porter of her train. When she arrived at San Francisco she found that the enclosed sheet was missing.

This afternoon tidying a garage in which Mr. Peter Morrison, the author, is living while Henry Anderson completes a residence he is building for him near my home, I reversed a coat belonging to Henry Anderson to dislodge from its pocket the nest of a field mouse. In so doing I emptied all the pockets, and in gathering up their contents I found this lost sheet from Marian’s plans.

I think nothing more need be said on my part save that I understood the winning plan was to become the property of Nicholson and Snow. Without waiting to see whether these plans would win or not, Henry Anderson has them three fourths of the way materialized in Mr. Morrison’s residence in Lilac Valley which is a northwestern suburb of Los Angeles.

You probably have heard Marian speak of me, and from her you may obtain any information you might care to have concerning my responsibility.

I am mailing the sketch to you rather than to Marian because I feel that you are the party most deeply interested in a business way, and I hope, too, that you will be interested in protecting my very dear friend from the disagreeable parts of this very disagreeable situation.

Very truly yours,
Linda Strong.

CHAPTER XXVIII

When Peter Morrison finally gave up looking in the pockets of HenryAnderson’s coat for enlightenment concerning Linda’s conduct, it waswith his mind settled on one point. There was nothing in the coat nowthat could possibly have startled the girl or annoyed her. Whateverhad been there that caused her extremely peculiar conduct she hadcarried away with her. Peter had settled convictions concerning Linda.From the first instant he had looked into her clear young eyes as shestood in Multiflores Canyon triumphantly holding aloft the Cotyledonin one hand and with the other struggling to induce the skirt of herblouse to resume its proper location beneath the band of her trousers,he had felt that her heart and her mind were as clear and cool andbusinesslike as the energetic mountain stream hurrying past her.Above all others, “straight” was the one adjective he probably wouldhave applied to her. Whatever she had taken from Henry’s pockets wassomething that concerned her. If she took anything, she had a right totake it; of that Peter was unalterably certain. He remembered that afew days before she practically had admitted to him that Anderson hadannoyed her, and a slow anger began to surge up in Peter’s carefullyregulated heart. His thoughts were extremely busy, but the thinghe thought most frequently and most forcefully was that he wouldthoroughly enjoy taking Henry Anderson by the scruff of the neck,leading him to the sheerest part of his own particular share of themountain, and exhaustively booting him down it.

“It takes these youngsters to rush in and raise the devil where there’sno necessity for anything to happen if just a modicum of common sensehad been used,” growled Peter.

He mulled over the problem for several days, and then he decided heshould see Linda, and with his first look into her straightforwardeyes, from the tones of her voice and the carriage of her head he wouldknow whether the annoyance persisted. About the customary time for herto return from school Peter started on foot down the short cut betweenhis home and the Strong residence. He was following a footpath roundingthe base of the mountain, crossing and recrossing the enthusiasticmountain stream as it speeded toward the valley, when a flash ofcolour on the farther side of the brook attracted him. He stopped,then hastily sprang across the water, climbed a few yards, and, afterskirting a heavy clump of bushes, looked at Linda sitting beside them—amost astonishing Linda, appearing small and humble, very much tuckedaway, unrestrained tears rolling down her cheeks, a wet handkerchiefwadded in one hand, a packet of letters in her lap. A long instant theystudied each other.

“Am I intruding?” inquired Peter at last.

Linda shook her head vigorously and gulped down a sob.

“No, Peter,” she sobbed, “I had come this far on my way to you when mycourage gave out.”

Peter re-arranged the immediate landscape and seated himself besideLinda.

“Now stop distressing yourself,” he said authoritatively. “Youyoungsters do take life so seriously. The only thing that could havehappened to you worth your shedding a tear over can’t possibly havehappened; so stop this waste of good material. Tears are very preciousthings, Linda. They ought to be the most unusual things in life. Nowtell me something. Were you coming to me about that matter that worriedyou the other evening?”

Linda shook her head.

“No,” she said, “I have turned that matter over where it belongs. Ihave nothing further to do with it. I’ll confess to you I took a paperfrom among those that fell from Henry Anderson’s pocket. It was nothis. He had no right to have it. He couldn’t possibly have come by ithonourably or without knowing what it was. I took the liberty to put itwhere it belongs, or at least where it seemed to me that it belongs.That is all over.”

“Then something else has happened?” asked Peter. “Something connectedwith the package of letters in your lap?”

Linda nodded vigorously.

“Peter, I have done something perfectly awful,” she confessed. “I neverin this world meant to do it. I wouldn’t have done it for anything. Ihave got myself into the dreadfullest mess, and I don’t know how to getout. When I couldn’t stand it another minute I started right to you,Peter, just like I’d have started to my father if I’d had him to go to.”

“I see,” said Peter, deeply interested in the toe of his shoe. “Youdepended on my age and worldly experience and my unconcealed devotionto your interests, which is exactly what you should do, my dear. Nowtell me. Dry your eyes and tell me, and whatever it is I’ll fix it allright and happily for you. I’ll swear to do it if you want me to.”

Then Linda raised her eyes to his face.

“Oh, Peter, you dear!” she cried. “Peter, I’ll just kneel and kiss yourhands if you can fix this for me.”

Peter set his jaws and continued his meditations on shoe leather.

“Make it snappy!” he said tersely. “The sooner your troubles are out ofyour system the better you’ll feel. Whose letters are those, and whyare you crying over them?”

“Oh, Peter,” quavered Linda, “you know how I love Marian. You have seenher and I have told you over and over.”

“Yes,” said Peter soothingly, “I know.”

“I have told you how, after years of devotion to Marian, John Gilmanlet Eileen make a perfect rag of him and tie him into any kind ofknot she chose. Peter, when Marian left here she had lost everythingon earth but a little dab of money. She had lost a father who wasfine enough to be my father’s best friend. She had lost a mother whowas fine enough to rear Marian to what she is. She had lost them ina horrible way that left her room for a million fancies and regrets:‘if I had done this,’ or ‘if I had done that,’ or ‘if I had takenanother road.’ And when she went away she knew definitely she had lostthe first and only love of her heart; and I knew, because she was sosensitive and so fine, I knew, better than anybody living, how shecouldbe hurt; and I thought if I could fix some scheme thatwould entertain her and take her mind off herself and make her feelappreciated only for a little while—I knew in all reason, Peter, whenshe got out in the world where men would see her and see how beautifuland fine she is, there would be somebody who would want her quickly.All the time I have thought that when she came back, youwouldwant her. Peter, I fibbed when I said I was setting your brook forLouise Whiting. I was not. I don’t know Louise Whiting. She is nothingto me. I was setting it for you and Marian. It was a whiteheadI saw among the iris marching down your creek bank, not a gold one,Peter.”

Peter licked his dry lips and found it impossible to look at Linda.

“Straight ahead with it,” he said gravely. “What did you do?”

“Oh, I have done the awfullest thing,” wailed Linda, “the mostunforgivable thing!”

She reached across and laid hold of the hand next her, and realizingthat she needed it for strength and support, Peter gave it into herkeeping.

“Yes?” he questioned. “Get on with it, Linda. What was it you did?”

“I had a typewriter: I could. I began writing her letters, the kind ofletters that I thought would interest her and make her feel loved andappreciated.”

“You didn’t sign my name to them, did you, Linda?” asked Peter in adry, breathless voice.

“No, Peter,” said Linda, “I did not do that, I did worse. Oh, I did awhole lot worse!”

“I don’t understand,” said Peter hoarsely.

“I wanted to make them fine. I wanted to make them brilliant. I wantedto make them interesting. And of course I could not do it by myself.I am nothing but a copycat. I just quoted a lot of things I had heardyou say; and I did worse than that, Peter. I watched the little whimsylines around your mouth and I tried to interpret the perfectly lovelythings they would make you say to a woman if you loved her and werebuilding a dream house for her. And oh, Peter, it’s too ghastly; Idon’t believe I can tell you.”

“This is pretty serious business, Linda,” said Peter gravely. “Havinggone this far you are in honour bound to finish. It would not befair to leave me with half a truth. What is the result of thisimpersonation?”

“Oh, Peter,” sobbed Linda, breaking down again, “you’re going to hateme; I know you’re going to hate me and Marian’s going to hate me; and Ididn’t mean a thing but the kindest thing in all the world.”

“Don’t talk like that, Linda,” said Peter. “If your friend is all yousay she is, she is bound to understand. And as for me, I am not verylikely to misjudge you. But be quick about it. What did you do, Linda?”

“Why, I just wrote these letters that I am telling you about,” saidLinda, “and I said the things that I thought would comfort her andentertain her and help with her work; and these are the answers thatshe wrote me, and I don’t think I realized till last night that she wastruly attributing them to any one man, truly believing in them. Oh,Peter, I wasn’t asleep a minute all last night, and for the first timeI failed in my lessons to-day.”

“And what is the culmination, Linda?” urged Peter.

“She liked the letters, Peter. They meant all I intended them to andthey must have meant something I never could have imagined. And in SanFrancisco one of the firm where she studies—a very fine man she says heis, Peter; I can see that in every way he would be quite right for her;and I had a letter from her last night, and, Peter, he had asked herto marry him, to have a life-long chance at work she’s crazy about. Hehad offered her a beautiful home with everything that great wealth andculture and good taste could afford. He had offered her the motheringof his little daughter; and she refused him, Peter, refused him becauseshe is in love, with all the love there is left in her disappointed,hurt heart, with the personality that these letters represent to her;and that personality is yours, Peter. I stole it from you. Icopied it into those letters. I’m not straight. I’m not fair. I wasn’thonest with her. I wasn’t honest with you. I’ll just have to take offfront the top of the highest mountain or sink in the deepest place inthe sea, Peter. I thought I was straight. I thought I was honourable.I have made Donald believe that I was. If I have to tell him the truthabout this he won’t want to wear my flower any more. I shall knowall the things that Marian has suffered, and a thousand times worse,because she was not to blame; she had nothing with which to reproachherself.”

Peter put an arm across Linda’s shoulders and drew her up to him. For along, bitter moment he thought deeply, and then he said hoarsely: “Nowcalm down, Linda. You’re making an extremely high mountain out of anextremely shallow gopher hole. You haven’t done anything irreparable.I see the whole situation. You are sureyour friend has finallyrefused this offer she has had on account of these letters you havewritten?”

Suddenly Linda relaxed. She leaned her warm young body against Peter.She laid her tired head on his shoulder. She slipped the top letterof the packet in her lap from under its band, opened it, and heldit before him. Peter read it very deliberately, then he nodded inacquiescence.

“It’s all too evident,” he said quietly, “that you have taught her thatthere is a man in this world more to her liking than John Gilman everhas been. When it came to materializing the man, Linda, what was youridea? Were you proposing to deliver me?”

“I thought it would be suitable and you would be perfectly happy,”sobbed Linda, “and that way I could have both of you.”

“And Donald also?” asked Peter lightly.

“Donald of course,” assented Linda.

And then she lifted her tear-spilling, wonderful eyes, wide open, toPeter’s, and demanded: “But, oh Peter, I am so miserable I am almostdead. I have said you were a rock, and you are a rock. Peter, can youget me out of this?”

“Sure,” said Peter grimly. “Merely a case of living up to your bluechina, even if it happens to be in the form of hieroglyphics instead ofbaked pottery. Give me the letters, Linda. Give me a few days to studythem. Exchange typewriters with me so I can have the same machine. Giveme some of the paper on which you have been writing and the address youhave been using, and I’ll guarantee to get you out of this in some waythat will leave you Donald, and your friendship with Marian quite asgood as new.”

At that juncture Peter might have been kissed, but his neck was verystiff and his head was very high and his eyes were on a far-distanthilltop from which at that minute he could not seem to gather anyparticular help.

“Would it be your idea,” he said, “that by reading these letters Icould gain sufficient knowledge of what has passed to go on with this?”

“Of course you could,” said Linda.

Peter reached in his side pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief.He shook it from its folds and dried her eyes. Then he took her by hershoulders and set her up straight.

“Now stop this nerve strain and this foolishness,” he said tersely.“You have done a very wonderful thing for me. It is barely possiblethat Marian Thorne is not my dream woman, but we can’t always have ourdreams in this world, and if I could not have mine, truly and candidly,Linda, so far as I have lived my life, I would rather have MarianThorne than any other woman I have ever met.”

Linda clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, goody goody, Peter!” she cried. “How joyous! Can it be possiblethat my bungling is coming out right for Marian and right for you?”

“And right for you, Linda?” inquired Peter lightly.

“Sure, right for me,” said Linda eagerly. “Of course it’s right forme when it’s right for you and Marian. And since it’s not my secretalone I don’t think it would be quite honourable to tell Donald aboutit. What hurts Marian’s heart or heals it is none of his business. Hedoesn’t even know her.”

“All right then, Linda,” said Peter, rising, “give me the letters andbring me the machine and the paper. Give me the joyous details andtell me when I am expected to send in my first letter in propriapersona?”

“Oh, Peter,” cried Linda, beaming on him, “oh, Peter, you arearock! I do put my trust in you.”

“Then God help me,” said Peter, “for whatever happens, your trust in meshall not be betrayed, Linda.”

CHAPTER XXIX

Possibly because she wished to eliminate herself from the offices ofNicholson and Snow for a few days, possibly because her finely attunednature felt the call, Marian Thorne boarded a train that carried herto Los Angeles. She stepped from it at ten o’clock in the morning, andby the street-car route made her way to Lilac Valley. When she arrivedshe realized that she could not see Linda before, possibly, three inthe afternoon. She entered a restaurant, had a small lunch box packed,and leaving her dressing case, she set off down the valley towardthe mountains. She had need of their strength, their quiet and theirhealing. To the one particular spot where she had found comfort inLilac Valley her feet led her. By paths of her own, much overgrown forwant of recent usage, she passed through the cultivated fields, leftthe roadway, and began to climb. When she reached the stream flowingdown the rugged hillside, she stopped to rest for a while, and her mindwas in a tumult. In one minute she was seeing the bitterly disappointedface of a lonely, sensitive man whose first wound had been re-opened bythe making of another possibly quite as deep; and at the next her heartwas throbbing because Linda had succeeded in transferring the livingPeter to paper.

The time had come when Marian felt that she would know the personalityembodied in the letters she had been receiving; and in the past fewdays her mind had been fixing tenaciously upon Peter Morrison. And thefeeling concerning which she had written Linda had taken possessionof her. Wealth did not matter; position did not matter. Losing thelove of a good man did not matter. But the mind and the heart and thepersonality behind the letters she had been receiving did matter. Shethought long and seriously. When at last she arose she had arrived atthe conclusion that she had done the right thing, no matter whetherthe wonderful letters she had received went on and offered her love ornot, no matter about anything. She must merely live and do the best shecould, until the writer of those letters chose to disclose himself andsay what purpose he had in mind when he wrote them.

So Marian followed her own path beside the creek until she neared itshead, which was a big, gushing icy spring at the foot of the mountainkeeping watch over the small plateau that in her heart she had thoughtof as hers for years. As she neared the location strange sounds beganto reach her, voices of men, clanging of hammers, the rip of saws.A look of deep consternation overspread her face. She listened aninstant and then began to run. When she broke through the rank foliageflourishing from the waters of the spring and looked out on the plateauwhat she saw was Peter Morrison’s house in the process of being flooredand shingled. For a minute Marian was physically ill. Her heart hurtuntil her hand crept to her side in an effort to soothe it. Before sheasked the question of a man coming to the spring with a pail in hishand, she knew the answer. It was Peter Morrison’s house. Marian sprangacross the brook, climbed to the temporary roadway, and walked downin front of the building. She stood looking at it intently. It was ina rough stage, but much disguise is needed to prevent a mother fromknowing her own child. Marian’s dark eyes began to widen and to blaze.She walked up to the front of the house and found that rough flooringhad been laid so that she could go over the first floor. When she haddone this she left the back door a deeply indignant woman.

“There is some connection,” she told herself tersely, “between my lostsketch and this house, which is merely a left-to-right rehearsal ofmy plans; and it’s the same plan with which Henry Anderson won theNicholson and Snow prize money and the still more valuable honour ofbeing the prize winner. What I want to know is how such a wrong may berighted, and what Peter Morrison has to do with it.”

Stepping from the back door, Marian followed the well-worn pathwaythat led to the garage, looking right and left for Peter, and she waswondering what she would say to him if she met him. She was thinkingthat perhaps she had better return to San Francisco and talk the matterover with Mr. Snow before she said anything to anyone else; by thistime she had reached the garage and stood in its wide-open door. Shelooked in at the cot, left just as someone had arisen from it, at therow of clothing hanging on a rough wooden rack at the back, at thepiled boxes, at the big table, knocked together from rough lumber,in the center, scattered and piled with books and magazines; andthen her eyes fixed intently on a packet lying on the table beside atypewriter and a stack of paper and envelopes. She walked over andpicked up the packet. As she had known the instant she saw them, theywere her letters. She stood an instant holding them in her hand, adazed expression on her face. Mechanically she reached out and laid herhands on the closed typewriter to steady herself. Something about itappealed to her as familiar. She looked at it closely, then she liftedthe cover and examined the machine. It was the same machine that hadstood for years in Doctor Strong’s library, a machine upon which shehad typed business letters for her own father, and sometimes she hadcopied lectures and book manuscript on it for Doctor Strong. Until hishouse was completed and his belongings arrived, Peter undoubtedly hadborrowed it. Suddenly a wild desire to escape swept over Marian. Herfirst thought was of her feelings. She was angry, and justly so. In herheart she had begun to feel that the letters she was receiving werefrom Peter Morrison. Here was the proof.

Could it be possible that in their one meeting Peter had decided thatshe was his dream woman, that in some way he had secured that roughsketch of her plans, and from them was preparing her dream house forher? The thought sped through her brain that he was something more thanhuman to have secured those plans, to have found that secluded andchoice location. For an instant she forgot the loss of the competitionin trying to comprehend the wonder of finding her own particular housefitting her own particular location as naturally as one of its bigboulders.

She tried to replace the package of letters exactly as she had foundthem. On tiptoe she slipped back to the door and looked searchinglydown the road, around, and as far as possible through the house. Thenshe gathered her skirts, stepped from the garage, and began the processof effacing herself on the mountain side. From clump to clump of thethickest bushes, crouching below the sage and greasewood, pausing torest behind lilac and elder, without regard for her traveling suitor her beautifully shod feet, Marian fled from her location. Whenat last she felt that she was completely hidden and at least a milefrom the spot, she dropped panting on a boulder, brushing the débrisfrom her skirts, lifting trembling hands to straighten her hat,and ruefully contemplating her shoes. Then she tried to think in acalm, dispassionate, and reasonable manner, but she found it a mostdifficult process. Her mind was not well ordered, neither was it at hercommand. It whirled and shot off at unexpected tangents and danced asirresponsibly as a grasshopper from one place to another. The flyingleaps it took ranged from San Francisco to Lilac Valley, from herlocation upon which Peter Morrison was building her house, to Linda.Even John Gilman obtruded himself once more. At one minute she wasexperiencing a raging indignation against Henry Anderson. How had hesecured her plan? At another she was trying to figure dispassionatelywhat connection Peter Morrison could have had with the building ofhis house upon her plan. Every time Peter came into the equation herheart arose in his defense. In some way his share in the proceeding wasall right. He had cared for her and he had done what he thought wouldplease her. Therefore she must be pleased, although forced to admit toherself that she would have been infinitely more pleased to have builther own house in her own way.

She was hungry to see Linda. She wanted Katherine O’Donovan to feed herand fuss over her and entertain her with her mellow Irish brogue; butif she went to them and disclosed her presence in the valley, Peterwould know about it, and if he intended the building he was erecting asa wonderful surprise for her, then she must not spoil his joy. Plan inany way she could, Marian could see no course left to her other than toslip back to the station and return to San Francisco without meetingany of her friends. She hurriedly ate her lunch, again straightenedher clothing, went to the restaurant for her traveling bag, and tookthe car for the station where she waited for a return train to SanFrancisco. She bought a paper and tried to concentrate upon it inan effort to take her mind from her own problems so that, when shereturned to them, she would be better able to think clearly, to reasonjustly, to act wisely. She was very glad when her train came and shewas started on her way northward. At the first siding upon which itstopped to allow the passing of a south-bound limited, she was certainthat as the cars flashed by, in one of them she saw Eugene Snow. Shewas so certain that when she reached the city she immediately calledthe office and asked for Mr. Snow, only to be told that he had goneaway for a day or two on business. After that Marian’s thought wasconfused to the point of exasperation.

It would be difficult to explain precisely the state of mind in whichLinda, upon arriving at her home that afternoon, received from Katy theinformation that a man named Snow had been waiting an hour for her inthe living room. Linda’s appearance was that of a person so astonishedthat Katy sidled up to her giving strong evidence of being ready tobristle.

“Ye know, lambie,” she said with elaborate indifference, “ye aren’thavin’ to see anybody ye don’t want to. If it’s somebody intrudin’himself on ye, just say the word and I’ll fire him; higher thanGuilderoy’s kite I’ll be firin’ him.”

“No, I must see him, Katy,” said Linda quietly. “And have somethingspecially nice for dinner. Very likely I’ll take him to see PeterMorrison’s house and possibly I’ll ask him and Peter to dinner. He is aSan Francisco architect from the firm where Marian takes her lessons,and it’s business about Peter’s house. I was surprised, that’s all.”

Then Linda turned and laid a hand on each of Katy’s hairy, red arms.

“Katherine O’Donovan, old dear,” she said, “if we do come back fordinner, concentrate on Mr. Snow and study him. Scrutinize, Katy! It’sa bully word. Scrutinize closely. To add one more to our long lists ofsecrets, here’s another. He’s the man I told you about who has askedMarian to marry him, and Marian has refused him probably because sheprefers somebody nearer home.”

Then Linda felt the tensing of every muscle in Katy’s body. She saw thelift of her head, the incredulous, resentful look in her eyes. Therewas frank hostility in her tone.

“Well, who is there nearer home that Marian knows?” she demandedbelligerently.

“Well, now, who would there be?” retorted Linda.

“Ye ain’t manin’ John Gilman?” asked Katy.

“No,” said Linda, “I am not meaning John Gilman. You should know Marianwell enough to know that.”

“Well, ye ought to know yourself well enough to know that they ain’tanybody else around these diggin’s that Marian Thorne’s going to get,”said Katy.

“I imagine Marian will get pretty much whom she wants,” said Lindalaughingly. “In your heart, Katy, you know that Marian need not havelost John Gilman if she had not deliberately let him go. If she hadbeen willing to meet Eileen on her own ground and to play the game withher, it wouldn’t have happened. Marian has more brains in a minute thanEileen has in a month.”

When Linda drew back the portière and stepped into the living roomEugene Snow rose to meet her. What either of them expected it mightbe difficult to explain. Knowing so little of each other, it is verypossible that they had no visualizations. What Snow saw was whateveryone saw who looked at Linda—a girl arrestingly unusual. WithLinda lay the advantage by far, since she had Marian’s letters fora background. What she saw was a tall man, slender, and about himthere was to Linda a strong appeal. As she looked into his eyes, shecould feel the double hurt that Fate had dealt him. She thought shecould fathom the fineness in his nature that had led him to madehome-building his chosen occupation. Instantly she liked him. With onlyone look deep into his eyes she was on his side. She stretched out bothher hands and advanced.

“Now isn’t this the finest thing of you?” she said. “I am so glad thatyou came. I’ll tell you word for word what happened here.”

“That will be fine,” he said. “Which is your favourite chair?”

“You know,” she said, “that is a joke. I am so unfamiliar with thisroom that I haven’t any favourite chair. I’ll have to take the nearest,like Thoreau selected his piece of chicken.”

Then for a few minutes Linda talked frankly. She answered Eugene Snow’severy question unhesitatingly and comprehensively. Together theyascended the stairs, and in the guest room she showed him the table atwhich she and Marian had studied the sketches of plans, and exactlywhere they had left them lying overnight.

“The one thing I can’t be explicit about,” said Linda, “is how manysheets were there in the morning. We had stayed awake so late talking,that we overslept. I packed Marian’s bag while she dressed. I snatchedup what there were without realizing whether there were two sheetsor three, laid them in the flat bottom of the case, and folded herclothing on top of them.”

“I see,” said Mr. Snow comprehendingly. “Now let’s experiment a little.Of course the window before that table was raised?”

“Yes, it was,” said Linda, “but every window in the house is screened.”

“And what about the door opening into the hall? Can you tell me whetherit was closed or open?”

“It was open,” said Linda. “We left it slightly ajar to create a draft;the night was warm.”

“Is there anyone about the house,” inquired Mr. Snow, “who could tellus certainly whether that window was screened that night?”

“Of course,” said Linda. “Our housekeeper, Katherine O’Donovan, wouldknow. When we go down we’ll ask her.”

On their return to the living room, for the first time in her lifeLinda rang for Katy. She hesitated an instant before she did it. Itwould be establishing a relationship that never before had existedbetween them. She always had gone to Katy as she would have, gone toher mother. She would have gone to her now, but she wanted Katy to makeher appearance and give her information without the possibility ofprevious discussion. Katy answered the bell almost at once. Linda wentto her side and reached her arm across her shoulders.

“Katy,” she said, “this is Mr. Eugene Snow of San Francisco. He isinterested in finding out exactly what became of that lost plan ofMarian’s that we have looked for so carefully. Put on your thinkingcap, old dear, and try to answer accurately any question that Mr. Snowmay wish to ask you.”

Katy looked expectantly at Eugene Snow.

“In the meantime,” said Linda, “I’ll be excused and go bring round theBear-cat.”

“I have only one question to ask you,” said Mr. Snow. “Can you recallwhether, for any reason, there was a screen out of the guest-roomwindow directly in front of which the reading table was standing thenight Miss Marian occupied the room before leaving for San Francisco?”

“Sure there was,” answered Katy instantly in her richest, mellowestbrogue.

She was taking the inventory she had been told to take. She wasdeciding, as instantly as Linda had done, that she liked this man.Years, appearance, everything about him appealed to Katy as beingexactly right for Marian; and her cunning Irish mind was leaping andflying and tugging at the leash that thirty years of conventions hadbound upon her.

“Sure,” she repeated, “the wildest santana that ever roared over usjust caught that screen and landed it slam against the side of thegarage, and it set inside for three days till I could get a workman togo up the outside and put it back. It had been out two days before thenight Marian was here.”

“Did Miss Linda know about it?” asked Snow.

“Not that I know of,” said Katy. “She is a schoolgirl, you know, offearly in the morning, back and up to her room, the busiest youngsterthe valley knows; and doin’ a dale of good she is, too. It was MissEileen that heard the screen ripped out and told me it was gone. She’sthe one who looked after the housekapin’ and paid the bills. She knewall about it. If ’twould be helpin’ Miss Marian any about findin’ themplans we’ve ransacked the premises for, I couldn’t see any reasonwhy Miss Eileen wouldn’t tell ye the same as I’m tellin’ ye, and herhousekapin’ accounts and her cheque book would show she paid thecarpenter, if it’s legal business you’re wantin’.”

“Thank you, Katy,” said Mr. Snow. “I hope nothing of that kind willoccur. A great wrong has been perpetrated, but we must find some wayto right it without involving such extremely nice young women in theannoyance of legal proceedings.”

Katy folded her arms and raised her head. All her share of the blarneyof Ireland began to roll from the mellow tip of her tongue.

“Now, the nice man ye are, to be seein’ the beauty of them girls soquick,” she said. “The good Lord airly in the mornin’ of creationthought them out when He was jist fresh from rist, and the material wasnone shopworn. They ain’t ladies like ’em anywhere else in the wholeof California, and belave me, a many rale ladies have I seen in mytime. Ye can jist make up your mind that Miss Linda is the broth of theearth. She is her father’s own child and she is like him as two pasein the pod. And Marian growed beside her, and much of a hand I’ve hadin her raisin’ meself, and well I’m knowin’ how fine she is and what ajuel she’d be, set on any man’s hearthstone. I’m wonderin’,” said Katychallengingly, “if you’re the Mr. Snow at whose place she is takin’ herlessons, and if ye are, I’m wonderin’ if ye ain’t goin’ to use the goodjudgment to set her, like the juel she would be, in the stone of yourown hearth.”

Eugene Snow looked at Katy intently. He was not accustomed todiscussing his affairs with household helpers, but he could not look atKaty without there remaining in his vision the form of Linda standingbeside her, a reassuring arm stretched across her shoulders, the mannerin which she had presented her and then left her that she might be freeto answer as she chose with out her young mistress even knowing exactlywhat was asked of her. Such faith and trust and love were unusual.

“I might try to do that very thing,” he said, “but, you know, awonderful woman is an animated jewel. You can’t manufacture a settingand put her in and tighten the clasps without her consent.”

“Then why don’t you get it?” said Katy casually.

Eugene Snow laughed ruefully.

“But suppose,” he said, “that the particular jewel you’re discussingprefers to select her own setting, and mine does not please her.”

“Well, they’s jist one thing,” said Katy. Her heels left the floorinvoluntarily; she arose on her tiptoes; her shoulders came up, andher head lifted to a height it never had known before. “They’s jistone thing,” she said. “Aside from Miss Linda, who is my very own childthat I have washed and I have combed and I have done for since she wasa toddlin’ four-year-old, they ain’t no woman in this world I would goas far for as I would for Miss Marian; but I’m tellin’ ye now, ye Mr.Eujane Snow, that they’s one thing I don’t lend no countenance to. Iam sorry she has had the cold, cruel luck that she has, but I ain’tsorry enough that I’m goin’ to stand for her droppin’ herself into theplace where she doesn’t belong. If the good Lord ain’t give her thesense to see that you’re jist the image of the man that would be jistexactly right for her, somebody had better be tellin’ her so. Anyway,if Miss Linda is takin’ ye up to the house that Mr. Pater Morrison isbuildin’ and the Pater man is there, I would advise ye to cast yourmost discernin’ eye on that gintleman. Ye watch him jist one minutewhen he looks at the young missus and he thinks nobody ain’t observinghim, and ye’ll see what ye’ll see. If ye want Marian, ye jist go on andtake her. I’m not carin’ whether ye use a club or white vi’lets, butdon’t ye be lettin’ Marian Thorne get no idea into her head that sheis goin’ to take Mr. Pater Morrison, because concernin’ Pater I knowwhat I know, and I ain’t goin’ to stand by and see things goin’ wrongfor want of spakin’ up. Now if you’re a wise man, ye don’t nade nothingfurther said on the subject.”

Eugene Snow thought intently for a few moments. His vision centered onKatherine O’Donovan’s face.

“You’re absolutely sure of this?” he said at last.

“Jist as sure as the sun’s sure, and the mountains, and the seasonscome and go,” said Katy with finality. “Watch him and you’ll see itstickin’ out all over him. I have picked him for me boss, and it’s jistadorin’ that man crature I am.”

“What about Miss Linda?” inquired Snow. “Is she adoring him?”

“She ain’t nothing but a ganglin’ school kid, adorin’ the spade withwhich she can shoot around that Bear-cat of hers, and race the canyons,and the raly lovely things she can strike on paper with her pencil andlight up with her joyous colours. Her day and her hour ain’t come, andthe Pater man’s that fine he won’t lay a finger on her to wake herup when she has a year yet of her schoolin’ before her. But in themanetime it’s my job to stand guard as I’m standin’ right now. I’mtellin’ ye frank and fair. Ye go on and take Marian Thorne because yeought to have her. If she’s got any idea in her head that she’s goin’to have Pater Morrison, she’ll have to get it out.”

Eugene Snow held out his hand and started to the front door in answerto the growl of the Bear-cat. As he came down the steps and advancedto the car, Linda, with the quick eye that had been one of her specialgifts as a birthright, noted a change in him. He seemed to have beenkeyed up and toned up. There was a different expression on his face.There was buoyancy in his step. There was a visible determination inhis eye. He took the seat beside her and Linda started the car. Shelooked at him interrogatively.

“Can you connect a heavy wind with the date of the lost plan?” heinquired.

“There was a crack-a-jack a few days before,” said Linda. “It blew oversome trees in the lot next to us.”

“Exactly,” said Snow; “and it plucked a screen from your guest-roomwindow. Katy thinks that the cheque to the carpenter and the cost ofthe repairs will be in your sister’s account books.”

“Um hm,” nodded Linda. “Well, that simplifies matters, because PeterMorrison is going to tell you about a trip Henry Anderson made aroundour house the morning Marian left.”

“I think that is about all we need to know,” said Mr. Snow conclusively.

“I think so,” said Linda, “but I want you to see Peter’s house foryourself, since I understand that according to your contract the rightsto reproduce these particular plans remained with you after you hadpaid prize money for them.”

“Most certainly,” said Mr. Snow. “We should have that much to show forour share of the transaction.”

“It’s a queer thing,” said Linda. “You would have to know me a longtime, and perhaps know under what conditions I have been reared inorder to understand a feeling that I frequently have concerning people.I tobogganed down a sheer side of Multiflores Canyon one day withoutmy path having been previously prepared, and I very nearly landed inthe automobile that carried Henry Anderson and Peter Morrison on theirfirst trip to Lilac Valley. I was much interested in preserving theintegrity of my neck. I fervently hoped not to break more than a dozenof my legs and arms, and was forced to bring down intact the finestCotyledon pulverulentathat Daddy or I had found in fourteenyears of collecting in California. I am telling you all this that youmay see why I might have been excused for not having been minutelyobservant of my surroundings when I landed. But what I did observe wasa chilly, caterpillary sensation chasing up my spine the instant I metthe eyes of Henry Anderson. In that instant I said to myself that Iwould not trust him, that I did not like him.”

“And what about his companion?” asked Eugene Snow lightly.

“Oh, Peter?” said Linda. There was a caress in her pronunciation of thename. “Why, Peter is a rock. The instant I deposited my Cotyledon ina safe place I would have put my hand in Peter Morrison’s and startedaround the world if he had asked me to go. There is only one Peter. Youwill recognize that the instant you meet him.”

“I am altogether willing to take your word for it,” said Mr. Snow.

“And there is one thing about this disagreeable business,” said Linda.“It was not Peter’s coat that had the plan in it. He knew nothing aboutit. He has had his full service of stiff war work, and he has beenknocking around big cities in newspaper work, and now he has come hometo Lilac Valley to ‘set up his rest,’ as in the hymn book, you know.He built his garage first and he is living in it because he so lovesthis house of his that he has to be present to watch it grow in minutedetail. Once on a time I saw a great wizard walking along the sidewalk,and he looked exactly like any man. He might have been you so far asanything different from other men in his appearance w as concerned.”

Linda cut down the Bear-cat to its slowest speed.

“What is on my mind is this,” she said. “I don’t think Peter couldquite afford the amount of ground he has bought, and the house he isbuilding. I think possibly he is tying himself up in obligations.It may take him two or three years to come even on it; but it is aprepossession with him. Now can’t you see that if we go to him and tellhim this sordid, underhand, unmanly tale, how his fine nature is goingto be hurt, how his big heart is going to be wrung, how his home-housethat he is building with such eager watchfulness will be a weighty OldMan of the Sea clinging to his back? Do you think, Mr. Eugene Snow,that you’re enough of a wizard to examine this house and to satisfyyourself as to whether it’s an infringement of your plans or not,without letting Peter know the things about it that would spoil it forhim?”

Eugene Snow reached across and closed a hand over the one of Linda’snearest him on the steering wheel.

“You very decent kid, you,” he said appreciatively. “I certainlyam enough of a wizard to save your Peter man any disillusionmentconcerning his dream house.”

“Oh, but he is not my Peter man,” said Linda. “We are only the bestfriends in the world. Really and truly, if you can keep a secret, he’sMarian’s.”

“Is he?” asked Mr. Snow interestedly. And then he added very casually,in the most off-hand manner—he said it more to an orange orchardthrough which they were passing than he said it to Linda—“I have verygrave doubts about that. I think there must be some slight complicationthat will have to be cleared up.”

Linda’s heart gave a great jump of consternation.

“Indeed no,” she said emphatically. “I don’t think he has justtoldMarian yet, but I am very sure that he cares for her morethan for any other woman, and I am equally sure she cares for him; andnothing could be more suitable.”

“All right then,” agreed Mr. Snow.

Linda put the Bear-cat at the mountain, crept around the road, skirtedthe boulders, and stopped halfway to the garage. And there, in a lowtone, she indicated to Mr. Snow where they had lunched, when she foundthe plans, how she had brought out the coat, where she had emptiedthe mouse nest. Then she stepped from the car and hallooed for Peter.Peter came hurrying from the garage, and Eugene Snow was swift in hismental inventory. It coincided exactly with Linda’s. He would have beenwilling to join hands with Peter and start around the world, quiteconvinced of the fairness of the outcome, with no greater acquaintancethan one intent look at Peter, one grip of his sure hand. After that hebegan to act on Katy’s hint, and in a very short time he had convincedhimself that she was right. Maybe Peter tried to absorb himself in theplans he was going over, in the house he was proud to show the greatarchitect; but it seemed to the man he was entertaining that his glancescarcely left Linda, that he was so preoccupied with where she went andwhat she did that he was like a juggler keeping two mental balls in theair at the same time.

It seemed to Peter a natural thing that, the architect being in thecity on business, he should run out to call on Miss Thorne’s dearestfriend. It seemed to him equally natural that Linda should bring himto see a house in which she was so kindly interesting herself. Andjust when Peter was most dexterous in his juggling, just when he wastrying to explain the very wonderful step-saving, time-saving, rationalkitchen arrangements and at the same time watch Linda on her coursedown to the spring, the architect halted him with a jerk. Eugene Snowstood very straight, his hands in his coat pockets, looking, Petersupposed, with interest at the arrangements of kitchen conveniences.His next terse sentence fairly staggered Peter. He looked him straightin the eye and inquired casually: “Chosen your dream woman to fit yourhouse, Morrison?”

Peter was too surprised to conceal his feelings. His jaws snappedtogether; a belligerent look sprang into his eyes.

“I have had a good deal to do with houses,” continued Mr. Snow. “Theyare my life work. I find that invariably they are built for a woman.Almost always they are built from her plans, and for her pleasure. It’sa new house, a unique house, a wonderful house you’re evolving here. Itmust be truly a wonderful woman you’re dreaming about while you buildit.”

That was a nasty little trap. With his years and worldly experiencePeter should not have fallen into it; but all men are children whenthey are sick, heart sick or body sick, and Peter was a very sickman at that minute. He had been addressed in such a frank and casualmanner. His own brain shot off at queer tangents and led him constantlyinto unexpected places. The narrow side lane that opened up came intoview so suddenly that Peter, with the innocence of a four-year-old,turned with military precision at the suggestion and looked over thepremises for the exact location of Linda. Eugene Snow had seen forhimself the thing that Katy had told him he would see if he looked forit. Suddenly he held out his hand.

“As man to man, Morrison, in this instance,” he said in rather ahoarse, breathless voice, “don’t you think it would be a good idea foryou and me to assert our manhood, to manage our own affairs, to selectour own wives if need be? If we really set ourselves to the job don’tyou believe we can work out our lives more to our liking than anyoneelse can plan for us? You get the idea, don’t you, Morrison?”

Peter was facing the kitchen sink but he did not see it. His brainwas whirling. He did see Snow’s point of view. He did realize hisposition. But what Mr. Snow knew of his affairs he could only guess.The one thing Mr. Snow could not know was that Linda frankly admittedher prepossession for her school chum, Donald Whiting, but in any eventif Peter could not have Linda he would much prefer occupying his dreamhouse alone. So he caught at the straw held out to him with both hands.

“I get you,” he said tersely. “It is not quite up to the mark of themanhood we like to think we possess to let our lives be engineered bya high-school kid. Suppose we do just quietly and masterfully assertourselves concerning our own affairs.”

“Suppose we do,” said Snow with finality.

Whereupon they shook hands with a grip that whitened their knuckles.

Then they went back to Lilac Valley and had their dinner together, andLinda and Peter escorted Eugene Snow to his train and started him onhis return trip to San Francisco feeling very much better. Peter wouldnot allow Linda to drive him home at night, so he left her after theBear-cat had been safely placed in the garage. As she stood on the walkbeside him, strongly outlined in the moonlight, Peter studied Lindawhimsically. He said it half laughingly, but there was something tothink about in what he said:

“I’m just picturing, Linda, what a nice old lady you will be by thetime that High-School kid of yours spends four years in college, one onthe continent, and the Lord knows how many at mastering a profession.”

Linda looked at him with widened eyes.

“Why, what are you talking about, Peter? Are you moonstruck?” sheinquired solicitously. “Donald’s only a friend, you know. I love himbecause he is the nicest companion; but there is nothing for you to besilly about.”

Then Peter began to realize the truth. There wasn’t anything for him tobe concerned about. She had not the slightest notion what love meant,even as she announced that she loved Donald.

CHAPTER XXX

Eugene Snow returned to San Francisco enthusiastic about Linda, whilehe would scarcely have known how to express his appreciation ofKatherine O’Donovan. He had been served a delicious dinner, deftlyand quietly, such food as men particularly like; but there had beenno subservience. If Katherine O’Donovan had been waiting on her owntable, serving her own friends she could not have managed with morepride. It was very evident that she loved service, that she loved thegirl to whom she gave constant attention. He understood exactly whatthere was in her heart and why she felt as she did when he saw Lindaand Peter together and heard their manner of speaking to each other,and made mental note of the many points of interest which seemed toexist between them. He returned to San Francisco with a good deal of a“See-the-conquering-hero-comes” mental attitude. He went directly tohis office, pausing on the way for a box of candy and a bunch of Parmaviolets. His first act on reaching the office was to send for MissThorne. Marian came almost immediately, a worried look in her eyes.She sat in the big, cushioned chair that was offered her, and smiledfaintly when the box was laid on her lap, topped with the violets. Shelooked at Eugene Snow with an “I-wish-you-wouldn’t” expression on herface; but he smiled at her reassuringly.

“Nothing,” he said. “Picked them up on the way from the station. I madea hasty trip to that precious Lilac Valley of yours, and I must say itpales your representation. It is a wonderfully lovely spot.”

Marian settled back in the chair. She picked up the violets and ran anexperienced finger around the stems until she found the pin with whichshe fastened them at her waist. Then as they occupied themselves makingselections from the candy box he looked smilingly at Marian. Her eyesnoted the change in him. He was neither disappointed nor sad. Somethinghad happened in Lilac Valley that had changed his perspective. Womanlike, she began probing.

“Glad you liked my valley,” she said. “We are told that blue is awonderful aura to surround a person, and it’s equally wonderful when itsurrounds a whole valley. With the blue sky and the blue walls and afew true-blue friends I have there, it’s naturally a very dear spot tome.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Snow, “I can see that it is. I ran down on a businessmatter. I have been deeply puzzled and much perturbed over this prizecontest. We have run these affairs once a year, sometimes oftener, fora long time, so I couldn’t understand the peculiar thing about thesimilarity of the winning plans and your work this year. I have beenholding up the prize money, because I did not feel that you were sayingexactly what was in your heart, and I couldn’t be altogether satisfiedthat everything was right. I went to Lilac Valley because I had aletter from your friend, Miss Linda Strong. There was an enclosure init.”

He drew from his pocket the folded sheet and handed it to Marian. Hereyes were surprised, incredulous, as she opened the missing sheetfrom her plans, saw the extraneous lines drawn upon it and the minutefiguring with which the margin was covered.

“Linda found it at last!” she cried. “Where in this world did she getit, and whose work is this on it?”

“She got it,” said Eugene Snow, “when she undertook to clean PeterMorrison’s workroom on an evening when she and her cook were havingsupper with him. She turned a coat belonging to his architect that hungwith some of his clothing in Peter Morrison’s garage. She was shakingthe nest of a field mouse from one of the side pockets. Naturally thisemptied all the pockets, and in gathering up their contents she cameacross that plan, which she recognized. She thought it was right totake it and very wisely felt that it was man’s business, so she sent itto me with her explanations. I went to Lilac Valley because I wanted tojudge for myself exactly what kind of young person she was. I wantedto see her environment. I wanted to see the house that she felt surewas being built from these plans. I wanted to satisfy myself of thestability of what I had to work on before I mentioned the matter to youor Henry Anderson.”

Marian sat holding the plan, listening absorbedly to what he was saying.

“It’s an ugly business,” he said, “so ugly that there is no questionwhatever but that it can be settled very quietly and without anyannoyance to you. I shall have to take the matter up with the board,but I have the details so worked out that I shall have no difficultyin arranging matters as I think best. There is no question whatever,Marian, but Anderson found that sketch on the west side of the Strongresidence. When you left your plans lying on a table before a windowin the Strong guest room the night before you came to San Franciscoyou did not know that the santana which raged through the valley a dayor two previously had stripped a screen from the window before whichyou left them. In opening your door to establish a draft before youwent to bed you started one that carried your top drawing through thewindow. Waiting for Miss Strong the next morning, in making a circuitof the grounds Anderson found it and appropriated it to most excellentadvantage. Miss Linda tells me that your study of architecture wasdiscussed at the dinner table that night. He could not have helpedrealizing that any sheet of plans he found there must have been yours.If he could acquit his conscience of taking them and using them, hewould still have to explain why he was ready to accept the first prizeand the conditions imposed when he already had a house fairly wellunder construction from the plans he submitted in the contest. The ruleis unbreakable that the plans must be original, must be unused, must beour sole property, if they take the prize.”

Marian was leaning forward, her eyes wide with interest, her breastagitated. She nodded in acquiescence. Eugene Snow reached across andhelped himself to another piece of candy from the box on her knee. Helooked at her speculatively and spoke quietly as if the matter were ofno great importance.

“Would it be agreeable, Marian, if the prize committee should announcethat there were reasons as to why they were not satisfied, that theyhave decided to return all plans and call off the present contest,opening another in a few months in which interested parties may againsubmit their drawings? I will undertake swiftly and comprehensivelyto eliminate Henry Anderson from California. I would be willing toventure quite a sum that when I finish with the youngster he will seethe beauty of going straight hereafter and the desirability of a changeof atmosphere. He’s a youngster. I hate to make the matter public, notonly on account of involving you and your friends in such disagreeablebusiness, but I am sorry for him. I would like to deal with him likethe proverbial ‘Dutch uncle,’ then I would like to send him away tomake a new start with the assurance that I am keeping close watch onhim. Would you be satisfied if I handled the matter quietly and in myown way? Could you wait a few weeks for justice?”

Marian drew a deep breath.

“Of course,” she said, “it would be wonderful if you could do that. Butwhat about Peter Morrison? How much did he know concerning the plans,and what does he know about this?”

“Nothing,” said Mr. Snow. “That most unusual young friend of yours mademe see the light very clearly concerning Peter Morrison. There is nonecessity for him ever to know that the ‘dream house,’ as Miss Lindacalls it, that he is building for his dream woman has any disagreeablehistory attached to it. He so loves the spot that he is living on itto watch that house in minutest detail. Miss Linda was fairly eloquentin the plea she made on his behalf. He strikes me as a very unusualperson, and she appealed to me in the same way. There must be somescientific explanation concerning her that I don’t just get, but I cansee that she is most unusual. When I watched them together and heardthem talk of their plans for the house and the grounds and discussingillustrations that she is making for articles that he is writing, Isaw how deep and wholesome was the friendship existing between them.I even heard that wonderful serving woman, whom they so familiarlyspeak of as ‘Katy,’ chiding Peter Morrison for allowing Linda to takeher typewriter to him and do her own work with a pen. And because MissLinda seems so great hearted and loving with her friends, I was ratherglad to hear his explanation that they were merely changing machinesfor the time being for a very particular reason of their own.”

“Do you mean,” asked Marian, “that you think there is anything morethan casual friendship between Linda and Peter Morrison?”

“Not on her part,” answered Eugene Snow. “Anybody can see that she is achild deeply engrossed in all sorts of affairs uncommon for a girl ofher age and position. Her nice perceptions, her wonderful loyalty toher friends, her loving thought for them, are manifest in everythingshe says or does. If she ever makes any mistakes they will be from thehead, not from the heart. But for the other end of the equation I couldspeak authoritatively. Katy pointed out to me the fact that if I wouldwatch Peter Morrison in Miss Linda’s presence, I should see that headored her. I did watch, and I did see that very thing. When I taxedhim about building a dream house for a dream woman, his eyes crossed aplateau, leaped a brook, and started up the side of a mountain. Theydid not rest until they had found Linda.”

Marian sat so still that it seemed as if she were not even breathing.In view of what Katy had said, and his few words with Peter Morrison,Eugene Snow had felt justified in giving Marian a hint as to what wasgoing on in Lilac Valley. Exactly what he had done he had no means ofknowing. If he had known and had talked intentionally he could not havemade clearer to Marian the thing which for months had puzzled her.She was aware that Eugene Snow was talking, that he was describingthe dinner he had been served, the wonderful wild-flower garden thathe had seen, how skillfully Linda drove the Bear-cat. She heard thesethings and dimly comprehended them but underneath, her brain wasseizing upon one fact after another. They had exchanged typewriters.The poor, foolish little kid had known how her health was wracked, howshe was suffering, how her pride would not let her stoop to Eileen’ssubterfuges and wage war with her implements for a man she did not wantif her manner of living her everyday life did not appeal to him. Lindahad known how lonely and heart hungry and disappointed she had goneaway, and loyally she had tried to create an interest in life for her;and she had succeeded entirely too well. And then in a panic she musthave gone to Peter Morrison and explained the situation; and Peter musthave agreed to take over the correspondence. One by one things that hadpuzzled her about the letters and about the whole affair began to growclear. She even saw how Linda, having friendly association with no mansave Peter, would naturally use him for a model. The trouble was that,with her gift of penetration and insight and her facility with herpen, she had overdone the matter. She had not imitated Peter; she hadbeenPeter. Marian arose suddenly.

She went home, locked the door, and one after another she read theletters that had piqued, amused, comforted, and finally intrigued her.They were brilliant letters, charming, appealing letters, and yet, withknowledge concerning them, Marian wondered how she could have failed toappreciate in the beginning that they were from Linda.

“It goes to prove,” she said at last, “how hungry the human heart isfor love and sympathy. And that poor kid, what she must have sufferedwhen she went to Peter for help! And if, as Mr. Snow thinks, he caresfor her, how he must have suffered before he agreed to help her, asno doubt he did. What I have to do is to find some way out of thesituation that will relieve Linda’s anxiety and at least partiallysave my face. I shall have to take a few days to work it out. LuckilyI haven’t answered my last letter. When I find out what I really wantto say then I will be very careful how I say it. I don’t just exactlyrelish having my letters turned over to Peter Morrison, but possibly Ican think of some way—I must think of some way—to make them feel that Ihave not been any more credulous than they.”

While she thought, both Linda and Peter were doing much thinking on thesame subject. Linda’s heart was full of gratitude to Peter for helpingher out of her very disagreeable situation. Peter had not yet openedthe packet of letters lying on his table. He had a sickening distastefor the whole transaction. He had thought that he would wait until hereceived the first letter he was to answer. If it gave him sufficientfoundation in itself for the answer, he would not be forced to searchfurther. He had smoked many pipes on this decision. After the visit ofMr. Snow, Peter had seen a great light and had decided, from the moodand the attitude of that gentleman after his interview with Katy, thathe very likely would be equal to any complication that might arise whenhe reached San Francisco. Mulling over the situation one day Peter saidreflectively to the spring which was very busy talking to him: “I ammorally certain that this matter has resolved itself into a situationthat closely resembles the bootblack’s apple: ‘they ain’t goin’ to beany core.’ I am reasonably certain that I never shall have a letter toanswer. In a few days probably I shall be able to turn back that packetto Linda without having opened it.”

To make up for the perturbation which had resulted in failure inclass and two weeks of work that represented her worst appearances inhigh-school history, Linda, her mind freed from the worry over Marian’splans, and her heart calmer over the fiasco in trying to comfort her,devoted herself absorbingly to her lessons and to the next magazinearticle that she must finish. She had decided that it was time to writeon the subject of Indian confections. Her first spare minute she andKaty must busy themselves working out the most delicious cactus candypossible. Then they could try the mesquite candy. No doubt she couldevolve a delicious gum from the mesquite and the incense plant. Sheknew she could from the willow milkweed; and under the head of “sweets”an appetizing jelly from manzanita. There were delightful drinkstoo, from the manzanita and the chia. And better than either, thelemonade berry would serve this purpose. She had not experimented toan authoritative extent with the desert pickles. And among drinks shemight use the tea made from blue-eyed grass, brewed by the Indians forfeverish conditions; and there was a whole world of interest to open upin differing seeds and berries, parched or boiled for food. And therewere the seeds that were ground for mush, like the thistle sage, andthe mock orange which was food and soap also, and the wild sunflowersthat were parched for meal, and above all, the acorns. She could seethat her problem was not going to be one of difficulty in securingsufficient material for her book; it would be how to find time togather all these things, and put them through the various processes andcombinations necessary to make edible dishes from them. It would meana long summer of interesting and absorbing work for her and for Katy.Much of it could not be done until the summer was far advanced and theseeds and the berries were ripe. She could rely on Donald to help hersearch for the material. With only herself and Katy in the family theycould give much of their time to the work.

“Where Katy will rebel,” said Linda to herself, “is when it comesto gathering sufficient seeds and parching them to make these mealand mush dishes. She will call it ‘fiddlin’ business.’ She shall bepropitiated with a new dress and a beautiful bonnet, and she shall gowith me frequently to the fields. The old dear loves to ride. Firstthing I do I’ll call at the bank again and have our affairs properlystraightened and settled there in the light of the letter Daddy leftme. Then I shall have money to get all the furniture and the rugs andthings we truly need. I’ll repaint the kitchen and get Katy some newcooking utensils to gladden her soul. And Saturday I must make my tripwith Donald account for something worth while on the book.”

All these plans were feasible. What Linda had to do was to accomplishthem, and this she proceeded to do in a swift and businesslike manner.She soon reached the place where the whole house with the exception ofEileen’s suite had been gone over, freshened and refurnished to herliking. The guest-room furniture had been moved to her rejuvenatedroom. On the strength of her returns from the book she had disposedof her furniture and was finding much girlish delight in occupying abeautiful room, daintily decorated, comfortably furnished with piecesof her own selection. As she and Katy stood looking over their workwhen everything was ready for her first night of occupancy Katy hadsaid to her:

“It’s jist right and proper, lambie; it’s jist the way it ought to be;and now say the word and let me clean out Eileen’s suate and get itready for Miss Marian, so if she would drop down unexpected she wouldfind we was good as our word.”

“All right,” said Linda.

“And what am I to do with the stuff?” inquired Katy.

“Katy, my dear,” said Linda with a dry laugh, “you’ll think I amfoolish, but I have the queerest feeling concerning those things.I can’t feel that Eileen has done with them; I can’t feel that shewill never want them again; I can’t feel that they should go to somesecond-hand basement. Pack all of her clothing that you can manage inher trunk and put it in the garret, and what the trunk won’t hold packin a tight box and put that in the garret also. She hasn’t written mea line; she has sent me no address; I don’t know what to do; but, as Ihave said before, I am going to save the things at least a year and seewhether some day Eileen won’t think of something she wants to do withthem. Clean the rooms and I will order Marian’s things sent.”

According to these arrangements it was only a few days until Lindawrote Marian that her room was ready for her and that any time shedesired to come and take possession she could test the lovingness ofthe welcome that awaited her by becoming intimately acquainted with it.Marian answered the letter immediately. She said that she was planningto come very soon to test that welcome. She longed for the quiet of thevalley, for its cool, clean, wild air. She was very tired; she neededrest. She thought she would love the new home they were offering her.Then came two amazing paragraphs.

The other day Dana and I went into one of the big café’s in thecity to treat ourselves to a taste of the entertainment withwhich the people of wealth regale themselves. We had wandered inlaughingly jesting about what we should order, and ran into Eileenin the company of her aunt and uncle and a very flashy and loudlydressed young man, evidently a new suitor of Eileen’s. I don’tthink Eileen wanted to introduce us, and yet she acted like aperson ravenous for news of her home and friends. She did introduceus, and immediately her ponderous uncle took possession of us. Itseems that the man is a brother of Eileen’s mother. Linda, he isbig and gross, he is everything that a man of nice perceptionswould not be, but he does love Eileen. He is trying conscientiouslyto please her. His wife is the kind of person who would marry thatkind of man and think everything he said and did was right. And thesuitor, my dear, was the kind of man who could endure that kind ofpeople. Eileen was almost, if not quite, the loveliest thing I everhave seen. She was plain; she was simple; but it was the costlysimplicity of extravagance. Ye gods! but she had pearls of the sizeshe had always wanted. She tried with all her might to be herself,but she knows me well enough to know what I would think and what Iwould write to you concerning the conditions under which I met her.We were simply forced to lunch with them. We could only nibble atthe too rich, too highly seasoned food set before us. And I noticedthat Eileen nibbled also. She is not going to grow fat and waddleand redden her nose, but, my dear, back deep in her eyes and inthe curve of her lips and in the tone of her voice there were suchdisappointment and discontent as I never have seen in any woman.She could not suppress them; she could not conceal them. There wasnothing on earth she could do but sit quietly and endure. Theydelivered us at our respective offices, leaving both of us dateson which to visit them, but neither of us intends to call on them.Eileen’s face was a tragedy when her uncle insisted on making thearrangements. I can at least spare her that.

And now, my dear, life is growing so full and my time is so takenwith my work at the office and with my widening friendships withDana and her friends and with Mr. Snow, that I really feel I havenot time to go farther with our anonymous correspondence. It is allI can do to find time to write you letters such as the one I amwriting. I have done my best to play up to what you expected of meand I think I have succeeded in fooling you quite as much as youhave felt that you were fooling me. But, Linda dear, I want youalways to know that I appreciate the spirit in which you began thisthing. I know why you did it and I shall always love you a triflemore for your thought of me and your effort to tide over the verydark days you knew I would be facing in San Francisco. I think,dear friend of mine, that I have had my share of dark days. I thinkthere is very beautiful sunlight ahead for me. And by and by I hopeto come into happiness that maybe is even more than my share. I amcoming to see you soon and then I will tell you all about it.

There was more of the letter, but at that point Linda made one headlongrush for the Bear-cat. She took the curve on two wheels and almost raninto the mountain face behind the garage before she could slow down.Then she set the Cat screaming wildly for Peter. As he came up to thecar she leaned toward him, shaking with excitement.

“Peter,” she cried, “have you opened that packet of letters yet?”

“No,” said Peter, “I have not.”

“Then give them to me quickly, Peter,” said Linda.

Peter rushed into the garage and brought out the packet. Linda caughtit in both hands and dropped it in her lap.

“Well, thank God,” she said devoutly. “And, Peter, the joke’s on me.Marian knew I was writing those letters all the time and she justpretended that she cared for them to make the game interesting for me.And when she had so many friends and so much to do, she hadn’t time forthem any longer; then she pretended that she was getting awfully inearnest in order to stop me, and she did stop me all right.”

Linda’s face was a small panorama of conflicting emotions as sheappealed to Peter.

“Peter,” she said in a quivering voice, “you can testify that shestopped me properly, can’t you, Peter?”

Peter tried to smile. He was older than Linda, and he was thinkingswiftly, intently.

“Yes, kid,” he said with utmost corroboration, “yes, kid, she stoppedyou, but I can’t see that it was necessary literally to scare the lifeout of you till she had you at the point where you were thinking oftaking off from a mountain or into the sea. Did you really mean that,Linda?”

Linda relaxed suddenly. She sank back into the deeply padded seat ofthe Bear-cat. A look of fright and entreaty swept into her dark eyes.

“Yes, Peter, I did mean it,” she said with finality. “I couldn’t havelived if I had hurt Marian irreparably. She has been hurt so muchalready. And, Peter, it was awfully nice of you to wait about readingthese letters. Even if she only did it for a joke, I think Marian wouldrather that you had not read them. Now I’ll go back home and begin towork in earnest on the head piece of ‘How to Grow Good Citizens.’ And Iquite agree with you, Peter, that the oath of allegiance, citizenship,and the title to a piece of real estate are the prime requisites.People have no business coming to our country to earn money that theyintend to carry away to invest in the development and the strengtheningof some other country that may some day be our worst enemy. I have notfound out yet how to say it in a four-by-twelve-inch strip, but bythe time I have read the article aloud to my skylight along about tento-night I’ll get an inspiration; I am sure I shall.”

“Of course you will,” said Peter; “but don’t worry about it, dear;don’t lose sleep. Take things slower. Give time for a little more fleshto grow on your bones. And don’t forget that while you’re helpingDonald to keep at the head of his classes it’s your first job to keepat the head of your own.”

“Thank you,” said Linda. “How is the dream coming?”

“Beautifully,” said Peter. “One of these days you’re going to comerushing around the boulders and down the side of the building to findall this débris cleared away and the place for a lawn leveled. I amfighting down every possible avenue of expertise on the building in theeffort to save money to make the brook run and the road wind where youhave indicated that you want them to follow you.”

Linda looked at Peter while a queer, reflective light gathered in hereyes. At last she said soberly: “Well, I don’t know, Peter, that youshould make them so very personal to me as all that.”

“Why not?” asked Peter casually. “Since there is no one else, why not?”

Linda released the clutch and started the car. She backed in front ofthe garage and turned. She was still thinking deeply as she stopped.Once again she extended a hand to Peter.

“Thank you a thousand times for not reading these letters, Peter,” shesaid. “I can’t express how awfully fine I think it is of you. And ifit’s all right with you, perhaps there’s not any real reason why youshould not run that brook and drive that road the way I think theyshould go. Somebody is going to design them. Why shouldn’t I, if itpleases you to have me?”

“It pleases me very greatly,” said Peter—“more than anything else I canthink of in all the world at this minute.”

And then he did a thing that he had done once or twice before. He bentback Linda’s fingers and left another kiss in the palm of her hand, andthen he closed her fingers very tightly over it.

CHAPTER XXXI

The middle of the week Linda had told Katy that she intended stockingup the Bear-cat for three and that she would take her along on the nextSaturday’s trip to her canyon kitchen. It was a day upon which she hadplanned to gather greens, vegetables, and roots, and prepare a dinnerwholly from the wild. She was fairly sure exactly where in nature shewould find the materials she wanted, but she knew that the search wouldbe long and tiring. It would be jolly to have Katy to help her preparethe lunch. It would please Katy immensely to be taken; and the originalthings she said in her quaint Irish brogue greatly amused Donald. Thearrangement had been understood among them for some time, so they allstarted on their journey filled with happy expectations. They closedthe house and the garage carefully. Linda looked over the equipment ofthe Bear-cat minutely, making sure that her field axe, saw, knives, andher field glasses were in place. Because more food than usual was to beprepared in the kitchen they took along a nest of cooking vessels anda broiler. They found Donald waiting before either of them were ready,and in great glee, with much laughing and many jests they rolled downthe valley in the early morning. They drove to the kitchen, spreadtheir blankets, set up their table, and arranged the small circularopening for their day’s occupancy. While Katy and Linda were busy withthese affairs Donald took the axe and collected a big heap of wood.Then they left Katy to burn the wood and have a deep bed of coals readywhile they started out to collect from the canyon walls, the foot ofthe mountains, and the near-by desert the materials they would use fortheir dinner.

Just where the desert began to climb the mountain Linda had for along time watched a big bed of amole. Donald used the shovel, she thehatchet, and soon they had brought to the surface such a quantity thatDonald protested.

“But I have two uses for them to-day,” explained Linda. “They mustserve for potatoes and they have to furnish our meat.”

“Oh, I get you,” said Donald. “I have always been crazy to try that.”

So he began to dig again enthusiastically.

“Now I’ll tell you what I think we had better do,” said Linda. “Wewill skirmish around this side of the mountain and find a very nicetender yucca shoot; and then we’ll take these back to Katy and let herbury them in the ashes and keep up the fire while we forage for theremainder of our wild Indian feast.”

Presently they found a yucca head that Linda said was exactly right, adelicate pink, thicker than her wrist and two feet in length. With thisand the amole they ran back to Katy. She knew how to prepare the amolefor roasting. Linda gave her a few words of instruction concerning theyucca. Then from the interior of the Bear-cat she drew a tightly rolledsection of wire window screening. Just where a deep, wide pool narrowedat a rocky defile they sank the screening, jammed it well to thebottom, fastened it tight at the sides, and against the current sideof it they threw leaves, grass, chunks of moss, any débris they couldgather that would make a temporary dam. Then, standing on one side withher field knife, Linda began to slice the remainder of the amole verythin and to throw it over the surface of the pool. On the other, Donaldpounded the big, juicy bulbs to pulp and scattered it broadcast overthe water. Linda instructed Katy to sit on the bank with a long-handledlanding net and whenever a trout arose, to snatch it out as speedily aspossible, being careful not to take more than they would require.

Then the two youngsters, exhilarated with youth, with living, withthe joy of friendship, with the lure of the valley, with the headyintoxication of the salt breeze and the gold of the sunshine, climbedinto the Bear-cat and went rolling through the canyon and out to thevalley on the far side. Here they gathered the tenderest heart shootsof the lupin until Linda said they had enough. Then to a particularspot that she knew on the desert they hurried for the enlarged stemsof the desert trumpet which was to serve that day for an appetizer inthe stead of pickles. Here, too, they filled a bucket from the heartof a big Bisnaga cactus as a basis for their drink. Among KatherineO’Donovan’s cooking utensils there was a box of delicious cactuscandy made from the preserved and sun-dried heart meat of this samefruit which was to serve as their confection. On the way back theystopped at the bridge and gathered cress for their salad. When theyreturned to Katy she had five fine trout lying in the shade, and withmore experienced eyes and a more skillful hand Linda in a few minutesdoubled this number. Then they tore out the dam, rinsed the screen andspread it over a rock to dry. While Donald scaled the fish Linda putthe greens to cook, prepared the salad and set the table. Once, as heworked under her supervision, Linda said to Donald: “Now about bread,kid—there’s not going to be any bread, because the Indians did not haveit when they lived the way we are living to-day. When you reach theplace where your left hand feels empty without a piece of bread in it,just butter up another amole and try it. It will serve the same purposeas bread, and be much better for the inner man.”

“If you would let me skin these fish,” said Donald, “I could do it muchfaster and make a better job of it.”

“But you shouldn’t skin them; you want the skin to hold the meattogether when it begins to cook tender; and you should be able to peelit off and discard it if it burns or gets smoky in the cooking. It’s agreat concession to clean them as we do. The Indians cooked them in thealtogether and ate the meat from the bones.”

“Oh my tummy!” said Donald. “I always thought there was some darksecret about the Indians.”

Linda sat on a rock opposite him and clasped her hands around herknees. She looked at him meditatively.

“Did you?” she asked. “Suppose you revise that opinion. Our NorthAmerican Indians in their original state were as fine as any peoplesthat ever have been discovered the round of the globe. My grandfathercame into intimate contact with them in the early days, and he saidthat their religion, embracing the idea of a great spirit to whom theywere responsible for their deeds here, and a happy hunting groundto which they went as a reward for decent living, was as fine asany religion that ever has been practiced by people of any nation.Immorality was unknown among them. Family ties were formed and theywere binding. They loved their children and reared them carefully. Theywere hardy and healthful. Until the introduction of whiskey and what weare pleased to term civilized methods of living, very few of them diedsave from war or old age. They were free; they were happy. The moping,lazy, diseased creature that you find sleeping in the sun around thereservations is a product of our civilization. Nice commentary oncivilization, isn’t it?”

“For heaven’s sake, Linda,” said Donald, “don’t start any bigbrainstorming trains of thought to-day! Grant me repose. I haveoverworked my brain for a few months past until I know only one thingfor certain.”

“All right then, me lad, this is the time for the big secret,” saidLinda. “I just happened to be in the assembly room on some businessof my own last Thursday afternoon when my sessions were over, and Ioverheard your professor in trigonometry tell a man I did not know, whoseemed to be a friend visiting him, that the son of Judge Whiting wasdoing the finest work that ever had been done in any of the Los Angeleshigh schools, and that undoubtedly you were going to graduate withhigher honours than any other boy ever had from that school.”

Donald sat thinking this over. He absently lifted an elbow and wipedthe tiny scales from his face with his shirt sleeve.

“Young woman,” he said solemnly, “them things what you’re saying, arethey ‘cross your heart, honest to goodness, so help you,’ truth, or arethey the fruit of a perfervid imagination?”

Linda shook her head vigorously.

“De trut’, kid,” she said, “de gospel trut’. You have the Jap goingproperly. He can’t stop you now. You have fought your good fight, andyou have practically won it. All you have to do is to carry on till themiddle of June, and you’re It.”

“I wish Dad knew,” said Donald in a low voice.

“The Judge does know,” said Linda heartily. “It wasn’t fifteen minutesafter I heard that till I had him on the telephone repeating it asfast as I could repeat. Come to think of it, haven’t you noticed aparticularly cocky set of his head and the corksome lightness about hisheels during the past few days?”

“By Jove, he hasbeen happy about something!” said Donald. “AndI noticed that Louise and the Mater were sort of cheery and making aspecialty of the only son and brother.”

“Sure, brother, sure,” said Linda. “Hurry up and scrape those fish andlet’s scamper down the canyon merely for the joy of flying with wingson our feet. You’re It, young man, just It!”

Donald was sitting on a boulder. On another in front of him he wasoperating on the trout. His hands were soiled; his hair was tousled;he was fairly well decorated with fine scales. He looked at Lindaappealingly.

“Am I ‘It’ with you, Linda?” he asked soberly.

“Sure you are,” said Linda. “You’re the best friend I have.”

“Will you write to me when I go to college this fall?”

“Why, you couldn’t keep me from it,” said Linda. “I’ll have so manythings to tell you. And when your first vacation comes we’ll make it ahummer.”

“I know Dad won’t let me come home for my holidays except for themidsummer ones,” said Donald soberly. “It would take most of the timethere would be of the short holidays to travel back and forth.”

“You will have to go very carefully about getting a start,” said Linda,“and you should be careful to find the right kind of friends at thevery start. Christmas and Thanksgiving boxes can always be sent on timeto reach you. It won’t be so long for you as for us; and by the timeyou have Oka Sayye beaten to ravellings you will have such a ‘perfecthabit’ that you will start right in with the beating idea. That shouldkeep you fairly busy, because most of the men you come up against willbe beaters themselves.”

“Yes, I know,” said Donald. “Are you going to start me to college withthe idea that I have to keep up this beating habit? If I were to be oneof fifty or a hundred, wouldn’t that be good enough?”

“Why, sure,” said Linda, “if you will be satisfied with having me likefifty or a hundred as well as I do you.”

“Oh, damn!” said Donald angrily. “Do I have to keep up this top-crustbusiness all my days?”

Linda looked at him with a queer smile on her lips.

“Not unless you want to, Donald,” she said quietly; “not unless youthink you would rather.”

Donald scraped a fish vigorously. Linda sat watching him. Presently thetense lines around his eyes vanished. A faint red crept up his neckand settled on his left cheek bone. A confused grin slowly widened hisnaturally wide mouth.

“Then it’s me for the top crust,” he said conclusively.

“Then it’s me for you,” answered Linda in equally as matter-of-facttones; and rising, she gathered up the fish and carried them to Katywhile Donald knelt beside the chilly stream and scoured his face andhands, after which Linda whipped away the scales with an improvisedbrush of willow twigs.

It was such a wonderful day; it was such an unusual and deliciousfeast. Plump brook trout, fresh from icy water, delicately broiled oversearing wood coals, are the finest of food. Through the meal to thepoint where Donald lay on his back at the far curve of the canyon wall,nibbling a piece of cactus candy, everything had been perfect. Ninemonths would be a long time to be gone, but Linda would wait for him,and she would write to him. He raised his head on his elbow and calledacross to her: “Say, Linda, how often will you write to me?”

Linda answered promptly: “Every Saturday night. Saturday is our day.I’ll tell you what has happened all the week. I’ll tell you speciallywhat a darned unprofitable day Saturday is when you’re three thousandmiles away.”

Bending over the canyon fireplace, her face red with heat and exertion,Katherine O’Donovan caught up her poker and beat up the fire until theashes flew.

“Easy, Katy, easy,” cautioned Linda. “We may want to bury those coalsand resurrect them to warm up what is left for supper.”

“We’ll do no such thing,” said Katy promptly. “What remains goes tofeed the fish. Next time it’s hungry ye are, we’re goin’ to hit itstraight to Lilac Valley and fill ourselves with God’s own bread andbeefsteak and paraties. Don’t ye think we’re goin’ to be atin’ thesehaythen messes twice in one day.”

To herself she was saying: “The sooner I get you home to PaterMorrison, missy, the better I’ll be satisfied.”

Once she stood erect, her hands at her belt, her elbows widespread,and with narrowed eyes watched the youngsters. Her lips were closed sotightly they wrinkled curiously as she turned back to the fireplace.

“Nayther one of them fool kids has come to yet,” she said to herself,“and a mighty good thing it is that they haven’t.”

Linda was looking speculatively at Donald as he lay stretched on theIndian blanket at the base of the cliff. And then, because she was forever busy with Nature, her eyes strayed above him up the side of thecliff, noting the vegetation, the scarred rocks, the sheer beauty ofthe canyon wall until they reached the top. Then, for no reason at all,she sat looking steadily at a huge boulder overhanging the edge of thecliff, and she was wondering how many ages it had hung there and howmany more it would hang, poised almost in air, when a tiny pebble atits base loosened and came rattling and bounding down the canyon face.Every nerve in Linda tensed. She opened her mouth, but not a soundcame. For a breathless second she was paralyzed. Then she shriekedwildly: “Donald, Donald, roll under the ledge! Quick, quick!”

She turned to Katy.

“Back, Katy, back!” she screamed. “That boulder is loose; it’s comingdown!”

For months Donald Whiting had obeyed Linda implicitly and instantly.He had moved with almost invisible speed at her warning many timesbefore. Sometimes it had been a venomous snake, sometimes a yuccabayonet, sometimes poison vines, again unsafe footing—in each caseinstant obedience had been the rule. He did hot “question why” at herwarning; he instantly did as he was told. He, too, had noticed thefalling pebble. With all the agility of which he was capable he rolledunder the narrow projecting ledge above him. Katherine O’Donovan was agood soldier also. She whirled and ran to the roadway. She had barelyreached it when, with a grinding crash, down came the huge boulder,carrying bushes, smaller rocks, sand, and débris with it. On accountof its weight it fell straight, struck heavily, and buried itself inthe earth exactly on the spot upon which Donald had been lying. Lindaraised terrified eyes to the top of the wall. For one instant a darkobject peered over it and then drew back. Without thought for herselfLinda rushed to the boulder, and kneeling, tried to see back of it.

“Donald!” she cried, “Donald, are you all right?”

“Guess I am, unless it hit one foot pretty hard. Feels fast.”

“Can you get out?” she cried, beginning to tear with her hands at thestone and the bushes where she thought his head would be.

“I’m fast; but I’m all right,” he panted. “Why the devil did that thinghang there for ages, and then come down on me to-day?”

“Yes, why did it?” gasped Linda. “Donald, I must leave you a minute.I’ve got to know if I saw a head peer over just as that stone camedown.”

“Be careful what you do!” he cried after her.

Linda sprang to her feet and rushed to the car. She caught out thefield glasses and threw the strap over her head as she raced to thefar side of the fireplace where the walls were not so sheer. KatherineO’Donovan promptly seized the axe, caught its carrying strap lyingbeside it, thrust the handle through, swung it over her own head,dropped it between her shoulders, and ripping off her dress skirt shestarted up the cliff after Linda. Linda was climbing so swiftly and soabsorbedly that she reached the top before she heard a sound behindher. Then she turned with a white face, and her mouth dropped open asshe saw Katy three fourths of the way up the cliff. For one second shewas again stiff with terror, then, feeling she could do nothing, shestepped back out of sight and waited a second until Katy’s red headand redder face appeared over the edge. Realizing that her authoritywas of no avail, that Katy would follow her no matter where she wentor what she did, and with no time to argue, Linda simply called to herencouragingly: “Follow where I go; take your time; hang tight, olddear, it’s dangerous!”

She started around the side of the mountain, heading almost straightupward, traveling as swiftly and as noiselessly as possible. Overbig boulders, on precarious footing, clinging to bushes, they madetheir way until they reached a place that seemed to be sheer abovethem; certainly it was for hundreds of feet below. On a point of rockscreened by overhanging bushes Linda paused until Katy overtook her.

“We are about stalled,” she panted. “Find a good footing and stay whereyou are. I’m going to climb out on these bushes and see if I can get aview of the mountain side.”

Advancing a few yards, Linda braced herself, drew around her glasses,and began searching the side of the mountain opposite her and below asfar as she could range with the glasses. At last she gave up.

“Must have gone the other way,” she said to Katy. “I’ll crawl back toyou. We’ll go after help and get Donald out. There will be time enoughto examine the cliff afterward; but I am just as sure now as I will bewhen it is examined that that stone was purposely loosened to a degreewhere a slight push would drop it. As Donald says, there’s no reasonwhy it should hang there for centuries and fall on him to-day. Shutyour eyes, old dear, and back up. We must go to Donald. I rather thinkit’s on one of his feet from what he said. Let me take one more goodlook.”

At that minute from high on the mountain above them a shower of sandand pebbles came rattling down. Linda gave Katy one terrified look.

“My God!” she panted. “He’s coming down right above us!”

Just how Linda recrossed the bushes and reached Katy she did notknow. She motioned for her to make her way back as they had come.Katy planted her feet squarely upon the rock. Her lower jaw shot out;her eyes were aflame. She stood perfectly still with the exceptionof motioning Linda to crowd back under the bushes, and again Lindarealized that she had no authority; as she had done from childhoodwhen Katy was in earnest, Linda obeyed her. She had barely reached theoverhanging bushes, crouched under them, and straightened herself,when a small avalanche came showering down, and a minute later a pairof feet were level with her head. Then screened by the bushes, shecould have reached out and touched Oka Sayye. As his feet found a solidresting place on the ledge on which Linda and Katy stood, and while hewas still clinging to the bushes, Katherine O’Donovan advanced uponhim. He had felt that his feet were firm, let go his hold, and turned,when he faced the infuriated Irishwoman. She had pulled the strap fromaround her neck, slipped the axe from it, and with a strong thrustshe planted the head of it against Oka Sayye’s chest so hard thatshe almost fell forward. The Jap plunged backward among the bushes,the roots of which had supported Linda while she used the glasses.Then he fell, sliding among them, snatching wildly. Linda gripped theoverhanging growth behind which she had been screened, and leanedforward.

“He has a hold; he is coming back up, Katy!” she cried.

Katy took another step forward. She looked over the cliff down anappalling depth of hundreds of feet. Deliberately she raised the axe,circled it round her head and brought it down upon that particularbranch to which Oka Sayye was clinging. She cut it through, and the axerang upon the stone wall behind it. As she swayed forward Linda reachedout, gripped Katy and pulled her back.

“Get him?” she asked tersely, as if she were speaking of a rat or arattlesnake.

Katy sank back limply against the wall. Linda slowly turned her around,and as she faced the rock, “Squeeze tight against it shut your eyes,and keep a stiff upper lip,” she cautioned. “I’m going to work aroundyou; I want to be ahead of you.”

She squeezed past Katy, secured the axe and hung it round her own neck.She cautioned Katy to keep her eyes shut and follow where she led her,then they started on their way back. Linda did not attempt to descendthe sheer wall by which they had climbed, but making a detour she wentlower, and in a very short time they were back in the kitchen. Lindarushed to the boulder and knelt again, but she could get no responseto her questions. Evidently Donald’s foot was caught and he wasunconscious from the pain. Squeezing as close as she could, she thrusther arm under the ledge until she could feel his head. Then she went tothe other side, and there she could see that his right foot was pinnedunder the rock. She looked at Katy reassuringly, then she took off theaxe and handed it to her.

“He’s alive,” she said. “Can’t kill a healthy youngster to have acrushed foot. You stand guard until I take the Bear-cat and bring help.It’s not far to where I can find people.”

At full speed Linda put the Cat through the stream and out of thecanyon until she reached cultivated land, where she found a man whowould gather other men and start to the rescue. She ran on until shefound a house with a telephone. There she called Judge Whiting, tellinghim to bring an ambulance and a surgeon, giving him explicit directionsas to where to come, and assuring him that Donald could not possibly beseriously hurt. She found time to urge, also, that before starting heset in motion any precautions he had taken for Donald’s protection. Shetold him where she thought what remained of Oka Sayye could be found.And then, as naturally and as methodically as she had done all therest, she called Peter Morrison and told him that she was in troubleand where he could find her.

And because Peter had many miles less distance to travel than theothers she had summoned, he arrived first. He found Linda and Katy hadburrowed under the stone until they had made an opening into whichthe broken foot might sink so that the pain of the pressure wouldbe relieved. Before the rock, with picks and shovels, half a dozensympathetic farmers from ranches and cultivated land at the mouth ofthe canyon were digging furiously to make an opening undermining theboulder so that it could be easily tipped forward. Donald was consciousand they had been passing water to him and encouraging him with thereport that his father and a good surgeon would be there very soon.Katherine O’Donovan had crouched at one side of the boulder, supportingthe hurt foot. She was breathing heavily and her usually red face was aghastly green. Linda had helped her to resume the skirt of her dress.At the other side of the rock the girl was reaching to where she couldtouch Donald’s head or reassuringly grip the hand that he could extendto her. Peter seized Linda’s axe and began hewing at the earth and rockin order to help in the speedy removal of the huge boulder. Soon JudgeWhiting, accompanied by Doctor Fleming, the city’s greatest surgeon,came roaring into the canyon and stopped on the roadway when he saw theparty. The Judge sprang from the car, leaped the stream, and startedtoward them. In an effort to free his son before his arrival, all themen braced themselves against the face of the cliff and pushed withtheir combined strength. The boulder dropped forward into the trenchthey had dug for it enough to allow Peter to crowd his body between itand the cliff and lift Donald’s head and shoulders. Linda instantly ranaround the boulder, pushed her way in, and carefully lifting Donald’sfeet, she managed to work the lithe slenderness of her body through theopening, so that they carried Donald out and laid him down in the open.He was considerably dazed and shaken, cruelly hurt, but proved himselfa game youngster of the right mettle. He raised himself to a sittingposture, managing a rather stiff-lipped smile for his father and Linda.The surgeon instantly began cutting to reach the hurt foot, while PeterMorrison supported the boy’s head and shoulders on one side, his fatheron the other.

An exclamation of dismay broke from the surgeon’s lips. He looked atJudge Whiting and nodded slightly. The men immediately picked up Donaldand carried him to the ambulance. Katherine O’Donovan sat down suddenlyand buried her face in the skirt of her dress. Linda laid a reassuringhand on her shoulder.

“Don’t, Katy,” she said. “Keep up your nerve; you’re all right, olddear. Donald’s fine. That doesn’t mean anything except that his footis broken, so he won’t be able, and it won’t be necessary for him, toendure the pain of setting it in a cast without an anæsthetic; andDoctor Fleming can work much better where he has every convenience.It’s all right.”

The surgeon climbed into the ambulance and they started on an emergencyrun to the hospital. As the car turned and swept down the canyon, forno reason that she could have explained, Linda began to shake until herteeth clicked. Peter Morrison sprang back across the brook, and runningto her side, he put his arm around her and with one hand he pressed herhead against his shoulder, covering her face.

“Steady, Linda,” he said quietly, “steady. You know that he is allright. It will only be a question of a short confinement.”

Linda made a brave effort to control herself. She leaned against Peterand held out both her hands.

“I’m all right,” she chattered. “Give me a minute.”

Judge Whiting came to them.

“I am getting away immediately,” he said. “I must reach Louise andMother before they get word of this. Doctor Fleming will take care ofDonald all right. What happened, Linda? Can you tell me?”

Linda opened her lips and tried to speak, but she was too breathless,too full of excitement, to be coherent. To her amazement KatherineO’Donovan scrambled to her feet, lifted her head and faced the Judge.She pointed to the fireplace.

“I was right there, busy with me cookin’ utensils,” she said, “MissLinda was a-sittin’ on that exact spot, they jist havin finished atin’some of her haythen messes; and the lad was lyin, square where theboulder struck, on the Indian blanket, atin’ a pace of cactus candy.And jist one pebble came rattlin’ down, but Miss Linda happened to belookin’, and she scramed to the b’y to be rollin’ under where ye foundhim; so he gave a flop or two, and it’s well that he took his orderswithout waitin’ to ask the raison for them, for if he had, at theprisint minute he would be about as thick as a shate of writing paper.The thing dropped clear and straight and drove itself into the earthand stone below it, as ye see.”

Katherine O’Donovan paused.

“Yes,” said the Judge. “Anything else?”

“Miss Linda got to him and she made sure he had brathin’ space and hewasn’t hurt bad, and then she told him he had got to stand it, because,sittin’ where she did, she faced the cliff and she thought she had seensomeone. She took the talescope and started climbin’, and I took theaxe and I started climbin’ after her.”

Katy broke down and emitted a weird Irish howl. Linda instantly bracedherself, threw her arms around Katy, and drew her head to her shoulder.She looked at Judge Whiting and began to talk.

“I can show you where she followed me, straight up the face of thecanyon, almost,” she said. “And she never had tried to climb a canyonside for a yard, either, but she came up and over after me, like a cat.And up there on a small ledge Oka Sayye came down directly above us. Icouldn’t be mistaken. I saw him plainly. I know him by sight as wellas I do any of you. We heard the stones coming down before him, and weknew someone was going to be on us who was desperate enough to kill.When he touched our level and turned to follow the ledge we were on, Ipushed him over.”

Katy shook off Linda’s protecting arm and straightened suddenly.

“Why, ye domned little fool, ye!” she screamed. “Ye never told a liebefore in all your days! Judge Whiting, I had the axe round me neckby the climbin’ strap, and I got it in me fingers when we heard thecrature comin’, and against his chist I set it, and I gave him a shovethat sint him over. Like a cat he was a-clingin’ and climbin’, and whenI saw him comin’ up on us with that awful face of his, I jist swungthe axe like I do when I’m rejoocin’ a pace of eucalyptus to fireplacesize, and whack! I took the branch supportin’ him, and a dome’ good axeI spoiled doin’ it.”

Katy folded her arms, lifted her chin higher than it ever had beenbefore, and glared defiance at the Judge.

“Now go on,” she said, “and decide what ye’ll do to me for it.”

The Judge reached over and took both Katherine O’Donovan’s hands in afirm grip.

“You brave woman!” he said. “If it lay in my power, I would give youthe Carnegie Medal. In any event I will see that you have a goodbungalow with plenty of shamrock on each side of your front path, anda fair income to keep you comfortable when the rheumatic days are uponyou.”

“I am no over-feeder,” said Katy proudly. “I’m daily exercisin’ memuscles enough to kape them young. The rheumatism I’ll not have. Andnayther will I have the house nor the income. I’ve saved me money; I’vean income of me own.”

“And as for the bungalow,” interrupted Linda, “Katherine, as I havementioned frequently before is my father, and my mother, and my wholefamily, and her front door is mine.”

“Sure,” said Katy proudly. “When these two fine people before youset up their hearthstone, a-swapin’ it I’ll be, and carin’ for theiryoungsters; but, Judge, I would like a bit of the shamrock. Ye might besendin’ me a start of that, if it would plase Your Honor.”

Judge Whiting looked intently at Katherine O’Donovan. And then, as ifthey had been on the witness stand, he looked searchingly at Linda. ButLinda was too perturbed, too accustomed to Katy’s extravagant nonsenseeven to notice the purport of what she had said. Then the Judge turnedhis attention to Peter Morrison and realized that at least one of theparties to Katherine’s proposed hearthstone had understood and heartilyendorsed her proposal.

“I will have to be going. The boy and his mother will need me,” hesaid. “I will see all of you later.”

Then he sprang across the brook and sent his car roaring down thecanyon after the ambulance.

Once more Katy sank to the ground. Linda looked at her as she buriedher face and began to wail.

“Peter,” she said quietly, “hunt our belongings and pack them in theBear-cat the best you can. Excuse us for a few minutes. We must getthis out of our systems.”

Gravely she sat down beside Katy, laid her head on her shoulder, andbegan to cry very nearly as energetically as Katy herself. And thatwas the one thing which was most effective in restoring Katy’s nerves.Tears were such an unaccustomed thing with Linda that Katy controlledherself speedily so that she might be better able to serve the girl.In a few minutes Katy had reduced her emotions to a dry sniffle. Shelifted her head, groped for her pocket, and being unable to find itfor the very good reason that she was sitting upon it, she used hergingham hem as a handkerchief. Once she had risen to the physicaleffort of wiping her eyes, she regained calmness rapidly. The last timeshe applied the hem she looked at Peter, but addressed the Almighty inresigned tones: “There, Lord, I guess that will do.”

In a few minutes she was searching the kitchen, making sure that noknives, spoons, or cooking utensils were lost. Missing her support,Linda sat erect and endeavored to follow Katy’s example. Her eyesmet Peter’s and when she saw that his shoulders were shaking, a dry,hysterical laugh possessed her.

“Yes, Katy,” she panted, “that willdo, and remember the tearswe are shedding are over Donald’s broken foot, and because this mayinterfere with his work, though I don’t think it will for long.”

“When I cry,” said Katy tersely, “I cry because I feel like it.I wasn’t wapin’ over the snake that’d plan a death like that foranyone”—Katy waved toward the boulder—“and nayther was I wastin’ metears over the fut of a kid bein’ jommed up a trifle.”

“Well, then, Katy,” asked Linda tremulously, “why were you crying?”

“Well, there’s times,” said Katy judicially, “when me spirits tell me Iwould be the better for lettin’ off a wee bit of stame, and one of themtimes havin’ arrived, I jist bowed me head to it, as is in accordancewith the makings of me. Far be it from me to be flyin’ in the face ofProvidence and sayin’ I won’t, when all me interior disposhion says tome: ‘Ye will!’”

“And now, Linda,” said Peter, “can you tell us why you were crying?”

“Why, I think,” said Linda, “that Katy has explained sufficiently forboth of us. It was merely time for us to howl after such fearful nervestrain, so we howled.”

“Well, that’s all right,” said Peter. “Now I’ll tell you something. Ifyou had gone away in that ambulance to an anesthetic and an operation,no wildcat that ever indulged in a hunger hunt through this canyoncould have put up a howl equal to the one that I would have sent up.”

“Peter,” said Linda, “there is nothing funny about this; it’s no tamefor jest. But do men have nerves? Would you really?”

“Of course I would,” said Peter.

“No, you wouldn’t,” contradicted Linda. “You just say that because youwant to comfort us for having broken down, instead of trying to teaseus as most men would.”

“He would, too!” said Katy, starting to the Bear-cat with a load ofutensils. “Now come on; let’s go home and be gettin’ claned up andready for what’s goin’ to happen to us. Will they be jailin’ us,belike, Miss Linda?”

Linda looked at Peter questioningly.

“No,” he said quietly. “It is very probable that the matter never willbe mentioned to you again, unless Judge Whiting gets hold of someclue that he wishes to use as an argument against matured Japs beingadmitted in the same high-school classes with our clean, decent, youngAmericans. They stopped that in the grades several years ago, I amtold.”

Before they could start back to Lilac Valley a car stopped in thecanyon and a couple of men introducing themselves as having come fromJudge Whiting interviewed Katy and Linda exhaustively. Then Lindapointed out to them an easier but much longer route by which they mightreach the top of the canyon to examine the spot from which the boulderhad fallen. She showed them where she and Katy had ascended, and toldthem where they would be likely to find Oka Sayye.

When it came to a question of really starting, Linda looked withappealing eyes at Peter.

“Peter,” she said, “could we fix it any way so you could drive Katy andme home? For the first time since I have begun driving this spring Idon’t feel equal to keeping the road.”

“Of course,” said Peter. “I’ll take your car to the nearest farmhouseand leave it, then I’ll take you and Katy in my car.”

Late that evening Judge Whiting came to Lilac Valley with his wifeand daughter to tell Linda that the top of the cliff gave everyevidence of the stone having been loosened previously, so that a slightimpetus would send it crashing down at the time when Donald lay in hisaccustomed place directly in the line of its fall. His detectives hadfound the location of the encounter and they had gone to the bottomof the cliff, a thousand feet below, but they had not been able tofind any trace of Oka Sayye. Somewhere in waiting there had beenconfederates who had removed what remained of him. On the way home Mrs.Whiting said to her husband: “Judge, are you very sure that what thecook said to you this afternoon about Miss Strong and Mr. Morrison istrue?”

“I am only sure of its truth so far as he is concerned,” replied theJudge. “What he thought about Linda was evident. I am very sorry. Sheis a mighty fine girl and I think Donald is very much interested inher.”

“Yes, I think so, too,” said Donald’s mother. “Interested; but he hasnot even a case of first love. He is interested for the same reason youwould be or I would be, because she is intellectually so stimulating.And you have to take into consideration the fact that in two or threeyears more she will be ready for marriage and a home of her own, andDonald will still be in school with his worldly experience and hisbusiness education not yet begun. The best thing that can happen toDonald is just to let his infatuation for her die a natural death, withthe quiet assistance of his family.”

The Judge’s face reddened slightly.

“Well, I would like mighty well to have her in the family,” he said.“She’s a corking fine girl. She would make a fine mother of fine men.I haven’t a doubt but that with the power of his personality and thepower of his pen and the lure of propinquity, Peter Morrison will winher, but I hate it. It’s the best chance the boy ever will have.”

And then Louise spoke up softly.

“Donald hasn’t any chance, Dad,” she said quietly, “and he never didhave. I have met Peter Morrison myself and I would be only too glad ifI thought he was devoted to me. I’ll grant that Linda Strong is a finegirl, but when she wakes up to the worth of Peter Morrison and to arealization of what other women would be glad to be to him, she willmerely reach out and lay possessive hands upon what already belongs toher.”

It was a curious thing that such occurrences as the death of Oka Sayyeand the injury to Donald could take place and no one know about them.Yet the papers were silent on the subject and so were the courts.Linda and Katy were fully protected. The confederates of Oka Sayye forreasons of their own preferred to keep very quiet.

By Monday Donald, with his foot in a plaster cast, was on a sideveranda of his home with a table beside him strewn with books andpapers. An agreement had been made that his professors should call andhear his recitations for a few days until by the aid of a crutch anda cane he could resume his place in school. Linda went to visit himexactly as she would have gone to see Marian in like circumstances. Shesucceeded in making all of the Whiting family her very devoted friends.

One evening, after he had been hobbling about for over a week, Lindaand Peter called to spend the evening, and a very gay and enjoyableevening it was. And yet when it was over and they had gone awaytogether Donald appeared worried and deeply thoughtful. When his mothercame to his room to see if the foot was unduly painful or there wasanything she could do to make him more comfortable, he looked at herbelligerently.

“Mother,” he said, “I don’t like Peter Morrison being so much with mygirl.”

Mrs. Whiting stood very still. She thought very fast. Should shepostpone it or should she let the boy take all of his hurts together?Her heart ached for him and yet she felt that she knew what life had instore for him concerning Linda. So she sat on the edge of the bed andbegan to talk quietly, plainly, reasonably. She tried to explain natureand human nature and what she thought the laws of probability were inthe case. Donald lay silent. He said nothing until she had finished allshe had to say, and then he announced triumphantly: “You’re all wrong.That is what would happen if Linda were a girl like any of the othergirls in her class, or like Louise. But she has promised that she wouldwrite to me every Saturday night and she has said that she thinks moreof me than of any of the other boys.”

“Donald dear,” said Mrs. Whiting, “you’re not ‘in love’ with Lindayourself, and neither is she with you. By the time you are ready tomarry and settle down in life, Linda in all probability will be marriedand be the mother of two or three babies.”

“Yes, like fun she will,” said Donald roughly.

“Have you asked her whether she loves you?” inquired Mrs. Whiting.

“Oh, that ‘love’ business,” said Donald, “it makes me tired! Linda andI never did any mushing around. We had things of some importance totalk about and to do.”

A bit of pain in Mrs. Whiting’s heart eased. It was difficult to keepher lips quiet and even.

“You haven’t asked her to marry you, then?” she said soberly.

“Oh good Lord,” cried Donald, “‘marry!’ How could I marry anyone when Ihaven’t even graduated from high school and with college and all thatto come?”

“That is what I have been trying to tell you,” said his mother evenly.“I don’t believe you have been thinking about marriage and I amabsolutely certain that Linda has not, but she is going to be made tothink about it long before you will be in such financial position thatyou dare. That is the reason I am suggesting that you think about thesethings seriously and question yourself as to whether you would be doingthe fair thing by Linda if you tried to tie her up in an arrangementthat would ask her to wait six or eight years yet before you would beready.”

“Well, I can get around faster than that,” said Donald belligerently.

“Of course you can,” agreed his mother. “I made that estimate fully ayear too long. But even in seven years Linda could do an awful lot ofwaiting; and there are some very wonderful girls that will be comingup six or seven years from now here at home. You know that hereafterall the girls in the world are going to be very much more Linda’skind of girls than they have been heretofore. The girls who havelived through the war and who have been intimate with its sorrow andits suffering and its terrible results to humanity, are not going tobe such heedless, thoughtless, not nearly such selfish, girls as theworld has known in the decade just past. And there is going to be moreoutdoor life, more nature study. There are going to be stronger bodies,better food, better-cared-for young people; and every year educationaladvantages are going to be greater. If you can bring yourself tothink about giving up the idea of there ever existing any extremelypersonal thing between you and Linda, I am very sure I could guaranteeto introduce you to a girl who would be quite her counterpart, andundoubtedly we could meet one who would be handsomer.”

Donald punched his pillow viciously.

“That’s nice talk,” he said, “and it may be true talk. But in the firstplace I wish that Peter Morrison would let my girl alone, and in thesecond place I don’t care if there are a thousand just as nice girls oreven better looking girls than Linda, though any girl would be goingsome if she were nicer and better looking than Linda. But I am tellingyou that when my foot gets better I am going to Lilac Valley and tellhim where to head in, and I’ll punch his head if he doesn’t do itpromptly.”

“Of course you will,” said his mother reassuringly; “and I’ll go withyou and we’ll see to it that he attends strictly to his own affairs.”

Donald burst out laughing, exactly as his mother in her heart had hopedthat he would.

“Yes, I’ve got a hand-painted picture of myself starting to LilacValley to fight a man who is butting in with my girl, and taking mymother along to help me beat him up,” he said.

Mrs. Whiting put her arms around her boy, kissed him tenderly, andsmoothed his hair, and then turned out the lights and slipped from theroom. But in the clear moonlight as she closed the door she could seethat a boyish grin was twisting his lips, and she went down to tellthe Judge that he need not worry. If his boy were irreparably hurtanywhere, it was in his foot.

CHAPTER XXXII

The following weeks were very happy for Linda. When the cast wasremoved from Donald’s foot and it was found that a year or two of carewould put him even on the athletic fields and the dancing floor again,she was greatly relieved.

She lacked words in which to express her joy that Marian was rapidlycoming into happiness. She was so very busy with her school work, withdoing all she could to help Donald with his, with her “Jane Meredith”articles, with hunting and working out material for her book, thatshe never had many minutes at a time for introspection. When she didhave a few she sometimes pondered deeply as to whether Marian had beenaltogether sincere in the last letter she had written her in theircorrespondence, but she was so delighted in the outcome that if she didat times have the same doubt in a fleeting form that had not been inthe least fleeting with Peter Morrison, she dismissed it as rapidly aspossible. When things were so very good as they were at that time, whytry to improve them?

One evening as she came from school, thinking that she would take Katyfor a short run in the Bear-cat before dinner, she noticed a red headprominent in the front yard as she neared home. When she turned in atthe front walk and crossed the lawn she would have been willing towager quite a sum that Katy had been crying.

“Why, old dear,” said Linda, putting her arms around her, “if anythinghas gone wrong with you I will certainly take to the war-path,instanter. I can’t even imagine what could be troubling you.” Lindalowered her voice. “Nothing has come up about Oka Sayye?”

Katy shook her head.

“I thought not,” said Linda. “Judge Whiting promised me that what usehe made of that should be man’s business and exploited wholly for thesake of California and her people. He said we shouldn’t be involved.I haven’t been worried about it even, although I am willing to goupon the stand and tell the whole story if it will be any help towardputting right what is at present a great wrong to California.”

“Yes, so would I,” said Katy. “I’m not worryin’ meself about the littlebaste any more than I would if it had been a mad dog foaming up thatcliff at ye.”

“Then what is it?” asked Linda. “Tell me this minute.”

“I dunno what in the world you’re going to think,” said Katy “I dunnowhat in the world you’re going to do.”

Her face was so distressed that Linda’s nimble brain flew to aconclusion. She tightened her arm across Katy’s shoulder.

“By Jove, Katy!” she said breathlessly. “Is Eileen in the house?”

Katy nodded.

“Has she been to see John and made things right with him?”

Katy nodded again.

“He’s in there with her waitin’ for ye,” she said.

It was a stunned Linda who slowly dropped her arm, stood erect, andlifted her head very high. She thought intently.

“You don’t mean to tell me,” she said, “that you have beencryingover her?”

Katy held out both hands.

“Linda,” she said, “she always was such a pretty thing, and her madidn’t raise her to have the sense of a peewee. If your pa had been lettake her outdoors and grow her in the sun and the air, she would havebeen bigger and broader, an’ there would have been the truth of God’ssunshine an’ the glory of His rain about her. Ye know, Linda, that shedidn’t ever have a common dacent chance. It was curls that couldn’t beshook out and a nose that dassen’t be sunburned and shoes that mustn’tbe scuffed and a dress that shouldn’t be mussed, from the day shewas born. Ye couldn’t jist honest say she had ever had a fairchance, now could ye?”

“No,” said Linda conclusively, “no, Katherine O’Donovan, you could not.But what are we up against? Does she want to come back? Does she wantto stay here again?”

“I think she would like to,” said Katy. “You go in and see her foryourself, lambie, before ye come to any decision.”

“You don’t mean,” said Linda in a marveling tone, “that she has beenhomesick, that she has come back to us because she would like to bewith us again?”

“You go and see her for yourself; and if you don’t say she is the worstbeat out and the tiredest mortal that ye have ever seen, you’ll besurprisin’ me. My God, Linda, they ain’t nothin’ in bein’ rich if itcan do to a girl what has been done to Eileen!”

“Oh, well,” said Linda impatiently, “don’t condemn all money becauseEileen has not found happiness with it. The trouble has been thatEileen’s only chance to be rich came to her through the wrong kind ofpeople.”

“Well, will ye jist tell me, then,” said Katy, “how it happened thatEileen’s ma was a sister to that great beef of a man, which same ishard on self-rayspectin’ beef; pork would come nearer.”

“Yes,” said Linda, “I’ll tell you. Eileen’s mother had a big streak ofthe same coarseness and the same vulgarity in hernature, or shecould not have reared Eileen as she did. She probably had been sentto school and had better advantages than the boy through a designingmother of her own. Her first husband must have been a man who greatlyrefined and educated her. We can’t ever get away from the fact thatDaddy believed in her and loved her.”

“Yes,” said Katy, “but he was a fooled man. She wasn’t what we thoughtshe was. Many’s the time I’ve stood injustice about the accounts andhousehold management because I wouldn’t be wakin’ him up to what he wasbound to for life.”

“That doesn’t help us,” said Linda. “I must go in and face them.”

She handed her books to Katy, and went into the living room. Sheconcentrated on John Gilman first, and a wee qualm of disgust creptthrough her soul when she saw that after weeks of suffering he was oncemore ready to devote himself to Eileen. Linda marveled at the power awoman could hold over a man that would force him to compromise with hisintellect, his education and environment. Then she turned her attentionto Eileen, and the shock she received was informing. She studied her aninstant incredulously, then she went to her and held out her hand.

“How do you do?” she said as cordially as was possible to her. “This isunexpected.”

Her mind was working rapidly, yet she could not recall ever having seena woman quite so beautiful as Eileen. She was very certain that thecolour on her cheeks was ebbing and rising with excitement; it was nolonger so deep as to be stationary. She was very certain that her eyeshad not been darkened as to lids or waxed as to lashes. Her hair wasbeautifully dressed in sweeping waves with scarcely any artificial workupon it. Her dress was extremely tasteful and very expensive. Therewas no simper on her lips, nothing superficial. She was only a tired,homesick girl. As Linda looked at her she understood why Katy had criedover her. She felt tears beginning to rise in her own heart. She putboth arms protectingly around Eileen.

“Why, you poor little thing,” she said wonderingly, “was it so damn’bad as all that?”

Eileen stood straight. She held herself rigidly. She merely nodded.Then after a second she said: “Worse than anything you could imagine,Linda. Being rich with people who have grown rich by accident is adreadful experience.”

“So I have always imagined,” said Linda. And then in her usualdownright way she asked: “Why did you come, Eileen? Is there anythingyou wanted of me?”

Eileen hesitated. It was not in Linda’s heart to be mean.

“Homesick, little sister?” she asked lightly “Do you want to come herewhile you’re getting ready to make a home for John? Is that it?”

Then Eileen swayed forward suddenly, buried her face in Linda’s breast,and for the first time in her life Linda saw and heard her cry, notfrom selfishness, not from anger, not from greed, but as an ordinaryhuman being cries when the heart is so full that nature relieves itselfwith tears. Linda closed her arms around her and smiled over her headat John Gilman.

“Finish all of it before you stop,” she advised. “It’s all right. Youcome straight home. You didn’t leave me any word, and I didn’t knowwhat to do with your things, but I couldn’t feel that you would want togive up such beautiful things that you had so enjoyed. We had plannedfor Marian to spend her summer vacation here so I put her things inyour suite and I had moved mine into the guest room, but I have had myroom done over and the guest room things are in there, and every scrapof yours is carefully put away. If that will do, you are perfectlywelcome to it.”

Eileen wiped her eyes.

“Anything,” she sobbed. “I’d rather have Katy’s room than be shamedand humiliated and hurt any further. Linda, I would almost like you toknow my Aunt Callie, because you will never understand about her if youdon’t. Her favourite pastime was to tell everyone we met how much thethings I wore cost her.”

Linda released Eileen with a slight shake.

“Cheer up!” she said. “We’ll all have a gorgeous time together. Ihaven’t the slightest ambition to know more than that about your AuntCallie. If my brain really had been acting properly I would never havedismantled your room. I would have known that you could not endure her,and that you would come home just as you should. It’s all right, John,make yourself comfortable. I don’t know what Katy has for dinner butshe can always find enough for an extra couple. Come Eileen, I’ll helpyou to settle. Where is your luggage?”

“I brought back, Linda, just what I have on,” said Eileen. “I willbegin again where I left off. I realize that I am not entitled toanything further from the Strong estate, but Uncle was so unhappy andJohn says it’s all right—really I am the only blood heir to all theyhave; I might as well take a comfortable allowance from it. I am to goto see them a few days of every month. I can endure that when I know Ihave John and you to come back to.”

When Eileen had been installed in Linda’s old room Linda went down tothe kitchen, shut the door behind her, and leaning against it, laid herhand over her mouth to suppress a low laugh.

“Katy,” she said, “I’ve been and gone and done it; I have put theperfect lady in my old room. That will be a test of her sincerity—evendainty and pretty as it is since it’s been done over. If she is sincereenough to spend the summer getting ready to marry John Gilman—why thatis all right, old girl. We can stand it, can’t we?”

“Yes,” said Katy, “it’s one of them infernal nuisances but we can standit. I’m thinkin’, from the looks of John Gilman and his manner ofspakin’, that it ain’t goin’ to be but a very short time that he’ll bewaitin’.”

“Katy,” said Linda, “isn’t this the most entertaining world? Doesn’tit produce the most lightning-like changes, and don’t the mostunexpected things happen? Sort of dazes me. I had planned to take alittle run with you and the Cat. Since we are having—no, I mustn’tsay guests—since John and Eileen have come home, I’ll have to give upthat plan until after dinner, and then we’ll go and take counsel withour souls and see if we can figure out how we are going to solve thisequation; and if you don t know what an equation is, old dear heart,it’s me with a war-club and you with a shillalah and Eileen between us,and be ‘domned’ to us if we can’t make an average, ordinary, decenthuman being out of her. Pin an apron on her in the morning, Katy, andhand her a dust cloth and tell her to industrialize. We will help herwith her trousseau, but she shallhelp us with the work.”

“Ye know, lambie,” whispered Katy suddenly, “this is a burnin’ shame.The one thing I didn’tthink about is that book of yours. Whatabout it?”

“I scarcely know,” said Linda; “it’s difficult to say. Of course wecan’t carry out the plans we had made to work here, exactly as we hadintended, with Eileen in the house preparing to be married. But shetells me that her uncle has made her a generous allowance, so probablyit’s environment and love she is needing much more than help. It isbarely possible, Katy, that after I have watched her a few days, ifI decide she is in genuine, sincere, heart-whole earnest, I mightintroduce her and John to my friend, ‘Jane.’ It is probable that if Idid, Eileen would not expect me to help her, and at the same time shewouldn’t feel that I was acting indifferently because I did not. We’llwait awhile, Katy, and see whether we skid before we put on the chains.”

“What about Marian?” inquired Katy.

“I don’t know,” said Linda thoughtfully. “If Marian is big enough tocome here and spend the summer under the same roof with Eileen and JohnGilman, and have a really restful, enjoyable time out of it, she isbigger than I am. Come up to the garret; I think Eileen has brought nomore with her than she took away. We’ll bring her trunk down, put itin her room and lay the keys on top. Don’t begin by treating her as avisitor; treat her as if she were truly my sister. Tell her what youwant and how you want it, exactly as you tell me and as I tell you. Ifyou see even a suspicion of any of the former objectionable tendenciespopping up, let’s check them quick and hard, Katy.”

For a week Linda watched Eileen closely. At the end of that time shewas sincere in her conviction that Eileen had been severely chastened.When she came in contact with Peter Morrison or any other man theymet she was not immediately artificial. She had learned to be asnatural with men as with other women. There were no pretty postures,no softened vocal modulations, no childish nonsense on subjects uponwhich the average child of these days displays the knowledge of thepast-generation grandmother. When they visited Peter Morrison’s houseit was easy to see that Eileen was interested, more interested than anyof them ever before had seen her in any subject outside of clothing andjewels. Her conduct in the Strong home had been irreproachable. Shehad cared for her own room, quietly undertaken the duties of dustingand arranging the rooms and cutting and bringing in flowers. She hadgone to the kitchen and wiped dishes and asked to be taught how to cookthings of which John was particularly fond. She had been reasonable inthe amount of time she had spent on her shopping, and had repeatedlygone to Linda and shown interest in her concerns. The result was thatLinda at once displayed the same interest in anything pertaining toEileen.

One afternoon Linda came home unusually early. She called for Eileen,told her to tie on her sunshade and be ready for a short ride.Almost immediately she brought around the Bear-cat and when theywere seated side by side headed it toward the canyon. She stopped atthe usual resting place, and together she and Eileen walked down thelight-dappled road bed. She pointed out things to Eileen, telling herwhat they were, to what uses they could be put, while at the same timenarrowly watching her. To her amazement she found that Eileen wasinterested, that she was noticing things for herself, asking what theywere. She wanted to know the names of the singing birds. When a bigbird trailed a waving shadow in front of her Linda explained how shemight distinguish an eagle from a hawk, a hawk from a vulture, a seabird from those of the land. When they reached the bridge Linda climbeddown the embankment to gather cress. She was moved to protest whenEileen followed and without saying a word began to assist her, but sherestrained herself, for it suddenly occurred to her that it would be anexcellent thing for Eileen to think more of what she was doing and whyshe was doing it than about whether she would wet her feet or muddy herfingers. So the protest became an explanation that it was rather latefor cress: the leaves toughened when it bloomed and were too peppery.The only way it could be used agreeably was to work along the edgesand select the small tender shoots that had not yet matured to theflowering point. When they had an armload they went back to the car,and without any explanation Linda drove into Los Angeles and stopped atthe residence of Judge Whiting, not telling Eileen where she was.

“Friends of mine,” said Linda lightly as she stepped from the car.“Fond of cress salad with their dinner. They prepare it after the JaneMeredith recipe to which you called my attention, in Everybody’sHomelast winter. Come along with me.”

Eileen stepped from the car and followed. Linda led the way round thesidewalk to where her quick ear had located voices on the side lawn.She stopped at the kitchen door, handed in the cress, exchanged a fewlaughing words with the cook, and then presented herself at the doorof the summerhouse. Inside, his books and papers spread over a worktable, sat Donald Whiting. One side of him his mother was busy darninghis socks; on the other his sister Louise was working with embroiderysilk and small squares of gaily coloured linen. Linda entered withexactly the same self-possession that characterized her at home. Sheshook hands with Mrs. Whiting, Mary Louise, and Donald, and then shesaid quietly: “Eileen and I were gathering cress and we stopped toleave you some for your dinner.” With this explanation she introducedEileen to Mrs. Whiting. Mary Louise immediately sprang up and recalledtheir meeting at Riverside. Donald remembered a meeting he did notmention. It was only a few minutes until Linda was seated besideDonald, interesting herself in his lessons. Eileen begged to be shownthe pretty handkerchiefs that Mary Louise was making. An hour laterLinda refused an invitation to dinner because Katy would be expectingthem. When she arose to go, Eileen was carrying a small square ofblue-green linen. Carefully pinned to it was a patch of white with aspray of delicate flowers outlined upon it, and a skein of pink silkthread. She had been initiated into the thrillingly absorbing feminineaccomplishment of making sport handkerchiefs. When they left Eileen wasincluded naturally, casually, spontaneously, in their invitation toLinda to run in any time she would. Mary Louise had said she would rideout with Donald in few days and see how the handkerchiefs were comingon, and more instruction and different stitches and patterns werenecessary, she would love to teach them. So Linda realized that MaryLouise had been told about the trousseau. She knew, even lacking as shewas in feminine sophistication, that there were two open roads to theheart of a woman. One is a wedding and the other is a baby. The lure ofeither is irresistible.

As the Bear-cat glided back to Lilac Valley, Eileen sat silent. Forten years she had coveted the entrée to the Whiting home perhaps morethan any other in the city. Merely by being simple and natural, byliving her life as life presented itself each day, Linda with no effortwhatever had made possible to Eileen the thing she so deeply craved.Eileen was learning a new lesson each day—some days many of them—butnone was more amazing more simple, or struck deeper into her awakenedconsciousness. As she gazed with far-seeing eye on the blue walls ofthe valley Eileen was taking a mental inventory of her former self.One by one she was arraigning all the old tricks she had used in hertrade of getting on in the world. One by one she was discarding them infavour of honesty, unaffectedness, and wholesome enjoyment.

Because of these things Linda came home the next afternoon and lefta bundle on Eileen’s bed before she made her way to her own room tobusy herself with a head piece for Peter’s latest article. She hadtaken down the wasp picture and while she had not destroyed it she hadturned the key of a very substantial lock upon it. She was hard at workwhen she heard steps on the stairs. When Eileen entered, Linda smiledquizzically and then broke into an unaffected ejaculation.

“Ripping!” she cried. “Why, Eileen, you’re perfectly topping.”

Eileen’s face flamed with delight. She was a challenging little figure.None of them was accustomed to her when she represented anything moresubstantial than curls and ruffles.

Linda reached for the telephone, called Gilman, and asked him if hecould go to the beach for supper that evening. He immediately repliedthat he would. Then she called Peter Morrison and asked him the samequestion and when Peter answered affirmatively she told him to bringhis car. Then she hastily put on her own field clothes and ran to thekitchen to fill the lunch box. To Katy’s delight Linda told her therewould be room for her and that she needed her.

It was evening and the sun was moving slowly toward the horizon whenthey stopped the cars and went down on the white sands of Santa MonicaBay. Eileen had been complimented until she was in a glow of delight.She did not notice that in piling things out of the car for their beachsupper Linda had handed her a shovel and the blackened iron legs of abroiler. Everyone was loaded promiscuously as they took up their marchdown to as near the water’s edge as the sands were dry. Peter and Johngathered driftwood. Linda improvised two cooking places, one behind arock for herself, the other under the little outdoor stove for Katy.Eileen was instructed as to how to set up the beach table, spread theblankets beside it, and place the food upon it. While Katy made coffeeand toasted biscuit Linda was busy introducing her party to brigandbeefsteak upon four long steel skewers. The day had been warm. Thelight salt breeze from the sea was like a benediction. Friendly gullsgathered on the white sands around them. Cunning little sea chickensworked in accord with the tide: when the waves advanced they rose abovethem on wing; when they retreated they scampered over the wet sand,hunting any small particles of food that might have been carried in.Out over the water big brown pelicans went slowly fanning homeward; andwhite sea swallows drew wonderful pictures on the blue night sky withthe tips of their wings. For a few minutes at the reddest point of itssetting the sun painted a marvelous picture in a bank of white clouds.These piled up like a great rosy castle, and down the sky roadwaybefore it came a long procession of armored knights, red in the sunglow and riding huge red horses. Then the colours mixed and faded anda long red bridge for a short time spanned the water, ending at theirfeet. The gulls hunted the last scrap thrown them and went home. Theswallows sought their high cliffs. The insidiously alluring perfumeof sand verbena rose like altar incense around them. Gilman spread ablanket, piled the beach fire higher, and sitting beside Eileen, hedrew her head to his shoulder and put his arm around her. Possibly hecould have been happier in a careless way if he had never suffered.It is very probable that the poignant depth of exquisite happiness hefelt in that hour never would have come to him had he not lost Eileenand found her again so much more worth loving. Linda wandered down thebeach until she reached the lighthouse rocks. She climbed on a highone and sat watching the sea as it sprayed just below. Peter Morrisonfollowed her.

“May I come up?” he asked.

“Surely,” said Linda, “this belongs to the Lord; it isn’t mine.”

So Peter climbed up and sat beside her.

“How did the landscape appeal to you when you left the campfire?”inquired Linda.

“I should think the night cry might very well be Eight o’clock andall’s well,” answered Peter.

“‘God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world?’” Linda put it inthe form of a question.

“It seems to be for John and Eileen,” said Peter.

“It is for a number of people,” said Linda. “I had a letter from Marianto-day. I had written her to ask if she would come to us for thesummer, in spite of the change in our plans; but Mr. Snow has made someplans of his own. He is a very astute individual. He wanted Marian tomarry him at once and she would not, so he took her for a short visitto see his daughter at her grandmother’s home in the northern part ofthe state. Marian fell deeply in love with his little girl, and ofcourse those people found Marian charming, just as right-minded peoplewould find her. When she saw how the little girl missed her father andhow difficult it was for him to leave her, and when she saw how shewould be loved and appreciated in that fine family, she changed hermind. Peter, we are going to be invited to San Francisco to see themmarried very shortly. Are you glad or sorry?”

“I am very glad,” said Peter heartily. “I make no concealment of myadmiration for Miss Thorne but I am very glad indeed that it is nother head that is to complete the decoration when you start the irismarching down my creek banks.”

“Well, that’s all right,” said Linda. “Of course you should havesomething to say about whose head finished that picture. I can’tcontract to do more than set the iris. The thing about this I dread isthat Marian and Eugene are going to live in San Francisco, and I did sowant her to make her home in Lilac Valley.”

“That’s too bad,” said Peter sympathetically. “I know how youappreciate her, how deeply you love her. Do you think the valley willever be right for you without her, Linda?”

“It will have to be,” said Linda. “I’ve had to go on without Father,you know. If greater happiness seems to be in store for Marian in SanFrancisco, all I can do is to efface myself and say ‘Amen.’ When theworld is all right for Marian, it is about as near all right as itcan be for me. And did you ever see much more sincerely and clearlycontented people than John and Eileen are at the present minute?”

Peter looked at Linda whimsically. He lowered his voice as if a seaurchin might hear and tattle.

“What did you do about the wasp, Linda?” he whispered.

“I delicately erased the stinger, fluffed up a ruffle, and put thesketch under lock and key. I should have started a fire with it, but Icouldn’t quite bring myself to let it go, yet.”

“Is she going to hold out?” asked Peter.

“She’ll hold out or get her neck wrung,” said Linda. “I truly think shehas been redeemed. She has been born again. She has a new heart and anew soul and a new impulse and a right conception of life. Why, Peter,she has even got a new body. Her face is not the same.”

“She is much handsomer,” said Peter.

“Isn’t she?” cried Linda enthusiastically. “And doesn’t having a souland doesn’t thinking about essential things make the most remarkabledifference in her? It is worth going through a fiery furnace to comeout new like that. I called her Abednego the other day, but she didn’tknow what I meant.”

Then they sat silent and watched the sea for a long time. By and by thenight air grew chill. Peter slipped from the rock and went up the beachand came back with an Indian blanket. He put it very carefully aroundLinda’s shoulders, and when he went to resume his seat beside her hefound one of her arms stretching it with a blanket corner for him.So he sat down beside her and drew the corner over his shoulder; andbecause his right arm was very much in his way, and it would have beenvery disagreeable if Linda had slipped from the rock and fallen intothe cold, salt, unsympathetic Pacific at nine o’clock at night—merelyto dispose of the arm comfortably and to ensure her security, Peter putit around Linda and drew her up beside him very close. Linda did notseem to notice. She sat quietly looking at the Pacific and thinking herown thoughts. When the fog became damp and chill, she said they mustbe going, and so they went back to their cars and drove home throughthe sheer wonder of the moonlight, through the perfume of the orangeorchards, hearing the night song of the mocking birds.

CHAPTER XXXIII

A few days later Linda and Peter went to San Francisco and helpedcelebrate the marriage of Marian and Eugene Snow. They left Marian ina home carefully designed to insure every comfort and convenience sheever had planned, furnished in accordance with her desires. Both Lindaand Peter were charmed with little Deborah Snow; she was a beautifuland an appealing child.

“It seems to me,” said Linda, on the train going home, “that Marianwill get more out of life, she will love deeper, she will work harder,she will climb higher in her profession than she would have done if shehad married John. It is difficult sometimes, when things are happening,to realize that they are for the best, but I really believe this thinghas been for the level best. I think Marian is going to be a biggerwoman in San Francisco than she ever would have been in Lilac Valley.With that thought I must reconcile myself.”

“And what about John?” asked Peter. “Is he going to be a bigger manwith Eileen than he would have been with Marian?”

“No,” said Linda, “he is not. He didn’t do right and he’ll have penaltyto pay. Eileen is developing into a lovable and truly beautiful woman,but she has not the intellect, nor the education, nor the impulse tostimulate a man’s mental processes and make him outdo himself the wayMarian will. John will probably never know it, but he will have to dohis own stimulating; he will have to vision life for himself. He willhave to find his high hill and climb it with Eileen riding securely onhis shoulders. It isn’t really the pleasantest thing in the world, itisn’t truly the thing I wanted to do this summer—helping them out—butit has seemed to be the work at hand, the thing Daddy probably wouldhave wanted me to do, so it’s up to me to do all I can for them, justas I did all I could for Donald. One thing I shall always be delightedabout. With my own ears I heard the pronouncement: Donald had theJap beaten; he was at the head of his class before Oka Sayye waseliminated. The Jap knew it. His only chance lay in getting rid of hisrival. Donald can take the excellent record he has made in this race tostart on this fall when he commences another battle against some otherman’s brain for top honours in his college.”

“Will he start with the idea that he wants to be an honour man?”

Linda laughed outright.

“I think,” she said, “his idea was that if he were one of fifty or onehundred leading men it would be sufficient, but I insisted that if hewanted to be first with me, he would have to be first in his schoolwork.”

“I see,” said Peter. “Linda, have you definitely decided that when youcome to your home-making hour, Donald is the man with whom you want tospend the remainder of your life?”

“Oh, good gracious!” said Linda. “Who’s talking about ‘homes’ and‘spending the remainder of lives’? Donald and I are school friends, andwe are good companions. You’re as bad as Eileen. She’s always tryingto suggest things that nobody else ever thought of, and now Katy’sbeginning it too.”

“Sap-heads, all!” said Peter. “Well, allow me to congratulate you onhaving given Donald his spurs. I think it’s a very fine thing for himto start to college with the honour idea in his head. What about yourSaturday excursions?”

“They have died an unnatural death,” said Linda. “Don and I fought forthem, but the Judge and Mrs. Whiting and Mary Louise were terrifiedfor fear a bone might slip in Don’s foot, or some revengeful friend orrelative of Oka Sayye lie in wait for us. They won’t hear of our goingany more. I go every Saturday and take Donald for a very careful driveover a smooth road with the Bear-cat cursing our rate of speed all theway. All the fun’s spoiled for all three of us.”

“Think I would be any good as a substitute when it comes to fieldwork?” inquired Peter casually. “I have looked at your desert garden somuch I would know a Cotyledon if I saw it. I believe I could learn.”

“You wouldn’t have time to bother,” objected Linda. “You’re a man, witha man’s business to transact in the world. You have to hustle and earnmoney to pay for the bridge and changing the brook.”

“But I had money to pay for the brook and the bridge before I agreed tothem,” said Peter.

“Well, then,” said Linda, “you should begin to hunt old mahogany andrugs.”

“I hadn’t intended to,” said Peter; “if they are to be old, I won’thave to do more than to ship them. In storage in Virginia there aresome very wonderful old mahogany and rosewood and rugs and bric-à-bracenough to furnish the house I am building. The stuff belonged to alittle old aunt of mine who left it to me in her will, and it was withthose things in mind that I began my house. The plans and finishingwill fit that furniture beautifully.”

“Why, you lucky individual!” said Linda. “Nowhere in the world is theremore beautiful furniture than in some of those old homes in Virginia.There are old Flemish and Dutch and British and Italian pieces thatcame into this country on early sailing vessels for the aristocrats.You don’t mean that kind of stuff, do you, Peter?”

“That is precisely the kind of stuff I do mean,” answered Peter.

“Why Peter, if you have furniture like that,” cried Linda, “then allyou need is Mary Louise.”

“Linda,” said Peter soberly, “you are trespassing on delicate groundagain. You selected one wife for me and your plan didn’t work. Whenthat furniture arrives and is installed I’ll set about inducing thelady of my dreams to come and occupy my dream house, in my own way. Inever did give you that job. It was merely assumed on your part.”

“So it was,” said Linda. “But you know I could set that iris and runthat brook with more enthusiasm if I knew the lady who was to walkbeside it.”

“You do,” said Peter. “You know her better than anyone else, evenbetter than I. Put that in your mental pipe and smoke it!”

“Saints preserve us!” cried Linda. “I believe the man is planning totake Katy away from me.”

“Not fromyou,” said Peter, “withyou.”

“Let me know about it before you do it,” said Linda with a carelesslaugh.

“That’s what I’m doing right now,” said Peter.

“And I’m going to school,” said Linda.

“Of course,” said Peter, “but that won’t last forever.”

Linda entered enthusiastically upon the triple task of getting Donaldin a proper frame of mind to start to college with the ambition to dogood work, of marrying off Eileen and John Gilman, and of giving herbest brain and heart to Jane Meredith. When the time came, Donald wasready to enter college comfortable and happy, willing to wait and seewhat life had in store for him as he lived it.

When she was sure of Eileen past any reasonable doubt Linda took herand John to her workroom one evening and showed them her book contractand the material she had ready, and gave them the best idea she couldof what yet remained to be done. She was not prepared for theirwholehearted praise, for their delight and appreciation.

Alone, they took counsel as to how they could best help her, anddecided that to be married at once and take a long trip abroad wouldbe the best way. That would leave Linda to work in quiet and with nointerruption to distract her attention. They could make their homearrangements when they returned.

When they had gone Linda worked persistently, but her book was notcompleted and the publishers were hurrying her when the fall termof school opened. By the time the final chapter with its exquisiteillustration had been sent in, the first ones were coming back inproof, and with the proof came the materialized form of Linda’s designfor her cover, and there was no Marian to consult about it. Lindaworked until she was confused. Then she piled the material in theBear-cat and headed up Lilac Valley. As she came around the curve andturned from the public road she saw that for the first time she mightcross her bridge; it was waiting for her. She heard the rejoicingof the water as it fell from stone to stone where it dipped underthe road, and as she swung across the bridge she saw that she mightdrive over the completed road which had been finished in her weeks ofabsence. The windows told another story. Peter’s furniture had comeand he had been placing it without telling her. She found the frontdoor standing wide open, so she walked in. With her bundle on her armshe made her way to Peter’s workroom. When he looked up and saw herstanding in his door he sprang to his feet and came to meet her.

“Peter,” she said, “I’ve taken on more work than I can possibly finishon time, and I’m the lonesomest person in California to-day.”

“I doubt that,” said Peter gravely. “If you are any lonesomer than I amyou must prove it.”

“I have proved it,” said Linda quietly. “If you had been as lonesome asI am you would have come to me. As it is, I have come to you.”

“I see,” said Peter rather breathlessly. “What have you there, Linda?Why did you come?”

“I came for two reasons,” said Linda. “I want to ask you about thisstuff. Several times this summer you have heard talk about JaneMeredith and the Everybody’s Homearticles. Ever read any ofthem, Peter?”

“Yes,” said Peter, “I read all of them. Interested in home stuff thesedays myself.”

“Well,” said Linda, dumping her armload before Peter, “there’s theproof and there’s the illustration and there’s the cover design fora book to be made from that stuff. Peter, make your best boy and say‘pleased to meet you’ to Jane Meredith.”

Peter secured both of Linda’s hands and held them. First he looked ather, then he looked at the material she had piled down in front of him.

“Never again,” said Peter in a small voice, “will I credit myself withany deep discernment, any keen penetration. How I could have read thatmatter and looked at those pictures and not seen you in and through andover them is a thing I can’t imagine. It’s great, Linda, absolutelygreat! Of course I will help you any way in the world I can. And whatelse was it you wanted? You said two things.”

“Oh, the other doesn’t amount to much,” said Linda. “I only wanted thecomfort of knowing whether, as soon as I graduate, I may take Katy andcome home, Peter.”

From previous experience with Linda, Peter had learned that a girlreared by men is not as other women. He had supposed the other thingconcerning which she had wanted to appeal to him was on par with herdesire for sympathy and help concerning her book. At her question, withher eyes frankly meeting his, Peter for an instant felt lightheaded. Healmost dodged, he was so sweepingly taken unawares. Linda was waitingand his brain was not working. He tried to smile, but he knew she wouldnot recognize as natural the expression of that whirling moment. Shesaw his hesitation.

“Of course, if you don’t want us, Peter——”

Peter found his voice promptly. Only his God knew how much he wantedLinda, but there were conditions that a man of Peter’s soul-fiber couldnot endure. More than life he wanted her, but he did not want herasleep. He did not want to risk her awakening to a spoiled life anddisappointed hopes.

“But you remember that I told you coming home from San Francisco thatyou knew the Lady of my Iris better than anyone else, and that I wasplanning to take Katy, not from you, but with you.”

“Of course I remember,” said Linda. “That is why when Marian and Eileenand Donald and all my world went past and left me standing desolate,and my work piled up until I couldn’t see my way, I just started rightout to ask you if you would help me with the proof. Of course I knewyou would be glad to do that and I thought if you really meant in yourheart that I was the one to complete your iris procession, it would bea comfort to me during the hard work and the lonesome days to have itput in two-syllable English. Marian said that was the only real way——”

“And Marian is eminently correct. You will have to give me an ordinarylifetime, Linda, in which to try to make you understand exactly whatthis means to me. Perhaps I’ll even have to invent new words in whichto express myself.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Linda. “It means a lot to me too. I can’ttell you how much I think of you. That first day, as soon as I put downthe Cotyledon safely and tucked in my blouse, I would have put my handin yours and started around the world, if you had asked me to. I havethe very highest esteem for you, Peter.”

“Esteem, yes,” said Peter slowly. “But Linda-girl, isn’t the sort ofalliance I am asking you to enter with me usually based on something agood bit stronger than ‘esteem’?”

“Yes, I think it is,” said Linda. “But you needn’t worry. I only wantedthe comfort of knowing that I was not utterly alone again, save forKaty. I’ll stick to my book and to my fight for Senior honours allright.”

Peter was blinking his eyes and fighting to breathe evenly. When hecould speak he said as smoothly as possible: “Of course, Linda. I’lldo your proof for you and you may put all your time on class honours.It merely occurred to me to wonder whether you realized the full andultimate significance of what we are saying; exactly what it means tome and to you.”

“Possibly not, Peter,” said Linda, smiling on him with utterconfidence. “Everyone says I am my father’s daughter, and Father didn’tlive to coach me on being your iris decoration, as a woman would; but,Peter, when the time comes, I have every confidence in your ability toteach me what you would like me to know yourself. Don’t you agree withme, Peter?”

Making an effort to control himself Peter gathered up the materialLinda had brought and taking her arm he said casually: “I thoroughlyagree with you, dear. You are sanely and healthfully and beautifullyright. Now let’s go and take Katy into our confidence, and then youshall show me your ideas before I begin work on your proof. And afterthis, instead of you coming to me I shall always come to you wheneveryou can spare a minute for me.”

Linda nodded acquiescence.

“Of course! That would be best,” she said. “Peter, you are sosatisfyingly satisfactory.”

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