as, I began to admit to myself, a good one for me. I needed to be kept
alive and active, and here, in this wide-awake household, I couldn't be
anything else. The future did not look as dull and hopeless as it had
when I left Bayport. I even began to consider the possibilities
of another novel, to hope that I might write one. Jim Campbell's
"prescription," although working in quite a different way from that
which he and I had planned, was working nevertheless.

Matthews, at the Camford Street office, was forwarding my letters and
honoring my drafts with promptness. I received a note each week from
Campbell. I had written him all particulars concerning Little Frank and
our move to the rectory, and he professed to see in it only a huge joke.

"Tell your Miss Cahoon," he wrote, "that I am going to turn Spiritualist
right away. I believe in dreams now, and presentiments and all sorts
of things. I am trying to dream out a plot for a novel by you. Had a
roof-garden supper the other night and that gave me a fine start, but
I'll have to tackle another one before I get sufficient thrills to
furnish forth one of your gems. Seriously though, old man, this whole
thing will do you a world of good. Nothing short of an earthquake would
have shaken you out of your Cape Cod dumps and it looks to me as if you
and--what's her name--Hephzibah, had had the quake. What are you going
to do with the Little Frank person in the end? Can't you marry her off
to a wealthy Englishman? Or, if not that, why not marry her yourself?
She'd turn a dead quahaug into a live lobster, I should imagine, if
anyone could. Great idea! What?"

His "great idea" was received with the contempt it deserved. I tore up
the letter and threw it into the waste basket.

But Hephzy herself spoke of matrimony and Little Frank soon after
this. We were alone together; Frances had gone on a horseback ride with
Herbert Bayliss and a female cousin who was spending the day at "Jasmine
Gables."

"Hosy," said Hephzy, "do you realize the summer is half over? It's the
middle of July now."

So it was, although it seemed scarcely possible.

"Yes," she went on. "Our lease of this place is up the first of October.
We shall be startin' for home then, I presume likely, sha'n't we."

"I suppose so. We can't stay over here indefinitely. Life isn't all
skittles and--and tea."

"That's so. I don't know what skittles are, but I know what tea is. Land
sakes! I should say I did. They tell