"How did you get here? I s'posed you were on the way to New York!" "Had an accident," he answered cheerfully,--"just below the station, and the track was so blocked up they said we couldn't get along in hours. I wasn't going to stay fooling round there, you bet! I said, wasn't there an auto somewhere that could bring us back to the hotel, and a man asked me what hotel 'twas and all about it up here, and he and another man said they'd get an auto if there was one to be had. So they did--and here I am!" He wagged his head gleefully. "I never saw such a boy for pouncing in on people!" laughed Ilga. "But I'm awfully glad you've come. Was there anybody hurt?" "Yes, some of 'em. No one killed, they said. 'Twas a mighty big smash-up, though! My! you'd 'a' thought the whole world was going to pieces when we came together! And we hadn't been started much more'n two minutes! Our car tilted over, and I climbed out through the window! I didn't even get a scratch." "Don't let's talk about it," begged Polly. "I'm so glad you aren't hurt." "Yes," agreed Harold; "but I'd 'a' come back here all the same if I had been, and then pop would 'a' had to let me stay." The children laughed, all but Polly. She said, with a little pucker of the brows:-- "What a boy!" Later, as they went up to the hotel, she glanced towards the broad piazza, now dotted with men and women, and her eyes widened in amazement. "Why, there's Mr. Morrow!" "Who's he?" queried Harold indifferently. "Chris Morrow's father--don't you know? The one that gave me the pansy pin." "Oh! Where is he?" "Over there by the post, right next to the girl in light pink." "That's the man I came up with! But his name isn't Morrow--it's Winship. He said so." "Well, it looks just like him anyway," insisted Polly. "Perhaps it isn't," she added disappointedly. Before they reached the piazza steps, the stranger arose and went inside. "It doesn't walk like Mr. Morrow," admitted Polly. "But I wish he'd stayed, I wanted to see him nearer." For several days, however, no opportunity came for observing the man at close range. In the big dining-hall, even if he chanced to be there at the same time, he sat the entire length of the room away from her, and they did not meet elsewhere. Then, one morning, at a turn of the long piazza, they chanced to come face to face, and Polly, struck by his remarkable resemblance to the father of her friend, could not forbear to speak. "I beg your pardon," she began, half afraid now that she had actually started, "but aren't you Mr. Morrow,--the one I used to see at the hospital in Fair Harbor?" A puzzled look swept the man's face. Then he smiled. "I think you are mistaken, little lady. My name is Winship, Bradford Winship of New York." "You look almost exactly like him," returned Polly, even now refusing to be quite convinced, although there was not a trace of recognition in the smiling face she was scanning.