“What an enchanting place——” Miss Campbell was saying, when suddenly Edward, the chauffeur, said “Sh-h-h,” and pointed to the upper branches of an immense old pine at the edge of the grove.

“Listen,” he whispered.

Hidden among the thick green foliage, a bird was singing the most lovely, trilling song imaginable. The liquid notes poured from his little, quivering throat like so much pure gold. It was such a joyous song and they were so afraid he might stop that they hardly dared breathe. Elinor clasped her hands rapturously and tears came into her eyes.

“It’s a mocking bird,” whispered Edward, proudly.

So much absorbed and enchanted were they with the music that they did not notice what was taking place on the beach. Two steps up and they would have seen something which would have caused them a far different emotion. Clarence, who had no business whatever in the Firefly, leaped into it for a moment, then back again into his own boat, and presently the chug-chug of his engine broke the spell of the mocking bird’s song.

CHAPTER V.—THE TWO EDWARDS.

It was not until Elinor had poured out two fresh cups of tea and was saying: “Sugar or lemon, Mr. Paxton—er—I mean Edward—I mean—why, which Edward are you?” that they waked up.

Edward Paxton had removed his black glasses and slouch hat and stood revealed as Edward, the chauffeur, or his living image. The others formed an interested circle around the two boys, who were certainly very much alike. They had the same blue eyes and black hair; the same handsome, regular features. They were indeed the same height.

“It is only when they are together that I could tell them apart,” cried Nancy, with Irish obscurity.

“Why, they are as alike as two peas in a pod,” ejaculated Miss Campbell.

The two boys stood face to face and regarded each other curiously.

“I feel as if I were looking in a mirror,” said Edward Paxton gravely.

“And they are both named Edward,” put in Georgiana. “Isn’t it strange?”

“What is your last name?” asked Edward Paxton.

“My name—is Edward l’Estrange,” he said. Then he looked anxiously at the others, but no one gave any sign of having heard the name before and he appeared to breathe a sigh of relief.

“There is this difference between them,” announced Billie, who, when she had observed a person’s face, usually finished by looking at their chests and shoulders exactly as her father would have done, “Edward Paxton is not as broad as Edward l’Estrange, and he is much paler.”

“It’s because Edward’s always ill,” said his sister, in a half-accusing tone. “He has headaches and pains and side aches. Grandmamma says he is determined to be delicate.”

Edward Paxton flushed painfully.

“Is that why you wear those smoked glasses?” demanded Billie.

“Yes, the glare on the water gives me a headache.”

“How dark and hideous everything must look,” went on Billie. “The sky must always be cloudy and the water gray and the woods a dusty green. I should be very unhappy, I’m sure, if I had to wear them. One could never see anything as it really was.”

“He doesn’t,” cried his sister. “He’s always sad and sorrowful and quiet—and—and moody, too, Edward, you know you are.”

“I’m not,” exclaimed her brother. “Or rather if I am, I suppose I have enough to make me so. Grandmamma——” he began, and then paused and bit his lips.

There was an awkward silence. The others recalled the terrible grandmamma who wielded her gold-headed cane with almost as much freedom as an ancient warrior did his battle-axe. Miss Campbell felt sorry for the boy and girl. No doubt the fierce old lady led them a wretched life.

“Well, well,” she said, patting Edward Paxton on the arm. “No one can judge for any one else, because no one knows how much another has to bear. You will grow strong and well down here, I’m sure, my dear, and I hope you and your sister will spend a great deal of time with my girls. They are so merry and bright, you can’t help catching the fever when you are with them. They have made a new creature of me, I assure you.”

“It’s you who started all the happiness a-going, dearest cousin,” said Billie, giving her relative a little squeeze.

“And speaking of going,” went on Miss Campbell, “we must be tearing ourselves away from this charming place. But you will bring us here again, will you not?” she added, turning to the other Edward, who had been silently assisting Elinor to gather up the tea things and store them in the basket.

“Certainly, ma’am,” he replied, “if you wish it.”

Miss Campbell could not help feeling that this quiet, rather masterful boy was really the host of the beautiful afternoon party, and not merely the engineer of the boat. But he knew his duties as engineer, and his place, too, evidently, for he rarely spoke except to answer questions. With the basket under one arm and a cushion under the other he hurried over and jumped into the boat.

“He is really much the more manly of the two,” thought Billie, as she watched his self-reliant movements, “but I suppose that old grandmamma would be enough to cow any one’s spirit.”

Presently they were seated in the Firefly and their youthful engineer shoved off from shore. They were drifting lazily along over a miniature ripple of waves which the movement of the boat had set in motion, when Edward l’Estrange gave an exclamation of surprise and annoyance. As he bent over the machinery, they waited for the whir of the motor, but the engine was silent and the little boat bobbed up and down like a piece of driftwood that had shifted all responsibility in life. Motor boats are much like delicate people who are subject to sudden and unexpected attacks. The girls, therefore, were not surprised that the engine was indisposed, and they began chatting and laughing gaily with their new friends, while Edward l’Estrange got out his box of tools and set stoically to work.

“Why don’t you help him, Edward?” asked Georgiana. “I always thought you knew so much about motor-boats.”

Edward Paxton rose languidly and joined his counterpart. The girls thought they had never seen such a spiritless boy, and secretly they preferred the Edward who was their own first discovery.

“There is nothing to do,” said Edward l’Estrange, “because there is nothing the matter with the engine, as far as I can see.”

“Why, the gasoline tank is empty,” exclaimed the other.

“What?” cried the young engineer. “But that is impossible, unless there is a leak somewhere, because I just filled it this morning. By Jove,” he added, with a steely light in his eye that looked dangerous, “well of all the——” his voice died away and the two boys exchanged a long and meaning look.

The girls could not help laughing. They were like the two Dromios, these two young men. The resemblance was even more striking when Edward Paxton had waked into life.

“But what is it?” demanded Miss Campbell. It was so difficult to have anything but agreeable sensations in this pleasant land.

“All the gasoline’s gone,” said the engineer. “There’s not a drop of it left in the tank and we started with plenty. There has been foul play somewhere,” he added in a lower voice.

“Are you sure you started with plenty?” asked Billie, who was accustomed to the appetite of a gasoline motor engine.

“Perfectly,” answered the self-reliant young man. “I cleaned and overhauled the machinery and filled the tank this morning.”

“There’s lots of gasoline here,” observed Mary Price, “only it’s all outside.”

Suddenly they became aware that there was a strong odor of gasoline in the air and that the waters about them were covered with a bluish gray film.

“Ho ho,” cried Edward Paxton, with some excitement. “I’ve found the leak. A hole has been bored straight through the side of the boat, tank and all.” He was leaning far over the boat. “It’s just above the water line,” he added.

“But who could have played such a trick as that?” exclaimed Miss Campbell.

The English brother and sister looked uncomfortable. There was no doubt in the minds of the company regarding the author of that practical joke, but no one cared to accuse Clarence Paxton since his cousins were their guests.

“What are we going to do, boy?” asked Miss Campbell helplessly. “How are we going to get back? I don’t suppose you can find any more gasoline in this wilderness, even if you could mend the boat.”

“No, the hotel is the nearest place,” replied Edward l’Estrange.

He knitted his brows and sat thinking for a moment, while the others waited in respectful silence. Surely this Edward must have been well accustomed to taking charge of things.

“There is nothing to be done,” he said at last, “but for me to go back to the hotel and get the motor car.”

“But how will you get there?” demanded Billie. “It must be at least ten miles.”

“Oh, I’ll manage,” he answered evasively.

“And must we wait here?” asked Miss Campbell.

Edward hesitated for some time before he replied.

“I live not far from here. If you don’t mind walking a little, you could wait at my home until I come back with the motor.”

“And then we could see the mocking bird,” put in Elinor.

The boy’s face lit up.

“Yes.”

“It would be very, very kind of your—of you to take such a crowd of us in, Edward,” said Miss Campbell. “We should appreciate your hospitality. I don’t seem to fancy stopping in this lonely spot all that long time, especially after dark.”

Once more they landed and formed a silent procession along an old wagon road from the beach through a great grove of trees. It was a gloomy place in the late afternoon. The branches draped in gray Spanish moss made a mournful picture.

“We look like a troop of spirits,” whispered Mary to Billie.

The two girls had lingered a little behind the others.

“What spirit was it, do you think, that sprung a leak in our boat?” whispered Billie.

“It was the spirit of mischief. And it might have been very serious mischief, too, if it had not been for our wise little engineer.”

“We should have had to sleep in the dell. Cousin Helen could have taken the launch and perhaps Georgiana, because she is so frightened and nervous. I am so sorry for her, Mary, and for all of them, even that wretch of a Clarence. They are all orphans, you know, and wards of their fierce old grandmother. Georgiana and Edward lived in Canada until a few years ago. That is why they speak with so little accent, I suppose.”

Presently the wagon road emptied itself, like a tributary into the main stream, into what had once been a broad carriage road, a splendid avenue bordered with giant pine trees.

“Why, this must lead to a mansion,” exclaimed Billie as they turned into the avenue. “I suppose Edward works for the family who live here; but, somehow, I never can imagine his working for any one. He seems so—so different from chauffeurs and people like that in general.”

They walked along silently for a few minutes. There was only the last twittering of the birds to break the hushed stillness of the place.

“I feel as if I were approaching an enchanted palace,” whispered Elinor, who had dropped back with her two friends.

“It was on just such an evening as this, I fancy, and along just such a road that the prince came to waken the sleeping beauty,” exclaimed Mary.

“Oh, look,” cried several voices at once, and suddenly right in front of them loomed an immense house.

Four classic Doric columns supported the two galleries on the first and second floors, and at one side rambled a huge wing which must at one time have been the servants’ quarters, in this fine old mansion.

“Is this where you work, Edward?” asked Miss Campbell, without intending to be patronizing.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is my home,” he added, as he led them to the first gallery and banged the knocker loudly.

Presently footsteps sounded in the empty hall, and an old colored woman carrying a lighted candle opened the door and peered at them curiously.

“Mammy, will you look after these ladies, please? They will wait here until I can get a motor car from the hotel. Our boat was wrecked a while ago.”

“Come right in, ladies,” said the old colored woman, leading the way into a large almost empty room at one side of the hall.

A grand piano stood at the end. On the walls a few old portraits were half visible in the flickering candlelight. At one side was a long mahogany sofa covered with faded tapestry, and the only other piece of furniture in the immense apartment was a small supper table set for one.

“I’ll jes’ go up and fetch little Missy, Marse Edward,” whispered Mammy, while the others strolled about looking at the portraits and Elinor touched a soft chord on the piano.

CHAPTER VI.—THE GRAY MOTOR CAR.

It was indeed the little chambermaid, although the fluffy pale gold hair was no longer tucked in a knot under the maid’s cap, but hung in a shining mass down her back and was caught at the neck with a pink ribbon. Virginia was like a charming woman of the world. Her manners were so gracious and easy that they began to feel at home at once in the ghostly old place.

“These Southern girls,” Miss Campbell was thinking, “how graceful and well-bred they are!”

“I’m so glad my brother brought you here,” said the girl in the soft musical voice that had attracted them in the morning. “It would have been lonely for you on the beach and he may be some hours in getting back.”

“Before you go, Edward,” put in Elinor, “may we not see the mocking bird? Or has he gone to bed?”

“Oh, Dick? He’ll wake soon enough if he knows there is company,” said Virginia. “Do get him, Edward.”

But Edward had already left the room and presently returned with a large covered cage which he placed on the table.

“Won’t all these people and lights frighten him?” asked Billie.

“Not Dick,” replied Edward. “He’s a gentleman, first and foremost, and loves the ladies. And he’s a very obliging rascal. Watch him open one eye when I take off the cover.”

When the brown linen cover was removed, the graceful little fellow was disclosed, standing on one foot, the other drawn up under his body, which gave him a ministerial appearance, as if he were about to deliver a speech.

“Why, what an elegant little gentleman he is,” cried Elinor delightedly. “Look at his neat brown coat and his white waistcoat. He might have just dressed to go to church.”

Dick cocked his head on the side and opened one of his intelligent little black eyes as much as to say:

“Of course I’m a gentleman. I belong to the Mocking Bird family.”

But he was well pleased with the attentions of these young people, for he hopped gravely out and stood on Edward’s finger looking at them critically.

“Darling little Dicky,” exclaimed Virginia. “He’s the very life of this house. I’m sorry you’re not to hear him sing. He makes it a rule never to sing after dark. The dawn is his favorite time.”

Dick gave an apologetic little chirp. He regretted evidently that it was impossible to display his musical powers at this time.

Edward regarded him with the yearning gaze of a father toward his first born.

“You are very fond of him, aren’t you?” asked Billie, noticing the look of pride and affection in the boy’s eyes.

“He adores him,” put in his sister, laughing. “But you had better go now, Edward. Uncle Peter said he would be around with Alexander in a few minutes.”

“Oh, that reminds me, how are you going to get back to Palm Beach?” demanded Miss Campbell.

Edward blushed and looked at his sister, who, although she was the younger, was not so shy.

“He’s going to ride,” she said.

Just then the old colored woman the boy and girl so lovingly addressed as “Mammy,” entered the room and walking straight over to Edward Paxton, said:

“Marse Edward, Alexander is at de do’.”

The other Edward laughed.

“You didn’t know I had a twin, did you, Mammy?”

The woman held up her hands in amazement.

“Fo’ de Lord,” she said, “I thought ’twas my young Massa.”

Virginia, too, was amazed at the strong resemblance between the two boys.

“But I must be hurrying away,” said Edward l’Estrange.

They followed him to the front door. Georgiana Paxton wanted to send word to her grandmother that they were safe. Miss Campbell had another errand for him, and Edward Paxton whispered something gravely in his ear. The two boys looked at each other. Already, they had established a sympathetic understanding. Then the American boy mounted an old bony mule and rode off down the avenue.

Billie now understood why Edward l’Estrange did not want to explain how he was to get back to the hotel. But Virginia laughed gaily. It was impossible to say whether it was really a pleasure to her to be entertaining these strangers in her dismantled old home or whether her manners were so perfect that she was able to make it appear so. One thing was plain, however. She was determined not to be recognized as the chambermaid of the morning.

They strolled back into what they strongly suspected was the only furnished room on that floor, and distributed themselves about on the sofa and two chairs.

“Won’t you play for us, dear, on that beautiful big piano?” asked Miss Campbell, who was really enjoying the adventure.

“I’m afraid I don’t play well enough to play before company. It was papa’s piano. He was a musician. Perhaps some of you will play, and I’ll open the door so that mamma can hear the music from upstairs.”

“Is your mother ill?” asked Miss Campbell. “Are you sure we won’t disturb her?”

“She is always ill,” answered the girl sadly. “She never leaves her room. But music was once her greatest pleasure and I know she would enjoy hearing some one else play besides me.”

“Edward,” said Georgiana, “won’t you play for Miss l’Estrange?”

The quiet English boy became suddenly animated. He had been leaning on the piano ever since he had been in the room. Perhaps his fingers were itching to touch the keys, for when he sat down and began to play the notes seemed to run from their ends like water from the mouth of a fountain. He played so beautifully that the girls began to comprehend why he never appeared to be hearing anything that was said around him.

“Supper is served, Miss Virginia,” announced Mammy at the door, just as they were crowding around the young pianist with exclamations of pleasure.

“I’m sorry we can’t eat in the dining-room,” said Virginia, “but, as you see, the table is too small.”

And that was the only apology she made that evening.

“My dear child,” cried Miss Campbell, “you ought not to have taken all this trouble for us. I am afraid we have put you out terribly.”

Virginia smiled and took her hand.

“It is a pleasure. What would Mamma say if she knew we let our guests leave the house hungry?”

The Motor Maids will never forget that supper party. They were taught a lesson in good manners and hospitality that they had not dreamed was possible.

They found themselves in a big old-fashioned kitchen. In the center was a table covered with a splendid damask cloth and set with the most motley and variegated pieces of glass and china ever beheld together outside of a curiosity shop. At Miss Campbell’s place was a beautiful Bohemian glass tumbler. Two silver mugs, one marked “Edward” and the other “Virginia,” stood at the sides and at the other places were several pressed glass tumblers and one or two cracked and chipped teacups of rare old china. Miss Campbell had the only silver knife and fork on the table. In the center was a crystal bowl, which had been cracked and mended, filled with oranges.

Uncle Peter, who was Mammy’s husband, and the ex-butler of this fine old mansion, now appeared in an old blue swallowtail coat with brass buttons. He bore a platter of crisp, fragrant smelling bacon, and Mammy walked behind him with a dish of cornbread.

That was all the supper and no food ever tasted better to the hungry tourists.

“After all,” thought Billie, “everything depends on who gives the party.”

After his duties as butler were finished, Uncle Peter passed through the room bearing a large tray, and those who were facing him could not help noticing the appetizing and dainty meal set upon it on plates of old-fashioned blue and gold china. Billie caught a glimpse of half a broiled chicken and a small glass dish of jelly.

“It’s for the sick mother,” she thought, as she followed the others back into the living room, and it came to her with a throb that this boy and girl were probably denying themselves every luxury in life and working hard to look after their invalid mother. “I feel so worthless and no account when I think of those two,” she thought. “I have never had to give up anything in all my life so that some one else could have it.”

Elinor played for them after supper, and Virginia also played and sang some delightful old negro melodies. Finally, when she struck up the “Suwanee River,” the girls joined in and the house was filled with music.

“Oh dear, I’m having such a good time,” exclaimed the young Southern girl. “What a treat it is to be with other girls! I wish you were all going to make me a long, long visit.”

“Perhaps you could make the girls a visit in West Haven,” said Miss Campbell. “That would be a nice change for you from this Southern climate.”

“It would be beautiful but I can’t leave mother——”

“Miss Virginia,” said the voice of Mammy in the hall, “your ma wants you quick——”

Virginia darted from the room and they heard her running up the stairs. A door opened somewhere above and for an instant there was a sound of weeping, which was shut out immediately when the door was closed.

“Dear, dear! I’m afraid we have disturbed Mrs. l’Estrange,” said Miss Campbell. “How very unfortunate!”

They sat in a silent row listening for more sounds, but the place was as still as a tomb.

Elinor began to talk with Edward in a low voice about music. Georgiana and Mary presently became absorbed in conversation, and Miss Campbell, with her head against the back of the sofa, dropped off into an after-dinner nap.

Billie and Nancy rose and held a whispered conference at the window.

“Let’s do it,” said Nancy to some suggestion of Billie’s. “What can harm us in this wilderness?”

“Mary,” said Billie, “if Cousin Helen should wake, tell her we are taking a little stroll in the avenue. We can’t endure this close, still place any longer.”

The two girls tiptoed from the room and presently found themselves in the broad road which led to the house. How beautiful the place looked by moonlight, with its galleries and noble Doric columns! It was too dark to see the stained and discolored walls, the staring, empty windows, but even in this light they could discern the rickety look of the house which appeared to have slipped over on one side.

“I can easily imagine this place was haunted,” whispered Billie.

They were standing in the avenue, examining the old building.

“Heavens, how you give me the creeps,” exclaimed Nancy, taking her friend’s hand and starting to walk.

They were like ghosts themselves as they flitted down the avenue in their white dresses. They felt it would soon be time for Edward to return, and they planned to meet him at the entrance and ride back.

“There he is now,” said Nancy at last.

Far down the avenue they could hear the whirring of a motor engine.

“He’s traveling fast,” observed Billie, listening with practised ears to the sound of the machinery. “I didn’t know the Comet could take such a pace as that.”

“How strange for him to have no light,” observed Nancy.

“Very careless, but I suppose something happened to the light. I don’t think we’d better try to stop him,” she added hurriedly. “He’s going like the wind,” and she drew Nancy back into the path beside the road.

To their surprise, as the machine approached, they saw that two men were in it, and, strange to say, it was not the Comet but a gray car which slowed up gradually as it neared the house.

“Better stop here,” said one of the men in a low voice. “So this is the old place,” he added. “Poor things! Poor things!”

“I don’t see why you should pity them,” said the other man. “You have more reason to hate the mother, than not.”

There was silence.

“Now, Ignatius Donahue,” went on the second man,—the girls’ hands met in a frightened clasp and they pressed together behind the trees,—“I didn’t bring you out here to sentimentalize. I want to talk business. We are both looking for the same thing. If I find it, I tell you frankly, I shall destroy it——”

“You scoundrel,” cried the man called Ignatius Donahue. “You thief, you sneak——”

The two men grappled and began to fight. They fought like wild cats, first in the car and then on the ground. Presently the one on top hit his adversary a terrific blow on the head. He fell backward and lay quite still in the road.

Nancy was about to scream but Billie put her hand over her mouth.

The man kneeled on the ground and felt the other’s heart.

“Stone dead,” he muttered.

He lifted the man in his arms and, staggering under the weight, carried him through the thick undergrowth of what had once been the park of the old place and deposited him on the ground.

Then, with a terrified glance over his shoulder, as if he were already afraid the ghost of the dead man might follow him, he rushed blindly to the car, cranked it up, backed off and was gone like the wind.

CHAPTER VII.—THE COWARD.

“Wait and let me think. Must we go and alarm the people in the house or wait for Edward l’Estrange? You wouldn’t dare go over there with me and see if the man is really dead, would you, Nancy?”

“No-o-o,” cried Nancy. “Never, never, never!”

“Why not tell Edward Paxton?”

“Why not?” answered the other, and pressing close together, the frightened girls hurried back to the house as fast as their shaking knees could carry them.

It was gloomy enough in the great dark hall with only one candle sputtering in a bracket on the wall, and they were not reassured when on opening the door they found the living room empty.

“Where on earth are they?” exclaimed Nancy.

“Perhaps they couldn’t stand it in here either, and have gone out doors. Let’s look for them on the piazzas.”

Hand in hand they hastened from the house, looking back fearfully at their fantastic shadows dancing on the walls.

“Thank heavens, I hear them,” said Nancy, pulling Billie toward the low sound of voices at the end of one of the side galleries.

“Don’t you say anything, Nancy. Leave me to manage it. You will be certain to frighten Cousin Helen.”

“Why, there you are,” called Miss Campbell herself, as the two girls approached. “Somebody started a false alarm that the sound of a motor had been heard and we came out hoping it was Edward. I was beginning to get uneasy for fear you had wandered too far.”

“We just walked down the avenue and back.”

“Didn’t you hear the motor?” demanded Mary, who scented something in Billie’s manner.

“Yes, but it was not Edward, evidently. I suppose there are lots of motors around the neighborhood.”

“What did you see? Anything interesting?” asked Elinor. “You both look as if you had seen a ghost.”

“You are pale,” exclaimed Miss Campbell, “or is it the moonlight? And Nancy’s hands are cold as ice. Come in the house, child. You should not be out in this night air. You are trembling. Are you ill?”

“Keep it up, Nancy,” whispered Billie in her ear.

“I feel a little faint,” said Nancy. “Perhaps I’d better go in and sit down a moment.”

Miss Campbell, who was consumed with anxiety if one of her girls had the suspicion of a pain, drew her into the house, made her lie on the sofa and took off her own coat to throw over her.

In the meantime, Billie pulled Edward Paxton’s sleeve and whispered, “Wait, I have something to tell you.”

“What is the matter,” he asked, wonderingly.

“When Nancy and I were in the avenue, an automobile drove up and stopped near us. Two men, who were in it, began fighting. They fought out of the car and on the road and one of them hit the other an awful blow. The man is dead, I’m afraid, because the other man pulled him over into the bushes and left him there. Then he jumped into the motor and rushed away. The dead man is over in the bushes down there now.” She pointed down the avenue. “What do you think we’d better do?”

Billie had been too agitated to realize how strange the story sounded until she put it into words.

“He’s there, I tell you,” she exclaimed impatiently, when Edward made no reply. “You look as if you didn’t believe me.”

“It does sound very much like a curious dream. Why should people be killing each other in this wilderness?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. But it happened just as I told you.”

“You are not playing a joke on me, are you?”

There was nothing in the world which irritated Billie so much as to have her word doubted. Her father had often said that she was absurdly truthful, and as a matter of fact she stuck to the letter of the truth with scrupulous care. She always believed other people, because she expected the truth. And she seldom got anything else. It, therefore, seemed incredible to meet some one who could believe that she would invent a tale just for the sake of excitement.

With a slightly contemptuous spark in her fine gray eyes, she turned to Edward and said,

“If you have any doubts on the subject, you had better come with me and see for yourself.”

“Don’t you—think—we’d better wa-a——” he stammered, and broke off with an embarrassed laugh.

Then it was she realized that Edward was timid. She could hardly call it cowardice because the boy followed her; but from the corner of her eye she could see that it was with reluctant steps.

She felt sorry for him, somehow. Probably his grandmother had taken all the spirit out of him. That is why he permitted his cousin Clarence to ride over him, and his old granny, too.

“Are you certain he was dead?” he whispered.

“No, I’m not certain at all. We ought to hurry,” she continued, “if he isn’t, we might be able to help him.”

Half way down the avenue, she stopped at two tall pine trees standing closely together like a loving pair which had grown up side by side.

“I think it was just here,” she whispered. “We were behind these two trees, Nancy and I, when they began to fight, and it was along this smudged place that he pulled the man’s body and pitched it into that clump of bushes.”

Edward paused and drew in a deep breath. A brave soldier about to go under fire could not have been more resolute than he when he finally doubled his fists and plunged through the bushes followed by Billie. Although the moon was bright, they could not see any signs of an object having been dragged over the ground. The elastic undergrowth had sprung back into place and the body might have lain there forever under the trees and no one the wiser.

“Was this the place?” he whispered, trying to keep Billie from seeing that he was shaking all over.

“Yes,” she answered, parting the branches of the acacias. “It was right in here, I think.”

But there was no sign of any creature, living or dead, in the high grasses.

They searched, growing bolder every moment.

At last, with a sigh of deep relief, Edward said,

“Dead or alive, he’s gone. And still you say it wasn’t a dream?”

Even the most patient and amiable natures have their turning points. Now, Billie, with all her high spirits, was singularly free from outbursts of temper. From her father she had inherited a happy, even disposition, always willing to see the best and overlook the worst. But the young girl was very tired that evening. It had been only a few hours since she had saved Timothy Peppercorn’s life, and that followed by the shock of seeing a man struck down, had unnerved her.

She regretted afterwards the words which came to her lips now, for she was terribly and uncontrollably angry and she hardly knew that it was herself who spoke them.

Perhaps, after all, Billie was at that moment an unconscious instrument of fate, because her impetuous, passionate outburst was the means of changing the lives and destinies of several actors in this little history.

“How dare you accuse me of speaking a falsehood?” she said. “You are a coward and you are glad we didn’t find the man’s body because you are afraid. You haven’t even the spirit or courage to believe the truth. You are afraid of everything and everybody. Afraid of your grandmother and your cousin. You are afraid of me now. You are afraid of being sick; of losing your eyesight. You are afraid of the dark, and you are afraid of the sun. You shut it out with black glasses. You may look like Edward l’Estrange. But you are not really like him. He is brave and strong. He is not afraid to fight to make a living and take care of his sick mother. This afternoon when your cousin told that falsehood about the boats starting wrong, you knew it was a lie, but you were afraid to stand up for what was right. It was your cousin who punched a hole in our boat this afternoon. You know that perfectly well; but you will be afraid to tell him so.

“Just change places with Edward l’Estrange once and let him fight your battles and you will see what courage is.”

Billie stopped. The fire of her anger had burned out almost as soon as it had started. She felt shaken through and through and very tired.

“I wonder if Vesuvius feels like this after one of her eruptions,” she thought, shamefacedly.

But there was no time for any inward reflections just then, for her attack on Edward bore very quick results. Instead of giving fire for fire as a real coward would do with some one smaller and weaker than himself, Edward buried his face in his hands and burst into a perfect tempest of sobs.

“Oh, don’t,” cried Billie, remorsefully. “It was cruel of me to speak in that way. I was very angry, but it’s all over now, and I apologize. I must have hurt you awfully. Of course you’re not a coward.”

“No, no. You are quite right. I am a coward. Every word you said was true. I am afraid of everything: the daylight and the dark and draughts and people. I am even afraid of the only thing I want to do in the world—be a musician; because my grandmother threatens to cut me off with a shilling if I touch the piano. I am afraid of being poor. You were right in saying I was afraid of the truth, because it hurts, and what you said hurt me terribly. I sometimes wonder why I was ever born. I have always been so miserable.”

“You poor boy,” said Billie, all the kindness in her nature rising to the top. “I am so sorry I hurt you. Won’t you forgive me?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm.

“Oh, yes,” he answered. “I’m not angry with you. I wish I could be mad just once. I have always been afraid of scenes.”

“Well, don’t say again you wish you had never been born, because perhaps some day you may be awfully glad you were, and then you would be sorry you had said it. After all, you have an easier time than Edward l’Estrange. Think how hard he has to work, and Virginia, too. If you were to change places——” she began, when the English boy interrupted her.

“Do you think we are very much alike?” he demanded with some excitement in his voice.

“Wonderfully.”

“Why not change places then? Our accents are not so very different. I can run boats and automobiles and Edward l’Estrange can——”

“Can fight your battles,” Billie thought, but she said aloud, “Can take your place for a while?”

“Yes,” went on Edward, warming up to the subject. “I would gladly give him my allowance. I dare say it’s more than he makes now and he could have what I made, too. I don’t want it. All I want is a little freedom.”

“But what about your sister and Clarence? Wouldn’t they find out?”

“Clarence wouldn’t because he has never noticed Edward l’Estrange and doesn’t know anything about the likeness. If it were necessary, we could tell Georgiana. But I would rather not. It will be a secret between us three.”

“And are we to trust you to run the Firefly and take us out in the motor?” asked Billie, doubtfully.

“Won’t you please?” asked the boy so earnestly that Billie smiled.

“It may not be necessary,” she said. “Edward has to be won over first. There he is at last,” she added, looking down the avenue. “We had better hurry back. They will be missing us.”

It was not long before the Firefly party was hastening back to the hotel in the faithful red motor.

“Billie,” whispered Nancy, “what happened? Did you find him? And was it Mr. Ignatius Donahue? And was he dead——”

“No, Nancy dear, the dead man had run away, thank heavens, whichever one he was.”

Nancy gave an hysterical little giggle.

“Then he was alive?”

“What a foolish question, child. You don’t suppose the dead can walk, do you? ‘Dead men rise up never.’”

“Ugh—” shivered Nancy. “Oh, dear, but I’m glad that we didn’t really see a murder. Which did you think struck the blow?”

“How can I tell,” answered Billie. “But I would much rather it would be Ignatius Donahue, if it was our Mr. Donahue, who was struck down. Because the other man ran away.”

Early the next morning just as sunrise flooded the world with a mellow light, Virginia l’Estrange tiptoed from the front door of her house and climbed into the back of an old spring wagon where she sat down composedly in a rocking-chair.

“Git up, Alexander,” said Uncle Peter, who occupied the driver’s seat, and off they started down the avenue.

As they turned into the main road, they noticed a man sitting on the ground holding his head in both hands.

“Stop, Uncle Peter,” ordered the girl. “Are you ill?” she asked.

The man looked up with a dazed expression.

“I—I think I am,” he answered.

“Would you like to ride?”

“You are very kind.”

The man climbed into the wagon, and suddenly grasping his head with a groan, fainted dead away.

“Oh, mercy, what shall we do, Uncle Peter? Take him home?”

“We’ll have to, little Missy. We cyant car’ him to the hotel.”

The long-suffering Alexander once again turned his face toward the house and trotted patiently up the avenue. Perhaps he thought he was not to take his usual early morning trip to Palm Beach. By the time they had reached the end of the avenue, the man opened his eyes.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“This is my home,” said the young girl. “My name is Virginia l’Estrange. You had better stay here until you feel better. You will look after him, won’t you please, Mammy?” she said to the colored woman who had come around the side of the house at the sound of approaching wheels. “This gentleman is ill.”

“Virginia l’Estrange,” repeated the man, getting slowly out of the wagon with the help of the two old colored people. “Virginia,” he said again, presently, stretching himself wearily on the long sofa while the colored woman bound a wet cloth about his forehead.

In the meantime, Virginia, herself, rocking gently back and forth, was again on her way to the hotel.

“I suppose it’s all right, Uncle Peter,” she said. “We couldn’t leave a sick man in the road.”

“Yes, little Missy,” said the colored man, “an’ they ain’t nothin’ in our house wuth takin’ anyhow ceppen it be the gran’ pianner.”

CHAPTER VIII.—MR. DUFFY GIVES A PARTY.

“That’s a pretty song,” said Timothy Peppercorn, “only to be strictly truthful, you should substitute—‘We’re afloat, we’re afloat in our little motor-boat.’”

“There’s nothing poetical about the smell of gasoline,” interrupted Elinor. “It out-perfumes all the orange blossoms and yellow jasmine at Palm Beach.”

“Speaking of gasoline,” Miss Campbell here broke in, “Edward, did you find out any more about that leak that came in the Firefly the other night? Was it—do you—er, could it possibly have been——”

Miss Campbell hesitated. She never liked to make accusations on circumstantial evidence, but it certainly looked very much as if Clarence Paxton had done the deed, out of spite.

Edward hesitated and Billie replied for him.

“The engineer is busy at this moment, Cousin Helen,” she said, “but I will tell you that if it wasn’t the person who shall be nameless, he got a good beating anyhow for some one else’s sins the next day.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed the little lady with great concern. “Dear, dear. Who beat him?”

“The other one.”

“It all sounds very mysterious,” laughed Timothy, “like the letter at the trial of the Knave of Hearts:

    “‘I  gave  her  one;  they  gave  him  two,
        You  gave  us  three  or  more.
    They  all  returned  from  him  to  you,
        Though  they  were  mine  before.’”

“What are these Paxton people like?” asked Genevieve Martin.

“They are English and peculiar,” answered Nancy. “Two orphans and one almost-orphan, and their grandmother. The two orphans are very nice and the almost-orphan is—well, rather disagreeable. The grandmother beats them when she is angry——”

“Oh, Nancy,” exclaimed Elinor.

“She does, for I saw her at Timothy’s drowning. She beat Clarence.”

“Oh, Clarence. I should think she would have to beat him. But Edward is really quite nice.”

The others laughed at this, and the engineer bent down over his machine as if motor engines were the only thing in life that interested him.

“Here we are,” cried the ever-watchful Billie, pointing to a pretty villa which was one of many built on a long strip of land separating the lake from the ocean. “This is Mr. Duffy’s villa. I can tell it by the three lanterns hung in the boat-house. He told me that would be the Duffy signal.”

Since Billie’s bravery in keeping Timothy from drowning, Mr. Duffy had been her devoted follower. It was impossible for him to conceal his admiration, he said. He wished all the world to know that she was the finest young lady in three kingdoms and all the states. He brought his wife to the hotel to call on Miss Helen and the girls, but chiefly to exhibit the brave young woman who had kept two heads above water at the same time and not lost either of them. And then he wished to give Billie a party at his own house, and he invited her and all her friends who were at the moment in speaking distance on the piazza. Timothy Peppercorn and Genevieve Martin were included, and the three English cousins who happened to be near at the time. The Firefly party could see their launch now making for the pier.

“Why, look,” exclaimed Mary. “Clarence isn’t running the boat to-night. Edward Paxton is doing it.”

“Good!” cried Billie. “It’s a fine sign.”

“Sign of what, pray?” demanded Elinor.

“Oh, nothing,” began Billie, when she was interrupted by a burst of music played by three negroes on a guitar, a banjo and a triangle which sent a silver tinkling note through the melody. Mr. Duffy, himself, was at the boat landing looking as large as a white elephant in his spick and span linen suit.

“This is a pleasure and an honor, Madam,” he exclaimed, helping Miss Campbell out of the boat as gallantly as if he had been a slender young cavalier. “Mrs. Duffy and I have been looking forward to this, I can tell you. The old woman’s on the porch. She never walks a step if she can avoid it, you know.”

Mr. Duffy always called his wife “the old woman,” but it was simply a term of endearment for she was not really old at all. She was almost as fat as her husband, however, but at the top of her mountainous figure was the most charmingly pretty face imaginable, as pink and white as a wax doll’s and always wrinkling with little smiles which played hide-and-seek among her many dimples. Her eyes were as blue and innocent as an infant’s and her naturally blonde hair, made blonder by artificial means, gave her face a singularly childlike appearance.

“Are you all here?” she cried, giving a funny little elephantine run down the piazza, as they came up the steps. “I do hope no one stayed behind. I wish I had told you to bring more people. Mr. Duffy and I love boys and girls, because we haven’t any of our own, I suppose. If I wasn’t so fat and lazy, I think I should like to be at the head of a big orphan asylum. It would be different from any orphan asylum I have ever seen. The children should have such a good time they would forget they had no parents. The little girls should have pretty dresses,” she rattled on, “and not those hideous dun colored things, and every Saturday they should have a party——”

“You see how my old woman does run on,” laughed Mr. Duffy, winking at the others. “Orphan asylums are her particular fad, but I don’t believe any Methodist Association would engage her if they heard her views first.”

“If they ever do make you a superintendent of an orphan asylum, Mrs. Duffy,” called Billie, on her way up the stairs to leave her scarf and wrap, “you will have your hands full because we shall all join the orphan brigade.”

“Bless you, child, Mr. Duffy and I would be only too glad to make a little asylum just for you all alone if you should ever feel inclined to try it,” returned the warm-hearted soul who had yearned in vain for a little girl of her own.

Mr. and Mrs. Duffy’s winter home was built very much as they were: broad and commodious and of an exceedingly comfortable disposition.

There was plenty of room in the big parlors for dancing; on the broad piazzas were lounging chairs and hammocks, and in the tropical garden, now lighted with Japanese lanterns, settees had been placed in all the prettiest nooks.

Other guests now began to arrive from the neighboring villas, and our Motor Maids soon found themselves at what Nancy called “a real party.”

And, oh, how busy Mrs. Duffy was introducing all the boys and girls! She chose Timothy Peppercorn as her assistant and the incongruous pair kept the couples spinning about the room like so many human tops.

“No one shall ever have a stupid time in my house,” declared the good woman, leading forth young men and maids to the dance like so many sacrificial lambs. But once things got into swing, she had no further trouble except with poor, awkward, shy Georgiana. The young English girl danced a hoppety dance instead of the American glide, and it was difficult to obtain a partner for her a second time. At last Mr. Duffy himself was called into action. With rivers of perspiration pouring down his rotund countenance, like spring freshets down the side of a mountain, he gallantly piloted Georgiana through the mazes of the waltz. But Mr. Duffy had a light and graceful step, in spite of his enormous weight.

There was a dancer at the ball whose enjoyment was so apparent that Mrs. Duffy felt a thrill of gratification whenever she noticed his flushed, happy face. It was Edward—which Edward, you may guess for yourselves, but he danced as Cinderella must have danced when she knew that at midnight she must fly. Billie was his partner as often as Timothy Peppercorn would permit. As soon as Edward had arrived he had pushed his way through the crowd and gone straight to her side.

“How many dances may I have, Miss Billie?” he asked, with a candor not unusual in young Southerners.

“As many as you can get,” replied Billie, laughing, but with a bright flush on her cheeks, and Edward had taken her at her word.

Elinor, who was standing next to Billie when this happened, turned away and bit her lip. It was only because she had been saving up something to tell Edward about a duet she wanted him to try some day with her at the hotel, and Edward had merely bowed to her and gone away. Such things are disturbing even to the most dignified and high-bred natures, and it was natural for poor Elinor to wonder why Edward Paxton had never been near her since the evening they all spent together at Virginia’s home.

Elinor had many partners that night, but Edward was not one of them. Her feelings were hurt and she could not resist a slight coldness toward Billie, who seemed to have forgotten that she had three intimate comrades and was always talking to Edward in a low voice and stopping immediately any one came near.

“Won’t you and Timothy come and stroll in the garden with us, Elinor?” asked Billie, as they passed each other between dances.

“Thanks,” replied Elinor, with all the dignity of an injured queen, “I would rather stay indoors.”

So it was that Billie and Edward strolled alone in the garden.

“How are you getting on?” she asked.

“Splendidly,” he replied. “I gave Clarence such a licking as he’ll never forget, and yesterday when the old lady started to rap me in the head with her cane, I caught it in my hand and said ‘Don’t do that again.’ I could hardly keep from laughing. But she has treated me very politely ever since. I have to watch out for Clarence, though. He is just waiting for a chance to get at me. It will be from behind. That’s why I have to be careful. And I want to warn my twin brother. I suppose we’ll find him at the boat landing.”

“How do you like being in another boy’s shoes?” Billie asked, as they turned in the direction of the boat-house.

“It’s rather jolly having plenty of clothes and nothing to do but amuse myself; but I’d just as soon live at the foot of Mount Etna as take a permanent job with my present grandmamma.

“Nonsense,” said Billie, “I believe you will find her all right if she learns to respect you. She has no respect for her grandchildren. That’s why she bullies them with her cane.”

Stretched on the cushioned seat of the Firefly, they found the other Edward gazing at the stars, the very picture of contentment.

“Hello,” he exclaimed, looking up as he stifled a yawn. “How’s the party?”

“Fine!” answered Edward l’Estrange.

“I wish you could have come, too,” said Billie.

“Thanks, but I’m much happier here. I hate dancing. It always gives me palpitation. The lights hurt my eyes, too, in a ball-room. I’m just as well off here.”

Billie gave a humorous groan.

“Dear me, what a delicate invalid you are,” she laughed.

“I am getting better every day,” he admitted. “This life of freedom is doing me a lot of good. There is nothing really the matter with me but constant worry and nagging, you know.”

“And that reminds me,” said the American boy. “You will have to give up your life of freedom, as you call it, for a day or two and go to St. Augustine with your family. They are all going to-morrow night.”

“Oh, fizzle,” exclaimed the other. “Why can’t Grandmamma stay in one place for a week at a time? We came over to New York on business and she couldn’t rest until she got here and now she wants to go somewhere else.”

“It’s only for two days,” continued Edward l’Estrange. “They want to see the city. That’s all.”

“I say, Edward,” said his counterpart in a coaxing voice, “won’t you go in my place?”

“I’m afraid to. I can’t always remember to say ‘been’ as you do and they might find out. You see, I shall have to be with them constantly. Now I only see them at meals and I never talk unless some one asks me a question.”

The English Edward was silent for a few minutes. For the first time in all his days he had been happy. He had tasted the joy of being his own master and of living his own life. He had not even minded the work, although he was not as diligent as the other boy and twice Billie had scolded him about the appearance of the Comet which was not in its usual spick and span order.

“Look here,” he said at last, “I’m so anxious for another week’s happiness that I’d be willing to do almost anything to get it. Didn’t you tell me when you undertook this business that money was the thing in the world you needed most?”

“Yes,”

“Would you do it for twenty pounds? That’s about a hundred dollars in your money.”

Edward l’Estrange thrust his hands in his pockets and kicked the ground meditatively with one toe.

“That seems a good deal for you to give and a good deal for me to ask. Have you really got that much money?”

“Oh, yes; I saved it out of last year’s allowance. I have kept it a secret. Clarence would have borrowed it from me. He’s always in debt. I would gladly pay it to you for going to St. Augustine.”

“Do you advise me to accept, Miss Billie?”

“Why, yes, I do,” hesitated Billie.

“All right, then, I’ll do it. I want some money so badly, that I would do almost anything to earn a hundred dollars all at one time.”

Billie, who felt that she was a very responsible party to this strange transaction, was rather uneasy after it was settled. But she knew that Edward l’Estrange must need money very much and it was a quick way to earn it.

“We’ll have to change places to-night, though,” said the American boy, “because I must go home first and see my mother if I’m to be away for two days. Come into the boat-house and we’ll change now.”

Billie waited for them, sitting on a bench by the water’s edge, and pondering on the curious situation. Overhead the stars gleamed twice as brilliantly as they did at West Haven. The air was full of sweet odors. A little breeze ruffled the bosom of the lake and stirred the palm trees. How sweet it all was! And Mr. and Mrs. Duffy, what adorable, good-natured, fat, funny souls they were. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes. The next dance had begun and the music of a waltz floated out through the open windows. She was to have danced it with some one, but, never mind, she would wait for the other Edward who would now make his appearance in the drawing-room in his real character. It was a pity he was so shy. And she was afraid, too, that he was just a little lazy.

“I believe you have this waltz with me, Miss Campbell,” said some one close behind her.

It was the sharp voice of Clarence Paxton that broke the peaceful stillness. Billie remembered that she had promised him a dance early in the evening. She had not had the spirit to refuse with Mrs. Duffy standing at her elbow.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “I am coming now,” and she started down the path.

“Do wait a moment, Billie. Perhaps I won’t see you again for several days. Won’t you say good-bye?” called Edward l’Estrange, running out of the boat-house.

He stopped when he saw Clarence standing near her.

Billie felt very uncomfortable. She wished Edward had not been so hasty, but Southern boys take little pains to conceal their likes and dislikes. Edward liked Billie very much and he was not at all ashamed of it. However he was not prepared for what was now to happen.