He ran all the way from the wharf, and up the beach and climbed the great ledge on which sat the house where with his mother he had been staying. He rushed up the steps to the piazza, wildly crying:
"Where are you? Where is everybody? I've come home! I've come home!"
They came at once, and from every direction, like ants from an ant hill, and swarmed around him, asking more questions than he could answer.
A tall, handsome woman rushed across the piazza, her eyes bright with hope.
"Stand aside!" she cried. "It is Max! My little Max! I know his voice! Oh, let me reach him!"
The crowd parted, and the boy was instantly clasped in his mother's arms.
"My own! My darling!" she sobbed.
"I won't ever run away again!" he responded, his arms about her neck.
"Come!" said one of the crowd that had gathered. "Let them be alone together for a while," and as with one accord the group melted, the guests going far from the two who, for the time being, needed no other company than each other.
Of course, a bit later Max told his story to eager listeners, and when he had finished the little tale, he said: "And you folks ought to know that Gwen was a regular brick, to keep the secret I told her not to let out. Any girl but Gwen would have told it first thing, but Gwen is a brick. Don't all of you think so?"