"And I on the Mission House," cried Bess. "And please understand that I am to specify the amount of caramels. We'll watch and see when they come back. Now don't forget to look!" "In the meantime," suggested Mrs. Pennybacker, "let's talk about that inland trip that Mr. Harcourt has been expatiating on. I think I should like to go down to We-que-ton-sing for a few days, and we may as well go that way. What do you say, Margaret?" Margaret De Jarnette, who had been leaning over the railing watching the child at play on the lawn below, looked up. She was older, but her face had not lost its beautiful contour, and she had the same queenly way of lifting her head, upon which lay great masses of golden brown hair. The glint on it where it was touched by the sun hinted that it might once have been like the burnished gold of the child's long curls. Her eyes matched her hair. "I should like to go. 'We-que-ton-sing,' with all its breaks and musical repetitions, has an attractive sound. It seems as if we might be likely to drop into a community of wigwams there." "That wouldn't be strange," said the young man, "for here we are very close to 'The land of the Ojibways, To the land of--' Mrs. Osborne," Harcourt broke in suddenly, "that girl of yours throws exactly like a boy. Look at her now!" "Well, this isn't settling the question," said Mrs. Pennybacker, hastily. "Mr. Harcourt, tell us some of the points of this inland trip." John Harcourt was doing this very enthusiastically when Bess, catching sight of the returning vehicles, cried out, "Wait a minute! There come the carriages. Now let's watch." "All right. First carriage--Mission House--empty, please note! Half a dollar, if you please. I never smoke less than fifty cent cigars on a wager." "Well, you can just get me a pound of caramels any way," pouted the girl, "for the Island House has just one lone man." "Oh, come! that's a hundred per cent, more than your house has." The one lone man was the object of their most interested scrutiny as the carriage drew up. From their seats they could see without themselves being observed. "Why--y!" said Harcourt in surprise. "Isn't that queer! I've seen that man--in Washington." "Who is he?" asked Mrs. Pennybacker, abruptly. "His name is Smeltzer. He is on the detective force there, or he was when I knew him." "Does he know you?" "I doubt if he would remember me. Still, you can't tell. It is a part of a detective's stock in trade to remember faces.... Why, he did some work for a friend of mine once, and I used to see him sometimes." Margaret De Jarnette leaned over the piazza rail and spoke quietly to the child playing below. "Dearest! Come to mama now." "Not yet, mama!" pleaded the child. "Yes--now!" She had been gone but a few minutes when Mrs. Pennybacker followed her to her room. She found the door locked and the young woman in the act of packing a suit case. "What are you doing, Margaret?"