lly, Miss Welkie, but surely he won't neglect his own
child's future?"

"I'm afraid that would not be his way of looking at it."

"And his way is a fine way, no doubt, Miss Welkie--if a man had only
himself to think of. But can, or should, his family--" he paused.

"His family? Young Greg and I are his family, Mr. Necker, and I'm sure
we're not worrying about the future." Her head bent lower to her sewing,
but not too low for Necker to see the little smile, half of humor, half
of something else, hovering on her lips.

"Because you're too young--and too unselfish."

This time her head came up and the smile developed into a soft laugh.
"No, no, nothing quite so fine as that, nor quite so awfully young. At
twenty-three----"

Necker tried to meet her eyes; but the eyes were not for him, nor for
the boy on the beach this time, nor for the brave war-ships at anchor.
Her eyes were for something farther away. Necker, twisting in his chair,
could distinguish through the haze the fortification walls on the other
side of the little bay.

There was another little smile hovering. Necker waited hopefully. She,
catching his eye, flushed and returned to her sewing. "We're all very
happy here," she added after a moment, and, still flushing, resumed her
needle.

Presently he pointed his cane at the boy on the beach. "A great deal of
your brother in him, isn't there?"

"Very much. Our older friends back home say that it is like Greg--that
is, my brother--being born all over."

"A fine boy, yes, Miss Welkie, and ought to be a great man some day. But
I'll be running along now, Miss Welkie."

"You won't wait for him? He will be glad to see you, I know."

"Thank you; but after a man's been out there under that sun all day is
no time for a friend to bother him. And I am a friend of your brother's,
believe me, Miss Welkie. It is because I am a friend and an admirer of
his that I'm here."

"But you will return later?"

"I will, thank you--after he's had time to clean up and eat and smoke,
and a chat with his friend, I'll drop in for a little talk, and in that
little talk, Miss Welkie, I hope you won't be against me, for I mean it
for his best. So until eight o'clock to-night, Miss Welkie--_adios_."
Necker, swishing his gold-headed cane, strolled leisurely away.

"I wonder what he wants of Greg," murmured Marie Welkie. And until his
pea-green suit was lost to sight she speculated on his probable errand.

By and by her eyes, no