solve. Who
on earth would he be getting a telegram from?"

Kit laughed and slipped her arm around the slender shoulders that were
growing so quickly up to her own.

"You're getting just as bad as every one else here in Gilead, Helenita. I
thought only Mr. Ricketts took an interest in telegrams and post-cards."

Nevertheless, when Sally told them that there had been a message 'phoned
up from Nantic, even Kit showed quick interest.

It was signed "Concetta," and the message read:

"Arrive Nantic, ten-two. All love and tenderness. Contract signed."

The girls returned after delivering the message, brimful of the news, but
Mr. Robbins laughed at them.

"Why, bless your hearts," he said, "I could have told you long ago all
about Bryan Ormond. He is one of the greatest 'cellists we have, and is
married to Madame Concetta Doria, the grand-opera singer. He told me when
he first took the tent for the summer, but as he was composing a new
opera, he wanted absolute solitude up here, and asked me not to let any
one know who they were."

"Talk about entertaining an angel unawares," Jean exclaimed. "Now, Helen,
you'll have your chance, if you can only get acquainted with her. I can
see you perched on their threshold drinking in trills and quavers the rest
of the summer."

Helen only smiled happily. It was she who had pleaded most for the
preservation of the empire grand piano. The one in the gold case with all
the Watteau figures and garlands painted on it, that had been saved as one
of the "white hyacinths" from the old home. After the day's work was
over, it was always Helen who stole into the dim front room to listen
while her mother played over favorite airs from the old grand-operas.
Perhaps only Helen really understood how at this time Gilead and all its
rural delights vanished, and in their place came memories of the days back
at the Cove, when the season tickets at the opera had been as natural a
part of the year's pleasures as setting hens were here.

"Have you ever heard her sing, mother?" she asked, that first evening,
after Mrs. Robbins had played the "Shadow Dance" from "Dinorah" and the
trio from "Traviata."

"I heard her in both of these, dear, and ever so many more. I think my
favorite was Rigoletto. She was a beautiful, girlish Gilda, but that is
years ago. You girls will love her."

"And just to think of her coming to live in a tent at Greenacre Farms,"
Helen said, almost in a hushed whisper. "It seems