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than usual, she did not allow herself to show it. Mrs. Hardeservice thought Bess was growing pale, and hinted at malaria. The Colonel poohpoohed at her alarm, but went off for a drive with his favorite child.

"Your old father is unhappy, Bess," he said, as they followed the winding road down by the "What is the matter with us, anyway?" He cut his horses sharply.

sea.

She looked at him with startled eyes. "I think we are all homesick, papa," she answered softly. She was looking away from his eyes. "It is too gay for us here," she continued, laughing. "Look at that." A merry party in a large buckboard passed them on the road, sending up a cloud of white dust. Bright ribbons fluttered and colored caps danced as the party greeted the popular Colonel and his daughter. "You are an old soldier, and I am nothing but a soldier's daughter, and I think we are we are out of our element."

The Colonel scented danger afar, but he could not locate it. He looked down at his daughter. Her dark eyelashes were low, but he thought he saw something bright there. He put out his big hand over her little one, trying to stroke it in a clumsy way.

"Would you like to go home?" he asked. She turned her soft eyes to his. They were

wet.

"Yes-thank you, papa," she said. Her words were only breathed. She hid her face on his sleeve for a moment, and the grizzled warrior slashed his horses furiously as if with a saber.

THE Hardeservices were going to leave Bar Harbor. Every one was sorry. The last season's débutantes begged the Colonel to stay until they went. He smiled at them all, and, shaking his gray head, reminded them that he was a soldier. Strong did not come near them for two days. Malcolm was unchanged. They were to start on Saturday. On Friday, Strong, reaching the top of Newport after a rapid climb, found Malcolm sitting on a rock. He was smoking a cigar, and did not notice the approach of his friend until Strong stood before him. Then he flushed.

"Hallo, Phil," said Strong in a friendly voice which strained after a natural tone, "communing with nature?"

"No," said Malcolm; "I came up here because I was disgusted with myself. Left my buckboard on the road down there. Did you pass it?"

"I did n't notice it," answered Strong, scanning the other's face. "Look here, Phil," he went on, "I came up here to work off steam." He looked down the mountain's steep side. "You don't dare go down Newport with me?"

Malcolm pulled out his watch.

"We have n't time," he said. "It takes four hours when you have good luck. It will be dark before we strike the road."

"Will you go and risk it?" asked Strong. "Yes," said the other, with a glance at the sinking sun.

They began the descent rapidly. They were both in the mood for hard work. As they slipped down shelving rocks or made downward leaps, catching at roots and bushes to stop their too hurried course, their spirits lightened. They warmed to each other as in their college vacation days, when they had tramped through the White Mountains. Strong caught his foot once, and went stumbling headlong for fully twenty feet. His neck was in danger, but when Malcolm came up to him, making long jumps, the editor was laughing and panting. His cheeks were tinged, and his eyes were filled with flashing light.

"This is fine!" he said, between his heavy breathing.

"You'll break your precious neck if you do that again," said Malcolm, and laughed.

The descent became more difficult. They reached the cliff part, and it took them over an hour to make thirty yards. They were lowering themselves by inches now on jutting rocks, exposed roots, and outhanging limbs of stunted trees. Strong was leading. He deftly slipped down to a shelf formed by the edge of a huge rock jutting out from the mountainside. Malcolm was heavier, and could not get down. Strong jammed himself close to the rocky formation and leaned over, throwing his arins around the sharp protuberances of the rock.

"Put your foot on my back, and don't kick me over the side of the cliff, or we shall both be in the papers-in the obituary column," he said, laughing.

Malcolm let himself down upon Strong's back.

"Where is Atlas ?" said Strong between his teeth, for Malcolm was heavy. "God, Phil!" he cried an instant later, throwing out one arm and catching Malcolm around the waist as he suddenly slipped off. "Steady, old man." Malcolm was suspended in air. Strong's muscles were like steel. He gripped the sharp rock with his left arm until the edges cut into his flesh. Bending his knees slowly, and with his teeth set, he strained down and back, dragging Malcolm up to the narrow shelf. He trembled when his arm released its hold. Malcolm was white. He looked down and shivered.

"It's getting late," said Strong, not waiting for the other to speak. "We can't go down that way," he went on hurriedly. "I have

been down Newport a dozen times, and I never before got into such a box."

He looked around him. A rough line, a sort of crease, like a wrinkle in a stone face, ran along the side of the rocks.

"Stay where you are, and I will see where this leads to," said Strong.

He worked his way carefully until he disappeared around a knob of granite. Then Malcolm saw him crawling back.

"Come on," said Strong when he reached the shelf. "I guess we can make it this way." The two felt their way, holding to the wall at their side. Malcolm was in advance.

"Here it is," said Strong, after they had turned the corner. "Now," he said, "I don't want you to be foolish, Phil. Don't object to what I am going to say. This is probably the only place on this side of the mountain which is practically impassable. We have had the bad luck to get into it. Now we can't both get out of it." He flashed a look straight into the other's eyes. Malcolm's jaw was set.

"Don't look that way," Strong said. "I know you want to stay, but that is out of the question. You could not get me down, and I can drop you as lightly as a feather. And now I am going to show you how. You see it is n't fifteen feet to the next place of footing. All you have to do is to land there. Now, if I lie down here," and he started to take off his coat, "and hold on to that sapling"-he kicked it with his foot-"I can swing you out far enough to drop you there. Now for it."

"I won't go," said Malcolm, doggedly. "I'll stick it out with you."

"No, you will not," answered the other. "Don't you see that it is our only hope of getting out of this? I let you down. You get shaken up, but not hurt. There, not forty yards from us, is a little ravine. That means that it is easy going there until you reach the brush. Get into the bed of the ravine, crawl under the briers, and you strike the road. You will probably meet a buckboard in the road. You can be back in two hours-three, anyway. Mark the place where you come out, get a rope and lantern, and return for me. You can throw up the rope to me, and then I am out of it."

Strong got down on his knees to carry out his program. Malcolm put his hand on his friend's shoulder to stop him.

"Wait a minute," he said. "The Colonel is to go away to-morrow morning." Strong got off his knees, but he did not answer. Malcolm also paused.

"Well?" said Strong, finally. "Well," answered Malcolm, echoing the word, "it's just this, Fred. I did come up the mountain to-day to think, and I made my

decision before you met me. I made up my mind to ask her to-night, and if I go down I shall go straight to her and ask her. So I refuse to go, for I know that you- besides," he broke out, "you have just saved my life."

Strong leaned against the mountain-side. The sun had gone, and his shirt-sleeves shone white in the dusk. He started and picked up his coat. One arm was thrust into a sleeve, when he stopped and dropped the garment again. Getting down once more, he circled the young tree with his left arm.

"Come," he said; "I will let you down." "Very well," said Malcolm, slowly. He sat on the edge of the rocky platform. He felt Strong's arm clench him just under his two arms. He could feel the nervous strength of it as it pinned him. Then Strong pushed him gently off. As Malcolm went over the side his eye caught sight of a crimson stain on the white of Strong's sleeve where the knife-like rock had gashed him when he saved Malcolm's life.

"What's that?" cried Malcolm. "Blood?" "Good-by, Phil, and good luck to you," said Strong, swinging the other out, and dropping him to the firm earth below.

"This is an outrage," cried Malcolm from below. "I shall stay here. You are cut, Fred." "Run along and get that rope. It's getting cold up here," answered Strong.

He could barely see Malcolm in the dusk as he reached the head of the ravine and turned to wave his hat. He heard an occasional crash as Malcolm beat his way through the brush; then there was silence, broken now and then by a rumble on the road far below him where some vehicle rolled along toward the town. He shivered with the chill of the approaching autumn, and buttoned his coat around his throat. He tried to follow in a mental calculation Malcolm's progress toward the town. He counted the steps he must have made, and as he thought of him getting nearer and nearer to the hotel where the Hardeservices were staying, his breath came quicker. He paced up and down on the little ledge. The cold stars were mocking him. His restless eye caught the sapling near him. He seized it and tugged at it. His hand stretched up as high as it could reach, and, with the vein in the center of his forehead swelling, he bent the young tree down until he held it fast in both arms. It was over the drop. He reached out, and, shutting his eyes even in the darkness, swung clear on the swaying tree. It sank and sank until he released his hold. He heard its hissing as it cut the air, springing erect again, and he was on the ground, shocked and stunned. He sprang to his feet and ran, half feeling his way to the spot where he knew the ravine began. He leaped, he ran, he stumbled over its uneven bed. His head was whirl

ing, and his feet were flying. He plunged along until he reached the mass of briers. They tore his hands where he thrust them out to open a passage. They tripped his feet and pulled him to the ground. But he fought through them, impatiently and fiercely. And then he reached the road. He turned into it on a run. He ran until his feet were weighted with lead, and his lungs were choked. Nobody could see him, and nobody could hear him, and he waved his arms and burdened his lips with oaths. His ear caught the muffled beats of hoofs pounding in the dust-covered road. There was the hum of wheels before him. He crushed himself against the bushes at the roadside to let them pass. They stopped, and a light flashed in his white face. Phil's kindly eyes were peering into his. The great Colonel, who had been crying, even as the wagon approached, "To the rescue!" was tugging at his torn hand.

'Fred, old man," cried Malcolm-" Fred, how did you do it?"

Strong smiled faintly. He turned to Malcolm and gripped his hand.

"They are n't going till next week," Phil whispered in his ear.

“Great God!” cried the Colonel," the boy is hurt. He is bleeding all over. Then he opened his lungs.

"Back to the hotel!" he roared, and the wheels went spinning toward Bar Harbor.

THEY were all dancing. It was the last dance of the season. The perfume of crushed flowers was in the air, and there was a hum in the room which arose above the music. You could hear words of farewell, light laughter, and pretty compliments. Malcolm and the younger Miss Hardeservice fell out from the moving throng, and went over to a corner where Mrs. Hardeservice sat admiring her two daughters. The Colonel was not there. He was up in his room framing a letter which would assist him to discount his pay in advance. Strong and Miss Hardeservice were promenading the room. Malcolm, Mrs. Hardeservice, and her younger daughter kept their eyes on them. They were a handsome couple. In Miss Hardeservice's cheek was a bright color. Her lips were parted in a half-formed smile, and her eyes sparkled under the light.

Strong's face had a light of reckless daring. Both tall and fair, many eyes followed them. Malcolm, watching them closely, showed in his face how he envied the fire and spirit of his friend. There was a look of hunger and discontent in his dark eyes. The younger Miss Hardeservice saw it, while she watched her sister. When Malcolm turned to her with a guilty start, she was slightly pale, and her fan

was moving quickly. He dared not look into her soft eyes.

"Won't you go out for a promenade on the veranda ?" he said.

The walking-space was crowded, and they found two chairs. He wanted to say something, but his lips were treacherous. They faltered and stumbled over the words. He was comparing himself with Strong. The editor was brave and reliant. Strong would ask Bess to marry him before she left Bar Harbor. He knew that, and he felt a pang when he remembered that this was the last night. If he could only make his lips say what he wanted them to confess. It startled him when he thought how every one fancied that he loved Eleanor. He looked at the little Miss Hardeservice in a frightened way. She was very quiet. Suddenly he bent over. Three words, and he was trembling fearfully. Something in her eyes and in the way her hand fluttered sent a flash of courage through him. The words came forth of their own will.

When they went back to Mrs. Hardeservice, Bess's olive cheek was tinted with a soft color. Strong was not about, and Eleanor had gone up-stairs to her father. Mother and daughter followed her. Bess, like a shy child, entered the room where her father and Eleanor sat. The pink in her cheek had not faded, and her eyes were soft and liquid. The old soldier's face was down between his hands. Eleanor sat erect, a little pale, and her eyes were feverishly brilliant.

Bess went up to her father and curled her arm about his neck, so that her hand rested on his cheek. The Colonel sighed. Eleanor had. just told him that she was going to be married to Strong. His first thought had been of Bess, and the shock stunned him. Bess crossed the room to her mother, who was smiling softly, and, leading her up to the old man, knelt at his feet. He was kissing her as they told him the truth, and Eleanor was pressing his great hand to her lips. The old Colonel sobbed like a great boy, and then smiled through his tears.

Strong meanwhile was smoking a cigar before going to bed. Malcolm came up to him. He felt guilty. The editor greeted him warmly, over-heartily. He was elated, and his manner showed it; but he had the disposition of a conqueror. He felt that he could afford to be generously kind to his friend. They had both striven for the same prize, and he had won; all honor to a noble rival who had lost.

Malcolm was embarrassed. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had beaten a more able man, a man whom he loved, and for whom he felt sympathy; and yet he could not grieve for the other. It was fate that he should succeed over a better man. He

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HE arm of land called the East- of the birches in sunlight; farther away, tall ern Point, stretching out from elms line the old fort-road. Grass meadows the town of Gloucester and stretch up toward the hills, and gray rocks jut forming its harbor, possesses from the green. Over the meadow thence to more attractions for one fond the sea are blueberry-bushes and rich furze, of the sea than does any other changing with different seasons, making a brilplace on the coast that I know. Its shore to- liant carpet in pleasant weather, or softly toned ward the sea is protected by an armor of granite that breaks the force of storms, and within its shelter ride safely at anchor great barks from Italy and Spain, the fishing-fleet, and picturesque coasters, with their deck-loads of hay and timber. In the background rise the foreign-looking towers of the city, and at its extreme point is the old Eastern Lighthouse. Opposite, guarding the other side, is the rock of Norman's Woe, and stretching back toward the city are the dark Manchester Hills.

It was this intimacy with the sea that led me to make the Point my home. I moved into a farmhouse, a comfortable building of the American country type, surrounded by great birchtrees, a row of which stretched along the sea-wall across the lawn at its back, and beneath which I have the whole harbor spread out before me. In front of the house lies the lake, bordered by old willows and covered with lily-pads. Beyond the lake are Brace's Rock, the cliffs, and the sea.

Although life on the Point is lovely enough in summer, I know of no place in the North where there are more song-birds,-its real interest and beauty begin in the autumn. In spite of its bleak exposure, it is warmer than Boston or Gloucester itself; the air is bracing, of course-and such color! The trees around the farm-house are of all colors, from the dark green of the willows in shadow to the silver

into grays when clouds hide the sun. Then comes the delicate fringe of pale-green seagrass, changing at another season into a golden yellow. All the gamut of color exists in rich profusion, from the deepest to the highest tones, tempered generally by the blues of the atmosphere. It is a place in which to live and study, like some of the old towns of France. My dog and cat take walks with me, and we enjoy them together; for Nature tempers us brutes into reasonable beings, and we find content in her society.

From the high land on the middle of the Point the shore stretches off to Thatcher's Island, with its two needle-like lighthouses, and down the coast on a fair day the eye can make out Plymouth: one of real New England faith and enthusiasm can almost see the Rock. You take in the whole sweep of ocean, horizon, and sky. The vessels lie anchored at your feet in still waters, and the town nestles comfortably in the distance. One afternoon I was watching the schooners sailing out on their mackereltrips. All sail was set, even to the great staysails high up between the masts, the wind being fair from the northeast. Two or three coasters were at anchor, with mainsails up to keep their noses pointed toward the wind; the sun was shining, but far down toward Marblehead the sky was black. One or two schooners anchored near shore were taking in their canvas, a sure

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