arming denouement?" Myrna had yet to discover herself in
a situation to whose command she did not rise--inwardly a sudden
confusion upon her, her face expressed a polite interest. As for Henry
Bliss, the words were without any significance whatever--it was not
what he wanted to know.

It was Marie-Louise, embarrassed, who broke the silence.

"Will mademoiselle and monsieur look through the house now, and tell me
what rooms they will occupy?"

Henry Bliss, for answer, caught Father Anton again by the shoulder.

"This Jean Laparde," he flung out excitedly, "you ought to know all
about him! He must have done other things besides this"--he swept his
hand toward the beacon, which he had now very carefully replaced on the
table.

"But, of course!" declared Father Anton, still smiling. "Mother
Fregeau will assure you--forever little faces and figures out of her
dough and the inside of her loaves."

"No, no--good Lord!" exclaimed Henry Bliss. "I mean--"

"I am telling you," interrupted Father Anton mildly. "He has been
forever at that since he was a boy, and then there are the clay dolls
for the children, of which there would be very many, at least a
hundred."

"A hundred! A hundred clay _dolls_ by the man who did this!" shouted
Henry Bliss eagerly. "And do you mean to say you never realised--oh,
good Lord! Where are they?"

Father Anton's eyebrows went up in almost pitying astonishment.

"But, monsieur," he said patiently, "where would they be? They do not
last long; and, even if the children did not break them almost
immediately, they would soon crumble to pieces like their own mud pies."

"Mud!" Henry Bliss bent quickly over the beacon again. "Yes, so it
is! It is mostly mud. It is unbelievable! The man did not even have
modelling clay to work with!" He swung again on the cure. "Well, where
is this Jean Laparde? I want to see him at once!"

Myrna's laugh rippled suddenly through the room.

"Dad--don't get so excited. Your Jean Laparde won't run away. He's
out fishing now, but he said he would come out here this morning."

"Out fishing--come out here this morning?" repeated her father, staring
at her. "How do you know?"

Myrna shook her finger at him in playful severity.

"If you had paid any more than the merest pretence of attention to me
last night, you would have remembered the name--no"--she laughed
again--"no, perhaps after all I didn't mention it, I'm not sure I
hadn't forgotten