They were standing side by side on the floor of the cockpit. He waved his hand toward the bay. "All this beautiful scenery ought to be good for your malady--whatever that may be. Look at that sunset, Miss Yarnell. Why, hello! What's that? Dead into the sun! Can't you see it?" She peered beneath the arch of her hand to mark the point. At that moment her elbows were gripped as if by a giant. She felt herself lifted, then thrust firmly, although gently, downward into the little cabin. It was all done in an instant. Fessenden slammed the double-doors deftly upon his prisoner and dropped the catch into the slot. "Good-night," he called reassuringly. He leaped ashore and hurried inland. V Fessenden was well aware that the frail catch that held the doors of the _Wisp's_ cabin would not long hold prisoner so vigorous a young woman as Madge Yarnell. He guessed that in ten minutes she would be wending her disconsolate way toward Sandywood. But ten minutes would be enough--he gave himself no further concern about her. He followed a cow-path beyond the pine grove, crossed a meadow or two, and struck the road not far above White Cottage. A quail called in a field of early wheat, and was answered from a thicket of elderberry near at hand--a charmingly intimate colloquy. Fessenden was serenely conscious that it was good to be only twenty-eight, and on his way to dine, or sup, with an artless girl. In ten minutes he was halting at the gate of White Cottage. Although it was only the dusk of the day, the window shades were down, and the lighted lamps within sent a glow across the wide porch. The door stood invitingly open. As he clicked the gate behind him, he felt as if he were about to enter another world than the one he had left at Sandywood--the enchanted world of boyhood. At the thought, he pursed his lips and sent the rounded notes of the quail through the evening haze. He had not time to repeat them before a slender figure, appearing as if by magic, extended him a warm little hand. "Bob White!" she said gaily. "I'm very glad to see you. I was in the hammock under the hickory there. That gives me a new name for you--I was tired of Puddin' Tame." Her lips echoed the whistle. [Illustration: musical notes of bird song: Bob White.] "I'm glad you've come, Mr. Bob White." "Did you dream for a moment I wouldn't?" "I was a little afraid you might forget your promise. No, what I was really afraid of was that you wouldn't find a chance to steal away. You _did_ steal away, didn't you, ve-ry quietly?" "I did. I sailed away, at any rate, and I didn't tell a soul where I was bound." "I knew you were a reliable man." "How is the sprained ankle? You don't seem to be noticeably crippled." "Of course not. That's all well now--I've been resting in the hammock all day. But come into the house. Supper is ready, and Aunty Landis has the most delicious chocolate, with whipped cream."