'Here, Olga, is the voice of the
nation speaking to you through the printed page. Learn to read in the
language of your new country.' Oh, Becky," he broke off, "I wanted to
show you the bookshops. It's a perfect pilgrimage----"

The Admiral, swaying to the wind, came up to them. "Hadn't you better go
inside?" he shouted. "Becky will freeze out here."

They followed him. The cabin was comparatively quiet after the tumult.
Louise was still working on the green bag. "What have you two been
doing?" she asked.

"Playing Olga of Petrograd," said Archibald, moodily, "but Becky was cold
and came in."

"Grandfather brought me in," said Becky.

"If you had cared to stay, you would have stayed," he told her, rather
unreasonably. "Perhaps, after all, Boston to Olga simply means baked
beans which she doesn't like, and codfish which she prefers--raw----"

"Now you have spoiled it all," said Becky. "I loved the things that you
said about the churches and the bookshops and Bunker Hill."

"Did you? Well, it is all true, Becky, the part they have played in
making us a nation. And it is all going to be true again. We Americans
aren't going to sell our birthright for a mess of pottage."

And now the island once more rose out of the sea. The little steamer had
some difficulty in making a landing. But at last they were on shore, and
the 'bus was waiting, and it was after dark when they reached "The
Whistling Sally."

The storm was by that time upon them--the wind blew a wild gale, but the
little gray cottage was snug and warm. Jane in her white apron went
unruffled about her pleasant tasks--storms might come and storms might
go--she had no fear of them now, since none of her men went down to the
sea in ships.

Tristram in shining oilskins brought up their bags. He stood in the hall
and talked to them, and before he went away, he said casually over his
shoulder, "There's a gentleman at the hotel that has asked for you once
or twice."

"For me?" the Admiral questioned.

"You and Miss Becky."

"Do you know his name?"

"It's Dalton. George Dalton----"

"I don't know any Daltons. Do you, Becky?"

Becky stood by the table with her back to them. She did not turn.
"Yes," she said in a steady voice. "There was a George Dalton whom I met
this summer--in Virginia."

II

There was little sleep for Becky that night. The storm tore around the
tiny house, but its foundations were firm, and it did not shake. T