a very surprised face was
discernible.

Mr. Magee turned quickly. A few feet inside the door stood the girl of
the station, weeping no more, but radiant with smiles. Back of her was
the determined impossible companion of yesterday.

"Oh, mamma," laughed the girl, "we're too late for breakfast! Isn't it a
shame?"

Mr. Bland's lean hands went quickly to adjust his purple tie. Professor
Bolton looked every inch the owl as he blinked in dazed fashion at the
blue corduroy vision. Gingerly Mr. Peters set down the plates he had
taken from the table, still neglecting his open mouth.

Mr. Magee rose from the table, and went forward with outstretched hand.

CHAPTER V

THE MAYOR CASTS A SHADOW BEFORE

"From tears to smiles," said Mr. Magee, taking the girl's hand. "What
worked the transformation? Not the Commercial House, I know, for I
passed it last evening."

"No, hardly the Commercial House," laughed the girl. "Rather the
sunshine of a winter morning, the brisk walk up the mountain, and the
sight of the Hermit of Baldpate with eyes like saucers staring at a
little girl who once bought his postal cards."

"Then you know Mr. Peters?" inquired Magee.

"Is that his name? You see, I never met him in private life--he was just
the hermit when I knew him. I used to come to Baldpate in the summers,
and send his cards back to the folks at home, and dream dreams of his
love-story when from my window I saw the light of his shack at night.
I'm so glad to meet Mr. Peters informally."

She held out her hand, but Peters, by long practise wary of women, had
burdened himself with breakfast plates which prevented his clasping it.
He muttered "How d'ye do?" and fled toward the door, narrowly averting
what would have proved a serious collision with the large woman on the
way.

"Mr. Peters meets so few of your sex in winter," Magee apologized, "you
must pardon his clumsiness. This gentleman"--he indicated the professor,
who arose--"is Thaddeus Bolton, a distinguished member of a certain
university faculty, who has fled to Baldpate to escape the press of
America. And this is Mr. Bland, who hides here from the world the scars
of a broken heart. But let us not go into details."

The girl smiled brightly. "And you--" she asked.

"William Hallowell Magee," he returned, bowing low. "I have a neat
little collection of stories accounting for my presence here, from which
I shall allow you to choose later. Not to mention the real one