d to provide any
amusement for them, and seemed, at times, to forget even that they
were there.

"You are a great comfort to him, my dears. He seems worried and
distracted-like lately," Mrs. Brown had told them. "He does not like
to be in this great house alone."

To Oliver it seemed that their presence meant very little, a fact
which caused him to puzzle, to chafe and, finally, as was fairly
natural, to grow irritated. After he and Janet had explored the house
and garden, there seemed nothing left to do for Oliver but to stroll
up and down the drive, stare through the tall gates at the motors
going by, or to spend hours in the garage, sitting on a box and
watching Jennings, the chauffeur, tinker with the big car that was so
seldom used. Janet was able to amuse herself better, but her brother,
by the third day, had reached a state of disappointed boredom that was
almost ready, at any small thing, to flare out into open revolt. The
very small thing required was the case of Cousin Eleanor.

They were all walking up and down the terrace on the third evening,
directly after dinner, the boy and girl trying to accommodate their
quick steps to Cousin Jasper's slower and less vigorous ones. Their
host was talking little; Janet, with an effort, was attending
politely to what he said, but Oliver was allowing his wits to go
frankly woolgathering. It was still light enough to look across the
slopes of the green valley and to see the shining silver river and the
roofs of one or two big houses like their own, set each in its group
of clustering trees. Beyond the stream, with its borders of
yellow-green willows, there rose a smooth, round hill, bare of woods,
or houses, with only one huge tree at the very top and with what
seemed like a tiny cottage clinging to the slope just below the
summit.

"Where that river bends at the foot of the hill, there ought to be
rapids and good fishing," the boy was thinking. "Perhaps I might get
over there to see, some day."

He was suddenly conscious, with a flush of guilt, that Cousin Jasper
was asking him a question, but had stopped in the middle of a
sentence, realizing that Oliver was not listening.

"So," he interrupted himself, "an old man's talk does not interest
you, eh?"

He followed Oliver's glance down to the crooked river, and made an
attempt to guess his thought.

"You were looking at that big stone house beyond the stream," he said,
"and I suppose you were wondering who lives