to her as a more sedate method of locomotion, and finally the cow's
gyrations carried her out of sight, leaving Sylvia alone and happy
under the pine trees.

"Isn't it the strangest thing in the world that I should be here?" she
thought, looking about. A memory returned to her of the cheap
boarding-house in Springfield where her father breathed his last; of
the worries that followed his decease; of her hurried journey; of the
shock dealt her in Boston; of the stranger-cousin descending, as it
were, out of the clouds to bear her up from the lowlands of
mortification and hurt, to where the sea winds chased dull care away.
The future troubled Sylvia very little. The thorn in the present was
that Judge Trent owned this soft, grassy knoll on which she stood,
owned that straight, symmetrical balsam fir yonder whose bright green
tips full of the new life of spring were breathing balm on the air;
owned the gambrel roof under which was her inviting chamber. Did he
know she was here? She could not remember what her cousin had said
about that. Mr. Dunham had sent for Thinkright. Yes, now she
remembered: Judge Trent had told him to send, doubtless to ease his
conscience; to get her out of sight, and yet to know that his sister's
child was safe.

Well, his sister's child would show him---- At the revengeful impulse
Thinkright's face suddenly rose before her with the words he had used
about slapping back.

"The evening is perfect," exclaimed Sylvia aloud. The rose-light had
begun to crimson the water. It drew her. She ran down the slope to the
belt of birch and evergreen which surrounded the basin. Rays from the
sinking sun were kissing the sightless upper windows of the Tide Mill
until the weather-beaten shutters grew pink.

Sylvia entered the fragrant path she had traversed with her host that
afternoon, and followed it toward the point of land beyond the mill.
Suddenly a voice clear, bright, yet low-pitched fell on her ears, and
almost simultaneously she caught a glimpse of the speaker between the
trees.

The girl stood on the brink of the water, talking to some one in a
small boat whose sail was flapping. Sylvia could not proceed without
coming into sight, so she waited in order not to disturb the adieux.
The boat had evidently just landed this passenger, who carried a bag
and was dressed in a dark tailor suit.

The skipper, a sun-burned young fellow, was showing a row of strong
white teeth at some sally from the lady whe