Even then, the approach to his own affairs was indirect. An affectionate family reunion, based seemingly on the ground that nothing had happened when so much _had_, blocked the openings for bringing up the subjects he had most at heart. During the early part of that first evening at Sugar Maple Point he couldn’t get anyone alone. Not till nearly bedtime did he himself offer a lead by strolling out into the moonlight in the hope that one of the three would follow him. It was full moonlight, turning Sugar Maple Lake into a sheet of silver and gold laid at the base of a velvety silhouette of mountains. The magic of stillness, the tang of the forest, the repose of the spirit from the girding and striving of the world—these lovelinesses came to Bob Collingham with a peace such as they always brought, but which to-night couldn’t find a resting place. It couldn’t find a resting place because in this tranquil woodland more than anywhere else he found himself wishing that Teddy Follett wasn’t in a cell. Sugar Maple Lake is small for the Adirondacks, being no more than three miles long and a mile and a half in width. All its shores are owned by rich men, mostly from New York, who can keep themselves secluded. In seclusion they are able to combine rusticity with the amenities of life, in a wealthy, modern, American version of Marie Antoinette’s humble village at Versailles. At a stranger’s first glance, the "camps" are but lumbermen’s log cabins on a larger scale; but when you come to the conveniences and luxuries of living, they differ little from Marillo Park. Reaching the thin line of maples and pines fringing the edge of the lake, Bob turned to see if he was followed. At first there was no one. The light from the windows and doors made a golden splotch on the greenish silvery black of the sloping lawn, but no figure appeared in the glow. Coming to the conclusion that this, too, was "a put-up job," he was strolling back again when his mother, cloaked against the night air, stole out and called his name softly. On reaching him she took his arm, and together they picked their way along a graveled path leading toward the Point. "I’m so glad you’ve come," she said, instantly. "I’ve been having such a terrible time with your father. You know how he is—so stern—so relentless—" "He’s been corking to me." "You mean the cablegram he sent you to Rio? Oh, well, I made him do that. It’s all over now, dear, and you mustn’t worry; but at first—that night when we heard that the Follett boy had got into trouble and I had to tell your father of your marriage—well, I don’t want to make things out worse than they are, so I sha’n’t tell you what he said; but I did manage him. I soothed him and told him how he ought to take it and what he ought to do—with the result that you got that message. You mustn’t think it was easy, dear—" "You’ve been a brick, old lady!"