At this moment a voice at Martine's elbow cried, "Bless my soul," in tones that were strangely familiar, and turning about she met the surprised gaze of Mr. Gamut whom she had last seen at the exercises around the Harvard statue on Class Day.
"So it really is you, Miss Martine," said the Mr. Gamut, holding out his hand. "I had no idea that you were in this part of the world."
"We have a little cottage here this summer," responded Martine.
"Are you all together again? Surely your father—"
"Oh, no, my father isn't here; we've had only one letter since I saw you, and that wasn't encouraging."
Against her will, tears came to Martine's eyes.
"There, there, remember what I told you; things are bound to come out all right."
"Oh, I hope so. Mother says that if things were worse we should probably have had a cable."
"That's the way to look at it. Come, walk around with me for a little while. I suppose you know all about these things. My niece wouldn't come with me. She doesn't care for history. A great place this New England! They seem to have saved all their old odds and ends and have a story to fit everything."
"But York is really old and historic," protested Martine, proud of her recently acquired information. "The first settlers here were Royalists and held high positions."