"I'm sorry. I'm looking for Miss Barry." "Oh, she lives here. I'm the help." "Really? I didn't dream it. I thought you were the nice little daughter of the house." "Miss Barry ain't married," replied Blanche Aurora practically, but she gave full credit to the pink bow. "Is her niece--is Miss Linda Barry here?" The eagerness of the question and of the very good-looking visitor was fully appreciated by the little maid who recognized a kindred spirit. "Oh, yes, she's here,"--the freckled face shone radiant. "Ain't she grand?" "The grandest ever. I want to see her. Aren't you ever going to open the screen door?" Upon this the screen door opened. "But she ain't in the house," replied Blanche Aurora, coming out on the piazza. "There ain't anybody in the house, so I can't leave it to hunt for her, but I can tell you where I bet she is." "You're a good--a particularly good child," was the earnest response as Blanche Aurora's finger pointed across the field. "Do you see that clump o' trees and then there's woods beyond?" "Yes." "Near them white birches you'll likely find her. Mrs. Porter and she's got a secret place." The visitor laughed. "Secret from whom?" "Everybody but me, I guess." The man looked at the smile that was keeping his laugh company. "What do you think they'll say to your telling their secrets?" "Well"--Blanche Aurora gave a comprehensive glance at the city clothes and the gay face above her. "I kinder think Miss Linda might be glad to see you, and if she would, what's the use o' waitin'!" "That's what I say," was the hearty response. "I can't wait. I'm going to scour this Cape till I do find her, and then if she _isn't_ glad to see me, do you know what I'm going to do?" Blanche Aurora's neatly coiffed head shook a denial. The visitor grasped her small shoulder with a strong hand. "I'm going out to that point of rock there,"--he pointed to the height of the cliff,--"and throw myself--dash myself into the sea!" He scowled portentously. "Well, you might wait till she gits used to you," suggested Blanche Aurora. "She might like you better." "I've been waiting two years, but your advice may still be good." "Be you her beau?" the question was roared solemnly. "I be; and if I don't find her this afternoon you tell her that her beau has come to town, and for her not to leave the house again till he arrives." "All right, sir," answered Blanche Aurora, her eyes nearly starting from her head with interest as the caller jumped off the piazza and swung whistling across the field. The soft turf was springy beneath his feet. "'A vagrant's morning, wide and blue,'" he muttered to himself. Gulls wheeled high over his head in the landward sallies from which they sailed back above the sea, their wings glinting like the distant "Foam of the waves, Blown blossoms of ocean, White flowers of the waters." Whitcomb strode along, the picture of Linda as he last saw her in the railway station still fresh in his mind.