rolling
down the road.

"Pick 'em up, children, pick 'em up!" gasped Mr. Bowdoin. "Findings
keepings, you know." And he broke into a chuckle as the two smaller
girls precipitated themselves upon the rolling orange-spheres as if
they were footballs, and Master Harley, in his anxiety to stop one
that was rolling over the wharf, tripped upon the hawser, and was
grabbed by a friendly sailor just as he himself was rolling after it
into the sea.

"You don't seem to care for oranges, Miss Dolly," said Mr. Bowdoin, as
Miss Dowse stood haughtily aloof; and he looked then at Mercedes, who
was left quite alone, yet followed Miss Dowse's example of dignity;
Jamie standing behind, not beside her, hat in hand.

"Ah, Ja-- Mr. McMurtagh," said Mr. Bowdoin, doffing his own. "And so
this is our Miss Mercy again? Why don't you chase the oranges, my
dear?"

Mercedes looked at the old gentleman a moment, then ran after the
oranges.

Dolly still made excuses. "It is so hot, and I have clean gloves on."

Mr. Bowdoin cast a quick glance at the envied gloves, and then at
Mercedes' brown hands. "Here, Dolly, chuck those gloves in the
carriage there: they're not allowed down here. McMurtagh, I'm glad to
see your Mercy has more sense. Can't stay to luncheon? Well, remember
me to Mr. James!"

Ah, the marvelous power of kindliness that will give even an old
merchant the perception of a woman, the tact of a diplomat! McMurtagh
went back with a light heart, and Mercedes jumped with delight into
the very finest of the carriages, and was given a seat ("as the
greatest stranger") behind with Mr. Bowdoin, while the other three
girls filled the seat in front, and Harley held the reins upon the
box, a process Mr. Bowdoin affected not to see.

They drove through the little village in the train of other carriages;
and Mercedes sat erect and answered artlessly to Mr. Bowdoin's
questions. He asked her whether she was happy in her home, and she
said she was. (In his kindness the simple-hearted old gentleman still
knew no other way to make a woman tell the truth than by asking her
questions!) Jamie was very good to her, she said, and grandpa most of
all; grandma was cross sometimes. ("Jamie"! "grandpa"! Old Mr. Bowdoin
made a mental note.) But she was very lonely: she had no children to
play with.

Mr. Bowdoin's heart warmed at once. "You must come down here often, my
dear!" he cried; thus again laying up a wigging from his auguster
spouse. But "Ja