The minister waited and had tea with me. It was late when he took his departure. Just as I was tumbling into bed, I remembered Mary Grant's letter. I took it out of my coat pocket and opened it. It was not a letter, after all; merely a note. "Please,--please forgive me," it read. "You are a brave and very gallant gentleman. "MARY GRANT." "George, my boy!" I soliloquised, "that ought to satisfy you." But it did not. In the frame of mind I then was in, nothing could possibly have propitiated me. As I dropped to sleep, the phrase recurred again and again: "You are a brave and very gallant gentleman." That,--maybe,--but after all a poor and humble gentleman working for wages in a country store;--so, why worry? Next morning, although it was not the day any steamer was due, I ran the white flag to the top of the pole at the point of the rocks, in the hope that Rita would see it and take it as a signal that I wished to speak with her; and so save me a trip across, for I expected some of the men from the Camps and I never liked to be absent or to keep them waiting. Just before noon, Rita presented herself. "Say, George!--what's the rag up for? Did you forget what day of the week it was, or is it your birthday? "I brought you a pie, in case it might be your anniversary. Made it this morning." I laughed to the bright little lass who stood before me with eyes dancing mischievously, white teeth showing and the pink of her cheeks glowing through the olive tint of her skin. The more I saw of Rita, the prettier she seemed in my eyes, for she was lively and agile, trim, neat and beautifully rounded, breathing always of fragrant and exuberant health. "Sit down beside me on the steps here, Rita," I said. "I want to talk to you. That is why I put the flag up. "Rita,--what would you give to have your grand-dad renounce his vow some day and begin speaking to your grandmother as if nothing had ever been amiss?" She looked at me and her lips trembled. "Say, George! Don't fool me. I ain't myself on that subject." "What would you give, Rita?" "I'd give anything. I'd pretty near give my life, George; for grandmother would be happier'n an angel." "Would you help, if some one knew a way?" "George,--sure you ain't foolin'? True,--you ain't foolin'?" For answer, I plunged into the scheme. "Now,--all we require of you and your grandmother is to sit tight and neither to say nor do anything that would interfere. Leave it to--leave it to the minister. He is doing this, and he believes that it is the only way to bring your grand-dad to his senses. Mr. Auld has already tried everything else he can think of." "It won't kill grand-dad, though?" she inquired. "Kill him,--no! Why! it won't even hurt him, unless, maybe, his pride. "Do you agree, Rita?" "Sure!" she said. "But--if you or Mr. Auld hurt my grand-dad, I guess I'll kill you both,--see."