Soon the march across the field began. Mrs. Wright watched them from the window. Eliza, her shade hat tied primly down beneath her chin, steadied the barrel when Phil's route encountered too great an irregularity.
"Dear martyr," thought Mrs. Wright, who had caught a glimpse of her companion's expression as they moved away. "She does love that beautiful boy. I hope her reward will come soon."
Captain James had just driven back down the hill after bringing up the trunks when Phil and Eliza reached the shaven sward about the Fabian cottage.
Phil dropped the wheelbarrow at the steps.
"Wait here a minute, Eliza, till I reconnoitre," he said. "This was a sleeping castle when I left."
"Now, if they're asleep—" said Eliza, hastily and hopefully; but Phil had disappeared quietly around the corner which led to the windbreak. As he approached, the sound of voices mingled with the tide, so he advanced with confidence.
Kathleen was sitting on the edge of the hammock facing her mother, who looked around as Phil came in view.
"Here we are, awake at last," she said. "Where have you been? How well you look! You have quite a flush."
He came close to her. "I've been helping Eliza Brewster bring you a present," he said.
Mrs. Fabian was all attention, but a look of resentment spread over her countenance.