"Your yacht has a very suggestive name," she said; "it makes one think of green woods and camp-fires. I should dearly love to take a sail in her. I have read so much about yachts and yachting that the idea of sailing along the shores in one's own floating house, as it were, has a fascination for me." This expression of taste was so much in line with Frank's, and the idea of having this charming girl for a yachting companion so tempting, that his face glowed. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he responded, "than to have you for a guest on my boat, Miss Page. I think it could be managed if I could only coax my mother and sisters to go, and you and your brother would join us. We would visit the Maine coast resorts and have no end of a good time." "It's a delightful outing you suggest," she answered, "and I thank you very much; but I wouldn't think of coming if your family had to be coaxed to go, and then, it's not likely that Bert could find the time." "Oh, I didn't mean it that way," he said, looking serious, "only mother and the girls are afraid of the water, that is all." When conversation lagged Frank begged that she would sing for him, and suggested selections from Moody and Sankey; and despite her brother's sarcastic remark that it wasn't a revival meeting they were holding, she not only played and sang all those time-worn melodies, but a lot of others from older collections. When retiring-time came, Frank asked that she conclude with "Ben Bolt." "I shall not need to recall that song to remind me of you," he said in a low voice as he spread it on the music rack in front of her, "but I shall always feel its mood when I think of you." "Does that mean that you will think of me as sleeping 'in a corner obscure and alone' in some churchyard?" she responded archly. "By no means," he said, "only I may perhaps have a little of the same mood at times that Ben Bolt had when he heard of the fate of his sweet Alice." It was a pretty speech and Frank imagined she threw a little more than usual pathos into the song after it; but then, no doubt his imagination was biased by his feelings. When they stood on the platform the next morning awaiting the train, he said quietly: "May I send you a few books and some new songs when I get home, Miss Page? I want to show you how much I have enjoyed this visit." "It is very nice of you to say so," she replied, "and I shall be glad to be remembered, and hope you will visit us again." When the train came in he rather hurriedly offered his hand and with a "Permit me to thank you again," as he raised his hat, turned away to gather up the satchels and so as not to be witness to her leave-taking from her brother. It was a tactful act that was not lost upon her. CHAPTER XIII SOUTHPORT ISLAND