ad you can climb. One can see so much more from the
tree-tops; and, oh! there is so much, so much to find out all the
time! Isn't there?"

"Yes. Decidedly. One of the things I'd like to find out first is who
you are and how you came here. If you're willing."

Then he added, rather hastily: "Of course, I don't want to be
impertinently curious. It only seems so strange to find such educated
people buried here in the north woods. I don't see how you live here.
I--I----"

But the more he tried to explain the more confused he grew, and Margot
merrily simplified matters by declaring:

"You are curious, all the same, and so am I. Let's tell each other all
about everything and then we'll start straight without the bother of
stopping as we go along. Do sit down and I'll begin."

"Ready."

"There's so little, I shan't be long. My dear mother was Cecily
Dutton, my Uncle Hugh's twin. My father was Philip Romeyn, uncle's
closest friend. They were almost more than brothers to each other,
always; though uncle was a student and, young as he was, a professor
at Columbia. Papa was a business man, a banker, or a cashier in a
bank. He wasn't rich, but mamma and uncle had money. From the time
they were boys uncle and papa were fond of the woods. They were great
hunters, then, and spent all the time they could get up here in
northern Maine. After the marriage mamma begged to come with them, and
it was her money bought this island, and the land along the shore of
this lake as far as we can see from here. Much farther, too, of
course, because the trees hide things. They built this log cabin and
it cost a great, great deal to do it. They had to bring the workmen so
far, but it was finished at last, and everything was brought up here
to make it--just as you see."

"What an ideal existence!"

"Was it? I don't know much about ideals, though uncle talks of them
sometimes. It was real, that's all. They were very, very happy. They
loved each other so dearly. Angelique came from Canada to keep the
house and she says my mother was the sweetest woman she ever saw. Oh!
I wish--I wish I could have seen her! Or that I might remember her.
I'll show you her portrait. It hangs in my own room."

"Did she die?"

"Yes. When I was a year old. My father had passed away before that,
and my mother was broken-hearted. Even for uncle and me she could not
bear to live. It was my father's wish that we should come up here to
stay, and Uncle Hugh left everyt