“But it can hardly be that you are the only one,” she said, as with sudden recollection. “Captain Raymond,” turning to him, “I think I understand now about some puzzling things that occurred while you were at our house year before last. You too are a ventriloquist, are you not?”
“No, my dear girl, by no means,” he replied.
“Then I have not, as I believed, found a solution of the mystery,” she remarked reflectively; “but I think some one else who was there must have been a ventriloquist; for I know not how else to account for some things that occurred at Minersville when you were there: the beggar-boy and dog heard by four of us, but not seen; the voice speaking from the tree and the porch roof, that made Mr. Riggs so angry, and all that occurred on the evening of the Fourth, as you Americans call it.”
“And that was doubtless the work of a ventriloquist,” acknowledged the captain in a pleasant tone, “but I cannot claim any talent in that line.”
“Then who could it have been?” she said with a puzzled look. “Ah! perhaps the English gentleman or his son. I remember they were often there conversing with you and Master Max.”
Captain Raymond did not think it necessary to reply to that remark, and other subjects of conversation were presently introduced. At the conclusion of the meal all repaired to the veranda or the grounds, and Cousin Ronald drew Marian aside for a little private chat.
“Tell me about your brother, lass,” he said. “Is he happy? suited with his employment, think you?”
Marian hesitated for an instant, and then said frankly: “Poor Sandy longs for a good education, sir, but is willing to work hard and long for the means to pay his way in school and college.”
“He is a good, industrious lad?”