When they reached the street Mrs. Redmond drew a breath of relief. "Oh, Amy," she cried, "how could you be so careless?"

"I took the key from the door absent-mindedly, and had set my travelling-bag on it. I'm thankful enough that I found it, for the door might have been hard to break in."

"Look, look!" cried Priscilla, excitedly. "We are out none too soon."

As she spoke flames were bursting from the wing of the house that they had so lately left, and men and women were pouring in and out of the main building, removing furniture, pictures, and clothes.

"Let me count you," cried Mrs. Redmond. "I am not sure—"

"It's Martine, mamma,—she is not with us. Where did she go?"

"Perhaps she has gone back to her room for her things. She had left everything behind when she came to rouse us."

"Impossible! She would not be so foolish. The fire is close to her room. Here are the engines. Why were they so long in coming?"

"Where is Martine? We must find her."

"No, no, Amy," and Mrs. Redmond laid her hand on her daughter's arm.

"But, mother, if she had not called us—"

"Yes, if she had not called us we might be in there now. She did not think of herself, and now she has gone to her room for some of her things."

"Her diamond perhaps;" and then, as if ashamed of her words, Priscilla added, "But I can help Amy, Mrs. Redmond. You cannot hurry as we must."

As Mrs. Redmond watched Amy and Priscilla running into the house she wished she had gone with them. Uncertainty was harder to bear than any effort she might have made. Her suspense, however, was not long, for to her relief she heard Amy's voice.

"Here's Martine, mamma. We had barely time to reach her. Look, look!"

This latter exclamation was called forth by the rapid spread of the flames. It was a beautiful sight—beautiful yet terrible to those who so lately had been within the walls that now seemed to be melting in the heat. Yet even as they gazed Martine began to laugh hysterically. "You look so—so queer—Priss—Prissie," she cried, and again she laughed. The light from the fire enabled them to see one another plainly, and as the others glanced at Priscilla they saw a black streak across her forehead that altogether changed her expression.

"It's a case where the pot can't call the kettle black," rejoined Amy; "your own complexion is not milk-white at the present moment, Martine."

"You are the only one who has her hair properly arranged, Miss Amy. Even your mother has a hasty coiffure, and no collar. Oh, Mrs. Redmond!" and again Martine laughed nervously.

"It matters less how we look than how we feel. I wish that you, like Priscilla, had brought your coat, though I fear there is only one hat among us."

"What a noise the engine makes! Can't we get away soon?"

"I hope so. If we only had a man with us we could send him off for a carriage. Even Fritz would be useful now."

From her mother's tone Amy could not judge whether or not she was in earnest, though in truth the same thought had come to her.

"After all," cried Martine, holding up her watch, "it is not half-past eleven. I had begun to think that to-morrow had come. The flames are not so bright. I believe that the fire is dying down. It started in so well that I almost hoped that we'd see the house in ashes."

"Oh, Martine!"

"But nearly all the furniture has been saved, and the house is probably insured, and—"

"You are shivering, Martine. Come, we must make our way through the crowd. Even if we have to walk down to the large hotel near the station, that will be better than staying here."

So they made their way through the crowd. Heaps of household goods and pieces of furniture were scattered over the lawn, and even on the sidewalk in front. The engine was still hissing, flames were still darting from back and sides of the house that had so lately sheltered them.

Hardly had the four reached the street when a man's voice called, "Stop, ladies, for a moment." As they halted, the man, whose outline they could barely distinguish, overtook them. "You are the American ladies whose doors I tried to break open a little while ago. I would have helped you further, but I had to return immediately to my sister, who has been ill, and who is now in a neighbor's house. I have been anxious about you, for you are strangers. Have you plans, or will you permit me to make a suggestion?"

"We shall be only too happy to hear your suggestion, Mr.—"

"Taunton," quickly rejoined the stranger, as Mrs. Redmond paused, adding, "I would suggest that you come with me to the house where I have taken my sister, and I may say that I have been asked to bring you back with me. The house is large, and you can all get a good night's rest."

It is needless to say that Mr. Taunton's invitation was gratefully accepted, and soon the four found themselves in a warm room, where a hospitable little hostess bustled about, offering them tea, and bread and butter, though after all it wasn't a meal-time.

"She's very good," murmured Martine to Amy, "not to mention how queer we look. For my own part, I haven't dared look a mirror in the face, though there are two in the room. How much has happened in the last hour!—for it is only a little more than an hour since we knew of the fire; that is, since I smelled smoke."

"I hope that it wasn't long enough for you and Priscilla to catch cold. We shall never forget how chilly the air of an August midnight can be."

"Oh, I am all right," responded Martine. And then, as if to disprove her own words, she sneezed violently.

"Why did you go back to your room, Martine? It was a dangerous thing to do. You brought nothing out with you but that little bag."

"Oh, I had barely time to get that. The room was so hot and smoky that I quite lost my head, yet I got what I especially went for;" and she opened the little bag and drew from it a small velvet case.

"Your diamond!" cried Amy. "Ah, Martine, how foolish to have had it with you!"

"No, Amy, not my diamond pin;" and snapping a spring she disclosed the miniature of her mother.

"That is more to me than ten diamond pins. I had barely time to snatch it from the bureau and pick up this bag."

"Then you left the pin behind!"

"No, child, no; it is safely hung around my neck. But one of my rings was on the cushion, and it will delight Priscilla's heart to know that I did not save a single brush or silver-topped bottle. It will be rather hard for papa, for he'll have to replace them all next Christmas. But I do wish that I had my hat and my suit case. Until we overtake our trunks at Halifax we can't make ourselves perfectly respectable."

"But still," rejoined Amy, "I am thankful that we have a place where we can sleep to-night—and mamma is beckoning us, so let us follow."

It was nine o'clock, and the sun was streaming brightly through their windows before Mrs. Redmond and the girls left their rooms next morning. All but Priscilla had slept well, but the latter had tossed about all night, with her thoughts dwelling more on Martine even than on the exciting events of the fire. Clearly Martine had acted very generously in the efforts she had made to awaken the others. She had had ample time to save all her own possessions, yet quite neglectful of herself, her one thought had been for others. If Priscilla was sometimes harsh in her criticisms, she at least wished to be fair. After her night of confused thoughts, it was not strange, perhaps, that Priscilla awoke heavy-eyed and dull, thus causing Mrs. Redmond to wonder whether this one experience might not undo all the good accomplished during their weeks in Acadia.

Martine was still inclined to sneeze, but she laughed when caught in the act.

"It sounds like hay fever, doesn't it? I have never had a fashionable ailment before, and if it is hay fever, why, I am in the part of the world where patients are often sent, and my recovery will be rapid."

After breakfast Mr. Taunton, their new acquaintance, offered to help Mrs. Redmond in any way that she might suggest. "You may wish your luggage or your tickets attended to—or, or your shopping," he concluded. "My sister and I saved both our trunks, and she is resting so comfortably this morning that I can put myself at your service."

"I do not wonder that you speak of shopping. We could hardly go even as far as the station without buying a few necessary things. If we could have a carriage in about an hour we could do some errands. We are going to Halifax by the afternoon train."

"You have lost more than most of the other boarders, in proportion to what you had in the house," continued Mr. Taunton. "Our late landlady is the heaviest loser, but she is a cheerful little body, and consoles herself with the thought that she is well insured."

"Don't forget to pay our board bill, mamma; it just occurred to me that we left so unexpectedly that we forgot even to mention it to her," interrupted Amy.

Mr. Taunton laughed heartily at her suggestion, and then began an earnest plea for his own city, St. John, in contrast with Halifax.

"If you can visit but one, St. John is the better worth seeing. We come to Nova Scotia occasionally to rest, but St. John is wide-awake, and its churches and public buildings will compare favorably with any in the United States. Then you have heard of our wonderful reversible falls, that flow with the tide one way and with the river the other, and the beautiful Kennebecasis—"

"You would make a good tourist agent," interrupted their amiable hostess, Mrs. Andrews, entering the room at this moment. "But if I should begin to paint the charms of the Citadel, and old St. Paul's, and the Northwest Arm, and—"

Mr. Taunton laughed. "It's a feud as old as the hills, this rivalry between St. John and Halifax, and a stranger can settle the matter for himself only by seeing both places; but if you must give up either, I honestly believe that you can best spare Halifax."

Before Mrs. Andrews could protest, a violent ringing of the doorbell called her from the room. A second later she returned to the sitting-room, followed by two young men.

In an instant half a dozen tongues were loudly exclaiming, "Why, Fritz, how in the world did you find us?" Mrs. Redmond held the hand of one of the new-comers while she looked affectionately up into his face; Amy, drawing back a little, appeared far from displeased at this sudden appearance; and Martine,—Priscilla could hardly believe her eyes,—yes, Martine had certainly thrown her arms around the neck of Fritz's companion, who was no other than the Freshman "Taps," of whom Priscilla had had a passing glimpse on the Yarmouth boat.

While Priscilla gasped in amazement Mrs. Redmond and Amy could not conceal their surprise at Martine's demonstrativeness. But they had not to wait long for the explanation, which Martine herself saw was due them.

"There, there, Lucian, don't be too affectionate until I explain—"

"Explain what?" asked the so-called "Taps."

"Wait, listen;" and slipping her arm through that of Fritz's friend, Martine turned with a bow toward Mrs. Redmond.

"Let me introduce to you and Amy and Priscilla, as well as to the rest of the company, my brother, Lucian Stratford, otherwise 'Taps.' There, Lucian, don't say a word. Let me explain how it was. Of course at first we didn't mean to make any secret of it, but Lucian and I thought it would be fun to see whether you could tell whether we were brother and sister, and he made Fritz—I mean Mr. Tomkins—promise not to tell you. It seemed rather funny that you hadn't heard. Then when Amy was so sniffy—excuse me, Amy—about having boys in the party, why, I had to promise not to tell. It was hard at first, but I got interested in keeping it up when I found that Priscilla was so suspicious."

Priscilla, coloring, looked more and more uncomfortable, Mrs. Redmond was slowly grasping the situation, and only Amy appeared to be angry.

"It's like you, Fritz," she exclaimed, "to go out of your way to play a practical joke on me, but I did expect something better from Martine."

Martine's face grew serious.

"I can't see that the joke affects you, particularly, Miss Amy Redmond!" rejoined Fritz. "To be sure, you have had various accidents that might not have happened had we been with you to protect you, but as to knowing that 'Taps' was Martine Stratford's brother, why, you could have found that out for yourself, or at any rate I should have told you only too gladly had you given me a chance. But when you banished me so completely—"

"Come, come, children, no quarrelling. We won't banish you again, Fritz, and if you feel like going on with us we shall be only too happy to have your company. Your coming now is certainly most opportune. You can do so much to help us; we have shopping—But first let me introduce you to Mr. Taunton, who has been so kind to us, and to Mrs. Andrews, our hostess, and to the others."

After the introductions Fritz explained why they had come to Windsor.

"Halifax may be slow, but it is reached by telegraph, and the daily papers contain some news, so when I saw the headlines 'Fire at Windsor,' I naturally read the whole thing, for, according to the schedule which Lucian had from his sister, you were due here yesterday, or the day before, and we had even thought of running up to meet you."

"Though we decided it would be better sport to take you by surprise at Halifax," interposed Lucian.

"Yes, and when we read that some American ladies had barely escaped with their clothes—"

"Not all of their clothes," murmured Martine.

"We thought," continued Fritz, "that we'd risk it by rushing up here."

"So we bolted our breakfast," interposed Taps, "and made the 'Yankee' and—"

"We poked among the ruins," added Fritz," and when we didn't find any remains, we asked a few questions of some others who were poking there."

"And here we are," concluded Taps, "and from this on I'm going to keep my eye on Martine. You didn't set the fire, did you, sister?"

"There, Lucian, if you tease like that you'll be banished."

"No more banishment for either of us," cried Fritz, boldly. "You've all had accidents enough to show you the need of adequate protection."

"Perhaps you could have prevented the fire," said Amy, with some sarcasm.

"I could have prevented your staying at any house but the most fire-proof hotel in the town, and that I believe is still standing."

"What did you save?" asked Lucian, in an effort to turn the conversation.

"Oh, my mother's picture," said Martine, softly. And then, as if afraid of seeming sentimental, "But I lost an emerald ring and all my silver brushes, and a pair of slippers, and one of my gloves, and a dozen postage stamps."

"Stop, stop, Martine."

"Well, I saved my best stock, and Mrs. Redmond saved her umbrella, and we—"

"Are all clothed and in our right minds, excepting you, Martine, who seem in danger of losing yours," interrupted Amy. "I believe that carriage at the door is the one that Mr. Taunton telephoned for; so, if we are going to Halifax to-day, it is surely time to start on our shopping expedition."

Acting on this suggestion, Priscilla and Martine helped Amy gather together their few remaining possessions, while Mrs. Redmond discussed her plans with Fritz.

When at last the moment came for the few words of farewell, Mrs. Redmond and the girls felt that in bidding good-bye to Mrs. Andrews and the Tauntons they were parting with friends whom they had known for weeks instead of hours.

Mrs. Redmond and the girls drove to the station, where Fritz and Lucian met them after a brisk walk down town.

"Fritz," said Amy, as the two stood together in the hotel sitting-room, "I have a confession to make."

"Open confession is good for the soul, so out with it at once, fair lady."

"It is simply this: I am really glad that you are here to take charge of things. Even in travelling mamma, you know, hates to attend to practical details. Now of course we have got on very well, barring one or two little things."

"Fires and such." There was a mischievous twinkle in Fritz's eye.

"Oh, well, even that might have been worse; so now, until we reach Halifax, I do wish that you would take charge of everything."

"With pleasure," responded Fritz. "Especially will I see that you do not mislay your keys. But you look tired, Amy. Come, sit down."

Whereupon Amy sank wearily upon a sofa, only too glad that for the present her responsibility was shifted to some one else.

There was a funny side, however, to the zeal displayed by Fritz and Lucian. They insisted, with an emphasis that no one dared oppose, that the girls and Mrs. Redmond should rest quietly while they went out to shop.

"My dear boys," Mrs. Redmond had protested, "there is hardly a thing that we shall really need before we reach Halifax. In the parlor cars we shall be unnoticed and perfectly comfortable, and after we have opened our trunks we can tell what we most require."

"Oh, Mrs. Redmond, there must be some errands for us to do. Can't you trust us?"

Lucian's face was so expressive of disappointment that Mrs. Redmond was glad that she had made out a small list.

"Of course there are some things—and we are ever so much obliged to you and Fritz for your willingness to do errands."

"You see," continued Lucian, confidentially, and dropping his voice that his sister might not overhear him, "I didn't ask Martine what she needed. That would have started her off to suggest no end of things,—you know what girls are. I can tell pretty well what she ought to have, so we'll just slip off before she can say anything."

Fritz had condescended to accept a few suggestions from Amy, and the two boys rushed off in high spirits. An hour later, when they returned, their arms filled with packages, followed by a grinning hotel boy who was dragging a large parcel, Mrs. Redmond lifted her hands in amazement.

"Two hats!" she exclaimed, in still greater surprise as they undid the strings of the larger package, "but only one was really needed. Martine left hers behind, but Amy—"

"Now, Mrs. Redmond," said Fritz, "perhaps you didn't observe Amy's. Why, some one must have turned the hose on it; the flowers were all bedraggled, and the ribbon—Mrs. Redmond, surely you must have noticed its condition. But these are so pretty that I couldn't let Lucian be the only one to buy a hat."

"It's certainly very thoughtful in you, Fritz, but still my list—"

"Oh, we've got everything that was on the list, only these little extras were just to amuse ourselves."

"Six stocks! you extravagant boy!" Martine, arriving on the scene, had opened one of her brother's parcels.

"Six stocks!" he repeated. "Why, that's only one and a half apiece!"

"And gloves; well, we could have waited until we reached Halifax. They are probably better there. I wish I had thought to speak of shirt waists," continued Martine. "This is hardly respectable."

"Oh, I thought of that, too," replied Lucian; "at least, I remembered you hadn't a coat, so I supposed some sort of a wrap would do. Coats have to be kind of tailor-made and fitted, don't they?" While he spoke Lucian was undoing the largest package, from which he drew out a Scotch shawl of brown and yellow plaid.

"There, that's the thing!" he exclaimed with pride. "It looks as if it had come straight from Edinburgh. You can throw it over your shoulders instead of a coat."

"Oh, Lucian," cried Martine, "you can't expect me to wrap myself up like that, especially on a warm August afternoon!"

"Why shouldn't it be all right travelling?" asked Lucian, with less elation. "You wouldn't have to think about the fit."

But when he saw that all the others were laughing at him, he walked off toward the window, murmuring what sounded like "There's no pleasing some people."

"Come back, come back," cried Martine, as he turned away; "the shawl will be very useful if we go yachting at Halifax, and no one but you would have thought of these delicious boxes of chocolates. We all thank you very, very much; see, there's a box for you and Priscilla, Amy, as well as for me."

Lucian's face brightened under his sister's praise, while Amy and Priscilla thanked him for their chocolates.

"You were dreadfully worried, weren't you, Prissie," said Martine, mischievously, "over the chocolates that I offered you last evening? But though Lucian was the giver in that case, perhaps you will enjoy these better, knowing where they came from."

"Shall I put this magazine in your bag?" asked Priscilla, hoping thus to divert Martine from further teasing.

"Certainly," replied Martine. "Let Lucian help you with the catch. It is hard to open."

"The magazines are Fritz's contribution," explained Lucian, as he worked with the spring of Martine's bag. "There's one for each of the party. But hello, what's this? Did you think of digging a grave, or anything of that kind, sister, when you brought this along? It's a strange thing to have saved from a fire;" and before Martine could protest Lucian had withdrawn his hand from the bag in which he had been fumbling, and before the gaze of the whole party held up a queerly shaped little trowel.

"I didn't ask you to meddle with things in my bag," cried Martine, excitedly, after the manner of sisters.

"Well, what's the matter with the little spade?" asked Lucian, looking from one to the other.

No one replied as Amy snatched it from his hand. In fact, Amy was the only one to recognize it as the Acadian relic that Balfour Airton had given to Martine.

old chebucto

So slightly had the travellers really suffered from the fire that they soon recovered from the effects of that exciting night, yet they were glad enough to reach Halifax and open their trunks.

"It seems better than luck that we sent these trunks ahead to Halifax. If they had been burned—"

"We should have had great fun shopping, my dear Miss Amy Redmond," responded Martine; "as it is, we shall just have to pretend that we need things when we see any startling bargains in the shop-windows."

"If you should try to replace what you have lost you could keep yourself busy for a day or two," rejoined Amy.

"No, thank you. The things that I lost I can wait for until Christmas. I have bought some inexpensive brushes, plain enough for Priscilla to approve; but at Christmas—well, perhaps I can persuade papa to get tortoise-shell, or something more elaborate than the simple silver set that melted away at Windsor."

In this way Martine always turned aside the sympathy that the others tried to offer her for her losses.

Fritz and Lucian had taken the travellers to the small Halifax hotel, where they themselves had been staying for two or three days before their sudden flight to Windsor. It was a cheerful, homelike place, and in its little garden the girls spent more or less time resting after the exertions of their later days in Acadia.

The fire and the events immediately following it had seemed to bring Martine and Priscilla more closely together,—at least, for the time their lack of sympathy was less plainly evident.

One day the two were sitting in the garden.

"I almost wish we had been a week longer in Acadia," Priscilla said.

"Why, we are in Acadia still!" rejoined Martine. "Don't speak of Acadia as so far away."

"Oh," responded Priscilla, "perhaps all Nova Scotia is Acadia; but really, when we use the word we mean where the French settled. Halifax is thoroughly English. On that account I do prefer it, though Acadia was certainly interesting."

"Thanks!" said Martine, "but I am going to prove that Halifax also was settled by the French. Amy laughed at me yesterday when I tried to prove my case. But listen; it was Amy herself who told me that no one had thought seriously of making a settlement here until D'Anville's fleet took refuge here after their defeat near Louisbourg. The ships were safe enough, but the men died by hundreds, and were buried on the beach. Well, after they had gone away, some sort of a petition was sent from Boston to England, asking that a settlement and fortifications be established to prevent the French from coming into Chebucto again and interfering with New England ships. The English thought this a good plan, because the Acadians at Annapolis and other places would be kept down if there was a strong town on the coast. So, you see, if it hadn't been for the French, Halifax might never have been settled. Have I proved my case?"

Priscilla shook her head. She could not quite tell whether Martine was in fun or in earnest.

"It seems to me that if Massachusetts men suggested the plan to England, you could just as easily say that Boston men settled Halifax."

"That's just what 'Taps'—I beg his pardon—Lucian said when I explained my theory to him. But then, he can't be expected to share my feelings about the Acadians,—at least, not yet,—although on the whole he is pretty sensible, isn't he?"

Priscilla found it difficult to answer this question directly, so, to conceal her embarrassment, she propounded another question.

"Why do they call your brother 'Taps'?" she asked abruptly.

"For no reason whatever, that I could ever see. But you know how boys insist on nicknaming one another. Mamma just hates it; and, if you notice, I always say 'Lucian.'"

"'Lucian' is such a good name," said Priscilla.

"Yes, and don't you think that Lucian himself is a dear?"

"I like him very much," responded Priscilla, simply. She would hardly have applied Martine's term to him, but she had found Lucian helpful and entertaining during their three or four days in Halifax.

"I believe," continued Martine, "that I might have told you something about Lucian before, except that I thought you might be prejudiced."

"Prejudiced!"

"Yes, a month ago you were much narrower-minded than you are now, and of course you and Amy had heard that Fritz Tomkins had charge of a Freshman who had been in rather bad company last year; and so if you had heard that it was Lucian before you had seen him, why, you might have had the queerest notions about him."

"You have the funniest way of putting things;" and Priscilla smiled again.

"Well, really," continued Martine, "there was nothing wrong with Lucian, only he is rather too good natured, and papa might as well give him a smaller allowance. But I heard Fritz Tomkins telling Mrs. Redmond that Lucian had kept a very good standing last year, but he wanted to break off with one or two men who were not going just the right way, and they wanted him to go to Paris and Vienna, and the only way was to plan some other kind of a trip. But there's really no harm in Lucian."

"Oh, no," said Priscilla, "I am sure of that; he has such a good face. It is curious that, with his blond hair and blue eyes, he still reminds me of you, and you are almost a brunette."

As Priscilla paused for a moment, the latch of the iron gate clicked sharply, and as a step sounded on the flagged walk, Martine rose quickly to her feet.

"Why, Mr. Knight!" she exclaimed, and in a moment Priscilla, too, was welcoming the new-comer.

"But we thought you in New Brunswick!"

"So I was a day or two ago. Certain business has brought me now to Halifax, and it is rather singular that we should be staying at the same hotel. I saw your names on the book this morning, and wondered if I should see you before my departure."

Mr. Knight's manner was so unaffected that Martine at once reproached herself inwardly for having imagined that he had run away from Wolfville to escape Mrs. Redmond's party.

"I am to be here only a day or two," he continued, "but if there's anything I can do—"

"In the way of rescuing," interrupted Martine.

"Oh, please," he protested, "don't mention that; it was so slight."

"You know," continued Priscilla, "we've been rescued once more,—at least I have been, for really it was Martine who was the rescuer." And then, when the young man seemed mystified by their words, the two had to tell him the story of the Windsor fire, of which, it seemed, he had not heard.

After Mr. Knight had congratulated them on their escape and condoled with them on their losses, he said:

"In case I have no other chance, I must tell you that my chief regret in leaving Wolfville so unexpectedly was the fact that I had no chance to show you through Acadia College, or tell you much about it. I know that that was one of the things Balfour had in mind when he wrote to me that I should present Acadia College in the best possible light."

"Oh, indeed," responded Martine, with a slight touch of impatience, "we have heard quantities about it,—that it offers the same advantages to women as to men; that a great many distinguished college men in the 'States,' as you say down here, were graduates of Acadia; that it has a lovely situation, and plenty of time to grow," she concluded suddenly, for, after all, though truce had been declared, Martine could not resist the opportunity of teasing Mr. Knight.

"I saw Balfour Airton," continued Mr. Knight, apparently undisturbed, "when at Annapolis the other day, and he is to be one of the distinguished graduates of Acadia."

"Did he say so?" Martine did not try to conceal her genuine surprise.

"Oh, no; Balfour thinks of nothing now but hard work, and he's likely to have his share of it the next few years."

A little later Mr. Knight excused himself for leaving the two, on the plea of letters to write, and during the two remaining days of his stay they saw little of him.

"He's afraid that he may have to rescue us again," Martine confided to Amy, though secretly she was a little piqued by his indifference. Fritz and Lucian, however, pronounced Mr. Knight a brick, and spent one afternoon with him in a long tramp to a place called Herring Cove, the description of which filled the girls with envy.

During their whole stay in Halifax, however, the boys went off on few excursions by themselves.

"You have been left too long to your own devices," Fritz would say, solemnly shaking his head, "and the punishment for your rash deeds is that you are now to be forever in our care and protection. Until you are safely back in Boston I hardly dare let you out of my sight, for fear of fire and flood."

"Do you consider this sail-boat especially safe just because you are in it?" asked Priscilla. "If my mother could behold us now she would think us in the greatest danger. In spite of spending all her summers at the edge of the sea, she is always afraid of a sail-boat."

"But I would rather run some risk than miss this sail around the Northwest Arm. In fact I wouldn't have missed it for the world;" and Amy glanced gratefully in Fritz's direction, for it was he who had planned this particular excursion, and had gained Mrs. Redmond's rather reluctant consent. "This narrow arm of the sea is so picturesque," she continued, "with its wooded shores, and the harbor is so interesting with its islands and its shipping."

"Just like any harbor," cried Martine.

"Oh, I don't know. One has a sense of its greatness here. No wonder even the Micmacs called it Chebucto, which I believe is a word of theirs for 'Great harbor.'"

"Please, Amy, this is a pleasure trip with no instruction. You mustn't tell us the size of the dry dock, nor the number of guns mounted on George's Island or on York Redoubt, or on any other of the harbor fortifications."

"Nor the time of day," retorted Amy, looking at her watch, "though all the same, Captain Fritz, it is time to turn about, for I absolutely promised that we'd be at home by five o'clock."

"Your word is law," responded Fritz.

"Tell me a little history," urged Lucian; but Amy refused to do anything but enjoy the sail, and Martine, looking at her closely, wondered if she had taken her words as criticism.

"There's one bit of harbor history that I shall speak of," said Lucian, as they turned homeward. "No, Martine, you needn't try to stop me. Everybody remembers Captain Lawrence and his 'don't give up the ship.' Well, do you know that he died here in Halifax? The 'Shannon' brought the 'Chesapeake' as a prize into this very harbor where we are now sailing. It was the first Sunday in June, 1813, and the town was in the greatest excitement. The news of their coming went quickly through the town, and every one who could get hold of a small boat pushed out to see the ships. The men were swabbing the decks, and the scuppers ran red with blood."

"Don't, Lucian," cried Martine.

"Oh, but this is history, and the kind you should remember. The 'Shannon' had set out from Halifax but a short time before, and when the two ships met in Boston Harbor they fought a fierce duel. The 'Shannon' had less than a hundred in killed and wounded, and the 'Chesapeake' nearly two hundred, all in about twenty minutes; so no wonder it's called one of the bloodiest fights on record. The ships must have been a sight to the quiet Haligonians. Then," continued Lucian, "Captain Lawrence and Lieutenant Ludlow were buried with high honors in the old English burying-ground here, and there was a great procession from the King's Wharf, with the coffins covered with our flags, and six British post captains bearing the pall."

"You'll have to visit the grave, Amy," said Martine, mischievously.

"Can't be done. An American brig with a flag of truce came for the bodies in August, and they were carried back to their native country."

"How in the world did you remember so much?" asked Martine. "I never realized before that you took an interest in history."

"This is the result," retorted Lucian, "of travelling with an intelligent companion," and he pointed to Fritz.

"No, I didn't do it; don't blame me," rejoined Fritz. "He ran across a history yesterday, or book of annals, or something of that kind, and naturally the mention of the 'Chesapeake' and the 'Shannon' interested him."

"Enough said—in excuse," replied Martine, while Priscilla added, "I wonder if we shall visit Melville Island before we go. You know that is where they kept the American prisoners during that war. I had a great-grand uncle who was taken prisoner, and I've always remembered that he was at Melville Island, Halifax. My mother has his diary."

"Why, that is interesting," said Amy. "Perhaps it may sound like wishing ill to my forebears, but I'd even be willing to have had a relative or two imprisoned here, just for the sake of having a closer association with Halifax."

"That's a very silly remark, Miss Amy Redmond," cried Fritz, disapprovingly.

"Yes," added Martine; "I might as well wish that some of my French ancestors had been among the exiled Acadians, so that I could take a deeper interest in Clare. Not that I need a deeper interest—but that reminds me," and she turned to her brother. "It's strange, Lucian, that I hadn't thought to tell you before, but I believe I've found some new relations in Nova Scotia; at least, I hope so. Do you know whether we had any Tories in our family?"

"Tories! I should hope not," and Lucian's voice rang with patriotism.

"Oh, they are all dead now, so don't excite yourself. But two things equal to the same thing are sometimes equal to each other. We are certainly cousins of Mrs. Blair's. You'll admit that?"

"Yes, worse luck to it," grumbled Lucian. "She is such a—such a—"

"You mean so conventional," interposed Martine, sedately; "but that's very proper for a Bostonian. Well, Mrs. Blair's name is Audrey Balfour Blair."

"Why not?" asked Lucian.

"Well, we met a girl this summer whose grandmother's name was Audrey Balfour, and what I want to know is—are we related to her?"

"To the grandmother?" exclaimed Lucian. "How in the world should I know? and if we are, what's the difference? Probably the old lady's dead by this time. Most grandmothers are."

"Oh, Lucian, do be serious."

"You'd better be serious yourself—say, look out for the boom, or you'll lose your head as well as your temper."

"I haven't lost my temper. There, I'm glad we're putting in for shore now, if Lucian is going to be so disagreeable."

Thus the conversation drifted from Audrey Balfour, and for the present Martine's question was unanswered.

This afternoon was only one of several that they spent on the water, and when the conditions were favorable, sometimes Amy, sometimes Martine, had a chance to show her skill as skipper, while the boys approved or made suggestions, and Mrs. Redmond and Priscilla sat back, trying not to show the timidity that they felt.

On shore as well as at sea they found much to occupy them, and as conditions for picture-taking happened for the time to be particularly favorable, each one added largely to her own collection of photographs. Each of the girls had a camera with her; but at first Priscilla had been the only one really zealous for photography.

When they visited the Citadel Lucian and Fritz had managed to intimidate them by telling them of the fearful fate that might be theirs should their cameras be seen in its neighborhood; so the cameras were hidden until the girls were far from what Martine called "the sacred precincts," until, indeed, the sight of a redcoat on Barrington Street, standing where the sun illuminated his whole figure, caused her to shout in delight:

"There, my camera, quick, Lucian. Here's my chance to catch one of those crazy little caps. How do they manage to make them stay on one ear? Quick, before he moves, or sees us," and then the click of a spring showed that she had accomplished her aim.

* * * * *

One dull afternoon Amy and Priscilla, wandering about, found their way into the Parliament building, and after admiring the stately old portraits in the rooms of the historical society, spent an hour or two over some of the old books and papers in the archives. This was especially gratifying to Priscilla, because she was thus able to satisfy her curiosity about the exiled Loyalists. Their sufferings seemed all the more real when written out in detail in these old manuscript volumes, and as she read, she sighed. The sigh was not wholly for the miseries of the past. That very morning she had received a letter from Eunice that had set her thinking.

"I am so glad [wrote Eunice] that you like Halifax. But it does seem strange, doesn't it, that I have never been there—in the capital of our Province? Sometimes it seems as if I should never go anywhere, though Balfour says that he will send me to college, that I can depend on that. But that will be only to Acadia, and I shall have to wait so long, until he has a law practice—and when will that be? Besides, he thinks now that he may have to stay out of college a year, if not give it up altogether. It's the mortgage on the house. There's some kind of trouble about it, and Balfour is determined not to let it go. It would just break mother's heart. But I oughtn't to make this a complaining letter, when one of the pleasantest things this summer—or any summer—has been my acquaintance with you,—and the others, too, of course, though I didn't know them so well. Please give them my love, but the most for yourself.

"Your affectionate
"Eunice."

Now Eunice was really so fond of Priscilla that nothing was farther from her thoughts than to make her friend unhappy. Yet such was Priscilla's sympathy for her Annapolis friend that the remembrance of the letter made her feel sad, even as she sat with Amy in the old library.

"If papa had only lived," she thought, "I could have asked him to do something, but now,—why, Eunice herself would be surprised to know how little pocket money I have. Not that Eunice wants anything, but it would be so delightful to pay off that mortgage, and then make sure that Balfour could get through college, and then see him put Eunice through college, and then perhaps she could come up and take post-graduate work with me at Radcliffe." Then, amused at the rapidity with which her thoughts were running away with her, for Priscilla had not yet passed her own finals for college, she laughed aloud. Unexpectedly the clouds had been chased away.

"Priscilla," said Amy, "I am delighted to hear you laugh. You have been altogether too quiet to-day. Surely you are not homesick again."

"Oh, no, not homesick, only thinking."

"Tell me then, so that I may laugh too,—unless it's a secret."

"Oh, no, it's hardly worth mentioning; besides, it has ended in a foolish wish—if only I had money like Martine!"

"Martine cares little for money," responded Amy, with some sharpness. This was not the first time that she had thought Priscilla too ready to criticise Martine.

"I know that. She is surely very generous, only it would be so easy to do things for others if one had as much money as she has."

"I know what you think, Priscilla; but still Martine's way of spending money is not altogether extravagance. She has had more in her hands than most girls we know, and rich Chicagoans are fonder of spending than hoarding. It's in the air. Martine does not care for money in itself, but for what money buys."

"But she surely throws it around without getting full value."

"That's a matter of temperament."

"Yes," but Priscilla's voice sounded as if she were not sure of this. To herself, indeed, she was saying, "It is strange that Martine has not talked of making plans for Yvonne. Ah, if I had as much in my power I certainly wouldn't let Eunice worry about mortgages and going to college and all that kind of thing."

"Priscilla, Priscilla, wake up," cried Amy, a moment later. "Look at the citadel. It's hard to realize that this is the greatest fortress in America, and that only a few generations ago it was nothing but a stockade, a defence against the Indians."

"A few generations ago!" repeated Priscilla. "Why, it must be—"

"A bare hundred and fifty years, my dear child, since the English ships with their two or three thousand settlers came sailing into the harbor."

"A bare hundred and fifty years," echoed Priscilla, "and yet that is rather a long time, and Halifax isn't a large city yet."

Before Amy could reply she felt her arm seized from behind. Turning about, she found herself face to face with Martine, who held a letter in her disengaged hand. Priscilla, not hearing the steps, had walked on a little before she discovered that Amy was not with her. But a moment later she too faced about, and, as her eye fell on Martine, she could not help seeing that the latter was holding her finger on her lips with a warning glance at Amy, as if between the two there was some secret understanding.

finding cousins

In the end it had been much better for Priscilla if she had at once retraced her steps. Instead, while Amy still had her back to her, while Martine stood with her finger on her lips, Priscilla, with a rapid step that was almost a stride, walked farther away from them. Turning first one corner and then another, she indulged herself in her unreasonable annoyance with Amy and Martine. For a minute or two she continued to walk briskly, wondering all the time if the others would catch up with her. At length, when her curiosity overcame her pride, she did turn around, only to discover that her friends were nowhere in sight.

"I shouldn't think Amy would have acted so," she said to herself. "Of course I can't expect much from Martine, but Amy is different."

Yet if any one else had put the question to Priscilla she would have found it hard to say wherein Martine was at fault. It was only that in that fleeting glance she had gained the impression that the two were trying to hold some secret from her.

Priscilla had not walked very far when another turn brought her in front of a small wooden building that reminded her at once of a child's toy.

"Is it a school, or a church?" she wondered, and she glanced up at the little steeple.

"Hello, Miss Denman;" and Priscilla, lowering her gaze from the steeple, saw in front of her Martine's brother, Lucian Stratford.

"I didn't expect to see you here by yourself," continued Lucian. "I thought that you girls were off somewhere together."

"We were," replied Priscilla, "but I just thought I would—do a little sightseeing alone."

"Well, I don't blame you," rejoined Lucian; "it's sometimes so hard to get Martine to take an interest in things. It used to be just so in Europe. We could never depend on her, so I don't blame you for keeping by yourself."

Priscilla made no reply. She really had no explanation.

"This is a funny little church, isn't it?" continued Lucian. "Fritz and I were over here the other day. Some one had told him about it. It's a little Dutch church, and almost as old as the city itself. It was built for the Lutherans, for in the beginning there were a lot of German settlers here in Halifax."

"Thank you," said Priscilla. "You are as good as a guide-book; one never expects a boy to take an interest in such things."

"I can't say that I do generally, only you remember that foggy afternoon when you girls were all so busy writing letters? Well, Fritz and I got tired of staying indoors browsing over books, so we started out. We went down to the great dry dock—though I don't suppose that you girls would care for that,—and we had a chance to go into old St. Paul's,—that's about as old as the city too, and makes you think of one of the queer, dingy London churches. It has any number of interesting tablets and memorials, and we planned to take you girls there before we go, and then walking about we just chanced on this little toy building. But I've got a suggestion for to-day," concluded Lucian. "You see, it's Saturday, and one of the market days, so if you'd like to go, I'd be happy to take you down there. What do you say?"

"Why, yes, of course I'd like it. You are very kind to think of it." Priscilla remembered that Amy had spoken of going to the market, and for a moment she regretted her absence.

Lucian Stratford, however, proved a surprisingly agreeable guide, and even before they had reached the Green Market Priscilla was quite ashamed of the little prejudice that she had once held against him.

"It's an old custom," Lucian explained, as the two stood in the middle of the street, "for the country people to drive in with their produce."

The market was in Post Office Square, and almost every foot of space was occupied by some man or woman with something to sell. Indians, negroes, country people—it was a motley crowd and well worth seeing. The Indians for the most part sat on the sidewalk, bent over their wares, though here and there one or two leaned back against a building.

"We saw Indians like these at Bear River," said Priscilla, "only a little better dressed,—perhaps because it was a holiday. But these baskets are the best I've seen this summer."

Baskets and sweet grass were the stock in trade of these Indians, and some of the baskets were of odd designs and really artistic shapes.

"Do you really like them?" asked Lucian, and almost in the next breath he had laid three or four of the prettiest in Priscilla's arms.

"For Martine?" asked Priscilla.

"No, no, for you,—if you'll take them. There, let me carry them. I did not mean to load you down. Only I thought I might see something else."

"Oh, nothing more now, thank you. You are very kind, but these are really almost too much, and I can carry them myself—"

An old negro at this moment crossed their path, swinging a cane. They realized his nearness only when a sudden flourish of the stick sent Priscilla's baskets flying into the street. The negro, apologizing profusely, hastened to help Lucian collect the baskets, and Priscilla was pleased that Lucian showed no anger at the man's carelessness. Instead, he began an animated conversation with the old fellow, and returned to Priscilla's side smiling broadly.

"The old man has been praising his son's wife's vegetables so warmly that we'll just have to go over there to see them. She is the fat darkey sitting in that cart yonder, and I hope we'll get off without buying her out."

The next moment Lucian was laughing and chaffering with the old negro's son's wife, and Priscilla gasped as she saw him pointing out turnips, carrots, and even summer squashes. She did not know him well enough to protest, and she only wondered how he meant to get the things home.

"They're all mine," he called to Priscilla, as she waited for him a short distance from the cart. Then he leaned over toward the old man and said something, and the negro hobbled off, smiling. In a moment he returned with a large pail, into which his son's wife heaped Lucian's purchases.

"There," said Lucian, as he returned to Priscilla's side, "won't Mrs. Redmond and the others stare when they behold this load?" and he lifted the pail that Priscilla might the more readily admire its contents.

"But you don't intend to carry it through the streets?" There was a question in Priscilla's tone. Lucian glanced at her curiously. He had just been thinking how companionable she was, and now this Plymouth girl was going to show herself as narrow and conventional as others.

"I needn't carry it," he responded. "Perhaps Sambo here—is your name Sambo?"

"No, sir, my name's Mr. Malachai Robertson."

"Oh, excuse me, Sambo—I mean, Mr. Malachai Robertson—could you find me a good smart boy to carry this pail?"

Malachai looked at his stick—symbol of dignity—then at the young man, but at the same time he probably reflected that a fair fee was in sight; so he straightened himself up, reached over toward the pail, and with an "I'll carry it, sah," fell into line behind Lucian and Priscilla. Before the two, however, were quite ready to turn homeward, they lingered to watch the shoppers patronizing the Green Market, and buying supplies of vegetables and fruit.

"I only wish that Mrs. Redmond had come. It will be too bad if she misses it altogether—and Amy; the sun has come out so bright that she ought to be here to photograph some of these groups of colored people."

"Oh, the chance is that you will all be here in Halifax next Wednesday morning. The Market is here twice a week," responded Lucian. "Just now I suppose we ought to be turning home, as they are horribly prompt about meals at The Mayflower."

As the two walked up Hollis Street Priscilla noticed that some whom they met looked at them curiously. But only after she herself had thrown a backward glance over her shoulder did she realize the cause, for straight behind Lucian stalked Malachai, flourishing his cane after the fashion of a drum-major with his baton, while with the other hand he supported on his shoulder the pail of vegetables, balancing it with such a nicety that the carrots and squash and the large bunch of radishes kept their place on the top, though to the casual observer they seemed on the point of falling to the ground.