Dawn was reddening the leaves of the oak outside the window when Fessenden awoke. From the great bay below the house came the ruffle of water—the wind was freshening. But it was not the mutter along the shore, nor the tang of the salt air, that had aroused him.
What could that idiot, Cleborne, have been driving at in his talk of Betty? No, Cleborne had declared he had never heard of her. Then whom could his dark hints be about? Was the Virginian a subtle joker, acting at the instigation of Polly or Mrs. Dick? It was not unlikely. And did Madge Yarnell’s peculiar conduct have any connection with the matter?
While he was still puzzling over Cleborne’s words, he fell asleep, and when he awoke again, at a more reasonable hour, his mind instantly became too full of plans for the day’s excursion with Betty to hold any conflicting thoughts.
At eight o’clock he ate his eggs, toast, and coffee, solving the problem of presenting a sufficient excuse for his proposed day’s absence by the simple process of not attempting it.
At the last moment, the freshening wind suggested the probable need of ample protection from the weather. Accordingly, he carried a double armful of steamer-rugs and rain-coats from the house to the Wisp.
In five minutes he was standing for Piney Cove. It took him half an hour or more to reach it, for the wind, blowing steadily from the northwest, held him back. He was rewarded by finding Betty and Aunty Landis awaiting him on the beach.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Landis. Hail, Dryad of the Pines!”
“Hail, Old Man of the Sea!”
Her eyes were as clear as twin pools; her lips were smiling, ready as always to laugh with him or at him, as opportunity might offer. She held her head with that defiant tilt of the chin that was to him one of her always-remembered characteristics. The sunlight flashed from the bay to the shining braid of her hair.
Her white sailor suit was set off by two daring bands of color—a scarlet handkerchief at her throat, and a scarlet sash about her waist. That most effective head-dress, a man-o’-war’s-man’s white hat, crowned her head. Fessenden’s eyes dwelt upon her with such frank delight that she blushed a little as Mrs. Landis followed her on board the Wisp.