LITMIR.BIZ

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It – it doesn't do any good if you – if you live with Uncle Nick. He – he won't let God give you – anything."

      "Let me tell you something wonderful, Bertie. Nobody – not even Uncle Nick – can stand between you and God. You know the way your mother loved you? God loves you that way, too. Like a Father and Mother both. So, whenever you think of your mother's love, think of God's love, too. It is just as real. In fact, it was God, you know, who made her love you."

      The boy looked up at this.

      "Yes. So, whenever you think of God, remember that 'I don't know' must never come into your thought. You do know, and you can know better every day."

      "Uncle Nick won't like it if I know anything."

      "Dear child!" burst from Mrs. Lowell at this unconscious revelation of blight. "We will have a secret from Uncle Nick. I am so glad you have told me about your dear mother, and now you are going to start doing everything in the way you think would make her happy if she were here. I am sure she loved everything beautiful. She loved flowers and birds and this splendid ocean that is going to catch us in a minute if we don't move back. What do you say to letting it catch us! Supposing we take off our shoes and stockings and wade. Doesn't that foam look tempting?"

      Color rose in the speaker's cheeks as she finished, and the vitality in her voice was infectious.

      "It's – it'll be cold," said the boy.

      "Let it. Come on, it will be fun."

      She was already taking off her shoes and he followed suit. It gave her a pang to see the holes in his faded socks, but she caught up her skirts and he pulled up his trousers and shrinkingly followed her. The June water was still reminiscent of ice, and she squealed as the foam curled around her ankles, and Bertie hopped up and down until color came into his face, too. The incoming tide, noisier and noisier, drove them farther and farther up the beach, until finally they sat down together on a rock at a safe distance from the water, and the sunlight fell hotly on their glistening feet.

      "That was fun!" said Mrs. Lowell, laughing and breathing fast. "Do you know how to swim, Bertie?"

      "I – no, I don't."

      "That would be a nice thing to learn while you are here. You learn and then teach me."

      "Me? Teach you?"

      "Of course. Why not? There's a cove in the island where they all swim."

      Bertie looked off on the billows. "Would my mother like that?" he asked.

      "I'm sure she would, and she would like the collection of stones we are going to make, and she would like you to help Miss Burridge by weeding the garden that they have started. There are so many delightful things to do in the world, and you are going to do them all – for her."

      "All for her," echoed Bertie. "And not tell Uncle Nick," he added.

      "No. You and I will keep the secret."

      Mrs. Lowell looked at him with a smile, and the neglected boy, his dull wits stimulated by this amazing experience of comradeship, smiled back at her, the smile of the little child who in that far-away happy Christmas had received a sled.

      CHAPTER IV

      BIOGRAPHY

      "Well, good-bye, Miss Priscilla," said Philip, coming into the kitchen a few mornings afterward. "This landlubber life won't do for me any longer."

      Small Genevieve was at the sink washing dishes and Veronica was drying them.

      Miss Burridge slid her last loaf of bread into the oven and then stood up and faced him.

      "Philip Barrison," she said emphatically, "you have been a blessing for these weeks. I hate to see you go. Now, how much do I owe you for all the good things you've done for me?"

      Philip laughed and, throwing his arms around her, gave her a hearty smack on the cheek.

      "What do I owe you for popovers and corn fritters?" he rejoined. "Just don't let Veronica chew gum, nor let Genevieve flirt with Marley Hughes and we'll call it square."

      Genevieve turned up her little nose and giggled, and Veronica looked scornful.

      "Now, don't you tell me that Puppa liked it," he continued to her. "Besides, anybody that lives with your Aunt Pris has so many nicer things to chew there is no excuse. Oh, Miss Priscilla, how I hate to say adieu to the waffles!"

      "Well, you must come real often, Phil. I heard you was goin' to give us a concert at the hall sometime this summer. Is that so? I do hope you will."

      "I shouldn't wonder. My accompanist is coming to-day and we shall do a little work and a lot of fishing."

      "Is he a young feller? You must bring him up to play croquet with the girls."

      "Well, I don't know whether he has any experience as an Alpine climber or not."

      "Why, I don't think it's such an awful bad ground. Do you, Veronica?"

      "Not if he's real nice and hasn't any whiskers," replied the girl. "Heaven knows he'll be better than nothing. Such a place as this and not a beau! It's a crime."

      "How about me?" inquired Philip modestly.

      Veronica lifted her upper lip disdainfully. "Oh, you, with your lectures and your goddesses! What earthly good are you?"

      "Cr-rushed!" exclaimed Philip.

      "Talked to Mrs. Lowell all last evening on the piazza in that lovely moonlight. The idea of wasting it on a Mrs. I suppose there's a Mr. to her."

      "Yes, and he's coming before the summer is over. The worst of it is she seems to like him."

      "Children, children," said Miss Burridge, and she winked toward the back of Genevieve's head. Well she knew the alertness of the ears that were holding back those tight braids of hair.

      "Yes, my accompanist, Barney, is a broth of a boy, but I shall tell him, Veronica, that ten o'clock is the limit, the very extreme limit."

      The girl flushed and laughed. "You mind your business now, Mr. Barrison, and I'll attend to mine. I'm perfectly capable of it."

      "Very well. I'll simply keep Puppa's address on my desk, and I won't use it unless I really have to," said Phil, in a conscientious tone which nearly caused Veronica to throw a cup at him.

      "Go along now if you must, Philip," said Miss Priscilla. "And I do thank you, dear boy. We shall miss you every minute. Give my love to your grandmother. I wish she could get up as far as this. You tell her so."

      "All right, I will. Do you know where Miss Wilbur is?"

      "Aha!" said Veronica softly.

      "I don't want to go without saying good-bye to her."

      "I should hope not," jeered Veronica. "I suppose you won't see her again all summer."

      "Oh, yes, I shall, unless Barney Kelly cuts me out."

      "Sure, it's Oirish he is, thin?"

      "Faith, and he is, and a bit chipped off the original blarney stone at that. Trust him not, Veronica."

      "I only hope I'll get the chance, but if you're going to set him on the goddess, what sort of a look-in will I have? I've got five on my nose already."

      "Five what, woman?"

      "Freckles. Can't you see them from there? It will be fulsome flattery if you say you can't."

      Philip squinted up his eyes and came nearer to examine.

      "You remember what I said. Tell Barney they're beauty spots – 'golden kisses of the sun.'"

      "Oh, ain't that pretty!" shouted Genevieve. "I'm speckled with 'em jest like a turkey egg, but I don't mind 'em the way Veronica does. I've got some powder at home and I powder over 'em."

      "At your age, Genevieve!" exclaimed Philip sternly. "What shall I do with the extravagance and artificiality of this generation! Don't you know, Genevieve, that the money you spend for powder should go into the missionary box? You poor, lost, little soul!"

      Genevieve

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