to you."

"I daresay you would," she said quietly. "But I couldn't be good to you.
I don't want to marry you, Mr. Abbey. That's final. All the feeling I
have for you isn't enough for any woman to marry on."

"Maybe not," he said dolefully. "I suppose that's the way it goes. Hang
it, I guess I was a little too sudden. But I'm a stayer. Maybe you'll
change your mind some time."

He was standing very near her, and they were both so intent upon the
momentous business that occupied them that neither noticed Charlie
Benton until his hail startled them to attention.

"Hello, folks," he greeted and passed on into the cook shanty, bestowing
upon Stella, over Abbey's shoulder, a comprehensive grin which nettled
her exceedingly. Her peaceful hour had been disturbed to no purpose. She
did not want to love or be loved. For the moment she felt old beyond her
years, mature beyond the comprehension of any man. If she had voiced her
real attitude toward Paul Abbey, she would have counseled him to run and
play, "like a good little boy."

Instead she remarked: "I must get to work," and left her downcast
suitor without further ceremony.

As she went about her work in the kitchen, she saw Abbey seat himself
upon a log in the yard, his countenance wreathed in gloom. He was
presently joined by her brother. Glancing out, now and then, she made a
guess at the meat of their talk, and her lip curled slightly. She saw
them walk down to Abbey's launch, and Charlie delivered an encouraging
slap on Paul's shoulder as he embarked. Then the speedy craft tore out
of the bay at a headlong gait, her motor roaring in unmuffled exhaust,
wide wings of white spray arching off her flaring bows.

"The desperate recklessness of thwarted affection--fiddlesticks!" Miss
Benton observed in sardonic mood. Her hands were deep in pie dough. She
thumped it viciously. The kitchen and the flies and all the rest of it
rasped at her nerves again.

Charlie came into the kitchen, hunted a cookie out of the tin box where
such things were kept, and sat swinging one leg over a corner of the
table, eying her critically while he munched.

"So you turned Paul down, eh?" he said at last. "You're the prize chump.
You've missed the best chance you'll ever have to put yourself on Easy
Street."

CHAPTER VII

SOME NEIGHBORLY ASSISTANCE

For a week thereafter Benton developed moods of sourness, periods of
scowling thought. He tried to speed up his gang, and having