"St. John always talks too much--don't mind him." "But I shall. If he tells the truth I want to know it--and, if not, I shall take steps to make him take back the stories he is circulating." "It's a wonder he hasn't gone to the war. Why doesn't he enlist, like the rest of the young men in this neighborhood?" "He says he must stay with his mother. But the real reason is, I think, that he is a coward." "Perhaps you are right. I remember once, when there was a cry of mad dog in the town, he hid in a warehouse and was almost scared to death." "Yes, I remember that, and I remember, too, when Big Bill, the slave, ran away and threatened to kill the first white man he met, St. John hid in the mansion and didn't come outside the door for a week." "Such a coward wouldn't be above circulating falsehoods." "I wish I knew just where to find him. I would have it out with him in short order," concluded Jack. The youth was in no humor for further fishing and soon wound up his line and started for home. As he passed along over the plantation road his thoughts were busy. Could there be any truth in what St. John Ruthven had said? Was he really a nobody, with no claim upon the lady he called mother and the girl he looked upon as his sister? A chill passed down his backbone, and, as he came in sight of the stately old mansion that he called home, he paused to wipe the cold perspiration from his forehead. "I will go to mother and ask her the truth," he told himself. "I can't wait to find out in any other way." Yet the thought of facing that kind-hearted lady was not a pleasant one. How should he begin to tell her of what was in his mind? "Is my mother in?" he asked of the maid whom he met in the hallway. "No, Massah Jack, she dun went to town," was the answer of the colored girl. "Did she say when she would be back?" "No, sah." "Do you know if my sister is around?" "She dun gone off not five minutes ago, Massah Jack." "Where to?" "I heard her say she was gwine down to Ole Ben's boathouse. I 'spect she dun t'ought yo' was dar." Jack said no more, but giving the colored girl the fish, to take around to the cook, he ran upstairs, washed and brushed up, and sallied forth to find Marion. The boathouse which had been mentioned was an old affair, standing upon the shore of a wide bay overlooking the Atlantic ocean. It belonged to a colored man called "Old Ben," a fellow who had once been a slave on the Ruthven plantation. As Jack approached it he saw Marion sitting on a bench in the shade, with a book in her lap. Instead of reading, however, the girl was gazing out to sea in a meditative way. "Marion, I was looking for you." "Oh, Jack! is that you? I thought you had gone fishing for the day." "I just got home, after catching a pretty good mess. Want to go rowing with me?" "Yes, I'd like that very much. I was wishing you or Old Ben would come." "Or, perhaps, St. John?" said Jack inquiringly. "No; I didn't wish for him, you tease."