Chapter 7

1.

　　In the lives of each one of us, as we look back and review them inretrospect, there are certain desert wastes from which memory winceslike some tired traveller faced with a dreary stretch of road. Evenfrom the security of later happiness we cannot contemplate themwithout a shudder. Time robs our sorrows of their sharp vividness,but the horror of those blank, gray days never wholly passes. Itremains for ever at the back of our consciousness to remind us that,though we may have struggled through it to the heights, there is anabyss. We may dwell, like the Pilgrim, on the Delectable Mountains,but we never forget the Slough of Despond. Years afterwards, Jillcould not bring herself to think of that brief but age-long periodwhich lay between the evening when she read Derek's letter and themorning when, with the wet sea-wind in her face and the cry of thewheeling sea-gulls in her ears, she stood on the deck of the linerthat was taking her to the land where she could begin a new life. Itbrooded behind her like a great, dank cloud, shutting out thesunshine.

　　The conditions of modern life are singularly inimical to swift anddramatic action when we wish to escape from surroundings that havebecome intolerable. In the old days, your hero would leap on hischarger and ride out into the sunset. Now, he is compelled to remainfor a week or so to settle his affairs,--especially if he is an UncleChris--and has got those affairs into such a tangle that hardenedlawyers knit their brows at the sight of them. It took one of themost competent firms in the metropolis four days to produce some sortof order in the confusion resulting from Major Selby's financialoperations; and during those days Jill existed in a state of beingwhich could be defined as living only in that she breathed and ateand comported herself outwardly like a girl and not a ghost.

　　Boards announcing that the house was for sale appeared against therailings through which Jane the parlormaid conducted her dailyconversations with the tradesmen. Strangers roamed the rooms eyeingand appraising the furniture. Uncle Chris, on whom disaster had had aquickening and vivifying effect, was everywhere at once, animpressive figure of energy. One may be wronging Uncle Chris, but tothe eye of the casual observer he seemed in these days of trial to behaving the time of his life.

　　Jill varied the monotony of sitting in her room--which was the onlyplace in the house where one might be sure of not encountering afurniture-broker's man with a note-book and pencil--by taking longwalks. She avoided as far as possible the small area which had oncemade up the whole of London for her, but even so she was not alwayssuccessful in escaping from old acquaintances. Once, cutting throughLennox Gardens on her way to that vast, desolate King's Road whichstretches its length out into regions unknown to those whose Londonis the West End, she happened upon Freddie Rooke, who had been payinga call in his best hat and a pair of white spats which would have cuthis friend Henry to the quick. It was not an enjoyable meeting.

　　Freddie, keenly alive to the awkwardness of the situation, wasscarlet and incoherent; and Jill, who desired nothing less than totalk with one so intimately connected in her mind with all that shehad lost, was scarcely more collected. They parted without regret.

　　The only satisfaction that came to Jill from the encounter was theknowledge that Derek was still out of town. He had wired for histhings, said Freddie and had retreated further north. Freddie, itseemed, had been informed of the broken engagement by Lady Underhillin an interview which appeared to have left a lasting impression onhis mind. Of Jill's monetary difficulties he had heard nothing.

　　After this meeting, Jill felt a slight diminution of the oppressionwhich weighed upon her. She could not have borne to have comeunexpectedly upon Derek, and, now that there was no danger of that,she found life a little easier. The days passed somehow, and finallythere came the morning when, accompanied by Uncle Chris--voluble andexplanatory about the details of what he called "getting everythingsettled"--she rode in a taxi to take the train for Southampton. Herlast impression of London was of rows upon rows of mean houses, ofcats wandering in back-yards among groves of home-washedunderclothing, and a smoky grayness which gave way, as the trainraced on, to the clearer gray of the suburbs and the good green andbrown of the open country.

　　Then the bustle and confusion of the liner; the calm monotony of thejourney, when one came on deck each morning to find the vessel somanifestly in the same spot where it had been the morning before thatit was impossible to realize how many hundred miles of ocean hadreally been placed behind one; and finally the Ambrose Channellightship and the great bulk of New York rising into the sky like acity of fairyland, heartening yet sinister, at once a welcome and amenace.

　　"There you are, my dear!" said Uncle Chris indulgently, as though itwere a toy he had made for her with his own hands. "New York!"They were standing on the boat-deck, leaning over the rail. Jillcaught her breath. For the first time since disaster had come uponher she was conscious of a rising of her spirits. It is impossible tobehold the huge buildings which fringe the harbor of New York withouta sense of expectancy and excitement. There had remained in Jill'smind from childhood memories a vague picture of what she now saw, butit had been feeble and inadequate. The sight of this towering cityseemed somehow to blot out everything that had gone before. Thefeeling of starting afresh was strong upon her.

　　Uncle Chris, the old traveller, was not emotionally affected. Hesmoked placidly and talked in a wholly earthy strain of grape-fruitand buckwheat cakes.

　　It was now, also for the first time, that Uncle Chris touched uponfuture prospects in a practical manner. On the voyage he had beeneloquent but sketchy. With the land of promise within biscuit-throwand the tugs bustling about the great liner's skirts like little dogsabout their mistress, he descended to details.

　　"I shall get a room somewhere," said Uncle Chris, "and start lookingabout me. I wonder if the old Holland House is still there. I fancy Iheard they'd pulled it down. Capital place. I had a steak there inthe year . . . But I expect they've pulled it down. But I shall findsomewhere to go. I'll write and tell you my address directly I've gotone."Jill removed her gaze from the sky-line with a start.

　　"Write to me?""Didn't I tell you about that?" said Uncle Chris cheerily,--avoidingher eye, however, for he had realized all along that it might be alittle bit awkward breaking the news. "I've arranged that you shallgo and stay for the time being down at Brookport--on Long Island, youknow--over in that direction--with your Uncle Elmer. Daresay you'veforgotten you have an Uncle Elmer, eh?" he went on quickly, as Jillwas about to speak. "Your father's brother. Used to be in business,but retired some years ago and goes in for amateur farming. Cornand--and corn," said Uncle Chris. "All that sort of thing. You'lllike him. Capital chap! Never met him myself, but always heard," saidUncle Chris, who had never to his recollection heard any commentsupon Mr Elmer Mariner whatever, "that he was a splendid fellow.

　　Directly we decided to sail, I cabled to him, and got an answersaying that he would be delighted to put you up. You'll be quitehappy there."Jill listened to this programme with dismay. New York was calling toher, and Brookport held out no attractions at all. She looked downover the side at the tugs puffing their way through the broken blocksof ice that reminded her of a cocoanut candy familiar to herchildhood.

　　"But I want to be with you," she protested.

　　"Impossible, my dear, for the present. I shall be very busy, verybusy indeed for some weeks, until I have found my feet. Really, youwould be in the way. He--er--travels the fastest who travels alone! Imust be in a position to go anywhere and do anything at a moment'snotice. But always remember, my dear," said Uncle Chris, patting hershoulder affectionately, "that I shall be working for you. I havetreated you very badly, but I intend to make up for it. I shall notforget that whatever money I may make will really belong to you." Helooked at her benignly, like a monarch of finance who has ear-markeda million or two for the benefit of a deserving charity. "You shallhave it all, Jill."He had so much the air of having conferred a substantial benefit uponher that Jill felt obliged to thank him. Uncle Chris had always beenable to make people grateful for the phantom gold which he showeredupon them. He was as lavish a man with the money he was going to getnext week as ever borrowed a five-pound note to see him through tillSaturday.

　　"What are you going to do, Uncle Chris?" asked Jill curiously. Apartfrom a nebulous idea that he intended to saunter through the citypicking dollar-bills off the sidewalk, she had no inkling of hisplans.

　　Uncle Chris toyed with his short mustache. He was not quite equal toa direct answer on the spur of the moment. He had a faith in hisstar. Something would turn up. Something always had turned up in theold days, and doubtless, with the march of civilization,opportunities had multiplied. Somewhere behind those tall buildingsthe Goddess of Luck awaited him, her hands full of gifts, butprecisely what those gifts would be he was not in a position to say.

　　"I shall--ah--how shall I put it--?""Look round?" suggested Jill.

　　"Precisely," said Uncle Chris gratefully. "Look round. I daresay youhave noticed that I have gone out of my way during the voyage to makemyself agreeable to our fellow-travellers? I had an object.

　　Acquaintances begun on shipboard will often ripen into usefulfriendships ashore. When I was a young man I never neglected theopportunities which an ocean voyage affords. The offer of a bookhere, a steamer-rug there, a word of encouragement to a chatty borein the smoke-room--these are small things, but they may lead to much.

　　One meets influential people on a liner. You wouldn't think it tolook at him, but that man with the eye-glasses and the thin nose Iwas talking to just now is one of the richest men in Milwaukee!""But it's not much good having rich friends in Milwaukee when you arein New York!""Exactly. There you have put your finger on the very point I havebeen trying to make. It will probably be necessary for me to travel.

　　And for that I must be alone. I must be a mobile force. I shoulddearly like to keep you with me, but you can see for yourself thatfor the moment you would be an encumbrance. Later on, no doubt, whenmy affairs are more settled . . .""Oh, I understand. I'm resigned. But, oh dear! it's going to be verydull down at Brookport.""Nonsense, nonsense! It's a delightful spot.""Have you been there?""No! But of course everybody knows Brookport! Healthy, invigorating. . . Sure to be! The very name . . . You'll be as happy as the daysare long!""And how long the days will be!""Come, come! You mustn't look on the dark side!""Is there another?" Jill laughed. "You are an old hum-bug, UncleChris. You know perfectly well what you're condemning me to! I expectBrookport will be like a sort of Southend in winter. Oh, well, I'llbe brave. But do hurry and make a fortune, because I want to come toNew York.""My dear," said Uncle Chris solemnly, "if there is a dollar lyingloose in this city, rest assured that I shall have it! And, if it'snot loose, I will detach it with the greatest possible speed. Youhave only known me in my decadence, an idle and unprofitable Londonclubman. I can assure you that, lurking beneath the surface, there isa business acumen given to few men . . .""Oh, if you are going to talk poetry," said Jill, "I'll leave you.

　　Anyhow, I ought to be getting below and putting my things together.

　　Subject for a historical picture,--The Belle of Brookport collectinga few simple necessaries before entering upon the conquest ofAmerica."2.

　　If Jill's vision of Brookport as a wintery Southend was not entirelyfulfilled, neither was Uncle Chris' picture of it as an earthlyparadise. At the right time of the year, like most of the summerresorts on the south shore of Long Island, it is not without itsattractions; but January is not the month which most people wouldchoose for living in it. It presented itself to Jill on firstacquaintance in the aspect of a wind-swept railroad station, dumpeddown far away from human habitation in the middle of a stretch offlat and ragged country that reminded her a little of parts ofSurrey. The station was just a shed on a foundation of planks whichlay flush with the rails. From this shed, as the train clanked in,there emerged a tall, shambling man in a weather-beaten overcoat. Hehad a clean-shaven, wrinkled face, and he looked doubtfully at Jillwith small eyes. Something in his expression reminded Jill of herfather, as a bad caricature of a public man will recall the original,she introduced herself.

　　"If you're Uncle Elmer," she said, "I'm Jill."The man held out a long hand. He did not smile. He was as bleak asthe east wind that swept the platform.

　　"Glad to meet you again," he said in a melancholy voice. It was newsto Jill that they had met before. She wondered where. Her unclesupplied the information. "Last time I saw you, you were a kiddy inshort frocks, running around and shouting to beat the band." Helooked up and down the platform. "_I_ never heard a child make somuch noise!""I'm quite quiet now," said Jill encouragingly. The recollection ofher infant revelry seemed to her to be distressing her relative.

　　It appeared, however, that it was not only this that was on his mind.

　　"If you want to drive home," he said, "we'll have to phone to theDurham House for a hack." He brooded awhile, Jill remaining silent athis side, loath to break in upon whatever secret sorrow he waswrestling with. "That would be a dollar," he went on. "They'rerobbers in these parts! A dollar! And it's not over a mile and ahalf. Are you fond of walking?"Jill was a bright girl, and could take a hint.

　　"I love walking," she said. She might have added that she preferredto do it on a day when the wind was not blowing quite so keenly fromthe East, but her uncle's obvious excitement at the prospect ofcheating the rapacity of the sharks at the Durham House restrainedher. Her independent soul had not quite adjusted itself to theprospect of living on the bounty of her fellows, relatives thoughthey were, and she was desirous of imposing as light a burden uponthem as possible. "But how about my trunk?""The expressman will bring that up. Fifty cents!" said Uncle Elmer ina crushed way. The high cost of entertaining seemed to be afflictingthis man deeply.

　　"Oh, yes," said Jill. She could not see how this particularexpenditure was to be avoided. Anxious as she was to make herselfpleasant, she declined to consider carrying the trunk to theirdestination. "Shall we start, then?"Mr Mariner led the way out into the ice-covered road. The windwelcomed them like a boisterous dog. For some minutes they proceededin silence.

　　"Your aunt will be glad to see you," said Mr Mariner at last in thevoice with which one announces the death of a dear friend.

　　"It's awfully kind of you to have me to stay with you," said Jill. Itis a human tendency to think, when crises occur, in terms ofmelodrama, and unconsciously she had begun to regard herself somewhatin the light of a heroine driven out into the world from the oldhome, with no roof to shelter her head. The promptitude with whichthese good people, who, though relatives, were after all completestrangers, had offered her a resting-place touched her. "I hope Ishan't be in the way.""Major Selby was speaking to me on the telephone just now," said MrMariner, "and he said that you might be thinking of settling down inBrookport. I've some nice little places round here which you mightlike to look at. Rent or buy. It's cheaper to buy. Brookport's agrowing place. It's getting known as a summer resort. There's abungalow down on the shore I'd like to show you tomorrow. Stands in anice large plot of ground, and if you bought it for twelve thousandyou'd be getting a bargain."Jill was too astonished to speak. Plainly Uncle Chris had made nomention of the change in her fortunes, and this man looked on her asa girl of wealth. She could only think how typical this was of UncleChris. There was a sort of boyish impishness about him. She could seehim at the telephone, suave and important. He would have hung up thereceiver with a complacent smirk, thoroughly satisfied that he haddone her an excellent turn.

　　"I put all my money into real estate when I came to live here," wenton Mr Mariner. "I believe in the place. It's growing all the time."They had come to the outskirts of a straggling village. The lights inthe windows gave a welcome suggestion of warmth, for darkness hadfallen swiftly during their walk and the chill of the wind had becomemore biting. There was a smell of salt in the air now, and once ortwice Jill had caught the low booming of waves on some distant beach.

　　This was the Atlantic pounding the sandy shore of Fire Island.

　　Brookport itself lay inside, on the lagoon called the Great SouthBay.

　　"This is Brookport," said Mr Mariner. "That's Haydock's grocerystore there by the post-office. He charges sixty cents a pound forbacon, and I can get the same bacon by walking into Patchogue forfifty-seven!" He brooded awhile on the greed of man, as exemplifiedby the pirates of Brookport. "The very same bacon!" he said.

　　"How far is Patchogue?" asked Jill, feeling that some comment wasrequired of her.

　　"Four miles," said Mr Mariner.

　　They passed through the village, bearing to the right, and foundthemselves in a road bordered by large gardens in which stood big,dark houses. The spectacle of these stimulated Mr Mariner tosomething approaching eloquence. He quoted the price paid for each,the price asked, the price offered, the price that had been paid fiveyears ago. The recital carried them on for another mile, in thecourse of which the houses became smaller and more scattered, andfinally, when the country had become bare and desolate again, theyturned down a narrow lane and came to a tall, gaunt house standing byitself in a field.

　　"This is Sandringham," said Mr Mariner.

　　"What!" said Jill. "What did you say?""Sandringham. Where we live. I got the name from your father. Iremember him telling me there was a place called that in England.""There is." Jill's voice bubbled. "The King lives there.""Is that so?" said Mr Mariner. "Well, I bet he doesn't have thetrouble with help that we have here. I have to pay our girl fiftydollars a month, and another twenty for the man who looks after thefurnace and chops wood. They're all robbers. And if you kick theyquit on you!"3.

　　Jill endured Sandringham for ten days; and, looking back on thatperiod of her life later, she wondered how she did it. The sense ofdesolation which had gripped her on the station platform increasedrather than diminished as she grew accustomed to her surroundings.

　　The east wind died away, and the sun shone fitfully with a suggestionof warmth, but her uncle's bleakness appeared to be a static quality,independent of weather conditions. Her aunt, a faded woman with aperpetual cold in the head, did nothing to promote cheerfulness. Therest of the household consisted of a gloomy child, "Tibby," agedeight; a spaniel, probably a few years older, and an intermittentcat, who, when he did put in an appearance, was the life and soul ofthe party, but whose visits to his home were all too infrequent forJill. Thomas was a genial animal, whose color-scheme, like a Whistlerpicture, was an arrangement in black and white. He had green eyes anda purr like a racing automobile. But his social engagements in theneighborhood kept him away much of the time. He was the popular andenergetic secretary of the local cats' debating society. One couldhear him at night sometimes reading the minutes in a loud, clearvoice; after which the debate was considered formally open.

　　Each day was the same as the last, almost to the final detail.

　　Sometimes Tibby would be naughty at breakfast, sometimes at lunch;while Rover, the spaniel, a great devotee of the garbage-can, wouldoccasionally be sick at mid-day instead of after the evening meal.

　　But, with these exceptions, there was a uniformity about the courseof life in the Mariner household which began to prey on Jill's nervesas early as the third day.

　　The picture which Mr Mariner had formed in his mind of Jill as awealthy young lady with a taste for house property continued as vividas ever. It was his practice each morning to conduct her about theneighborhood, introducing her to the various houses in which he hadsunk most of the money which he had made in business. Mr Mariner'slife centered around Brookport real estate, and the embarrassed Jillwas compelled to inspect sitting-rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, andmaster's bedrooms till the sound of a key turning in a lock gave hera feeling of nervous exhaustion. Most of her uncle's houses wereconverted farmhouses and, as one unfortunate purchaser had remarked,not so darned converted at that. The days she spent at Brookportremained in Jill's memory as a smell of dampness and chill andcloseness.

　　"You want to buy," said Mr Mariner every time he shut a front-doorbehind them. "Not rent. Buy. Then, if you don't want to live here,you can always rent in the summer."It seemed incredible to Jill that the summer would ever come. Winterheld Brookport in its grip. For the first time in her life she wastasting real loneliness. She wandered over the snow-patched fieldsdown to the frozen bay, and found the intense stillness, punctuatedonly by the occasional distant gunshot of some optimist trying forduck, oppressive rather than restful. She looked on the weird beautyof the ice-bound marshes which glittered red and green and blue inthe sun with unseeing eyes; for her isolation was giving her time tothink, and thought was a torment.

　　On the eighth day came a letter from Uncle Chris,--a cheerful, evenrollicking letter. Things were going well with Uncle Chris, itseemed. As was his habit, he did not enter into details, but he wrotein a spacious way of large things to be, of affairs that were comingout right, of prosperity in sight. As tangible evidence of success,he enclosed a present of twenty dollars, for Jill to spend in theBrookport shops.

　　The letter arrived by the morning mail, and two hours later MrMariner took Jill by one of his usual overland routes to see a housenearer the village than most of those which she had viewed. MrMariner had exhausted the supply of cottages belonging to himself,and this one was the property of an acquaintance. There would be anagent's fee for him in the deal, if it went through, and Mr Marinerwas not a man who despised money in small quantities.

　　There was a touch of hopefulness in his gloom this morning, like thefirst intimation of sunshine after a wet day. He had been thinkingthe thing over, and had come to the conclusion that Jill'sunresponsiveness when confronted with the houses she had already seenwas due to the fact that she had loftier ideas than he had supposed.

　　Something a little more magnificent than the twelve thousand dollarplaces he had shown her was what she desired. This house stood on ahill looking down on the bay, in several acres of ground. It had itsprivate landing-stage and bath-house, its dairy, itssleeping-porches,--everything, in fact, that a sensible girl couldwant. Mr Mariner could not bring himself to suppose that he wouldfail again today.

　　"They're asking a hundred and five thousand," he said, "but I knowthey'd take a hundred thousand. And, if it was a question of cashdown, they would go even lower. It's a fine house. You couldentertain there. Mrs Bruggenheim rented it last summer, and wanted tobuy, but she wouldn't go above ninety thousand. If you want it, you'dbetter make up your mind quick. A place like this is apt to besnapped up in a hurry."Jill could endure it no longer.

　　"But, you see," she said gently, "all I have in the world is twentydollars!"There was a painful pause. Mr Mariner shot a swift glance at her inthe hope of discovering that she had spoken humorously, but wascompelled to decide that she had not. His face under normalconditions always achieved the maximum gloom possible for any face,so he gave no outward sign of the shock which had shattered hismental poise; but he expressed his emotion by walking nearly a milewithout saying a word. He was stunned. He had supported himself uptill now by the thought that, frightful as the expense ofentertaining Jill as a guest might be, the outlay was a good sportingspeculation if she intended buying house-property in theneighbourhood. The realization that he was down to the extent of aweek's breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, with nothing to show for it,appalled him. There had been a black morning some years before whenMr. Mariner had given a waiter a ten-dollar bill in mistake for aone. As he had felt then, on discovering his error when it was toolate to retrieve it, so did he feel now.

　　"Twenty dollars!" he exclaimed, at the end of the mile.

　　"Twenty dollars," said Jill,"But your father was a rich man." Mr. Mariner's voice was high andplaintive. "He made a fortune over here before he went to England.""It's all gone. I got nipped," said Jill, who was finding a certainamount of humor in the situation, "in Amalgamated Dyes.""Amalgamated Dyes?""They're something," explained Jill, "that people get nipped in."Mr Mariner digested this.

　　"You speculated?" he gasped.

　　"Yes.""You shouldn't have been allowed to do it," said Mr Mariner warmly.

　　"Major Selby--your uncle ought to have known better than to allowyou.""Yes, oughtn't he," said Jill demurely.

　　There was another silence, lasting for about a quarter of a mile.

　　"Well, it's a bad business," said Mr Mariner.

　　"Yes," said Jill. "I've felt that myself."* * *The result of this conversation was to effect a change in theatmosphere of Sandringham. The alteration in the demeanor of peopleof parsimonious habit, when they discover that the guest they areentertaining is a pauper and not, as they had supposed, an heiress,is subtle but well-marked. In most cases, more well-marked thansubtle. Nothing was actually said, but there are thoughts that arealmost as audible as words. A certain suspense seemed to creep intothe air, as happens when a situation has been reached which is toopoignant to last. Greek Tragedy affects the reader with the samesense of over-hanging doom. Things, we feel, cannot go on as theyare.

　　That night, after dinner, Mrs Mariner asked Jill to read to her.

　　"Print tries my eyes so, dear," said Mrs Mariner. It was a smallthing, but it had the significance of that little cloud that aroseout of the sea like a man's hand. Jill appreciated the portent. Shewas, she perceived, to make herself useful.

　　"Of course I will," she said cordially. "What would you me to read?"She hated reading aloud. It always made her throat sore, and her eyeskipped to the end of each page and took the interest out of it longbefore the proper time. But she proceeded bravely, for her consciencewas troubling her. Her sympathy was divided equally between theseunfortunate people who had been saddled with an undesired visitor andherself who had been placed in a position at which every independentnerve in her rebelled. Even as a child she had loathed being underobligations to strangers or those whom she did not love.

　　"Thank you, dear," said Mrs Mariner, when Jill's voice had roughenedto a weary croak. "You read so well." She wrestled ineffectually withher handkerchief against the cold in the head from which she alwayssuffered. "It would be nice if you would do it every night, don't youthink? You have no idea how tired print makes my eyes."On the following morning after breakfast, at the hour when she hadhitherto gone house-hunting with Mr Mariner, the child Tibby, of whomup till now she had seen little except at meals, presented himself toher, coated and shod for the open and regarding her with a dull andphlegmatic gaze.

　　"Ma says will you please take me for a nice walk!"Jill's heart sank. She loved children, but Tibby was not aningratiating child. He was a Mr Mariner in little. He had the familygloom. It puzzled Jill sometimes why this branch of the family shouldlook on life with so jaundiced an eye. She remembered her father as acheerful man, alive to the small humors of life.

　　"All right, Tibby. Where shall we go?""Ma says we must keep on the roads and I mustn't slide."Jill was thoughtful during the walk. Tibby, who was noconversationalist, gave her every opportunity for meditation. Sheperceived that in the space of a few hours she had sunk in the socialscale. If there was any difference between her position and that of apaid nurse and companion, it lay in the fact that she was not paid.

　　She looked about her at the grim countryside, gave a thought to thechill gloom of the house to which she was about to return, and herheart sank.

　　Nearing home, Tibby vouchsafed his first independent observation.

　　"The hired man's quit!""Has he?""Yep. Quit this morning."It had begun to snow. They turned and made their way back to thehouse. The information she had received did not cause Jill any greatapprehension. It was hardly likely that her new duties would includethe stoking of the furnace. That and cooking appeared to be the onlyacts about the house which were outside her present sphere ofusefulness.

　　"He killed a rat once in the wood-shed with an axe," said Tibbychattily. "Yessir! Chopped it right in half, and it bled!""Look at the pretty snow falling on the trees," said Jill faintly.

　　At breakfast next morning, Mrs Mariner having sneezed, made asuggestion.

　　"Tibby, darling, wouldn't it be nice if you and cousin Jill played agame of pretending you were pioneers in the Far West?""What's a pioneer?" enquired Tibby, pausing in the middle of an actof violence on a plate of oatmeal.

　　"The pioneers were the early settlers in this country, dear. You haveread about them in your history book. They endured a great manyhardships, for life was very rough for them, with no railroads oranything. I think it would be a nice game to play this morning."Tibby looked at Jill. There was doubt in his eye. Jill returned hisgaze sympathetically. One thought was in both their minds.

　　"There is a string to this!" said Tibby's eye.

　　"Exactly what I think!" said Jill's.

　　Mrs Mariner sneezed again.

　　"You would have lots of fun," she said.

　　"What'ud we do?" asked Tibby cautiously. He had been this way before.

　　Only last Summer, on his mother's suggestion that he should pretendhe was a ship-wrecked sailor on a desert island, he had perspiredthrough a whole afternoon cutting the grass in front of the house tomake a ship-wrecked sailor's simple bed.

　　"I know," said Jill. "We'll pretend we're pioneers stormbound intheir log cabin in the woods, and the wolves are howling outside, andthey daren't go out, so they make a lovely big fire and sit in frontof it and read.""And eat candy," suggested Tibby, warming to the idea.

　　"And eat candy," agreed Jill.

　　Mrs Mariner frowned.

　　"I was going to suggest," she said frostily, "that you shovelled thesnow away from the front steps!""Splendid!" said Jill. "Oh, but I forgot. I want to go to the villagefirst.""There will be plenty of time to do it when you get back.""All right. I'll do it when I get back."It was a quarter of an hour's walk to the village. Jill stopped atthe post-office.

　　"Could you tell me," she asked, "when the next train is to New York?""There's one at ten-ten," said the woman, behind the window. "You'llhave to hurry.""I'll hurry!" said Jill.