Chapter IV: Part 4

“I knew he would be back this summer to see you,” she replied knowingly. “Besides, Buzzy wrote me the news last week, and I’ve reserved the pick of the cabins for him. You know the one down by the river just above the Falls? And Becky told me yesterday that she was positive Billie and Frank would come down for a while in July or August.”

“That’s wonderful,” Jean said, enthusiastically.

“But that isn’t all,” Kit went on. “I had a letter from Uncle Bart. And do you know what he said? He received a substantial sum of money from the Archeological Research Foundation for his work in deciphering the contents of the Amenotaph urn. He doesn’t need the money, he says, and because I helped him open the urn, he sent it to me.”

“Golly, what will you do with it?” Jean asked.

“I wrote him last winter, just after I returned, about our plans for running a camp this summer and he was terribly interested in it. He wants me to pay Dad back the amount he gave us for repairing the cabins and the paint and other things we had to buy. I did and now the camp is really our own business venture. If we don’t make a go of it, it will be our loss and not Dad’s.”

16. Visiting Celebrities

The first campers were due to arrive the second week in June, but everything was in complete readiness long before that time. The girls never wearied of making their tours of inspection to be sure nothing had been overlooked, and each time it seemed as if they added a few more finishing touches.

Becky declared it was all so inviting that she felt like closing up the big house and coaxing the Judge to camp out with her.

Kit and Doris were in one of the cabins that was on a little jutting point of land near the Peckham mill. Here, the river swept out in a wide U-shaped curve that was crowned with gray rocks and pines. The music of the falls reached it, and the road was only about a quarter of a mile across the fields to the north, but apparently it was completely isolated.

All at once Tommy came tearing around the rock path, his eyes wide with excitement, his whole manner full of mystery.

“There’s a car just stopped in the road,” he exclaimed, “and the man in it asked me who lived in the cabin over here.”

“I never supposed anyone could see that cabin from the road.” Kit’s tone held a distinct note of disappointment. “What did he want to sell us, Tommy, lightning rods or sewing machines?”

“Aw, Kit, quit it,” pleaded Tommy. “He’s really in earnest, and he’s coming over here right now. I told him all about everything, and he thinks he might want to rent one.”

Kit’s face brightened up at this. “Lead me, Tommy, to this first paying guest. Doris, don’t you dare to say anything to spoil the inviting picture which I shall give him. I don’t see what more he could want.” She hesitated a moment, surveying the river, almost directly below the sloping rock. “Why, he could almost sit up in bed in the morning and haul in his fishing line from that river with a fine catch for breakfast on it.”

“Oh, hurry, Kit, and stop wasting time,” Tommy begged. “He’s really awfully nice, and he’s in earnest, I know he is.”

So Kit followed Tommy across the fields to the road where the automobile was waiting. The man must have been about forty years old, but with his closely cut dark hair and alert smile he appeared much younger. He wore no hat, and was deeply tanned. It seemed to Kit at first glance as though she had never seen eyes so full of keen curiosity and genial friendliness.

“Hello,” he called as soon as she came within hearing distance. “Are you the young lady in charge of renting these cabins which I see?”

Kit admitted that she was. He nodded his head approvingly and smiled, a broad pleasant smile which seemed to include the entire landscape.

“I like it here,” he announced with emphasis. “It is sequestered and silent. I have not met a single car on the road for miles.”

“Oh, that happens often,” said Kit eagerly. “There are days when nobody passes at all except the mailman.”

“It suits me,” he exclaimed buoyantly. “I must have quiet and perfect relaxation. I will rent one of your cabins and occupy it at once. I have been touring this part of the country looking for a spot which appealed to me.”

“We have one on the hill over there,” Kit suggested. He seemed rather peculiar, and perhaps it would be just as well to have him as far off as possible. “It is right on the edge of the pines, and faces the west. The sunsets are beautiful from there.”

“No, no,” he repeated. “I like the sound of water. I hear falls below here. I will take that cabin I see over there.”

So the first cabin dweller came to Woodhow. Kit had still been in doubt, and taking no chances on strangers within the gates, she had guided Mr. Ormond up to her father to make the closing arrangements on renting the waterfall cabin. The most amazing part was that he left a check that first day for full rental for ten weeks.

“I must not be interrupted or bothered by little things,” he told Mr. Craig. “I must have perfect isolation or I cannot do my work.”

He arrived promptly the following day and arranged to put up the car in their garage. Tommy and Jack helped him move his things into the cabin.

“Gosh, we’ve lugged down all his belongings to the cabin,” Jack said when they were finished, “and I can’t find out what in the heck his business is. He had a lot of heavy bundles, and we asked him a few questions about them, but he didn’t seem to take kindly to it, so we let him alone.”

“Lucy says he’s made arrangements to buy eggs and chickens from them,” said Kit, “so I see where our paying guests are going to scatter prosperity around the neighborhood.”

Ralph McRae arrived the seventeenth of June and took the Turtle Cove Cabin. The Craigs saw quite a good deal of him, for he was always dropping in on them. Doris suspected a budding romance, but she contented herself with watching Jean and investing her with the glamor of all her favorite heroines.

The first fruits of Jean’s efforts to colonize the cabins came with a letter from Peg Moffat.

“You’re going to have four of the girls through July anyway, and August if they like it. I’ve told them the scenery is perfectly gorgeous and they can draw wherever they like, so be sure and give them the cabins with the best view.”

The next surprise was a letter from Billie. He could not reach home before the middle of July, as he was going on another trip with Frank, but there were five of the boys from his class who wanted to come up and camp.

“I’ve told them the fishing is swell around there, and they’re going to make the trip from here in Jeff Saunders’s car. Jeff’s from Georgia, and most of the guys have never been north. We’re going to join them later on, so if you’ve got a bunch of cabins together, you better save us three.”

“We’ll put them all over in the glen, where they can do just as they please,” Kit decided. “They won’t interfere with high art or our mysterious stranger.”

Lucy opened her general store the first of June. It stood exactly at the crossroads, beside Woodhow. Her brothers had erected a little slab shack, and Lucy had planted wild cucumber and morning glory vines thickly around the outside, the last week in April, so that by June they had climbed halfway up.

Inside the store there were two counters, one on either side as you entered, and these had been Mr. Peckham’s contribution to the good cause. At first the stocking up of the store had been a problem, but Becky helped out with the business plan, and by this time nearly everyone in Elmhurst was taking a keen, personal interest in the venture.

It was Ma Parmalee who first suggested that Lucy sell on the commission plan. “I’ve got thirty-five jars of the best kind of preserves and canned goods in Elmhurst,” she announced one day, when she had stopped on her way by the crossroads to look over the new establishment. “Most of them are pints, and besides I’ve got--land, I don’t know how many glasses of jelly and jam. I’d be willing to give you a good share of whatever you could make on them, if you could sell them off for me down here.”

Lucy agreed gladly, and the fruit made a splendid showing along the upper shelves behind the counters. Not only that, but it began to sell at once. Mr. Ormond bought up all of the canned peaches after sampling one jar, and Ralph said he was willing to become responsible for some of the strawberry jam and spiced pears. Before long, Lucy was looking around for more supplies.

One morning, just after Tommy had gone whistling out to the barn, Doris spied a familiar figure coming along the drive toward the house, and leaned out of the dining room window, calling with all her heart, “Hi, Billie!”

Billie waved back and came up to the back steps where he found the other girls. “The camp’s immense,” he said. “We got in late last night and I knew the way down, so we didn’t disturb anybody. Even found the old boat in the same place, Doris.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have if I hadn’t hauled it there, where I knew you could lay your hands on it.”

Billie laughed. He knew from past experience that Doris’s scoldings didn’t amount to much. He and Frank had brought up a load of supplies with them but huckleberry pancakes with honey lured them both up for breakfast that first morning. And even Kit was silent as Frank related all of his adventures during the year. It seemed to her that she had never really looked at him before, that is, to get the best impression, without prejudice. Now, she realized he was quite good-looking and she noted for the first time his curly yellow hair, and long, half-closed blue eyes, that always seemed to be laughing at you. He had dimples, too, and these Kit resented.

“I can’t abide dimples in a boy’s face,” she declared privately to Jean, when the latter was dwelling on Frank’s good looks.

“But, Kit, Buzzy has dimples, and you always thought he was such a swell guy.”

“Well, he’s different,” Kit said lamely. “I don’t think I like blond, curly hair, either.”

They had walked down to the Peckham mill after supper to get some supplies that Danny Peckham had promised to bring up from Nantic. Just as they came to the turn of the road there came a strange sound from the direction of the waterfall cabin, deep, rich strains of music, almost as low-pitched and thrilling as the sound of the water itself. Both girls stood still listening, until Jean whispered, “It must be Mr. Ormond. He’s playing on a cello, isn’t he?”

“Then, that’s what he does,” Kit’s tone held a touch of admiring awe as she listened. “And we thought he might be anything from a counterfeiter to an escaped convict hiding away up here. Oh, Jeannie, why do you suppose he keeps away from everyone?”

“Probably got a hidden sorrow,” Jean answered. “Still he’s got a terrific appetite. Mrs. Gorham says she doesn’t see how he ever puts away the amount of food he does. He buys whole roast chickens and eats them all himself.”

Just then the music ceased suddenly. The door opened and Mr. Ormond spoke into the twilight gloom.

“Is that you, Tommy?”

“No, it’s just us girls,” answered Kit. “We’re going down to the mill.”

“Would you mind so very much asking if anyone has telephoned a telegram up for me from the station? I’m expecting one.”

“There, you see,” Jean said, dubiously, as they went on down the road. “We just get rid of one mystery, and he hands us another to solve. Who would he be getting a telegram from?”

Kit laughed and said, “You’re getting just as bad as everyone else in Elmhurst, Jean. I thought only Mr. Ricketts took an interest in telegrams and post cards.”

Nevertheless, when Lucy told them that there had been a message phoned up from Nantic, even Kit showed quick interest.

It was signed “Concetta,” and the message read, “Arrive Nantic, ten-two. Contract signed. All love and tenderness.”

The girls returned after delivering the message, brimful of the news, but Mr. Craig laughed at them.

“Why, my goodness,” he said, “I could have told you long ago all about Bryan Ormond. He’s one of the greatest cellists we have, and is married to Madame Concetta Doria, the opera singer. He told me when he first took the cabin for the summer, but as he was composing a new opera, he wanted absolute solitude up here and asked me not to let anyone know who he was.”

“Talk about entertaining an angel unawares,” Jean exclaimed. “Now, Doris, you’ll have your chance, if you can only get acquainted with her. I can see you perched on their threshold drinking in trills and quavers the rest of the summer.”

Doris only smiled happily. It was she who had begged the hardest to bring the piano with them when they moved to Elmhurst. She really played quite well and had a pleasing voice.

“Have you ever heard her sing, Mother?” she asked.

“Yes, many times. She has a lovely voice and you will like her.”

“And just to think of her coming to live in a cabin at Woodhow,” Doris said, almost in a whisper. “It seems as if we ought to offer them the best room in the house.”

“If you did, they would run away. That’s just what they have come here to escape from, all the fuss and publicity.”

Jean, too, was eagerly expecting Madame Ormond. While not one of the girls could have explained just exactly how they thought she would look, still they held a blurred picture of someone unusual, who would probably dress more or less eccentrically.

Kit was in the kitchen making sandwiches for lunch, when a shadow fell across the doorway. Jean sat on the edge of the table by the window picking over blackberries, and the two stared at the intruder. She was about the same age as Mr. Ormond, a large buoyant type of woman with a mass of curly ash-blonde hair, sparkling black eyes, and a wonderful complexion. Perhaps it was her smile that charmed the girls most, though, at that first glance. It was such a radiant smile of good fellowship when she peered into the shadowy interior of the kitchen.

“Good morning. I have come for butter and eggs and milk.” She spied the two-quart pail of berries on the table, and gave a little cry of interest. “Where do you find those, my dear?”

Jean told her politely that they came from the rock pasture on the hill behind the house.

“Will you come down to the cabin this afternoon and take me there? My husband is very, very busy working on his new opera, and I must be away and let him write in peace, so you and I will have to explore the woods together, yes?” She smiled down into Jean’s face, and just at that moment there came from the living room, where Doris was dusting, a clear, sweet soprano voice.

Madame Ormond laid her finger on her lips and listened, her eyes bright with attention and interest. “It is still another one of you?” she asked softly, when the song died away. “You shall bring her down to the cabin to me and let my husband try her voice with the cello. It is his big baby, that cello, but it is very wise, it never gives the wrong decision on a voice, and she has a very beautiful one.”

“Well,” Kit declared with a deep sigh, after Madame Ormond had gone on down toward the road with her butter, eggs, and milk, “we’ve always believed we were an exceptional family. We’ll have to begin our song of triumph pretty soon. I’ll bet she’ll go up there in the pasture every day and do her vocal practicing out of hearing of the cello, and Doris will sit on the nearest rock and play echo.”

Jean was telling Ralph about it that evening while they were sitting in the cool high air on the front porch as they did almost every evening. Although the others, with the exception of her mother and father, didn’t know it yet, Jean was going to be engaged that summer.

Not long after Ralph had come in June he had asked Jean if she had reached a decision on her art career. “Are you going to go ahead and get a job in that field and make it your career?” He asked a little anxiously, after Jean had finished an enthusiastic description of her previous year’s work in New York.

“I’ve pretty much decided against it, Ralph. I know you’ll be pleased because you never really wanted me to go through with it, I realize now. I realize something else, too, and that is how much I really love the country. How I missed it last winter. The noise of the city got on my nerves so, that I could hardly wait to get on the train when I was coming home weekends. Although I never told Mother, I almost dreaded having to go back when Sunday came.”

“Then you mean you wouldn’t mind living on the Canadian prairie?” Ralph asked, eagerly. “Are you quite sure that is what you really want?”

“Oh, of course, I’ll want to visit the city once in a while. I don’t want to forego the opportunities of city life altogether--the plays and concerts and exhibitions, I mean. As far as my career is concerned, art is only a hobby, I think, and I’d like my real career to be with you.”

Ralph kissed her tenderly, and together the next day they told Mr. and Mrs. Craig of their plans.

Jean’s mother and father were very pleased at the news, but were rather relieved to know that the two did not plan to be married until Jean was older.

“It will take me quite a long time to get used to the idea of being parted from my oldest daughter,” remarked Mrs. Craig. “I’m glad you’re being sensible about it and are going to wait. You’re not completely grown up yet, Jeannie.”

17. Frank to the Rescue

The first week in August, Jean, who had acted as treasurer of the cabin fund, announced that it had proved a solid financial success. Every cabin was full and booked up to the middle of September. The girls from the Art School had persuaded two more batches to come, and Billie’s boy friends had turned their cabins into headquarters for the club they belonged to at school.

Jeff Saunders had used his car back and forth until Kit declared she was dizzy. “Jeff tears down to Richmond and takes back a couple of boys, lays off himself for a couple of weeks, and then the car comes back with three new ones, but I must say that they’re the best behaved lot of boys I ever saw. You’d hardly know they were around at all, except for the portable radios going at night. And they certainly have kept us supplied with fish ever since they came. I think it’s done Dad a world of good going away with them and kind of turning into a boy again. Frank said the other day they were going out fishing all night just as soon as the bass were running.”

Mrs. Gorham was setting the table for lunch and stopped at the last words, one hand on her hip, and a look of anxiety in her eyes.

“They ain’t calculatin’ to fish over there beyond the dam, are they? That’s where the Gaskell boy come near drowning a year ago, when his boat upset. It’s just full of sunken snags for half a mile up the river above the island.”

“I guess that’s where they’re going just the same. Billie Ellis thinks that he knows every foot of space on that upper lake and river just because he’s poled around on it for years with that old leaky, flat-bottomed boat of his.”

“Well, it’s all right in the daytime,” Mrs. Gorham replied, “but I wouldn’t give two cents for their safety fishing for bass on a dark night among those snags.”

It happened that the very next day Kit decided that it was high time to garner in the crabapple crop and start making jelly. The best trees around Woodhow were up on the old Cynthy Allen place. While the house had burned down the year before, still Cynthy’s fruit trees were famous all over Elmhurst and Mr. Craig had bought up the crop in advance from her.

It was only about a mile and a half to Cynthy’s place from the crossroads, but Jean had taken the car to Nantic and Kit had no inclination to carry several pecks of crabapples in a sack along a dusty road. Doris and her mother were over at Becky’s for the afternoon, so that Kit was left to her own devices.

She stood on the porch undecided, a couple of grain sacks thrown over her shoulder, and suddenly the sparkle of the river through the trees in the distance caught her eye. Certainly, that was the answer. She had not had a chance the whole summer to go out in the boat and bask in idleness. Always before, she had managed to row a little during the summer so she knew Little River all the way from the Fort Ned Falls at the crossroads to where it slipped away in a shallow stream to the upper hills.

There were several old rowboats lying bottom-side-up on the shore above the falls. Kit selected the newest of the lot, a slender green boat that Billie rarely used, although she had never tried rowing anything but a flat-bottomed boat. It was the very first time also that she had been out in a boat alone, but this fact never daunted Kit. She rowed up the river with a firm level stroke, thoroughly enjoying herself and the novelty of solitude. When she passed the island, Frank was down on the little stretch of beach cleaning a mess of fish for supper. She called to him across the water, and he held up a string of pickerel invitingly. There had been a thunderstorm and a quick midsummer rain the early part of the afternoon, and the campers had been quick to take advantage of the fishing.

“I’ll stop for them on my way back,” Kit called. “Just going up after crabapples at the Allen place.” She had swerved the boat toward the bank on the opposite side of the island, without looking behind her, when suddenly Frank sprang to his feet and shouted across the water, “To the left, Kit--hard to the left, do you hear!”

Instead of obeying without question, Kit turned her head to see what he was warning her against, and before she could stop herself the rowboat was caught in an eddy that formed a miniature maelstrom at this point, caused by a large sunken tree that fell nearly to midstream from the shore. The frail rowboat overturned like a crumpled leaf. It seemed to Frank as long as he lived he would never forget the sight of her upturned face, as it slipped down into the dark, swirling water. She did not cry out, or even seem to make an attempt to swim, it all happened so suddenly. There was only the horrible, warm silence of the drowsy, midsummer landscape, and the dancing, pitching rowboat, twirling around and around in circles.

It seemed an hour to him before he had plunged into the river, and swam across to the spot where she had disappeared. The gripping horror was that she hadn’t come up at all. Even before he reached the spot where he had seen her go under, Frank dove and swam under water with his eyes open. The river bottom was a mass of swaying vegetation and gnarled, sunken roots of old trees. It seemed for the moment like outreaching fingers clutching upward. He could see the black trunk of the tree, but there was no sign of Kit until he was fairly upon her, and then he found her, her dress and hair held fast on the bare branches.

Billie had been in the cabin, getting the potatoes on for dinner, and otherwise performing his duties as assistant camp cook. He had heard Frank’s voice calling to someone, but had not taken the trouble to look out until he failed to find a favorite pot on its accustomed hook. Sticking his head out the door, he called down to the beach, “Say, Frank, where’s the aluminum pot with the big handle?”

He listened for an answer but none came, and after a second call he started to investigate. The sudden complete disappearance of Frank mystified him. Their favorite boat lay in its accustomed place on the shore with oars beside it, and there were the fish beside the cleaning board just as he had left them a moment ago.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” muttered Billie when there came a cry across the river--Frank calling for help.

Billie could just see him swimming with one long overhand stroke, and holding up something on his other shoulder. Not stopping to figure it out, Billie pushed the boat off to the rescue.

There was no sign of life, at least to Billie’s fear-struck eyes, in the limp, dripping figure which Frank laid so tenderly in the bottom of the boat.

“Quit shaking like that, Bill,” he ordered in husky sternness. “You row to the island as fast as you can.”

On the way across he knelt beside her, applying first-aid methods, while Billie rowed blindly, trying to choke back the dry sobs that would rise in his throat. It did not seem as if it could possibly be Kit lying there so white and still. When they reached the shore of the island, Frank carried her in his arms to his own cot.

“Hadn’t I better go for help?” Billie asked.

“There isn’t time,” Frank answered shortly. “Warm those blankets, get me the bottle of spirits of ammonia, and unlace her shoes.”

All the time he was talking, he worked over Kit as swiftly and tenderly as any nurse, but it seemed hours to Billie before there came at last a half-sobbing sigh from her lips, as the agonized lungs caught their first breath of air, and she opened her eyes.

Neither Frank nor Billie spoke as she stared from one to the other in slow surprise, taking in the interior of the cabin, and Frank’s dripping clothing. Then she said, crazily, “Billie, did I lose the crabapples, or haven’t I gotten them yet?”

“So that’s what you were after,” Billie cried, “poking up the river by yourself in that beastly little boat that turns over if you look at it, and you can swim about as well as a cat. If it hadn’t been for Frank here, you’d be absolutely drowned dead by now.”

The color stole back into Kit’s face. Perhaps if he had sympathized with her, she might have broken down, but as it was, she looked up into Frank’s eyes almost appealingly.

“I’m awfully sorry,” she began, but Frank stopped her with a laugh, as he rolled her up tighter in another blanket.

“I’m the doctor here now,” he said, “and you’ll have to mind. I guess if I carry you, we can get you home somehow. The sooner you’re in bed, the better.”

Mrs. Craig, Jean and Doris were just coming along the road when they saw the startling procession coming up from the river bank, Frank carrying the blanketed figure and Billie bringing up the rear.

“Why, Mother,” Jean exclaimed, “someone’s been hurt.”

“She’s all right,” called Frank, cheerily. “Just took a dip in the river, Mrs. Craig. If you’ll go ahead, please, and get a bed ready, I’ll bring her up.”

Kit’s eyes were closed. He had told her to put her arms around his neck so that he could carry her easier up the hill. Just as they got to the porch steps he said, under his breath, “Are you OK, Kit?”

She nodded her head slowly and opened her eyes. “Thank you for getting me out,” she whispered, with a shyness absolutely new to her. “You don’t know how I felt when I found myself caught down there, and couldn’t get away. I thought that was just all.”

“Bring her upstairs, Frank,” called Jean. “Mother’s telephoning to Dr. Gallup, but I suppose the danger’s all past now. Kit, you big dope, what did you ever go in that boat alone for? The minute you’re left alone, you’re always up to something. Just like the day when she had you locked up in the corncrib, Frank.”

Frank smiled, a curious reminiscent smile, as he laid his burden down on the bed.

Probably only Kit heard his answer, for Jean had gone after hot tea, and Doris was getting the heating pad, but Kit heard and smiled as he said, “God bless the corncrib.”

18. Jean’s Romance

Probably the next three days were the longest Kit had ever spent in her life. Under Dr. Gallup’s orders, she remained in bed to get over the shock of her immersion.

“When I don’t feel shocked a bit,” she argued, “I don’t see why I can’t sit in a chair down on the porch.”

“Yes, you just want to pose as an interesting invalid,” Jean laughed. “Becky sent down a stack of books for you to read. Frank and Billie call about six times a day to inquire after you, and Madame Ormond has offered to come and sing for you.”

“Jean, look at me,” said Kit suddenly. “Will you tell me something, honest and true?”

“I think Mom’s calling.” Jean’s voice was rather hurried, as she started for the door.

“No, she isn’t any such thing. I want to know if you and Ralph are engaged. I don’t see why you should try to keep it a secret when everybody thinks you are anyway. And a wedding in the family would be so exciting.”

“Well, all right, yes,” she conceded. “Ralph’s giving me a ring before he leaves. We were going to keep it a surprise until then. We’re not getting married for a long time yet, so don’t start getting excited now.” With that she turned and hurried downstairs.

Kit stared out of the window, rather resentfully. She would be seventeen in November, and Jean was past nineteen. Nineteen loomed ahead of her as a year of discretion, a time when you naturally came into your heritage of mature reason and common sense. The Dean, she remembered, had once remarked that the human brain did not reach its full development until eighteen, and how at the time she resented it, feeling absolutely sure at sixteen there was nothing under the sun she could not understand fully.

But the tumble in the river and peril to her life had left her completely stranded on the unknown shore of indecision. Evidently it was just what Billie had called it, a fool stunt for her to try and row up that river alone. Kit had always gone rather jauntily along doing as she thought best with an unshakable confidence that nothing could happen to her.

Another thing, she had a very uncomfortable sensation, for her enemy had heaped coals of fire on her head and returned good for evil in such an overwhelming measure that she never could repay him. Twenty-four hours had made an enormous difference in her outlook on life.

The afternoon of the third day she was allowed to sit down on the porch. Doris and Jean hovered over her quite as if she was made of glass, and nearly all the cabin colonists visited her in relays. Billie came up last of all, but Frank did not appear.

“He’s gone off up in the hills,” Billie told her, “chasing some kind of a new moth. He said to tell you he would be back to see you later this afternoon. You’d be awfully dead by now, Kit, if he hadn’t happened to see you go down, because I was in the cabin and didn’t know anything about it. But it was just like him to dash after you and pull you out.”

Kit leaned her chin reflectively on her hand. “Heroes are such uncomfortable people in everyday life, Bill,” she said. “Everybody, even Dad and Mom, keep telling me how everlastingly grateful I must be to him for saving my life. I don’t see what I can do except thank him, and I’ve done that.”

“Treat him decently,” Billie suggested, “even if you don’t like him. Hide it.”

“Oh, I like him well enough,” Kit answered, “only he’s never seemed like Buzzy, and Ralph, and you. I guess I’ve always resented everyone thinking he was so wonderful. It was as though he had had a sort of sweet revenge on me for taking him for a berry thief.”

True to his word, Frank came down to see Kit just before dinner with some startling news.

“I’ll be leaving for Europe in another month, Kit. I just received a letter granting me a fellowship to go over there to examine European species of insects. If you’ll be real good, Kit, and never call me a berry thief again, I’ll write to you.”

He was only joking, but there was no answering glint of humor in Kit’s eyes as she said, “I’ll never, never even think of you as a berry thief again, Frank. I didn’t know you were planning to go away off over there, and I’m willing now to say I am sorry for the first day, and Tommy locking you up, and Mr. Hicks coming to arrest you.”

“I do believe you’re trying to forgive me, Kit,” Frank said teasingly. “Is this a truce, or a lasting peace? You see, I want to know for sure, because I haven’t any sisters, or mother, or anyone who cares a rap whether I go or stay, and you’re the first person I’ve even told.”

“It’s peace,” Kit answered, firmly.

Frank was very busy pulling a small box out of his pocket. In it was a silver bracelet on which was engraved a tree. “Keep this so you won’t forget me. It’s an Indian bracelet I brought from New Mexico, and the tree is alive and growing. It isn’t a sunken snag.”

Kit was obviously very pleased and tried to thank him for it but she stopped as Ralph and Jean came slowly up the drive together.

Ralph came up the porch steps and sat down beside her. “Jean told me you guessed our surprise. How do you like your new brother, Kit?”

“I approve,” answered Kit, solemnly. “You know I’ve always liked you, Ralph. Are you going to let her keep on painting?”

“She can do anything she likes,” Ralph promised. “And if she can find any more beautiful scenery than we have in Saskatchewan and through Northwest Canada, she’ll have to show it to me.”

Jean smiled happily but said nothing. She was looking out at the hills but what she really saw was a ranch in Saskatoon.

Transcriber’s Note:

Punctuation has been standardised.

Falcon Books preliminary page
Ralph MacRae came along _changed to_
Ralph McRae came along

In the Contents
The Suprise _changed to_
The Surprise

Page 72
wasn’t anything in itat _changed to_
wasn’t anything in it at

Page 117
all abou tthat _changed to_
all about that