marie-celeste!” gasped ted, letting his book fall from his hands.

“cousin ted!” gasped marie-celeste; and flop went the cup-custard over on one side, and then rolled off of the tray altogether. perhaps you think gasped is a pretty strong word; but when you are fairly taken off your feet with surprise, you can’t for the very first moment do much better with words than gasp them.

“where did you come from, marie-celeste?” ted demanded almost roughly, and as though she had no right in the world to come from any place whatsoever.

“how do you come to be here, cousin theodore?” parrying question with question, and drawing her little figure to its full height, in resentment of the tone in which ted had spoken.

“oh, you need not make any pretence,” ted said sarcastically. “donald has been mean enough to go back on me, and you know all there is to tell. i can see through the whole thing, cup-custard, sponge-cake and all, and harold ‘ll be down here in a moment to help lord it over the prodigal.”

“what do you mean. ted?” for she really did not understand all he said. “donald hasn’t told me anything, nor harold, nor anybody. they’ve all gone off to see some cows somewhere, and mrs. hartley asked me if i would not take this little tray down to mr. morris, the gentleman who had met with the accident,” and marie-celeste gave a comprehensive glance through the little orchard, as though still expecting to discover the real object of her search under some neighboring tree.

“i am the gentleman who met with the accident,” said ted, smiling in spite of himself, “and my name is supposed to be morris.”

the smile relieved matters somewhat, and marie-celeste, setting the little tray on the ground, picked up the cup-custard, which had suffered nothing by its fall, and putting it back in its place on the tray, took a seat in the corner of the rug, to which ted motioned her, and then clasping her two hands round her knees, asked in a tone of most earnest inquiry, “now tell me, cousin theodore, why do you do things like this?”

“you mean, why do i let myself be thrown out of my trap in a runaway accident, and then be foolish enough to let myself be almost killed into the bargain?”

“have you really had an accident, ted?” with a solicitude that went straight to ted’s heart.

“yes, considerable of an accident. i fancy it would have done for me, marie-celeste, if i had not fallen into the hands of these good people here.”

“but oh, ted,” why didn’t you send us word? mamma and i would have come down and taken care of you every moment and she spoke as though they would have just loved to do it.

“marie-celeste, you are a dear child;” and ted, who was hungering at last for the love of kith and kin, could not keep his eyes from growing a little misty. he realized, too, how he had done absolutely nothing; to warrant this little affectionate outburst, and felt sorely humiliated—a sensation which had been very common to poor ted of late.

“how did the accident happen?” asked marie-celeste; and touched by his grave face, she moved a little farther up on the rug.

“oh, by being a fool, as usual! we were off on a lark, four of us, and i got into a fix so than i couldn’t manage the horses, and—”

“ted, do you mean”—and then marie-celeste hesitated—“do you mean that you really took so mueh wine that you did not know what you were about?” for she wanted to understand the whole matter clearly, no matter how shocking it might prove.

“yes, that was it, marie-celeste;” but the child little guessed how the high-strung fellow winced under the confession, and how his self-disgust never reached quite such high-water mark as at that moment.

“well, go on,” said marie-celeste in a tone of utter hopelessness; and then she added, with the air of a little grandmother, “don’t keep anything back, ted; i would rather know all there is.”

“well, that’s about all there is, marie-celeste, and it’s enough, isn’t it? i was caught under the trap as it went over, and they picked me up as good as dead and carried me into the hartleys.”

“but you told us all at windsor you were going on a driving trip with mr. allyn.”

“so i was before the accident.”

marie-celeste paused a moment to straighten things out in her mind; then she asked, “but why, ted, did you tell them your name was morris?”

“harry allyn did that. he knew 1 would feel awfully mortified, and he wanted harold never to know.”

“he never shall,” marie-celeste said slowly, giving her full endorsement to that part of the proceeding, and ted inwardly pronounced her a dearer child than ever.

“where is harry allyn now?”

“he stops up at the hotel at nuneham, and comes down to look after me ever day.”

“do his people know?”

“they know about the accident, but not where we are staying.”

“oh, well, that makes me understand why miss allyn said she hardly believed we would meet you on this driving trip. all the rest of us were hoping we would. miss allyn would have hoped so, too, if she had not known, i suppose.”

“well, i don’t suppose anything of the kind,” said ted, “but what’s this about your driving trip, marie-celeste?”

“oh, we’re on your break, ted—harold couldn’t write to ask for it, you know, because we didn’t know where you were, and we’re stopping at oxford now; but we left papa and mamma and miss dorothy and mr. farwell for to-day, because harold and i preferred coming down here to surprise chris and donald to seeing all the colleges in the world.”

“who is mr. farwell?”

“oh, he’s a very nice young artist, a friend of papa’s.”

“and he is taking a driving trip on my break, is he?” said ted demurely, and not appearing exactly to fancy the idea.

“why, of course, as he’s in our party, ted.”

“yes, i understand; and now, marie-celeste, you are going to help me keep my secret, are you? but you know you’re not to tell anybody for a while, not even your father and mother; do you think you can do it?”

“i will surely do it, cousin theodore, if you will do something for me; will you promise me you will?”

“if i can, little cousin;” for who could withstand the entreaty in the earnest childish voice?

“will you come home, cousin theodore, as soon as ever you can?”

“what’s the use, marie-celeste? nobody cares for me there any more, i’ve been such a selfish, ungracious fellow this long while.”

“we all care for you, ted, really, very much—papa and mamma and harold and i.”

“well, that’s very kind indeed of you; but then i suppose, as you’re my relations, it’s only christian for you to care a little.”

“but people care who are not your relations—miss dorothy allyn cares, and albert.”

“how do you happen to know that.”

“oh, because one day after miss allyn had been playing the organ in st. george’s—and oh! doesn’t she play beautifully!—we talked a little while on the castle terrace, and we talked about you, and i asked her if you were ever so nice as harold, because we couldn’t help being a little disappointed in you, cousin ted, and she said yes, that you used to be every bit as nice, and if you had not been spoiled up at oxford you would have turned out all right. she didn’t say just those words, you know, but that was the meaning.” ted was silent for a few moments, and when at last he spoke he said slowly, “yes, i will come home, marie-celeste, as soon as i can; i promise.”

0183

“thank you, very much,” as though ted had done her the greatest personal favor; and then, seeming to feel that their talk had come to a natural end, she asked quite casually, “will you have the custard now?” and ted remarking quite as casually, “yes, thank you, i will,” she lifted the tray carefully into his lap. “don’t take very long to eat it, please,” she urged, “for fear mrs. hartley should wonder why i do not come hack and ted obeyed orders with an alacrity rather menacing to his digestive powers.

“what shall i say to mrs. hartley?” marie-celeste asked with a puzzled frown.

“say everything, marie-celeste; tell her all about me. explain to donald first, and get him to take harold off’ somewhere, and then tell all the others—mr. and mrs. hartley and chris and martha. it is not that i lack the courage to tell them myself, it’s only that it will be easier for them to learn it from you, you have such an innocent way of going straight to the heart of a matter. besides, how could they hear it better than from my good little angel?”

“your good little angel! oh, you don’t know me, cousin ted! i’m anything but an angel. i was bad as i could be for three whole days together a few weeks ago—you ask donald! listen! they are calling me up at the cottage. take that last spoonful of custard quickly, please; it’s good for you. good-by, now,” printing a hearty little kiss on his grateful face, “and remember your promise;” and then, carefully lifting the tray, she sped back to the cottage, cheerily calling, “yes, i’m coming,” to donald, who was on his way to meet her.

“marie-celeste, what have you done?” and donald’s face looked the picture of despair as he came toward her; nevertheless, he was gallant enough to relieve her of the tray, with its empty dishes.

“you mean about my finding out about cousin ted?”

donald simply nodded yes; he had no heart for words.

“well, i couldn’t help it, donald; mrs. hartley asked me to carry some custard and sponge-cake to the gentleman under the apple-tree—was it my fault that the gentleman happened to be ted, i’d like to know?” for never were there more accusing eyes than donald’s.

“oh, no; not your fault, but it’s a pity to have the whole thing spoiled. we’ve kept the secret so carefully.”

“and do you think it can’t be a secret any longer because i happen to be in it?”

that was exactly what donald felt sure of, but he contrived to say, “i didn’t suppose you’d see the need of its being kept—i’m glad if you do;” but there was no real gladness evident, for donald’s tone was hopeless in the extreme.

“all the same, you don’t think i’ll keep it, donald,” her little face really grieved. “you think because i’m a girl that i’ll tell mamma, and then before i know it somebody else,” and therein marie-celeste proved herself a veritable little mind-reader. “well, now, donald, you’ll see! and perhaps you’ll come to understand girls better this summer, and have more respect for them in the future.”

donald took his lecture very meekly, knowing well that he deserved it, but still doubtful of marie-celeste’s boasted ability in the secret-keeping line.

“cousin ted has more confidence in me than you, donald,” still exercising her mind-reading proclivities. “he’s asked me to tell the hartleys all about him this very day. he doesn’t want any unnecessary secrets kept any longer, and you’re to take harold off somewhere while i tell them.”

“it seems to me ted ought to tell them himself,” said donald, shaking his head in disapproval; for you see he really feared that ted lacked the necessary courage, although he could understand how much it must mean to him to have the hartleys realize that he had such a good friend as marie-celeste at court. but donald afterward exonerated ted from any lack of courage, and was of course delighted when he found that she had pleaded his cause so eloquently as to convince even the old keeper that ted was fully justified in the course he had thought best to pursue.

0185

never was fairy tale listened to with more rapt attention than marie-celeste’s narration of the ups and downs of ted’s life as she knew them, and never was heart more gladly grateful than hers when she realized that these good friends were more than willing, for the sake of the end in view, to condone the deception practised upon them. it is such a fine thing when people show themselves fair-minded and reasonable under circumstances that put their fair-mindedness to so much of a test.

“well, well, well, it’s a queer world,” said old mr. hartley, resting his elbows on his knees, and drawing circles and squares with his cane on the gravel beneath the old settle—“it’s so remarkable that mr. morris (for he could not drop the name at once) should have fallen right into our hands here. seems to me as though god never changed any of the real laws of things, but as though he ordered the working of them together for good in a very wonderful way, just as the scripture says he do;” and a good many other people, who have not lived in this world more than half as long as old mr. hartley, are willing to go the whole length of this statement, and to defend it, if need be, with page after page from their own experience.

it was just at this point in the conversation that donald and harold came upon the scene, and hearing all of mr. hartley’s last remark, donald felt sure that the old keeper, of whom he, as well as ted and harry allyn, stood in not a little awe, was not going to take offence at the new turn affairs had taken; while harold, to whom it sounded as though they had been having a somewhat prosy sermon, rather congratulated himself that donald had carried him off to see a neighbor’s kennels down the river. but now there was time for little more than good-bys, and chris, who had slipped away to harness jennie, was at the door; and with farewells as hearty as though they had been friends for a lifetime, harold and marie-celeste climbed into the saxon wagon, and amid much demonstration on every side were off for the nuneham station; but harold wondered that donald did not drive into nuneham with them, and said so.

“i suppose,” said marie-celeste, addressing chris with a knowing look in her eyes, “he has things to attend to about the farm this time in the afternoon?”

“yes, he has,” answered chris, with a look just as knowing, for both were well aware that as soon as their backs were turned donald would fly to ted’s rescue from his overlong quarantine down under the apple-tree, and all the significant glances went on right under harold’s eyes, with never a suspicion on his part. indeed, chris and marie-celeste, just for the fun of it, indulged in some decidedly pointed remarks, relying (and in harold’s case with considerable risk ) upon the literalness of the average boy of sixteen to let their real meaning escape him.

“custard and sponge-cake is not very staying,” said ted, after donald had told him the good news of how kindly the hartleys had received marie-celeste’s surprising revelations, and they were on their way to the cottage.

“why, you haven’t had any dinner, mr. harris?” a paralyzing recollection coming over him.

“who promised to bring it to me, donald?”

“oh, mr. harris, it’s all my fault! martha gave it to me just before our own dinner was ready, and i set it on the feed-box a moment, while i shook down some hay for jennie in the barn, and chris called me, and that was the last i thought of it, and it must be there now.”

but donald was mistaken; one of a litter of rather young setter puppies, but with the sense of scent well developed, had scaled the sides of the low feed-box, and now lay on its side by the empty plate, feeling somewhat the worse for its foraging expedition.

“but dinners are not so reviving as good news, donald,” said ted excusingly; and indeed, notwithstanding diminished rations, he felt wonderfully toned up both in mind and body, now that the good friends in the cottage knew just who he was and there was no longer need for any sort of duplicity.

with all ted’s faults he was as open as the day, and the part which harry and discretion and the doctor had mapped out for him to play had been harder than you can imagine.