o the half of their weekly wages,
was hers for the asking.

She liked it very much. Everybody likes to be admired and appreciated.
She could not help casting a glance of triumph over at Francis, where
he sat maritally at the other end of the table, the most silent person
present.

Pennington helped her clear away after supper. Indeed, competition to
help Marjorie clear away was so strong that Pennington had to use his
authority before the men settled down to their usual routine of
card-playing or lounging about on the grass outside. She accepted his
help gratefully, for she was beginning to feel as if she had always
known him. She did not think of him in the least as a man. He seemed
more like an earthly providence.

"You know, I really am very strong," she explained to him as he said
something that betrayed his feeling that this work would be too much
for her. "I think I shall be able to do all this. Really, it isn't
anything more than lots of women have to do who keep boarders. And it
isn't for----"

She stopped herself. She had been on the point of saying, "And it
isn't for long, anyway." She did not know what Francis had told the
men about their plans, or his plans for her cooking, and she was
resolved to be absolutely loyal to him. When she went he should have
nothing to say about her but that she had behaved as well as any woman
could.

"If you're ready, we'll go back to the cabin, Marjorie," said Francis,
appearing on the edge of the threshold, looking even more like a
thundercloud than normal lately.

She hung up the dishcloth, gave Pennington a last grateful smile, and
followed Francis back.

"Pennington's a good fellow," he said abruptly as they gained their own
porch, "but I don't want you to have too much to do with him. He's
kindly and all that, but he's a remittance man."

Marjorie's eyes opened wide with excitement at this. She had heard of
remittance men, but never seen one before.

"How perfectly thrilling!" she said.

CHAPTER X

Francis looked at her as if she had said something very surprising.

"Thrilling?" he said, apparently considering it the wrong adjective.

She nodded.

"Why, yes. I've read of remittance men all my life, but I never
dreamed I'd meet one. And--I always wanted to know, Francis," said
she, as she opened the door and walked in and settled herself cozily on
the window-seat. "What does he remit? They never say."

"He doesn't remit," explain