The boy's voice hesitated and stopped. Mrs. Lowell called his attention to some of the other pictures in the pamphlet, speaking of the artists whose names were known to her, and he finally restored his treasure to his pocket. When they again reached the Inn, they found Nicholas Gayne walking up and down the piazza. He came to the head of the steps. "This is too much, Mrs. Lowell," he said with an effort at bluff good nature, "for you to burden yourself with a young hobble-de-hoy like Bert when you take your rambles." "If I like it I suppose you have no objections," she returned pleasantly. "I assure you I had to urge him to accompany me. Too bad there aren't some young people of his own age here." "He wouldn't know what to say to them if there were, would you, Bert?" "No, sir," was the reply, and the boy started to go into the house. "Here, what are you doing?" said his uncle, catching him roughly by the arm. "You haven't said good-bye to the lady after her kindness in dragging you around." Mrs. Lowell controlled herself to speak calmly. "I tell Bert it would be a good thing for him to learn to swim while he is here." "That's the talk!" ejaculated his uncle, throwing the arm off as roughly as he had grasped it. "Go in and win, Bert. I'll get you a bathing suit. Show 'em you ain't any milk sop. Take the dives with the best of them." The boy stood with his eyes downcast. "And don't sulk," went on his uncle with exasperation. "For Heaven's sake, don't sulk. That's the way it is, Mrs. Lowell, if you try to think up some jolly thing for him to do, he stands like an image. No more backbone than a jellyfish." "Everybody doesn't like the water," returned Mrs. Lowell, moved now by the dread that the man might suspect her influence and remove the boy. "Well, how did you like the farm?" he pursued. "What a pleasant place it is," she returned, seating herself on the piazza rail. "No wonder you like to spend time there. I haven't forgotten those charming sketches you showed me, either." Gayne made a clumsy bow. "You flatter me," he said. "I make no claims." The lady looked down on the garden border. "The sweet peas look thirsty, Bertie," she said. "Let's water them." The boy followed her in silence to where the coiled hose lay, and his uncle looked after them, a thoughtful frown gathering on his dark brow. CHAPTER IX A WORKING PLAN Mrs. Lowell knocked for admittance at Diana's door that evening, and entering found the girl sitting at the little desk she had added to Miss Burridge's furnishings, surrounded by books and papers. "Is it an inopportune time?" asked the caller, hesitating. Diana rose smiling. "That can never be for you," she replied. "Thank you, dear child. I am so full, I long to talk to you. You may have a helpful suggestion."