Simon waited. Then he said:
"Do you want me to tell you a story, Peter—a story about another girl like Mona, who lived a long, long time ago?"
Peter nodded, wondering whether Simon would then tell him something about the letter that was in the bottle.
The story was short, for Simon McQuarrie was a cold and—most people thought—an emotionless man. But his heart was beating painfully as he began his tale.
"A long time ago there was another girl just like Mona, and just as lovely and sweet, Peter, and there were three boys who grew up near her. But one of these boys was almost a man, much older than the other two, so that when the girl came to young womanhood he was really almost old enough to be her father. And these three all loved her, every one of them, but one of the three was very much like this Aleck Curry you fought and had a heart in him that didn't know what clean love was. Well, of course, she loved just one of them, Peter, and he was the best and noblest of the three. Her name was Helen."
"My mother's name," said Peter quickly.
"Yes, and the odd thing about it is the name of the man she married was Donald, just like your father's. That's why I'm telling you the story, Peter. It—it's queer."
Peter was silent.
"The man who was almost old enough to be her father was glad in a way," went on Simon. "No one ever knew just how badly it broke him up, but their happiness in time made him happy, and he was the best friend they ever had. At least, I think he was. But the black-hearted one of the three was different, and one day when Donald and the older man were away he came to her cabin and insulted her, even though she had a little baby in her arms. And just then the other two came back. What would you have done, Peter?"
Peter's body had stiffened.