Chapter IV: Part 4

"Still, I do not see that it is a matter of much importance. I am sure no damage has been done."

"We're not so sure, madam."

A second man twitched the sleeve of the speaker, and they conferred in low tones.

"What is your name, madam?" demanded the spokesman, turning again to Rosalind.

She told him.

"And the names of the members of your party, please?"

She gave him those, while he made a careful memorandum of each.

"And this man?" with a nod at the boatman.

"Sam."

"Sam what?"

"Merely Sam, so far as I know."

He looked at the boatman for further enlightenment.

"Sam merely," echoed that person.

Again there was a whispered conference aboard the second craft.

"Do you know a man named Schmidt?" asked the one in authority, speaking to the boatman.

Sam indicated that he did.

"Heinrich Schmidt?"

"I believe that's his name. They fit together, anyhow."

"Who is he?"

"One of my best customers."

"Where's he from?"

"Chicago, so he told me. What's the game?"

"You took him to Rockport three days ago, didn't you?"

"That's right."

"And to Gananoque?"

"Right again."

"And he's been to Kingston twice with you?"

"Three times," corrected Sam.

"What was he doing at those places?"

"Doing? How do I know? I didn't follow him."

The four men in the strange boat withdrew to the farther end of their craft and put their heads together. Rosalind watched them impatiently. Even Morton displayed a mild interest, while the Winter girls stopped knitting and looked worried.

"Where does this man Schmidt stop?" demanded the spokesman when he emerged once more from the conference.

"Oh, he's been drifting around at two or three places on the American side."

"Who does he meet?"

"Give it up," answered Sam. "I'm not in charge of him. I'm just his boatman."

"If you are looking for smugglers," interrupted Rosalind, "why--"

"We're not, madam," snapped the stranger.

He turned again to Sam.

"Did this man Schmidt ever discuss military subjects with you?"

"Yes, indeed. That is, once."

The men exchanged significant glances.

"When--and what?"

"The last time I had him out," said Sam. "He wanted to know if I didn't think Grant gave General Sigel a raw deal when he put somebody else on the job in the Shenandoah Valley."

The spokesman in the trim power-boat frowned heavily.

"That all?"

"All I remember. Except he said his father fought with Sigel and always claimed that Halleck framed him. I don't know whether he did or not, but I said I'd speak about it some time and see if I could find out. You wouldn't happen to know yourself, would you?"

The man glared suspiciously. Rosalind turned her face away and began dabbling one hand in the water, over the side of the boat.

"Well, I guess we'll take you up to Kingston," said the spokesman after a minute of deliberation. "There are a few things that need looking into."

Sam glanced about him casually.

"Not now you won't," he observed as he proceeded to refill his pipe. "We've crossed the line."

The man made a swift survey of the river and the islands and uttered an angry exclamation.

"You see, you talked too much," added the boatman deferentially. "You talked so long that we drifted over into American water. If you try to take me now they'll send a battleship after me, or an ultimatum, or something else just as bad."

There was a hurried consultation among the four strangers, with evidences of disagreement. It ended when the man in command turned upon Sam with a stern visage.

"Hereafter," he said, "you enter Canadian waters or ports at your own risk. In the name of the English government I warn you. I also authorize you to extend the same warning to the man Heinrich Schmidt. If he is found north of the international boundary-line let him look out for himself. That applies to you, your boat, and any passengers you may have aboard."

Marjorie Winter turned pale.

"But really," she ventured timidly, "I'm very sure that none of us is against you, sir. See--these are for Belgians."

She held up a half-finished sock.

The man who sounded the warning did not look at it. He gave a sharp command and the boat with the British ensign snorted off across the river.

"I think we will go home now," observed Rosalind.

Without a word Sam started his engine.

It was a silent party that returned to Witherbee's Island. Rosalind was glad it was so. The affair was at once too big with possibilities and too nebulous as to facts for idle gossip.

To the best of her knowledge she had never seen a spy. She wondered if she were really looking at one now. He did not look like one.

Nor, for that matter, did Morton, who might well be expected to display interest at the very least if it were true that Sam and the Schmidt man were making voyages into Canadian ports that might end in nooses.

First a common thief, next a smuggler--now a spy! Rosalind found pleasurable excitement in her thoughts. Gertrude Witherbee was on the wharf when the launch came in. She was waving a yellow envelope at Rosalind.

"Telegram for you!" she called.

Rosalind took the message and read as follows:

"Will arrive some time this evening.

"WILLIAMS."

Reginald Williams, the persistent one, was coming! Rosalind gasped. Not that she minded Williams or his persistence. He was well enough in his way, and he could always be properly discouraged. She had no fears on that point.

But Reginald was the bracelet man! And the bracelet was now upon the smoothly tanned arm of Gertrude. And Reginald would see it--and recognize it. And he would wonder and ask questions and blurt something. There would be explanations and revelations and--

Rosalind shuddered, and pondered the matter deeply.

"It simply cannot be!" she exclaimed aloud.

"What can't be, dear?" asked Gertrude.

"Why--oh, nothing. I was just doing some oral thinking."

Gertrude smiled wisely. She knew about Reginald. And she knew--or thought she knew--that Reginald would ask again, and that, as Rosalind said, it simply could not be.

*CHAPTER X*

*WHAT REGGY DREW*

Mrs. Witherbee, driven into a corner by an angry Rosalind, confessed that somewhere in the back of her mind there may have been a lurking purpose when she invited Reggy Williams to become a member of her summer household. Not being subtle in the least, Mrs. Witherbee interpreted the wrath of Rosalind at its face value. Hence, she sustained a shock within an incredibly short space of time.

"It was a most thoughtless thing," said Rosalind sternly.

"But, my dear, I didn't for a moment dream that his attentions would really--"

"Attentions? Bosh!"

Mrs. Witherbee opened her eyes wide.

"I'm not interested in his attentions--not in the slightest degree," said Rosalind. "They do not disturb me one way or the other. I am, however, purely from the standpoint of humanity, interested in the preservation of his life."

"His life!"

"Certainly. I thought you knew."

"But Rosalind, dear--"

"Why in the world you didn't ask me I don't know," said Rosalind, making a hopeless gesture with both arms. "Everybody else knows it."

Mrs. Witherbee's faced had attained a greenish pallor.

"Knows what?" she asked tremblingly.

"Knows that Reginald Williams has a heart that is liable to drop him in his tracks any time."

Mrs. Witherbee raised both hands and opened her mouth.

"Certainly," added Rosalind sharply. "He's been suffering from it for some time. He's not allowed to take violent exercise, or to undergo any excitement or sudden shock. He has to be kept perfectly quiet. And above all he must not be given the slightest hint of his trouble. You see, he doesn't know it himself."

"Doesn't know it!"

"Indeed not. The physicians are afraid that it would make matters worse to tell him. So they told only his family, and his family has informed his friends. And Reggy is really in the hands of his friends without knowing it."

"But he'll be with friends, here," said Mrs. Witherbee, brightening.

"Friends--yes!" exclaimed Rosalind. "But how about the excitement? Think of what's been going on here--of what may happen at any time. Why, it might kill him!"

Mrs. Witherbee sat down suddenly and limply.

"What shall we do?" she moaned.

"There is only one thing to do, of course; that is to make the best of it. He must be kept absolutely quiet, but he must not know that he is being kept quiet.

"Under no circumstances must he be told anything about burglars or smugglers or spies or anything of that sort. He must not know about the burglar-alarm, or the raids at this place and Mr. Davidson's--or anything! It may be a matter of life or death with him. Nobody must even suggest such a thing!

"Why, Gertrude mustn't even wear that bracelet, because it's so odd it will start him asking questions, and then the whole thing is likely to come out!

"Everybody must be told to say nothing whatever about anything that might give him a shock. Not only that; they mustn't even _do_ anything exciting.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" faltered Mrs. Witherbee as she rocked in her chair.

"It's too late to stop him, of course," continued Rosalind. "I suppose he's at Clayton by this time. So the only thing we can do is to take the utmost precautions. And we must be particularly careful that he does not even suspect!"

"Oh, we will; we will, my dear."

"And you'll tell everybody?" said Rosalind anxiously.

"Every soul! I'll tell Stephen immediately. We'll all help--we'll be _so_ careful!"

Rosalind watched Mrs. Witherbee hurry in search of her husband and smiled grimly.

"Something had to be done about it," she murmured. "I couldn't think of anything else offhand."

It was dusk and the Witherbee household was sitting on the porch unnaturally quiet when a voice from the path that led to the wharf rent the air with a bellow.

"Ho there, somebody! Wonder you wouldn't welcome a guest!"

Simultaneously a tall, bulky figure appeared at the edge of the lawn and crossed at a rapid walk. It stopped at the foot of the steps. Two grips that were carried in one hand were tossed upon the porch with a flirt of the wrist. Then followed a trunk, which had been balanced jauntily on one shoulder. And then Reggy Williams cleared five steps in one leap and began shaking hands with everybody.

"Nice folks!" he shouted. "Not a soul to meet a fellow! Hello, Rosalind; you're looking fine and fit. Hello, Gertrude! Hello, Tom, you lazy mucker! Why didn't you give me a hand? Didn't know I'd be here so soon, eh? I've a good mind to carry you down to the river and chuck you in."

He charged about the porch like a nervous rhinoceros, bawling salutations and leaving in his wake an array of painfully throbbing fingers.

Reginald Williams stood six feet three. He was wide and thick and boisterous, and there was a deep red tan on his face that actually served to exaggerate his bulk.

Mrs. Witherbee, her hands clasped to her bosom, regarded him with horror.

"Won't you--please--take a chair?" she whispered timidly.

"Chair? Why, thanks--if you'll stick it in front of a table. I haven't had a mouthful since noon, and I don't mind saying I can eat anything and everything you've got in the house. Here, Tom! Don't fuss with that trunk; I'll take care of that later."

Mr. Witherbee cautiously pushed a porch rocker against Reginald's legs.

"We'll get you some grub," he said anxiously. "Only sit down first. Rest yourself, old man."

"Rest! That's all I've done all day in a train that didn't have ambition enough to keep within two hours of her schedule. I could have pushed the blamed thing faster than it went."

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Witherbee, his brow furrowed in anxiety. "But just sit down a bit. Enjoy the air--it's great up here. See that view--isn't it amazing? Everything so quiet so, peaceful Oh, it just puts ten years on a man's life to spend a little while up here! No worry, no cares, no excitement."

Reginald sat reluctantly.

"No excitement!" he exclaimed. "Then, by George, we'll make some! How do you live without it? I can't. I'm going to start something, sure as you live. But I'd like to eat first."

The Witherbee family ventured inquiring glances at Rosalind. That lady's face bore a curious expression of doubt and dismay. But she did not lose her self-control. Stepping behind Reginald's chair, she raised a finger to her lips and shook her head warningly.

"I'll get you some toast directly," said Mrs. Witherbee. "And how do you like your tea?"

Reginald guffawed, then apologized:

"Excuse me; didn't mean to be rude. But if you've got any cold ham in the house and some bread and butter, and a scuttle of hot coffee you needn't bother about the toast and tea. And you needn't fetch it out here; lead me to it."

The Winter girls exchanged apprehensive glances. Mr. Witherbee made a sign to his wife, who disappeared into the house. Rosalind followed her. The two ladies met in the pantry.

"I--I'm frightened to death," whispered Mrs. Witherbee. "Is he always that way?"

"Nearly always," sighed Rosalind. "That's what makes it so sad."

"I hadn't thought of it as being sad, my dear. It--it just seems sort of terrible. Doesn't he know?"

"Ssh! Of course not. He doesn't even suspect."

"The poor man!" said Mrs. Witherbee softly. "Then it is sad, isn't it? Isn't there any way to--control him?"

"It's very difficult," admitted Rosalind. "He's headstrong. And of course, not knowing, you can't expect him to restrain himself. He's always been accustomed to leading an active life."

"Active, my dear! Why, he's violent. My knuckles are still aching. Do you really think we ought to let him have ham--and coffee?"

"We might as well," said Rosalind in a hopeless voice. "He'd probably make a scene over toast and tea."

"And he seems so healthy, poor fellow! And so strong!"

"He's deceptive," Rosalind observed hastily.

There was a heavy tramping of feet overhead, then a crash that rattled the dishes in the pantry. Mrs. Witherbee rushed into the hall, stifling a scream. Rosalind bit her lip.

When the mistress of the island returned her eyes were wide with terror.

"He--he carried his trunk up-stairs!" she gasped. "He wouldn't let Stephen or Tom touch it."

"He does those things," said Rosalind unhappily. "He doesn't realize, you know. We can't restrain him by force, but we must do all we can."

"Does he have--attacks?"

"Oh, often. Terrible ones."

Mrs. Witherbee clasped her hands.

"And it's a two-mile sail to the nearest doctor!" she moaned.

"Never suggest a doctor to him," warned Rosalind. "He wouldn't understand and you can't tell what he might do. Don't think of such a thing!

"But if anything should happen--"

"We must run the risk. We must make the best of it somehow. I'd cut more ham than that, I think; he'll only be out after more if you don't. I'll get the bread; no need to call the servants. I imagine we'd better bring it to him on the porch."

An awed household watched Reginald Williams eat. It was a rapid and extensive proceeding.

"Sorry to have put you out," he roared genially as he emptied the coffee-pot. "But a man has to have a bite now and then to keep his body and soul in close relation."

"Of course," assented Mrs. Witherbee gently. "Good food, rest, and plenty of sleep."

"Oh, I'm not sleepy! I'm good for all night if there's anything doing."

"We live very quietly here, Mr. Williams."

"Oh, well, we'll manage to start something. Won't we, Tom?"

Tom Witherbee mumbled an unintelligible reply and glanced at Rosalind. She shook her head severely.

Suddenly Reginald missed the master of the house.

"Where's Mr. Witherbee?" he demanded.

"He--he went out in the launch," faltered Mrs. Witherbee.

"Why the dickens didn't he invite somebody? Nothing I'd like better on a night like this."

"He just went over to Mr. Davidson's island," explained Gertrude in a soothing tone. "He didn't think anybody would want to go."

At this point Fortescue Jones, who had been regarding Reginald with amazed eyes, entered the conversation. Said he:

"He went over to see about bur--"

The elbow of Tom Witherbee put an abrupt end to the sentence.

"To see about what?" demanded Reginald.

Mrs. Witherbee rolled her eyes helplessly. Her husband had gone to the burglar meeting.

"To see about burlap," said Rosalind hastily.

"Burlap?"

"Certainly--burlap. He wants it to wrap things in."

"Must want it pretty badly," commented Reginald, "if he has to make a special voyage to get it. Oh, well, if we can't go sailing let's start something. Let's dance!"

Rosalind leaned weakly against a pillar of the porch.

"We--we don't dance," said Gertrude.

"Don't dance!"

The eyes of Reginald Williams successively met those of the two Winter girls, Polly Dawson, Gertrude, and Rosalind.

"You haven't all sprained your ankles, have you?" he asked.

"I mean we haven't been doing any dancing here," explained Gertrude desperately. "We--Mother doesn't like it."

This statement astonished Mrs. Witherbee to such an extent that she opened her mouth and held it that way for several seconds. Then she nodded.

The next half-hour on the Witherbee porch was crowded with the efforts of ten persons to curb the restless spirit of a young man who wanted to do something.

They spoke softly and upon soft topics, such as gardening and clothes and fresh air. They argued nothing, but agreed upon everything. They urged Reginald to sit down. They tried to make him wear Mr. Witherbee's top coat. They watched with sickening dread as he smoked. They scarcely breathed when he proposed to take a moonlight swim.

Then one by one they went off to bed, yawning prodigiously and declaring that it was getting very late. Reginald and Rosalind found themselves alone.

He waited to make sure that the last of the company had disappeared, then turned to her with a bewildered look.

"What on earth is the matter with this crowd?" he demanded.

"What seems to be the matter?" asked Rosalind.

"Matter! They all act as if they were afraid to make a noise or turn around. They even whisper. Nothing's gone wrong here, has it?"

"No, indeed!" hastily.

"Well, it's about as cheerful as a shipwreck. Has it been going on like this very long? I don't see how you and the rest of the younger folk stand it."

"It's rather pleasant to be quiet for a change, Reggie."

"Quiet! I don't call that being quiet--it's sepulchral. I came up here to have a good time. I'm going to shake this crowd up to-morrow."

"You mustn't!"

Rosalind's voice was anxious. Something more would have to be done, she was certain. Reginald was capable of executing his threat.

"I'll tell you," she said in a low tone. "But you must not mention the fact to any person that I did tell you. It's on account of Mr. Morton."

"The Englishman? What's the matter with him?"

Rosalind hesitated. What was the matter with Mr. Morton? She felt that she was rapidly becoming mired.

"Well, you see, Mr. Morton is just recovering from a breakdown," she ventured.

"What kind of a breakdown?"

"Mental."

"Loose in the bean, eh?"

"Reginald! You know I hate slang. No; he's not--that. Not nearly so bad. But he had a breakdown--mostly nervous, I think. It came from overwork, I believe. He must have absolute quiet--no excitement, nothing to irritate him.

"But you must not mention it to a soul, Reggie; and particularly you must not let him see that you notice anything peculiar. He's very sensitive."

Reginald grumbled.

"So that's why we all have to keep very quiet," said Rosalind with finality.

"He ought to be shipped off to a nut college," declared Reginald. "Anybody like that is liable to break loose at any time. I didn't come up here to be a keeper."

"Well, you are not compelled to remain."

Rosalind's voice was cool.

"Oh, but I am I You know very well I couldn't stay away. Why, I practically invited myself."

He tried to capture one of Rosalind's hands, but she, alert, easily evaded his clumsy caress.

"Please don't begin that again," she said in annoyance. "If you do I'll go home to-morrow."

"But, Rosalind, you know very well--"

"Will you stop?"

"Oh, very well! But I give you fair warning that I haven't stopped for good."

She sighed and frowned.

"I thought I'd struck the limit of unsociability on the way down here," observed Reginald. "The fellow that brought me was deaf and dumb."

"Really?"

"Couldn't speak a word. Couldn't hear, either. I had to write on a piece of paper where I wanted to go."

"A boatman, was he?"

"Yes. And the worst of it was, his boat broke down a couple of times on the way, and he didn't seem to know much about fixing it. I couldn't help him, and he didn't even have the satisfaction of being able to swear."

Rosalind found herself listening with breathless attention.

"What sort of a boat was it?" she asked.

"Not much to look at. Rather dirty, too."

She had more than a suspicion.

"What did the man look like?" carelessly.

"A chap with a beard. Long, thin person. Why?"

"Oh, nothing! I think I've seen him around. You say he is a deaf-mute?"

"Absolutely. I met him on the wharf up at Clayton, and when I asked him a question about the boats he made signs at me. Then I felt sort of sorry for him, and thought I'd give him a job."

Rosalind's brain was in a whirl. Sam, the boatman, playing the deaf-mute! She could not even begin to guess a reason.

"He knew where the place was, all right; I'll say that for him," added Reginald. "But it's not particularly entertaining to be cooped up with a dummy in a bum boat for a couple of hours."

"I should imagine not," she murmured.

"But I did the swearing for him, anyhow. And--funny about that, too--he must have understood what I was doing, for he grinned from ear to ear and nodded his head. It must be tough not to be able to do your own cussing."

"I don't suppose it does afford much relief to do it with your fingers," Rosalind agreed. "That is," she supplemented righteously, "if it ever does give one any relief. It's a miserable habit."

"It's not a habit," said Reginald. "It's a vocation, if you do it right. Who's this coming?"

Heavy, deliberate footfalls announced the return of Mr. Witherbee from the meeting of the vigilants.

"Get your burlap?" inquired Reginald pleasantly.

"Burlap?" echoed Mr. Witherbee.

Rosalind interposed hastily.

"You must have forgotten your errand," she said, laughing. "You know perfectly well you started out to get some burlap."

"Burlap?"

Mr. Witherbee repeated the word with a rising inflection.

Rosalind had slipped behind Reginald and was making a frantic pantomime. The master of the island stared at her for a few seconds, wrinkling his forehead.

"Why, certainly," she said. "Don't you remember saying you were going to see if Mr. Davidson had some?"

"Oh, yes," answered Mr. Witherbee slowly. "Come to think of it, I did start out to get some. And just as you say, I forgot all about it. By the way, sit down, Williams. Take it easy. You must be tired after a long day's journey."

"Everybody seems to think I'm tired," sighed Reginald. "I guess in order not to disappoint them I'd better go to bed. Good night."

He stamped noisily inside and up the staircase.

"Is--is he all right?" asked Mr. Witherbee in a hoarse whisper.

"Oh, perfectly. We've kept him just as quiet as possible."

"That's right; that's right. Poor chap. And he's so healthy to look at, too! By the way, what's this burlap game?"

Rosalind laughed.

"It's all on account of that stupid Jones boy," she explained. "He started to blurt something about why you had gone to Mr. Davidson's, and he had half of 'burglar' out when Tom bumped him with his elbow. Then I had to finish it somehow, and all I could think of was burlap. You see, it had to be something that couldn't possibly excite Reggy."

"I get you," grinned Mr. Witherbee. "Burlap, eh? I'll have to remember to get some now."

Suddenly his expression changed and he became grave.

"We've organized," he said in guarded tones. "There were seven islands represented. We're going to hire a patrol. Some of them are going to get watchmen, too. And it's high time, Rosalind."

He stepped closer and looked about him cautiously.

"Somebody's been on the island again," he whispered. "But don't say anything yet!"

"Again!"

"To-night, I think. Somebody's stolen the dog!"

"You are sure?"

"Positive. I tied the beast up near the dock when I went out in the boat. And he's gone!"

Rosalind could only blink at this intelligence.

"But I don't want to worry Mrs. Witherbee about it," added that lady's husband. "And of course we've got to keep it from Williams. So don't say anything. Good night. Grand watchdog, that; I guess he needed stealing."

*CHAPTER XI*

*TREED!*

It was early afternoon when Sam nursed the _Fifty-Fifty_ into the rock-bound cove that formed his island harbor, made her fast, and stepped ashore. He advanced up the winding path to his cabin. Midway in its length he paused and listened.

A dog barked.

The boatman resumed his advance at a quicker pace. He caught sight of the cabin, then of an agitated red setter that ran to and fro beneath a tree whose branches brushed the roof of the dwelling. The animal was yelping nervously.

Next the boatman saw a pair of feet, shod in snowy white and outlined sharp and clear against the dark-green foliage. The feet were attached to a pair of ankles, also in white--ankles that were slim, aristocratic, even haughty.

Then as he stepped forward the rim of a white skirt came into view. A second later his advance brought him to a point from which he obtained a full view of Rosalind Chalmers, sitting on the branch of a tree.

"Call off your dog!" she commanded.

Sam removed his gaze from the vision in the tree and studied the animal thoughtfully. The setter, having sighted the boatman, ceased baying and sat down with an alert eye upon the quarry.

"The dog, I said!" said Rosalind harshly. "Call him off!"

Sam's glance returned to the lady on the branch.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly.

Rosalind returned the inspection through angry eyes.

"Are you going to call off the dog?" she demanded.

"Why, I was just thinking about it," drawled Sam. "I don't know that I ought to discourage him."

The lady in the tree uttered an exclamation.

"You see," added the boatman, "the dog is only doing his duty. His job is to protect my property. He looks out for it when I'm away."

She observed that the boatman was staring intently, not at her eyes--where it is customary to look at a person--but at her ankles, where it is not always polite to stare. She knew they were conspicuous, but she also realized the futility of flinching. Sitting on a limb, there was absolutely no way to make her skirt cover them.

"This--this is an outrage!" she stormed.

"Why, perhaps--ma'am. But whose fault?"

"The beast--he--chased me!"

"I told him to."

"You told him to?"

"That is, I told him to chase anybody. I hardly expected he'd tree you. Did I, old sport?"

The dog relaxed his vigil long enough to turn his head, wag his tail furiously, and give throat to a joyous bark.

"You see, this is where I live," added Sam with a nod at the cabin. "He's in charge when I'm not here."

"In charge since--"

"Yesterday."

"You stole him!"

The boatman seemed indifferent to the charge.

"That dog belongs to Mr. Witherbee," declared Rosalind. "You know perfectly well you stole him. And--will you call him off?"

"Perhaps--by and by," answered the boatman.

He seated himself on the ground ten feet below her and began fumbling for tobacco. Rosalind was pink with rage.

"I'm coming down!" she declared.

Sam did not appear to hear the announcement.

She slid cautiously along the limb for a few inches, steadying herself by a tight grip on another branch. The dog sprang to his feet and yelped furiously. Rosalind became rigid again.

"Will you call him off?"

Sam studied her ankles, then resumed the methodical filling of his pipe.

"What brought you here?" he asked after a pause.

"I came in a rowboat."

"Alone?"

"Certainly."

"I didn't see the boat."

"It drifted away--I wouldn't be here except for that."

"What did you come for?"

Rosalind gritted her teeth and wondered if the dog would really bite.

"I was merely rowing," she said, trying to calm her voice. "I--I thought the island was unoccupied."

"You didn't happen to be looking for a smugglers' cave, did you?"

"No!"

"Or a burglars' den?"

"_No!_"

"Or an international spy?"

She remained furious and silent.

"It's rather important for me to know," he explained as he scratched a match. "There's so much hunting going on that it isn't safe to ignore it. You don't happen to be a member of a posse, do you?"

"Will you let me down?"

"That's his affair," answered the boatman, nodding in the direction of the dog. "He seems to like you where you are. I don't know that I ought to interfere. It might discourage him and make him careless in the future. Did you visit my cabin?"

Rosalind remained silent.

The boatman whispered something to the dog, then arose lazily and walked over to the shack. Rosalind saw him disappear within the door. She made a second tentative move toward descent. The dog, which lay watching her with his nose between his paws, sprang up and snarled.

A moment afterward Sam emerged from the cabin, staring ruefully at the sheet of paper that was in his hand.

"You tore down my picture-gallery," he said reproachfully. "Why did you do that?"

Rosalind flushed and compressed her lips.

"I thought quite a lot of that picture," he mused, seating himself again. "It seemed like such a good likeness."

"You beast!"

"That's not the way to make friends with him," cautioned the boatman.

"I mean you!"

"Oh! Well, that's not the way to make friends with me, either. Didn't you like my portrait of a lady?"

"I'm coming down!" she warned desperately.

"I wouldn't--yet. He can really bite, ma'am. Have you been there long?"

"An hour."

"Is it comfortable up there?"

She remained grimly silent. It was not comfortable. The limb was very hard and its diameter was meager. Her feet were asleep.

The boatman returned to a study of the "portrait." He even began to read aloud from it, when Rosalind stopped him with an imploring exclamation.

"Please--please!" she cried.

"But it's such a good portrait," he protested, looking up at her mildly. "It's a new kind of art. It's got the cubists beaten a mile. Statist, I suppose you'd call it. It gives all the dope--just draws a picture in facts and figures. I'm strong for it.

"Listen. Here's where it says you--"

"Stop!"

"You are the daughter of--"

"Oh, _will_ you stop?"

He paused in his reading and observed her attentively. What he saw appeared to please him. Rosalind was never more charming. She was a goddess, all in white save for the fiery tint in her cheeks and the dangerous glint in her blue eyes.

"Say," he said with sudden interest, "how'd you get up there, anyhow? It's some climb."

"I--I had to climb."

"Meaning he pushed you pretty hard," nodding at the dog.

"Of course!"

"I'd have given a lot to have seen you make it," he mused. "If I call him off will you do it again?"

She flushed hotly and shot him a look of stinging contempt. He never winced.

"You see," he explained, "there's no branch below the one you're sitting on. And that's a good ten feet up. You must have jumped for it and swung yourself up, or else you shinned the tree. In either case it was a stunt that's a credit to you. I'm certainly sorry I missed it--ma'am."

He drawled the last word with maddening emphasis.

Rosalind was in despair. It was not fear of the dog--now. She knew that Sam would not dare to let the animal attack, even if she descended from her refuge. It was fear of the boatman's mocking eyes. He was smiling. What would he do when she, Rosalind, the dignified, began the scramble that must precede her arrival at _terra firma_?

Dignity scarcely sat with her on the limb, even now; it would be a thousand miles away when she made the first decisive move. It was a sense of dignity wholly that restrained Rosalind. She did not care particularly about her ankles; she was not ashamed of them and had no reason to be. But she was bitterly resolved that she would cling to the very end to whatever shred of haughty poise remained to her.

Temper loosed her tongue again.

"Thief! Smuggler!" she exclaimed. "They'll make short work of you when I'm free from this."

"Well, we're all little pals together," he observed serenely.

"Spy!"

"Say, that was a funny one, wasn't it?" he said, brightening. "Me _und_ Schmidt--spies! That was one you never even thought of, ma'am."

"Will you stop calling me 'ma'am'?"

"Excuse me. I was only trying to be respectful. What do you want me to call you--Rosie?"

Rosalind almost lost her balance. She recovered herself with a desperate grab at a branch and made a choking noise in her throat. It shamed her to know that tears were in her eyes, but she could not force them back.

"About that spy business," he went on. "Did you believe that?"

"I see no reason to doubt it."

He mused over that for a while.

"It's hanging if it's true," he remarked presently.

"I hope so!"

"Hanging for me _und_ Schmidt. I hate to think about it."

Rosalind could contemplate it with pleasure.

"Poor old Schmidt! Fat old Schmidt--who never did anything worse than buy and sell wheat on the Chicago Board of Trade! Think of hanging Schmidt as a spy!"

Rosalind paid little attention to the uttered thoughts of the boatman. She was trying to concentrate on her own case. Thus far conversation had been futile while the dog and the man remained inexorable.

She blamed herself bitterly for the panic that had driven her to an arboreal refuge. If only she had stopped and faced the beast all might have been saved! As she looked down upon him now she did not believe he would bite. But he had come upon her so suddenly, so clamorously, that self-possession fled from her in a flash.

And now, even though she lacked faith in his ferocity and remembered how insinuatingly he had nosed his muzzle into her hand back on the Witherbee place, there were other reasons. Chief of course was the sardonic boatman.

Yet she was frantically anxious to descend from her tree. To gain that she was almost willing to sacrifice everything save dignity. She was even content to sue for peace--to make terms, if need be to humiliate herself before this common creature who calmly smoked and watched her discomfiture.

"May I come down now?" she asked so sweetly that the alteration in her voice startled him.

He stared at her and whistled.

"Please!"

Rosalind's tone was liquid in its smoothness. And--she smiled! The boatman dropped his pipe.

"Do it again," he said incredulously.

"What?"

"Smile!"

She did it again, this time with less obvious effort. His complete astonishment helped to lighten the task.

"Great heavens, you can do it!"

"And now may I come down?"

She suited a movement to the question, but the dog growled again. The boatman recovered his composure.

"Well, I don't know about that," he said. "It depends. You see, you've invaded my island and you've been prospecting around my cabin, and maybe you're fixing to get me into trouble."

"I promise!" she exclaimed hastily.

"But you've got me for a thief, a smuggler, and a spy, and that's a whole lot to have on anybody."

"I'm willing to ignore the matter, then. It's none of my business."

"Hum! That's sounds fair enough, of course. But how can I tell they won't wheedle it out of you?"

"Do you think I'm a child?"

"I should say not!"

She did not relish the emphasis nor see the need for it.

"Well, am I to be released?" she asked after a pause.

"I'm thinking about it. Why did you tear down my picture-gallery?"

"It was an insult!"

"Not a bit, ma'am. It was just a portrait--a bully one. Anyhow, why shouldn't I have one? Thousands of 'em have been printed."

Rosalind bit her lip.

"They're in common circulation, all over. Anybody with three dollars can buy one."

"You stole it."

"That's a compliment to you, ma'am. See the risk I ran--for a picture."

"They--they are not for common people," she said frigidly.

Sam surveyed her leisurely.

"I suppose that means me," he remarked.

She answered with a gesture.

"And of course you're something better than common clay," he mused.

She did not stoop to answer him.

"Say!" he broke out suddenly. "Far be it from me to be impolite to a lady, particularly a lady with her portrait written in a three-dollar society book. But do you know that you make me good and tired?"

The lady in the tree gasped.

"Yes; dead weary. I've heard about you. I read the papers sometimes. You're one of the exclusive bunch; you're in the 'it' class. Everybody outside of it is plain common dirt--to you. You've got the coin and the pedigree, which is supposed to make you something extra special. You're supposed to be a shade higher up than human. They tell me you're a heart-breaker, too."

Rosalind turned white.

"Just why you should be such a heart-breaker," he continued, examining her with a critical eye, "is something I don't quite get. You're a good-enough looker, so far as that goes, but--shucks! There are lots of those. Never saw a man yet that was fit to marry you, I understand. A sort of a man-hater, maybe.

"Yet you never try to head a man off if you see he's in a fair way to get his heart cracked. That's your favorite sport, according to the dope I get. You just take it as something that is naturally coming to you. If it didn't happen you'd feel insulted. Oh, yes! I've heard about you."

She was rigid as marble and almost as breathless.

"Let me tell you something--Rosie. You can't put that stuff over on me. You can swing it across on some society guy, but it doesn't go here. Why, I can tell things about your doings in the last forty-eight hours that'll knock you clean out of the Blue Book.

"As I said before, I don't want to be rude to a lady, ma'am, and I don't intend to say anything that would hurt her feelings--not for anything. But you make me plain and plumb tired."

Rosalind was crying in sheer helpless rage. The boatman watched the tears stonily. After a short pause he arose from his seat on the ground and whistled to the dog.

"You can come down if you like," he informed her.

Torn with a storm of sobs and mortification, Rosalind made no move to descend. He watched her for a minute, then went into the cabin and returned, dragging the table. This he placed beneath the limb where she still clung, quivering.

Mounting the table, he reached up and in a most impersonal way grasped her about the waist and swung her clear of the tree. For an instant Rosalind found herself poised in the air. Then she was deposited on the ground. She walked a few steps and leaned weakly against the tree. The dog barked in delight.

"Well, you've got to get home, I suppose," said Sam. "And your boat's gone. It's up to me to take you. I don't mind earning a little money.

"You may as well quit crying, too. You're not hurt and you're not down-hearted. You're just good and mad; that's all."

He turned to lead the way down the path, then stopped and stared through an opening in the trees.

"Another visitor," he observed with a grin.

Rosalind followed the direction of his glance. Reginald Williams in a motor-launch was just making the shore of the island. He glimpsed her white-clad figure and waved his hand.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"Trouble?" inquired Sam.

"You mustn't tell him! How shall I explain? What shall I do? I can't ever, ever--"

Her tears began to flow afresh.

"Needn't worry about me telling him anything, ma'am. I'm deaf and dumb--to him."

"But--but--"

Rosalind Chalmers was deserted by her cloak of calm disdain. She was in a panic.

A sudden change came over the boatman.

"Come on, buck up!" he said, cheerfully. "I'm sorry I made you cry. I take it all back--honest. Just forget it. We'll get out of this easy. Get your nerve now--quick! He'll be here in a couple of minutes. Be a sport, Miss Chalmers! Be a pal; just make believe you're the master mechanic again. Think hard now. We've got to hand him something."

"But he'll think that I--"

"No, he won't," declared Sam soothingly. "He won't have time to think anything. That's it; brace hard, now. I knew you were game."

He actually patted her on the shoulder. Somehow Rosalind neglected to resent the vulgar familiarity.

"Here! I've got the scheme!" he exclaimed. "Only _you'll_ have to spiel it at him because I'm a dummy. Now, listen!"

*CHAPTER XII*

*TURNING THE TABLES*

Sam talked rapidly and with many gestures, the latter for the benefit of Reggy Williams in case Reggy might be looking up from the landing-place, where he was now making fast his boat.

"You went out rowing," explained Sam hurriedly. "You rowed up close to my island."

"By why did I go rowing? I've got to know that. I told Mr. Williams I was going up-stairs to take a nap."

"Oh, you changed your mind about napping, or you went rowing in your sleep. Anything will do; what's the difference about why you went? The point is, you went rowing. You're old enough. While you were close to my island you were upset in a sudden squall."

"There hasn't been a breath of wind to-day!"

"Well, cut out the squall, then. You rocked the boat, or did something silly, and fell overboard. You screamed and I--"

"You're deaf and dumb? How could you hear me scream?"

"That's right. Cut out the scream. I saw you; that'll do. I'm not supposed to be blind. I rushed down, got into my boat, went out and rescued you. Then I brought you to the island to recover. How's that?"

Rosalind looked doubtful.

"He'll be here in a minute," warned Sam. "Either take that or invent a better one."

"But it makes me sound so foolish--so helpless!" she protested. "And he knows I can swim."

"Tell him you forgot how--your skirts tangled you up--anything!"

Rosalind nodded her head reluctantly.

"All--right."

Reggy Williams was now hidden from view at a bend in the path, which he was already ascending. Rosalind gasped abruptly.

"My clothes!" she exclaimed. "I fell overboard and--and I'm not even wet!"

"Ouch!" cried the boatman. "I forgot. But wait!"

He dashed into the cabin, then reappeared carrying a large galvanized-iron pail. It seemed to be heavy.

A second later and the contents of it--cold, pure water from the great St. Lawrence--descended upon Rosalind like a cloud-burst.

"Now you're O.K. for the part," grinned the boatman as he tossed the pail aside.

"You--you--"

"S-sh! It's a grand make-up. Had to be done, you know."

Rosalind, a beautiful, dripping statue of white, shot him a glance of fury and hate. Her drenched costume clung clammily. Wet strands of hair plastered her cheeks, while her eyes blinked painfully from the effects of the deluge.

"Here he is," whispered the boatman as Williams entered the scene. "Remember--I'm a dummy! Talk up now like a rescued lady."

Reginald Williams, momentarily halted by the spectacle of a moist and miserable lady, sprang forward with an anxious cry.

"Rosalind!"

She waved him back and made a wild effort to smooth her hair.

"You're hurt!" cried Reginald. "What's happened?"

"I'm--I'm not hurt," she answered. "Don't be silly. I'm merely wet."

"Wet! You're saturated, child!"

"I'm not a child. Please don't get hysterical, Reggy."

"But how--why--"

"Naturally I've got to explain," she sighed.

The boatman, standing behind Reginald, winked enthusiastically and waved his hand.

"You see, I didn't take a nap," said Rosalind. "I changed my mind about that. I went out for a row. Why didn't I tell you? Why should I, Reggy?"

"But you nearly drowned yourself!" blurted Reginald in a dismayed tone.

"On the contrary I did nothing of the kind. This--this fellow here is the cause of everything."

Reginald whirled swiftly upon the boatman, who stood open-mouthed, staring at Rosalind.

"What have you done?" roared Reginald, his great figure advancing threateningly.

With a swift look of pained surprise at the dripping one, Sam made a gesture of incomprehension and backed away a step.

"He is deaf and dumb, remember," interposed Rosalind. "Don't hurt him, Reggy. Of course he didn't do it intentionally. But he is such a clumsy fool!"

The boatman's mouth was still open. He seemed to be holding his breath.

"I don't care if he is deaf and dumb," declared Reginald savagely. "If he's done anything to you, I'll break his neck. Tell me, Rosalind--hurry!"

She smiled very faintly, and bestowed a sweeping and deliberate look of malice upon Sam. As Reginald removed his glance from the object of his threat the boatman shook a fist at Rosalind and went through a frantic pantomime. It had no effect upon her.

"Why, you see, Reggy, as I said before, I went rowing. After a while I came to this island. I was tired of rowing and I came ashore for a rest."

Sam was glaring and shaking his head. He even pointed at the tree, then at the dog. Reginald, who caught the gesture, was puzzled.

"What's the matter with him?" he demanded.

"Don't pay any attention to him," advised Rosalind. "He's a little unbalanced, I think."

"I'll tie him up if you say."

"No, indeed; he's quite harmless."

The boatman, making sure again that Reginald was not looking, shook his fist and pointed to the pail that had so recently played its part. Rosalind ignored the implied exposure.

"Where was I?" she mused. "Oh, yes; I came ashore. While I was sitting on the rocks, resting, I saw this man approaching in his launch. He had the engine stopped and was leaning over the side of the boat, which was drifting along slowly. He seemed to be engaged with something that was in the water. It--it was a fish-net, I think."

"Against the law," observed Reginald, nodding.

"Of course. And then, while I watched him he fell overboard."

Sam, who had been listening with steadily widening eyes, broke into a furious pantomime. He shook his head violently and pointed at his clothing. Rosalind bit her lip and remembered. The boatman's clothes were dry.

For an instant she paused, dismayed. The web of her fiction was becoming tangled. From sheer stubbornness, hardened with a desire for revenge, she had embarked upon a tale of her own. If there was lying to be done Rosalind was resolved to be the architect of her own falsehoods. She would not become a parrot for the lies of another.

Nor had she a mind to play the weak and conventional part of a maiden in distress, rescued by masculine courage and brawn. Even though wet and undignified she proposed to preserve some shred of superiority to the sex that scattered hearts at her feet.

"As I said," she resumed suddenly with a swift flash of her eyes in the direction of Sam, "the creature fell overboard. He began floundering about in the water quite helplessly, and it was evident he could scarcely swim a stroke. I couldn't see him drown, so I had to go to the rescue."

"And you rowed out--"

"That was the trouble," continued Rosalind. "My boat had drifted loose and had disappeared. So there was nothing else to do but swim--unless I wanted to see him drown."

"Rosalind!"

Reginald's eyes were blazing with admiration.

"Oh, it wasn't much of a swim," she said carelessly. "Not over a hundred yards, I should say."

"But you risked your life, child!"

"Not at all. I can really swim, Reggy; you know that. Well, I got to him after a while, at any rate, and I found him in such a panic of fear that it was difficult to do anything for him."

She paused long enough to allow her glance to wander again toward the boatman. His symptoms were those of hysteria.

"Finally I managed to get him by the collar from behind," continued Rosalind calmly. "I had to choke him a little, I think. It wasn't very easy to get him to the launch, which had begun to drift, but we made it after a while. Then--"

Another inspection of Sam seemed to afford her satisfaction, for she smiled.

"Then it was a question of getting him aboard. He was in a complete funk; did nothing but cling to the boat and roll his eyes. I had to climb in myself and then drag him after me. And then--think of it, Reggy--he began to weep. That great, grown man shed tears like a child!"

Reginald surveyed the great, grown man with pity and contempt.

"That's all of it," added Rosalind. "It was just a question of running the boat to the island."

The suitor from the city gazed upon Rosalind Chalmers in adoration.

"You wonder!" he exclaimed.

She made a careless gesture and turned a pair of triumphant eyes in the direction of the boatman. He had ceased his pantomime and was regarding her with an expression even more rapt than that of Reginald.

"Wait till they hear of this at the Witherbees'!" exclaimed Reginald.

"They mustn't!" she said hastily. "Not for anything!"

"But my dear girl, it's so--"

"Remember Mr. Morton!"

Reginald frowned. The boatman's manner became suddenly alert. The name of Morton had a galvanizing effect. Then he remembered his role and relapsed into vacant passivity.

"Hang Morton!" blurted Reginald. "If the man's insane, as you say he is, I don't see why he isn't sent away. He's got everybody walking around on tiptoe and whispering. They've got the habit so bad that they even do it to me."

Sam's brow was furrowed, and the look he devoted to Rosalind contained a perplexed inquiry. She did not meet his eyes for long.

"At any rate I don't care to have you mention the matter," she said firmly. "It's nothing."

"Well, I think when a girl does a fine, brave thing like that she's entitled to all the credit for it," Reginald grumbled. "And to think of it being wasted on that boob, too!"

Once more he inspected the boatman. Then, as he studied the loose-jointed figure, surprise came into Reginald's eyes. He looked back to Rosalind.

"That's funny."

"What?"

"Why, his clothes are dry!"

The boatman was having a convulsion of some kind. His body twitched violently and bent almost double.

"Oh, yes," said Rosalind. "You see, he was chattering so with cold or fright, probably both, that I told him he'd better put on some dry clothes. He had some in the cabin."

Sam managed to straighten himself.

"You told him?" repeated Reginald wonderingly.

"Yes; he seems to have no initiative whatever."

"You don't mean to say he heard you?"

Again the boatman had a seizure.

"Of course not," answered Rosalind easily. "I had to write it on a piece of paper."

Sam turned abruptly and walked to the cabin. His shoulders were shaking.

"He isn't over it yet," commented Reginald.

"I don't imagine he will be over it for a good while," said Rosalind a little savagely. "I think you may take me home now, Reggy."

The boatman stood in the doorway of his cabin, watching them descend the path. He was grinning broadly.

Rosalind felt that she had in some measure achieved revenge for the indignity of her bath. It was no more of a falsehood than the story Sam had attempted to put into her mouth; certainly it was better to be a heroine than a clinging creature.

And by all odds it was an improvement on the preposterous and humiliating truth!

She and Reginald heard a clatter of footsteps behind them as they stepped into the Witherbee launch and turned to see the boatman running down the path. He was making gestures that were clearly intended to delay their departure, so they waited.