gh of
contentment. The door of her treasure-box stood open and beside her
were the sheets of her neglected manuscript. She had stolen out for an
hour's uninterrupted work.

"How _heavenly_ quiet," she had been saying to the rustling leaves.
"_Now_ I am going to work and make up for lost time." Everything at
Happy House seemed to be back on what Nancy called a "peace-basis." "I
must go down to the village and tell Webb what a dear he was to make
this seat," she had thought, as she climbed into it.

Then, just as her inspired pencil had written "Act 4" across the top of
a clean sheet, had come the strange words, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Well, I _never_!" Nancy peeped all around. The sound came apparently
from under the cliff. "Who _is_ it? And how could _anyone_ get there."

The voice--a boy's--was rattling on in a succession of sharp commands.
Nancy crept toward the edge and peeped over. There, to her amazement,
on a strip of sand beach in an indentation of the shore, marched and
counter-marched a small boy, quite alone. He was a funny, snub-nosed,
tousled headed boy in ragged blouse and blue jeans--and, clearly, very
much in earnest, for a deep scowl wrinkled his freckled face.

"At-ten-shun! Shoulder arms--right face--forward, march." Three feet
length of bare-footed manliness stepped briskly across the sand. "Step
up, you Dick Snead," and a domineering arm swept out toward an
imaginary lagger in the rear.

"Was there _ever_ anything so funny?" giggled Nancy, crouching in the
tall grass at the top of the cliff. "And what is it? Fairies don't
come in over-alls, and I don't think they ever liked military drill,
either."

She loosened a stone and let it roll down the bank. Startled, the
youngster lifted his glance to the top of the bank.

"Hello," called Nancy.

A heavy scowl answered her friendly greeting.

"What are you doing?"

"I ain't doin' nothin'." It was clear that Nancy's interruption was
unwelcome. "Least I ain't doin' nothin' that's hurtin'."

"Of course not! It sounded nice. I didn't even know there was a beach
down there! How did you ever get down?"

The boy grew crafty--the haste with which he answered said plainly that
he did not _want_ Nancy to know how.

"Girls can't get down--it's awful dang'rous!"

"Then won't you come up?"

The boy considered this. He had guessed that this must be the "girl up
at the Happy House." She seemed friendly and not at all disposed