ors of their
race, who can distinguish the false from the true, who can go forward
through shadowy perils to the clear light of knowledge and success.

It was in recognition of this that old Secotan, half understanding,
wholly unable to put his feeling into words, standing alone upon the
headland, raised his arms in reverent salute and cried a last good-by
to his comrade:

"Farewell and good fortune, O Brother of the Sun!"

CHAPTER III

JOHN MASSEY'S LANDLORD

The story had come to an end, but the boy and girl still waited as
though to hear more.

"But do oak trees grow to be so old?" Oliver inquired at last, looking
out at the moving shadow of the great tree that had now covered the
doorstone.

"Yes, three hundred years is no impossible age for an oak. All the old
grants of land speak of an oak tree on this hill as one of the
landmarks."

"How did you know?" began Oliver, and then broke off, with a sudden
jerk of recollection: "Oh, I forgot all about it--my train!"

He snatched out his watch and stood regarding it with a rueful face.
He had missed the train by more than half an hour.

"Were you going away?" asked Polly sympathetically. "We are always
missing trains like that, daddy and I. Won't they be surprised to see
you come back!"

"They--they didn't know I was going," returned Oliver. "They are
wondering now where I am." He was too much agitated to keep from
doing his thinking out loud. "I must be getting back. Thank you for
the story. Good-by."

He was gone before they could say more, leaving Polly, in fact, with
her mouth open to speak and with the Beeman looking after him with an
amused and quizzical grin, as though he recognized the symptoms of an
uneasy conscience.

"We never asked him to come again," Polly lamented.

To which her father answered, "I believe he will come, just the same."

The smooth machinery of Cousin Jasper's house must have been thrown
out of gear for a moment when the car came round to the door and
Oliver failed to appear. It was running quietly and noiselessly again,
however, by the time he returned. Janet was curled up in a big
armchair in the library, enjoying a book, when he came in. She looked
up at him rather curiously, but only said:

"Eleanor Brighton's mother telephoned at half past three that Eleanor
had been detained somewhere, she didn't quite know where. She was very
apologetic and hoped we would come some other time. I walked down the
road to l