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Rockhaven

by Charles Clark Munn · English · Gutenberg #33787 · 454,608 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Rockhaven

Author: Charles Clark Munn

Illustrator: Frank T. Merrill


        
Release date: September 21, 2010 [eBook #33787]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33787

Credits: Produced by Matthew Rongey, Mary Meehan and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROCKHAVEN ***




Produced by Matthew Rongey, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                             ROCKHAVEN

                       BY CHARLES CLARK MUNN

            AUTHOR OF "POCKET ISLAND" AND "UNCLE TERRY"


    _ILLUSTRATED BY_
    _FRANK T. MERRILL_


    BOSTON
    LEE AND SHEPARD
    MCMII

    Published March, 1902.

    Copyright, 1902, by Lee and Shepard.

    _All Rights Reserved._

    Rockhaven.

    Norwood Press
    J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
    Norwood Mass. U.S.A.


                      To All
         WHO DESPISE HYPOCRISY AND DECEPTION
    WHO ADMIRE MANLY COURAGE AND WOMANLY DEVOTION
          WHOSE HEARTS YET VIBRATE TO THE
                CHORDS OF ROMANCE
        AND WHO RESPECT SIMPLE FAITH IN AND
                GRATITUDE TO GOD
       This Book is Respectfully Dedicated
                 BY THE AUTHOR


[Illustration: THE OLD TIDE-MILL.]




CONTENTS


I. ON ROCKHAVEN

II. WINN HARDY

III. THE ROCKHAVEN GRANITE COMPANY

IV. WHERE THE SEA-GULLS COME

V. JESS HUTTON

VI. THE BUD OF A ROMANCE

VII. SUNDAY ON ROCKHAVEN

VIII. THE HAND OF FATE

IX. A FRIENDLY HAND

X. MONA HUTTON

XI. THE DEVIL'S OVEN

XII. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

XIII. WILD ROSES

XIV. J. MALCOLM WESTON

XV. A MATTER OF BUSINESS

XVI. THE GROWTH OF A BUBBLE

XVII. IN THE PATH OF MOONLIGHT

XVIII. IN A FOG

XIX. A PHILOSOPHER

XX. A CLOUD OVER ROCKHAVEN

XXI. THE MOOD OF THE BELLS

XXII. TWO RASCALS

XXIII. THE STARTING OF A "CORNER"

XXIV. THE PROGRESS OF A "CORNER"

XXV. A SUMMER DAY

XXVI. A CLIMAX

XXVII. SEVERING THE TIES

XXVIII. ON 'CHANGE

XXIX. THE BUBBLE RISES

XXX. THE BUBBLE BURSTS

XXXI. TWO DOGS AND A BONE

XXXII. THE AFTERMATH OF A SWINDLE

XXXIII. A TOUCH OF HEROISM

XXXIV. A WOMAN'S WILES

XXXV. THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE

XXXVI. GOING, GOING, GONE!

XXXVII. A SOCIAL CYNIC

XXXVIII. THE END OF AN IDYL

XXXIX. A GRAY-HAIRED ROMANCE

XL. A GOOD SEND-OFF

XLI. EIN WUNDERBARES FRAULEIN

XLII. THE ROAD TO THE TEMPLE

XLIII. THE CYNIC'S SHADOW

XLIV. ONLY A MOOD

XLV. THE OLD HOME

XLVI. A NEW STAR

XLVII. LOVE ETERNAL

XLVIII. CONCLUSION




ILLUSTRATIONS


THE OLD TIDE-MILL

MONA

JESS HUTTON, PHILOSOPHER

THE DEVIL'S OVEN

THE BUBBLE BURSTS

ROCKHAVEN




ROCKHAVEN




CHAPTER I

ON ROCKHAVEN


"It ain't more'n onct in a lifetime," said Jess Hutton to the crowd of
friends in his store, "that luck comes thick 'n' fat to any on us 'n' so
fer that reason I sent over to the mainland fer suthin' o' a liquid
natur; 'n' now take hold, all hands, 'n' injie yerselves on Jess."

With that he began setting forth upon the counter, in battle array,
dozens upon dozens of bottles filled with dark brown liquid and
interspersed with boxes of cigars. For Jess Hutton, the oracle,
principal storekeeper, first selectman, school committeeman, prize story
teller, philosopher and friend to everybody on Rockhaven island, had
sold a few acres of granite ledge he set no value upon, for two thousand
dollars, half cash down; and being a man of generous impulses, had
invited the circle of friends most congenial, to "drop round ternight
'n' I'll set 'em up."

It is true that the cigars he passed out so freely were not imported,
still they were the best he kept, and not the cheap brand most in demand
on Rockhaven, and the bottles contained the vintage of hops and malt
instead of "extra dry," but both were urged upon all in a way that left
refusal impossible.

And of that unique gathering of men, with sea-tanned faces, garbed
mainly in shirt, trousers, and sailor caps, some wearing boots, some
slippers, some barefoot, nearly all addressed one another as "Cap" or
"Cap'n," for to own a fishing sloop or jigger on Rockhaven meant
distinction.

"I dunno how it all come about," said Jess, when the popping of corks
had ceased and the incense of cabbage leaves began to arise, "but I was
sorter dozin' on the counter that day when this bloomin' freak, with
white duck pants, 'n' cap, 'n' shirt, 'n' gray side whiskers, blew in,
'n' the fust I know'd, I heerd him say, 'Come, wake up, Rip Van Winkle!
I want ter buy yer quarry!'

"Then I sot up 'n' rubbed my eyes 'n' looked at him, sure he must be one
o' them make-believe sailors off a yacht I'd seen run in the night
afore, 'n' had come ashore with skates on.

"'Want ter buy what?' I sez. 'Want ter buy yer quarry,' he sez again. 'I
heerd ye owned the one t'other side o' the harbor, 'n' if ye want ter
sell it cheap, I'll buy it.' Then I looked at him harder'n ever; sure he
had a jag 'n' was makin' game o' me.

"'Yes,' I sez, 'I'll sell ye the quarry, or the hull island, if ye ain't
sure ye own it already. Better go into the back o' the store 'n' lay
down on a pile o' old sails ye'll find thar, 'n' sleep it off. Things'll
look more nat'ral to ye by that time.' With that he laffed fit ter
split. 'You're all right, old sport,' he sez, 'but I ain't drunk, 'n' if
ye'll set the price low enough, I'll buy yer quarry and pay ye cash
fer't.'

"'Wal,' I sez, thinkin' I'd set the price high 'nough ter knock him
galley west, 'I'll take three thousand dollars fer't.'

"'I'll give ye two,' he said, ''n' pay yer half down.' 'Hev ye got it
with ye?' I sed. 'I hev,' he said, 'aboord the boat, or I'll give ye a
check.' 'Checks don't go here,' I said, 'but if ye've got real money,
'n' mean business, it's yourn at that figger.' Then he went off, 'n' I
was so sure I'd never set eyes on him ag'in I went ter sleep. It didn't
seem five minutes till he blew in ag'in. 'How many acres o' that ledge
do ye own,' he said, 'an' how many goes with the quarry?' 'Wall,' I
said, 'there's about a hundred, 'n' if that ain't nuff ter keep ye busy
blastin' the rest o' yer nateral life, I'll throw in the hull o' Norse
Hill jist ter bind the bargain,' fer I didn't no more s'pose he meant
bizniss than I s'posed I'd got wings. 'Wal,' he says, pullin' out a roll
o' bills bigger'n my arm. 'Here's the kale seed, an' when ye'll show me
what I'm buyin' 'n' a deed on't, it's yourn.'

"Wal, I jist pinched myself, ter see if I was 'wake, an' jumpin' off the
counter, fished a deed out o' my safe 'n' took it 'long, an' showed him
round the ledge, believin' all the time when he'd seen it, he'd tell me
ter go soak my head, er suthin' o' that sort. But he didn't, an' arter I
got hold o' the money 'n' counted it, wonderin' if it wasn't all bogus,
'n' give him a receipt, 'n' he'd gone off, I went 'n' stuck a pin into
my leg, jist ter be sure I was awake, after all. That was a week ago,"
continued Jess, lighting one of the cigars he had set forth, "but I
didn't say nuthin' 'bout it till I'd gone ashore with the money an' the
bank folks hed said it was all right, 'n' now I think I've lost jist a
thousand dollars by not askin' four for't. Why, the loonytic acted as
though he owned a printin' press that made money, an' was goin' all the
time."

"Wish I'd been ashore," observed Captain Moore, who was one of the
group, "I'd a tackled him ter buy the _Nancy Jane_. She's been lyin'
inside o' the harbor, half full o' bilge water, fer more'n a year, an'
ain't wuth scuttlin'. Ye'd orter 'a thought on't, Jess, an' persuaded
him he could 'a used 'r to carry stun in."

"An' if I'd a-knowed it," put in Cap'n Jet Doty, another of the group,
"I'd a tried him on 'bout a hundred kit o' mackerel we've got that's a
trifful rusty. He cud a-used 'em somehow. Ye'd orter think o' yer
neighbors, Jess, in such a case, an' let 'em in on't."

"I dunno but ye're right," responded Jess; "but I wus caught nappin',
'n' I cac'late that if any o' ye hed been woke up by sech a lubber with
gray whiskers, like stun'sls, an' dude cloes like these jackdaw yachters
wear, an offerin' ye two thousand dollars fer what ye'd sell fer fifty,
an' no takers, ye'd a-bin sot back, so ter speak. If I'd a hed time ter
think an' knowed what an easy mark the cuss was, I'd a-laid ter sell him
the hull island 'n' divided it up all round."

And be it said that if all the landowners of Rockhaven had obtained even
what they valued their holdings at, they would have sold cheerfully, for
out of the eighty odd square miles of the island, not one quarter was of
soil, and much of that so sandy that only bayberry bushes and wild
roses grew on it, or else thickets of stunted spruce. The only means of
livelihood to most was the sea, and if nature had not endowed the island
with a capacious land-locked harbor and a few acres of productive soil
beyond it, and shut in by wall-like shores, Rockhaven would have been
left to the sea-gulls that infested its cliffs, or the fish-hawks that
found its harbor good fishing ground.

"What'd ye s'pose he's goin' ter do with it, now he's got it?" put in
Cap'n Doty, when Jess had finished his recital, and having in mind his
stock of rusty mackerel. "Will he come down here 'n' go ter quarryin'?"

"Mebbe he wants it fer ballast fer a new boat," interposed young Dave
Moore. "Or fer buildin' a house," put in Dave's brother, Sam. "Cheer up,
uncle, we may sell him the _Nancy Jane_ yit. He'll hev ter hire or buy
suthin' ter carry stun 'way from the island. He can't make a raft on't."

"An' if he does," asserted Cap'n Moore, addressing Cap'n Doty, who sat
opposite him on a cracker barrel, "ye'd git a chance to work off them
mackerel."

"I dunno what he's goin' ter do with it," asserted Jess, when a pause
came, "nor care, so long's I git t'other thousand as is comin' when
deeds is passed. I ain't sure I'll git that, either," he added
candidly, "but if I don't the quarry's still mine 'n' a cool thousand o'
that freak's good money's gone out o' circulation anyhow, which is some
comfort."

Then came a lull in conversation, and in place the popping of more corks
and "Here's to yer good luck, Jess," as bottles were elevated and
pointed downward.

"Come, Jess," said Dave Moore, when this second libation had been
indulged in, and who was in a mood for hearing yarns, "tell 'em 'bout
old Bill Atlas."

Now this tale, antedating the day and generation of most of Jess
Hutton's auditors, was nevertheless a favorite with him and one he
always enjoyed telling.

"Wal," he said, "if ye want ter hear 'bout old Bill, I'll tell ye,
though some o' ye here hez heerd 'bout him afore, I reckon. It's been a
good many years since Bill took to his wings, humsoever, 'n' so his
hist'ry may be divartin'. Bill used ter live all 'lone in a little shack
he'd built out o' drift, half way 'tween here and Northaven. That is, he
slept thar nights when he was ashore, fer he was away fishin' most o'
the time. He were the worst soaker on the island, an' from the time he
sot foot ashore 'n' got his pay until every cent was spent, he didn't
draw a sober breath. Thar wan't no use arguin' with Bill, or doin'
anything to reform him. Jist the moment he got a dollar, jist that
moment he started in ter git drunk 'n' allus succeeded. Even Parson
Bush, who hed jist come here then 'n' anxious ter do good, failed on
Bill. No 'mount o' argufyin' 'bout the worm that never dies or the fate
o' sinners hed a mite o' influence on Bill.

"'Parson,' he'd say, 'thar ain't no use a-talkin' ter me. Licker was
made ter be drunk, else why was it made at all, 'n' if the Lord Almighty
didn't cac'late fer me ter drink it, why did he make me hanker for't? Ye
jist preach ter them as is like ter mind it an'll foller it. I ain't,
an' it'll do no good.' An' then Bill'd roll away an' fill up. He wa'n't
a quarrelsome cuss, jist a good-natured soaker who meant ter git drunk,
'n' done it, an' never meant ter bother nobody when he was.

"But some on us young folks in them days sot out to hev fun with Bill
once upon a time, an' we did, an' more'n that, we joggled him so he quit
drinkin' fer most a year. He'd had one er two fits o' tremens afore that
time, 'n' had sorter got skeery 'bout seein' things, so our trick worked
fust rate. One o' the smacks hed jist brought in a hogfish that day, an'
it was the worst lookin' critter that ever growed in the sea. It
weighed 'bout fifty poun' 'n' was 'most all mouth 'n' teeth. Bill was up
in the corner o' a fish house sleepin' off a jag when the critter was
h'isted onto the dock, 'n' the moment we spied it we said we'd try it on
Bill. We told everybody ter keep quiet 'n' then we went at it. Fust we
lugged the hogfish over ter Bill's shack, which was out on the end o' a
little pint 'n' sorter shut in 'tween the rocks, 'n' then we got an old
bit o' sail and went ter work. We sot the critter up on stuns, right in
front o' the shack, 'n' made a tail 'bout forty feet long out o' the
sail, an' stuffed it nat'ral like, 'n' then rigged lines running over
the shanty to work the critter's mouth 'n' tail up 'n' down when the
time come. It was 'long in the arternoon when we sot about 'n' we
cac'lated Bill 'd wake up sometime arter dark 'n' come to his shack in
jist the mood ter 'preciate the good thing that we hed waitin' fer him.
Then to sorter liven up matters, we took a handful o' matches, an'
dampenin' 'em, rubbed the ends round the eyes an' mouth o' the critter,
'n' in spots 'long the tail, where we was to hist it a little. It was
clear dark afore we got the trap all sot 'n' baited, 'n' then five on us
took the lines and tried the joke. It worked pretty slick, 'n' ter see
that critter's mouth, more'n a foot long 'n' full o' teeth, 'n' eyes
with rings of phosphorus round 'em, a-workin' up an' down, to say
nothin' 'bout the tail, would a-skeered a sober man into fits arter
dark, let alone one who 'spected snakes. When Bill's welcome home was
all ready, we sot a watch on Bill, who was still asleep, 'n' the rest on
us went home ter supper. Then we got together, 'bout two dozen on us
that knew Bill best, 'n' gittin' sheets ter wrap up in, to sorter
stiffen the hogfish effect, all hands hid round his shanty an' inside
on't. It was purty late 'fore Bill showed up, but he came 'long finally,
kind o' wobblin' some and hummin':--

    "'I'm a gallant lass as ever you see,
    And the roving sailor winked at me.'

"Bill was allus feelin' that way when half full 'n' now jist happy 'n'
comfortable like. There was a new moon that sorter lit up the path, 'n'
jist as he got to where it made a turn, 'bout ten feet from the shanty,
I made a signal by squeakin' like a gull, an' the boys begun workin' the
lines, 'n' 'bout two dozen white figgers rose up from behind the rocks
or stepped out o' the cabin. I never knew which skeered Bill the worst,
the awful critter snappin' at him thar in the path, or the ghosts, for
Bill gave one screech that could a' been heard five mile, 'n' ye never
seen a man run the way he did. He didn't stop ter keep in the path
either, but jist went right over the rocks anywhere. He tumbled two or
three times 'fore he got out o' sight, 'n' you'd a-thought he was made
o' rubber, the way he got up 'n' yelled, 'Help, help, O Lord,' all the
time. I'll 'low it was the fust time he'd ever called on the Lord fer
help, but it wa'n't the last, fer he made straight fer the parson's
house 'n' begun pummellin' on the door.

"'O Lord, take me in,' he said when the parson opened it, 'I'm come fer
at last 'n' the divil's arter me. Pray fer me, parson, an' for God's
sake, do it quick!' An' then he went down on his knees, 'n' sayin',
'Lordy, Lordy, I'll never drink 'nother drop's long's I live!' Parson
Bush was a good deal took back, fer he didn't know the joke, 'n' 'lowed
Bill had the tremens. 'Better go back to yer shanty, ye sot,' he said,
'an' when you git sober come here 'n' I'll talk with ye,' an' with that
he shet the door 'n' Bill jist laid down 'n' bellowed like a calf. 'N'
he didn't go back to his shanty, either, that night, not by a jugful;
he'd seen 'nough o' that spot ter last him quite a spell. 'N' when he
did thar warn't nuthin' out o' ordinary, fer we'd chucked the hogfish
off the rocks, 'n' 'twas more 'n a year 'fore Bill found out the trick
we played, 'n' in all that time he kept sober. He did find out arter a
spell, fer a joke like that can't be kept allus, 'n' when Bill did, he
took ter drink agin, 'n' finally jumped off the dock one night in a fit
o' the jims 'n' that was the last o' him. It's hard to larn an old dog
new tricks."

For an hour the little crowd of Jess Hutton's friends lingered,
wondering and speculating on what the outcome of this investment in a
granite ledge would be. To most it seemed a piece of folly or the act of
a madman. These worthless rocks had stared them in the face so many
years, had so interfered with house building, or the convenient placing
of fish racks, or road making, that they had one and all come to hate
their very sight. In their estimation they were a nuisance and a curse,
and for any sane man to buy twenty acres of ledge to quarry and
transport five hundred miles, seemed worse than folly.

Then, having given due expression to this common sentiment, and
congratulating Jess upon his good luck, they shook hands with him and
went their way. And when the sound of their footsteps upon the one
narrow plank walk of Rockhaven had ceased, and only the murmur of the
near-by ocean was heard, Jess, as was his wont when lonesome, drew his
old brown fiddle from its hiding place and sought consolation from its
strings. And also, as usual, the melodies were the songs of Bonnie
Scotland.




CHAPTER II

WINN HARDY


Winn Hardy, born and reared where the tinkle of the cow bells on the
hillside pastures, or the call of the village church bell on Sunday was
the most exciting incident, and a crossroads schoolhouse the only temple
of learning, reached the age of fourteen as utterly untainted by
knowledge of the world as the birds that annually visited the old farm
orchards. And then came a catastrophe in his life which ended in two
freshly made graves in the village cemetery, and he was thrust into the
whirl of city life, to make his home with a widowed aunt, a Mrs.
Converse, who felt it her duty to complete his education by a two years'
course at a business college.

It was a scant educational outfit with which to carve his way to fame
and fortune, but many a man succeeds who has less, and Winn might have
been worse off.

He had one unfortunate and serious fact to contend with, however, and
that was a mercurial disposition. When the world and his associates
seemed to smile, he soared amid the rosy clouds of optimism, and when
things went wrong, he lost his courage.

His first step in wage-earning (a menial position in a store, with
scanty pay which scarce sufficed to clothe him) soon convinced him how
hard a task earning a livelihood was, and that no one obtained a penny
unless he fought for it. Then through the influence of his aunt, he
obtained an easier berth as copy clerk in the office of Weston & Hill,
whose business was the investing of other people's money, and while his
hours of service were less, his pay was no better. Three years of this
resulted in slow advancement to a junior bookkeeper's desk and better
pay. It also broadened his list of acquaintances, for he joined a club,
the membership of which was decidedly mixed, and not all of the best
kind of associates for Winn.

His aunt, a shallow though well-meaning woman, devoted to church work,
gossip, and her pet poodle, considering Winn an unfortunate addition to
her cares, held but scant influence over him. She furnished him a home
to sleep and eat in without cost, urged him to attend church with her,
cautioned him against evil associates; but beyond that she could not and
did not go. So Winn drifted. He saved a little money, realizing that he
must, or be forever helpless and dependent; he learned the slang of the
town and its ways, and forgot for a time the wholesome lessons of his
early life. He also grew more mercurial, and, worse than that, he grew
cynical.

On all sides, and go where he would, the arrogance of wealth seemed to
hedge him about and force upon him the realization that he was but a
poorly paid bookkeeper, and not likely to become aught else. And then a
worse mishap befell him--he met and became attached to Jack Nickerson.

There is in every club, and in every walk in life, wherever a young
man's feet may stray, some one it were better he never met--a
Mephistopheles in male garb, whose wit and ways of pleasure-taking are
alluring, whose manners are perfect, whose pockets are well filled; and
alas, whose morals are a matter of convenience.

That Winn, honest and wholesome-minded country-born fellow that he was,
should be attracted by this product of fast city life is not strange. It
is the attraction that allures the moth toward the flame, the good
toward evil. Follow Nickerson in that course, Winn would not and did
not; he merely admired him for his wit, felt half tempted to emulate his
vices, absorbed his scepticism--for Jack Nickerson in addition to his
vices was a cynic of the most implacable sort. With him all religion was
hypocrisy, all virtue a folly, and all truth a farce. He had income
sufficient to live well upon, gambled for a pastime, was at the race
tracks whenever chance offered, was cheek by jowl with the sporting
fraternity, a man about town and hail fellow well met with all.

Per contra, he was generous to a fault, laughed most when he uttered his
sharpest sneers, was polished and refined in his tastes and a gentleman
always.

One distinguished novelist has deified such a man, and made him a hero
of her numerous tales.

To Winn he appealed more as a fascinating, world-wise sceptic, whose
shafts of satire were gospel truths, and whose Sybarite sort of
existence was worthy of emulation, if one only had the money to follow
it.

Then, as if to cap the climax and Winn's cynical education, he fell in
love with Ethel Sherman, a beauty and a natural-born flirt, whose ideas
of life and maternal training had convinced her that marriage was a
matter of business, and a means by which to obtain position and wealth.

Her family were people of moderate means, living near neighbors to
Winn's aunt and attending the same church. She had an elder sister,
Grace, who had, in her estimation, wrecked her life by marrying a poor
man. And when Winn Hardy, young, handsome and callow, first met her, she
was just home from boarding-school, ready to spread her social wings,
and ripe for conquest.

Winn's aunt was also somewhat to blame in the matter, for she, like many
good women, loved to dabble in match-making, and in her simple mind
fancied it a wise move to bring one about between Ethel and Winn.

Its results were disastrous to his peace of mind, for, after dancing
attendance for a year and spending half he earned on flowers and theatre
tickets, his suit was laughed at and he was assured that only a rich
young man was eligible to her favor.

Then he went back to Jack Nickerson, and, though he outgrew his folly,
his impulsive nature became more pronounced and he a more bitter cynic
than ever. For two years he was but a cipher in business and social
life, a poorly paid bookkeeper in the office of Weston & Hill, a drop in
the rushing, pushing, strenuous life of the city; and then came a
change.




CHAPTER III

THE ROCKHAVEN GRANITE COMPANY


"Please step into my private office, Mr. Hardy," said J. Malcolm Weston,
head of Weston & Hill, bankers, brokers, and investment securities, as
stated on the two massive nickel plates that flanked their doorway, "I
have a matter of business to discuss with you."

Ordinarily Mr. J. Malcolm Weston would have said, "You may step into my
private office, Mr. Hardy," when, as in this case, he addressed his
bookkeeper, for Mr. Weston never forgot his dignity in the presence of a
subordinate. It may be added that he never forgot to address a possible
customer as though he owned millions, for J. Malcolm Weston was master
of the fine art of obsequious deference, and his persuasive smile,
cordial hand grasp, and copious use of flowery language had cost many a
cautious man hundreds of dollars. Mr. Weston can best be described as
unctuous, and belonged to that class of men who part their names and
hair in the middle, but make no division in money matters, merely taking
it all.

When Winn Hardy had obeyed his employer's suave invitation and was
seated in his presence, he was made to feel that he had suddenly stepped
into a sunnier clime.

"It gives me great pleasure, Mr. Hardy," continued Weston, "to inform
you that we have decided to enlarge your sphere of duty with us, and I
may say, responsibilities. Mr. Hill and myself have considered the
matter carefully, and, in view of your faithful and efficient services,
we shall from now on confide to you the management of an outside matter
of great importance. Please examine this prospectus, which will appear
to-morrow in all the papers of this city."

Winn took the typewritten document tendered him and carefully scanned
its contents. To show its importance it is given in full, though with
reduced headlines:--

    THE ROCKHAVEN GRANITE COMPANY.
            CAPITAL, $1,000,000.00.
    Stock non-assessable.  Shares $1.00 each.
           Par Value, $10.00.
     President, J. MALCOLM WESTON.
           BOARD OF DIRECTORS:
    J. Malcolm Weston of Weston & Hill.
      William M. Simmons, Member of Stock Exchange.
        William B. Codman, President National Bank of Discount.
          Samuel H. Wiseman, Real Estate Broker.
            L. Orton Brown, Secretary Board of Trade.
    Office of Company: Weston & Hill, Bankers, Brokers, and Investments.

     PROSPECTUS

     This Company has purchased and now owns the finest granite
     quarries in the world, over one mile in length and half that in
     width, fronting upon the land-locked harbor on the island of
     Rockhaven. It has a full and perfect equipment of steam drills,
     engines, derricks, an excellent wharf, vessels for transporting
     freight, and all modern appliances for carrying on the business
     of quarrying.

     It is well known that the rapid growth of architectural taste
     produces an ever increasing demand for this, the best of all
     building stone, and as we furnish the finest quality of
     granite, having that beautiful pink tint so much admired by
     architects, you can readily see that our advantages and
     prospects are limitless. This is no delusive scheme for gold
     mining or oil boring, but a solid and practical business that
     guarantees sure returns and certain dividends.

     Our supply of granite is exhaustless, the market limitless, and
     all that we need to develop this quarry and obtain lucrative
     returns is a little additional capital. For this purpose fifty
     thousand shares of the capital stock are now offered for sale
     at one dollar per share, so that the investor may receive the
     benefit of the advance to par which will follow, as well as the
     liberal dividends which will surely accrue.

     The price of stock will be advanced from time to time, as it is
     taken up.

     Subscription books now open at the office of

     WESTON & HILL, Financiers.

"It reads well," observed Winn, after he had perused this alluring
advertisement, "and I should imagine an investment in a granite quarry
might seem a safe one."

"Yes, decidedly safe as well as secure," replied J. Malcolm Weston, with
a twinkle in his steely blue eyes not observed by Winn. "I wrote that ad
with the intention of attracting investors who desire a solid investment
for their money, and fancy I have succeeded. You noticed, perhaps, my
allusion to gold mines and oil wells that have recently proved so
elusive." Then taking a box of cigars, and passing them to Winn, and
elevating his feet to a desk, as if to enjoy the telling of a pleasant
episode, Mr. Weston continued: "That prospectus (which I pride myself is
an artistic piece of work) will attract just the class of men who have
grown suspicious of all sorts of schemes. It is this element of solidity
and certainty that we shall elaborate upon. Now I will tell you about
our plan and how you are to assist us in carrying it out. As you may
recall, I was away last summer with Simmons on his yacht, and while on
our trip we landed upon an island called Rockhaven, up the north coast.
It is sort of a double island, half cut in two by a safe harbor, and
populated by a few hundred simple fisher-folk. We remained there a few
days looking over the island, and I noticed that some one had started
quarrying the granite of which the island is composed. That, and the
location of the quarry, which faced this harbor, set me thinking. It
ended in my inquiring out the owner, an eccentric old fellow who kept a
small store and fiddled when he hadn't any customers, and finally buying
the quarry. I paid him one thousand down, and we are to pay him one
thousand more when deeds are passed. We are now going to send you up
there to complete the purchase, paying him the balance, if you can, in
stock; then hire men, improve the dock, set up the machinery we shall
send you, and begin quarrying operations. That will be one of your
duties. The other, and principal, one will be to get the natives
interested in this home industry, and sell stock to them. To this end it
may be necessary for you to give a little away to those whose influence
may be of value. We have already booked several orders for building
stone, which you will get out as per specifications and shipments. It
will be necessary for you to hire one or two vessels for this purpose,
or else contract for delivery of stone to us at so much per cargo. There
is a small steamer which makes regular trips to this island, so we can
reach you by mail.

"Now there is another matter, also of great importance. In order to
stimulate your interest in the success of this enterprise, we shall make
you a present of five hundred shares of this stock provided you can
raise the money to purchase, at one dollar per share, another block of
five hundred, or, what would answer as well, induce your aunt to do so."

It was the glittering bait, intended by the wily Weston to catch and
hold his dupe, Winn Hardy.

"I have some money laid away," answered Winn, his sense of caution
obscured by this alluring offer, "and with a little help from my aunt, I
feel sure I can manage it; at least, I will try."

"We do not need this investment of five hundred dollars on your part,
Mr. Hardy," continued Weston, in a grandiloquent tone; "as you must be
aware, it is but a drop in the bucket, and we only wish it to induce
your more hearty cooeperation in pushing this enterprise to a successful
ending. If we make money, as we are sure to do, you will also share in
it. It is needless for me to tell you that this is the golden
opportunity of your life, and if you take hold with a will, and not only
manage this quarry with good business discretion, but, what is of more
importance, sell all the stock you can, you will reap a small fortune.
This enterprise is sure to be a money-maker and we expect inside of a
year to see Rockhaven go to ten, twenty, or possibly thirty dollars per
share."

And Winn Hardy, though sophisticated in a minor degree, believed it, and
true to his nature, leaped at once into the clouds, where sudden riches
and all that follows seemed within his grasp. Not only did he easily
persuade his excellent, though credulous, aunt, to lend him the money he
needed, but when he left for his new field of labor, he had so impressed
her with his newly acquired delusion that she made haste to call upon
Weston & Hill and invest a few thousand herself.

How disastrous that venture proved and how much woe and sorrow followed
need not be specified at present. True to her feminine nature, she told
no one, not even Winn, of her investment; and until the meteoric career
of Rockhaven had become ancient history on the street, only the books of
those shrewd schemers and her own safe deposit box knew her secret.




CHAPTER IV

WHERE THE SEA-GULLS COME


Like a pair of Titanic spectacles joined with a bridge of granite, the
two halves of Rockhaven faced the Atlantic billows, as grim and defiant
as when Leif Ericson's crew of fearless Norsemen sailed into its
beautiful harbor. With a coast line of bold cliffs, indented by
occasional fissures and crested with stunted spruce, the interior,
sloping toward the centre, hears only the whisper of the ocean winds.

Rockhaven has a history, and it is one filled with the pathos of
poverty, from that day, long ago, when Captain Carver first sailed into
its land-locked harbor to split, salt, and dry his sloop load of cod on
the sunny slope of a granite ledge, until now, when two straggling
villages of tiny houses, interspersed with racks for drying cod, a few
untidy fishing smacks tied up at its small wharves, and a little
steamboat that daily journeys back and forth to the main land, thirty
miles distant, entitles it to be called inhabited. In that history also
is incorporated many ghastly tales of shipwreck on its forbidding and
wave-beaten shores, of long winters when its ledges and ravines were
buried beneath a pall of snow, its little fleet of fishermen
storm-stayed in the harbor, and food and fuel scarce. It also has its
romantic tales of love and waiting to end in despair, when some fisher
boy sailed away and never came back; and one that had a tragic ending,
when a fond and foolish maiden ended years of waiting by hanging herself
in the old tide mill.

And, too, it has had its religious revival, when a wave of Bible reading
and conversion swept over its poorly fed people, to be followed by a
split in its one Baptist church on the merits and truths of close
communion or its opposite, to end in the formation of another.

It also had its moods, fair and charming when the warm south wind barely
ripples the blue sea about, the wild roses smile between its granite
ledges, and the sea-gulls sail leisurely over them; or else gloomy and
solemn when it lies hid under a pall of fog while the ocean surges boom
and bellow along its rock-ribbed shore.

On the inner and right-hand shore of the secure harbor, a small fishing
village fringes both sides of a long street, and at the head of the
harbor, one mile away, stands another hamlet. The first and larger
village is called Rockhaven, the other Northaven. Each has its little
church and schoolhouse, also used for town meetings, its one or two
general stores, and a post-office. Those in Rockhaven, where fishing is
the sole industry, are permeated with that salty odor of cured fish,
combined with tar, coffee, and kerosene; and scattered over the interior
are a score of modest farmhouses.

At one end of the harbor, and where the village of Northaven stands, a
natural gateway of rock almost cuts off a portion of the harbor, and
here was an old tide mill, built of unhewn stone, but now unused, its
roof fallen in, its gates rotted away, and the abutments that once held
it in place now used to support a bridge.

On one of the headlands just north of Rockhaven village, and known as
Norse Hill, stands a peculiar structure, a circular stone tower open at
the top and with an entrance on the inner or landward side. Tradition
says this was built by the Norsemen as a place of worship. Beyond this
hill, at the highest point of the island, is a deep fissure in the
coast, ending in a small open cave above tidewater and facing the south.
This is known as the Devil's Oven. On either side of this gorge, and
extending back from it, is a thicket of stunted spruce. The bottom and
sides of this inlet, semicircular in shape, are coated thick with
rockweed and bare at low tide. On the side of the harbor opposite
Rockhaven, and facing it, is a small granite quarry owned and
occasionally operated by one of the natives, a quaint old bachelor named
Jesse Hutton. In summer, and until late in the fall, each morning a
small fleet of fishing craft spread their wings and sail away, to return
each night. On the wharves and between most of the small brown houses
back of them, are fish racks of various sizes, interspersed with tiny
sheds built beside rocks, old battered boats, piles of rotting nets,
broken lobster pots, and a medley of wrack of all sorts and kinds,
beaten and bleached by the salty sea.

In summer, too, a white-winged yacht, trim and trig, with her brass
rails, tiny cannon, and duck-clad crew, occasionally sails into the
harbor and anchors, to send her complement of fashionable
pleasure-seekers ashore. Here they ramble along the one main street,
with its plank walk, peeping curiously into the open doors and windows
of the shops, at the simply clad women and barefooted children who eye
them with awe. Each are as wide apart from the other as the poles in
their dress, manners, and ways of living, and each as much a curiosity
to the other.

Of the social life of the island there is little to be said, for it is
as simple as the garb of its plain people, who never grow rich and are
seldom very poor. Each of the two villages is blessed with a diminutive
church, Baptist in denomination, the one at Rockhaven the oldest and
known as Hard-Shell; that at Northaven as Free-Will. Each calls together
most of the womenkind and grown-up children, as well as a few of the
men, every Sunday, while the rest of the men, if in summer, lounge
around the wharves smoking and swapping yarns. There is no great
interest in religion among either sex, and church attendance seems more
a social pleasure than a duty.

Occasionally a few of the young people will get together, as young folks
always do, to play games; and though it is in the creed of both churches
that dancing is to be abjured, nevertheless old Jess Hutton, whose
fiddle was his wife, child, and sole companion in his solitude, was
occasionally induced to play and call off for the lads and lasses of the
town, with a fringe of old folks around the walls as spectators.

"I like to see 'em dance," he always said, "fer they look so happy when
at it; 'sides, when they get old they won't want to. Dancin's as nat'ral
to young folks as grass growin' in spring."

Every small village has its oracle, whose opinion on all matters passes
current as law and gospel, whose stories and jokes are repeated by all,
and who is by tacit consent chosen moderator at town meetings, holds the
office of selectman and chairman of the school committee for life, is
accepted as referee in all disputes, and the friend, counsellor, and
adviser of all. Such a man in Rockhaven was Jesse Hutton. Though he
argued with the Rev. Jason Bush, who officiated at Rockhaven on Sundays,
about the unsocial nature of close communion, and occasionally met and
had a tilt with the Northaven minister, he was a friend to both.

"Goin' to church and believin' in a futur'," he would say, "is jest as
necessary to livin' and happiness as sparkin' on the part of young folks
is necessary to the makin' o' homes."

For Jesse Hutton, or simply Jess, as old and young called him, was in
his way a bit of a philosopher, and his philosophy may be summed up by
saying that he had the happy faculty of looking upon the dark side of
life cheerfully. It also may be said that he looked upon the cheerful
side of life temperately.

And here it may be prudent to insert a little of Jess Hutton's history.
He was the elder of two brothers, schoolboys on the island when its
population numbered less than one hundred, and one small brown
schoolhouse served as a place of worship on Sundays as well as a temple
of learning on week-days. Here the two boys Jesse and Jethro, received
scant education, and at the age of fourteen and sixteen, respectively,
knew more about the sailing of fishing smacks and the catching and
curing of cod and mackerel than of decimal fractions and the rule of
three.

And then the Civil War came on, and when its wave of patriotism reached
far-off Rockhaven, Jess Hutton, then a sturdy young man, enlisting in
the navy under Farragut, served his country bravely and well. Then Jess
came back, a limping hero, to find his brother Jethro deeply in love
with pretty Letty Carver, for whom Jess had cherished a boyish
admiration, and in a fair way to secure a home, with her as a chief
incentive. Jess made no comment when he saw which way the wind blew in
that quarter, but, philosopher that he was, even then, quietly but
promptly turned his face away from the island and for a score of years
Rockhaven knew not of his whereabouts. Gossips, recalling how he and
Letty, as grown-up school children, had played together along the sandy
beach of the little harbor or by the old tide mill, then grinding its
grist, asserted that Jess had been driven away by disappointment; but
beyond surmise they could not go, for to no one did he impart one word
of his reasons for leaving the island and the scenes of his boyhood.

Twenty years later, Letty Carver, who had become Mrs. Jethro Hutton, was
left a widow with one child, a little girl named Mona, a small white
cottage on Rock Lane, and, so far as any one knew, not much else.

And then Jess Hutton returned.

Once more the gossips became busy with what Jess would or should do,
especially as he seemed to have brought back sufficient means to at once
build a respectable dwelling place, the upper half fitted for a domicile
and the lower for a store.

But all surmise came to naught, together with all the well-meant and
excellent domestic paths mapped out by the busybodies for Jess and the
widow to follow, for when the combination house was done and the store
stocked, Jess Hutton attended regularly to the latter and kept
bachelor's hall in the former; and though he was an occasional caller at
the cottage in Rock Lane and usually walked to church with the widow and
little Mona on Sundays, the store and its customers by day or night were
his chief care, and his solitary home merely a place to sleep in. And
yet not; for beyond that, during his many years of wandering on the
mainland, he had contracted the habit of amusing himself with the
violin when lonesome, and Jess, the eccentric old bachelor, as some
termed him, and his fiddle became a curiosity among the odd and yet
simple people of Rockhaven. Then, too, the little girl, Mona, his niece,
became, as she grew up, his protegee and care, and he her one
inseparable friend and adviser.




CHAPTER V

JESS HUTTON


Like one of the spruces that towered high above others on Rockhaven,
like one of the granite cliffs bidding defiance to storm and wave, so
did Jess Hutton tower above his fellow-men. Not from stature, though he
stood full six feet, or that he was impressive in other ways--far from
it. He was like a child among men in simplicity, in tenderness, in truth
and kindly nature--a man among children in strict adherence to his
conscience, to justice and right living. And all on Rockhaven knew it,
and all had the same unvarying confidence in his good sense and justice,
his truth and honor, conscience and kindness. What he predicted nearly
always came true; what he promised he always fulfilled, and no one ever
asked his aid in vain. Others quarrelled, made mistakes, repented of
errors, lost time in fruitless ventures; but Jess--never. He was like a
great ship moving majestically among boats, a lighthouse pointing to
safe harbor, a walking conscience like a compass, a giant among pigmies
in scope of mind, keenness of insight, and accurate reading of others'
moods and impulses.

And so he towered above all on Rockhaven.

Beyond that he was a philosopher who saw a silver lining behind all
clouds, laughed at all vanities, and made a jest of all follies. To him
men were grown-up children who needed to be amused and directed; and
women the custodians of life and morals, home, and happiness. They
deserved the mantle of charity and patience, love, and tenderness.

He was not religious. He had never felt a so-called change of heart, and
yet he was a walking example of the best that religion encourages, for
he governed himself, set the pace of right living, and illustrated the
golden rule.

He believed in that first and foremost, and in setting a good example as
far as lay in his power, but not in any professions.

"Ye mustn't feel I ain't on yer side," he said once to Parson Bush, who
had urged him to join the church, "for I am, only it's agin my natur ter
'low I've had a special dispensation o' the Lord's grace in my behalf.
I'm a weak vessel, like all on us, an' my impulses need caulkin'. I do
the best I kin, 'cordin' to my light, 'n' that's all any man kin. The
Lord won't go back on us fer not gittin' dipped, an' if there's a
heaven beyond, our only chance o' a seat is by startin' an annex right
here on airth. Sayin' you've joined the Lord's army's well enough, but
doin' what ye feel the Lord's tryin' to, is better.

"Ez Sally Harper used ter say in meetin', 'We're all on us poor
critters, an' if we jine, there's no tellin' when we'll backslide.'"

It was perhaps the consciousness of inherent human weakness that kept
Jess out of the fold.

"A man may do right 'n' keep on doin' right 'most all his life long," he
said, "an' some day up pops a temptation, when he's least prepared
for't, and over he goes like a sailboat 'thout ballast in a gale o'
wind. An' then what becomes o' all yer 'lowin' the Lord's opened yer
eyes 'n' gin ye extra grace? Ye only get laughed at by the scoffers 'n'
yer influence gone fer good. Human nature's brittle stuff, an' them as
does right 'thout any change o' heart, come purty near bein' leaders in
the percession toward the Throne."

His philosophy, broad as infinite mercy and humble as a child's
happiness, permeated all his thoughts and tinged all his speeches.

"No joy's quite so comfortin' as we cac'late," he would say, "an' no
sorrer quite so worryin'. We go through life anticipatin' happy
termorrers and glorious next days, and when we git to 'em, somehow
they've sorter faded away, and it's to be the next day and the next as
is ter be the bright uns. Then, we are all on us like boys, chasing jack
o' lanterns over a swamp medder, an' if we 'low they're clus to an' jest
ready to grab, the next we know we've stumbled inter a ditch.

"And then we borrer trouble, heaps on't, all through life. From the day
we git scared at thought o' speakin' pieces at school, till the doctor
shakes his head an' asks us if we've got our will made, we are dreadin'
suthin'. If 'taint sickness or bein' robbed, it's worryin' 'bout our
nabors havin' more'n we do. The feller courtin' worries for fear the gal
won't say 'yes,' an' when she does he is likely to see the time he
wishes she hadn't, an' worries 'cause he's got her. We worry ourselves
old 'n' wrinkled 'n' gray, an' then, more'n all this world, worry 'bout
the next. An' thar's whar the parson 'n' I allus split tacks. He says
the Lord made the brimstone lake fer sinners, 'n' I say the Lord made
conscience as a means o' torture, an' here or hereafter it's hot 'nuff."

And here it must be inserted that Jess was to a certain extent a thorn
in the parson's side, from the fact that his influence and following
were stronger than that worthy man's. It was what Jess believed and
said that was quoted rather than the parson's assertions; and although
Jess seldom failed to be one of his listeners, and contributed more than
any five or ten others toward his scant salary, there were times when he
was made to feel that if Jess occupied the pulpit the church would be
packed. And so it would, humiliating as that fact was to him.

And here also may be related an incident in Rockhaven history which
illustrates how slim a hold the parson and his preaching had upon those
islanders. As it happened that year, mackerel were late in reaching the
coast. The price was correspondingly high, and Rockhaven's band of
fishermen eager to make the first haul. Most of them attended church,
but now, while the suspense was on, when Sunday came, two or three
watchers were stationed on convenient cliffs with orders to report to
the church if a school was sighted.

This was kept up for three weeks, and then, one Sunday, just as the
first morning hymn in long metre had been sung, and the parson, with
closed eyes, had got well started in his prayer, down through the
village street bounded one of those sentinels, yelling, "Mack'rel,
mack'rel, millions on 'em!"

And in less than five minutes there wasn't a man, woman, or child left
in the church except Jess Hutton and the parson. And when that good man
had said "Amen," Jess arose and suggested they too follow the crowd.

"Ye might's well," said Jess, with a twinkle in his eye, "the model o'
all Christianity sot the example, 'cordin' to Scriptur', an' ye might do
good by follerin' it."

But the worthy leader of that flock who had thus deserted him failed to
see the humor of the situation and sadly shook his head. He remained in
the sanctuary and Jess joined the fishermen.

It was such a peculiar, sympathetic, and broad understanding of these
fisher-folk's carnal as well as spiritual needs that made Jess the
oracle and leader of the island.

"Thar wa'n't no need o' gettin' fussy over it," he said later to the
good dominie, with a laugh, "religion's good 'nuff when mack'rel's
fetchin only a dollar a kit; but when three's offered 'n' scace at that,
prayers hain't got their usual grip. And ye oughtn't ter 'spect it,
parson. The way to reach 'em's to be one with 'em and sorter feel thar
needs, and make em feel they're yer own. If ye'd gone with 'em that day
and helped 'em make a haul, an' then invited 'em to join ye in a prayer
o' thankfulness, thar want one but 'ud a-kneeled down at yer bidding
and said 'Amen.'"

And that was Jess Hutton and partially the secret of his supremacy on
Rockhaven.

Another point--he had always believed and practised the sterling rule of
"paying scot and lot as you go." While Jess forgot injuries, he always
remembered favors. If an unwashed, uncombed, and even unnamed child
brought him but a sea-shell, Jess never failed to reward the act. And so
on, upward, to each and all he returned all favors, paid all debts, and
rewarded all kindnesses. And how they trusted him! A fisher lad, saving
up for a new suit of clothes or a boat of his own, would, before
starting on a trip, leave his money with Jess for safe keeping. The
owner of a smack or schooner, ready for another cruise, would ask Jess
to take charge of the quintals and kits of fish just landed, sell them
to best advantage, and hold the proceeds till he returned, or longer.
Not only was Jess selling agent for most of them, but the safe in his
store was a bank of deposit for them also. What he did not keep to
supply their needs, they told him to get without bargaining, sure it
would be what they wanted, and at right, or lowest price.

And this trust was mutual.

"If I ain't here, help yourselves," while not a sign over his door, was
understood by all to be the rule; and every one in the island, from a
child wanting a stick of candy to the skipper needing a dozen suits of
oilers, followed it.

Jess had habits, and one was to devote all the time his dearly loved
niece, Mona Hutton, claimed to her amusement; and when she asked that he
accompany her flower or shell hunting of a summer afternoon, the store
could run itself for all that he cared.

It may be surmised that children exposed to the temptation of candy,
oranges, and nuts in his store, would pilfer, and some did; but that did
not annoy him.

"Hookin' things allus carries its own whip," he would say, "an' if they
wanter try it, let 'em. It's bound to be found out, one way or 'nother,
and when I've shamed 'em once or twice, they'll larn it's cheaper to ask
for 'em."

Children were seldom refused in his store, for he was like a boy baiting
squirrels with nuts in his desire to lure children there.

They were his chief solace and companions by day, for he kept bachelor's
hall over his store, and to have a crowd of them around was the company
he best enjoyed.

And what a godsend and wellspring of delight Jess and his store were to
all Rockhaven's progeny. In summer they came in barefooted bunches, even
to the toddlers who could scarce lisp their own names. They played hide
and seek behind his barrels and beneath his counter; they hid in empty
boxes and under piles of old sails in his back room. They littered his
piazza with crabs, starfish, long strips of kelpie and shells, they had
gathered among the rocks and on the beach, and left the few poor toys
and rag babies they possessed there. They ran riot over him and his
store; and as a climax to the happy after-school hour, Jess would
produce his old fiddle, and if there is any music that will reach a
child's heart, it is that.

And while Jess played they leaped, danced, crowed, and shouted as
insanely happy children will.

To him it was also supreme delight.

To them he was a perpetual Santa Claus, a wonder among men, a father
bountiful, whose welcome never failed, whose smile was always cordial,
and whose love seemed limitless. And they would obey a shake of his head
even. And when the frolic had lasted long enough and he said, "Run home
now," off they scampered. It is small wonder Jess Hutton was chief man
of Rockhaven.

But Jess had a vein of satire as well as philosophy.

"It's human natur," he would say, "for all of us to think our own
children's brighter'n our neighbor's, an' our own joys and sorrers o'
more account, and 'specially our aches and pains, 'n' them we never get
tired o' tellin' 'bout.

"There was the Widder Bunker, fer instance; she had a heap o' trouble
and the only comfort she got was tellin' on't. She had rumatiz 'n' biles
'n' janders 'n' liver complaint, ever since she was left a widder, an'
all she could talk 'bout was what ailed her an' how long it had lasted
an' what the symptoms were an' what she was doin' fer 'em. She'd run on
fer hours 'bout all her ailin's till folks 'ud go off 'n' leave her. She
got so daft on this subject, finally, everybody'd run fer safety and
hide when they saw her comin'. She used ter talk in meetin' onct in a
while, 'n' arter a spell her aches got sorter mixed up with her
religion, an' as nobody else 'ud listen to her 'bout 'em, the first we
knowed, she 'gan tellin' the Lord how her asmer bothered her and how her
rumatiz acted. She enjied it so much, an' the Lord seemed to listen so
well, she kept at it over an hour, until the parson had to ask her to
quit.

"It was sorter rough on the widder, an' as I told the parson arterward,
it really wa'n't any wuss fer the Lord to hev to listen to her bodily
aches and pains than the spiritual ones the rest allus told him 'bout;
'sides it gin a spice o' variety ter the meetin'.

"But he said her tellin' the Lord how she'd hump herself to get breath,
and how the rumatiz had started in her big toe and skipped from one jint
to 'tother, 'ud set the boys in the back seats to titterin' 'n' break up
the meetin'.

"I allus felt sorry for the Widder Bunker, fer she had considerable hair
on her upper lip an' a hair mole on her chin, 'sides bein' poorer'n a
church mouse, an' sich unfortunate critters hez to take back seats at
the Lord's table."




CHAPTER VI

THE BUD OF A ROMANCE


The little steamer _Rockhaven_ was but a speck on the southern horizon,
the fishermen that had earlier spread their wings were still in sight
that June morning, and Jess Hutton, having swept his store, sat tilted
back in an arm-chair on his piazza, smoking while he watched the white
sails to the eastward, when a tall, well-formed, and city-garbed young
man approached.

"My name's Hardy," he said, smiling as his brown eyes took in Jess and
his surroundings at a glance, "and I represent Weston & Hill and have
come to open and manage the quarry they own here. You are Mr. Hutton, I
believe?"

Jess rose and extended a brown and wrinkled hand. "That's my name," he
said, "'n' I'm glad ter see ye. But ter tell ye the truth, I never
'spected ter. It's been most a year now since yer boss landed here and
bought my ledge o' stun, and I've made up my mind he did it jist fer
fun, 'n' havin' money ter throw 'way. Hev a cheer, won't ye?" And
stepping inside he brought one out.

Winn seated himself, and glancing down at the row of small, brown houses
and sheds that fringed the harbor shore below them, and then across to
where the ledge of granite faced them, replied, "Oh, Mr. Weston is not
the man to throw away money, but it takes time to organize a company and
get ready to operate a quarry;" and pausing to draw from an inside
pocket a red pocketbook, and extracting a crisp bit of paper, he added,
"the first duty, Mr. Hutton, is to pay the balance due you, and here is
a check to cover it."

Jess eyed it curiously.

"It's good, I guess," he said as he looked it over, "but out here we
don't use checks; it's money down or no trade."

Then without more words he arose, and limping a little as he entered the
store, handed Winn a long, yellow envelope. "Here's the deed; an' the
quarry's yourn, an' ye kin begin blasting soon's ye like."

"I cannot do anything for a few days," replied Winn, "for the tools and
machinery have not yet arrived, and in the meantime I must look about
and hire some men. In this matter I must ask you to aid me, and in
fact, I must ask your help in many ways."

"I'll do what I kin," answered Jess, "an' it won't be hard ter git men.
Most on 'em here ain't doin' more'n keepin' soul an' body together
fishin' an'll jump at the chance o' airnin' fair wages quarryin'.

"Where did yer put up, if I may ask? I heerd last night a stranger had
fetched in on the steamer."

"I found lodging with a Mrs. Moore," answered Winn; "the boat's skipper
showed me where she lived; and now, if you will be good enough, I would
like to have you show me the quarry and then I will look around for men
to work it."

"Ye don't come here cac'latin' to waste much time," observed Jess,
smiling, "but as fer hirin' men, ye best let me do it."

"I should be grateful if you will," answered Winn, "I feel I must ask
you to aid me in many ways. What we want," he continued, having in mind
his instructions, "is to establish a permanent and paying industry here,
and enlist the interest of those who have means to invest. We want to
make it a sort of cooeperative business, as it were."

"I don't quite ketch yer drift," replied Jess.

"I mean," responded Winn, "that we want to make this a home industry,
and to get all those here who have means to take stock in it and share
in the profits."

Jess made no immediate answer, evidently thinking. "Wal, we'll see 'bout
that bimeby," he said finally. "It's a matter as won't do ter hurry.
Folks here are mighty keerful, 'n' none on 'em's likely ter do much
bakin' till their oven's hot. 'Sides, there ain't many as own more'n the
roof that shelters 'em, and not over well shingled, at that. Money's
skeercer'n hen's teeth here, Mr. Hardy."

"I shall be guided by your opinion," answered Winn, realizing the truth
of what Jess had said, "and we will let that matter rest for the
present. Now if you will show me the quarry, I will look it over and let
you see what can be done in the way of getting men to work it. Whatever
you do for us we shall insist on paying you for."

"Queer old fellow," mused Winn to himself two hours later, after he had
parted from Jess, "but I doubt if he buys much of this quarry stock." It
is likely that surmise would have been a positive certainty if Jess
Hutton, with horse sense as hard as this granite ledge and wits as keen
as the briars that grew on top of it, had known that the quarry he had
sold for two thousand dollars and considered it well paid for, was the
sole basis for a stock company capitalized at one million dollars. But
he did not, and neither does many another blind fool who buys
"gilt-edged" stock in gold mines, oil wells, and schemes of all sorts,
know that his investment rests on as insecure and trifling a basis; for
the world is full of sharpers who continually set traps for the unwary
and always catch them, and, although their name is legion, their dupes
are as the sands of the sea.

But of Winn Hardy, who had come to Rockhaven, as he honestly believed
and felt, to carry out a legitimate business enterprise, it must not be
thought that he for one moment understood the deep-laid schemes of J.
Malcolm Weston, for he did not. While the ratio of value between the
capitalization of the Rockhaven Granite Company and the original cost of
the quarry seemed absurd, it did not follow but that Weston & Hill might
not intend actually to put capital into it sufficient to warrant such an
issue of stock. All of which would go to show that Winn Hardy had not as
yet entirely escaped the trammels of his inherited honesty and bringing
up, which insensibly led him to judge others by himself.

And that afternoon, having nothing to do, and curious to explore this
rock-ribbed island that was like to be his home for some months, he
started out on a tour of exploration. First he followed the seldom-used
road that connects the two villages, up to Northaven, and looked that
over. There was a little green in the centre where stood the small
church, and grouped about, a dozen or two houses and two or three
stores, while back of this, and below an arm of the harbor, it narrowed
down to where the roadway crossed it. Beside this stood an old stone
mill, or what was once the walls of one, for the roof was gone. He
examined it carefully, peering into its ghostly interior and down to
where the ebb tide had left its base walls bare. To this, and to the
piles that had once held the tide gates, were clinging masses of black
mussels, with here and there a pink starfish nestled among them. Then,
following this arm of the sea until it ended, he crossed a half mile of
billowing ledges of rock between which were grass-grown and bush-choked
dingles, and came to the ocean. Then, following the coast line as well
as possible, owing to the jutting cliffs, he reached a deep inlet with
almost precipitous sides, and, turning inland, found its banks ended in
a dense thicket of spruce.

Through this wound a well-defined path, shadowy beneath the canopy of
evergreen boughs, and velvety with fallen needles. Following this a
little way, he came to an opening view of the ocean once more. The day
was wondrously fair, the blue water all about barely rippled by a gentle
breeze, while here and there and far to seaward gleamed the white sails
of coasters. Below him, where the rock-walled gorge broadened to meet
the ocean, the undulating ground swells leisurely tossed the rockweed
and brown kelpie upward, as they swept over the sloping rocks. For a few
moments he stood spellbound by the silent and solemn grandeur of the
limitless ocean view and the colossal pathway to the water's edge below
him, and then suddenly there came to his ears the faint sound of a
violin. Now low and soft, hardly above the rhythmic pulse of the sea,
and again clear and distinct, it seemed to come up out of the rocks
ahead, a strange, weird, ghostly harmony that, mingling with the whisper
of the distant wave-wash, sounded exquisitely sweet.

Breathless with astonishment now, he crept forward slowly, step by step,
until at the head of this deep chasm, and down beneath him, he heard the
well-recognized strains of "Annie Laurie" played by invisible hands.

The sun was low in the west, the sea an unruffled mirror, the coast line
a fretwork of foam fringe where the ground swells met it, and above its
murmur, trilling and quivering in the still air, came that old, old
strain:--

    "And for bonnie Annie Laurie
    I'd lay me doon and dee,"

repeated again and again, until Winn, enraptured, spellbound, moving not
a finger but listening ever, heard it no more. Then presently, as
watching and wondering still whence and from whose hand had come this
almost uncanny music, he saw, deep down amid the tangle of rocks below
him, a slight, girlish figure emerge, with a dark green bag clasped
tenderly under one arm, and slowly pick her way up the sides of the
defile and disappear toward the village.




CHAPTER VII

SUNDAY ON ROCKHAVEN


For a few days Winn Hardy was so occupied with the cares of his new
position that he thought of little else. It was a pleasing freedom, for
never before had he known what it was to be his own master; but now the
hiring of men and directing operations gave him a sense of power and
responsibility that was exhilarating.

Jess Hutton aided him in many ways and, in fact, seemed anxious to
assist in this new enterprise that was likely to be of material benefit
to Rockhaven. Winn wisely let the stock matter rest, feeling that a
practical demonstration of the Rockhaven Granite Company's enterprise
and intentions would in due time establish confidence.

He wondered many times who the girl was that had hid herself in that
weird cluster of rocks to play the violin, and marvelled that any maid,
born and reared amid the half-starved residents of Rockhaven, should
even have that laudable ambition; but he asked no questions. In a way,
the romance of it also kept him from inquiries. "I will bide my time,"
he thought, "and some day I will go over and surprise this maid of the
gorge."

He had noticed a rather immaturely formed girl with dark, lustrous eyes
once or twice in the dooryard of a little white house in the same lane
where he had found lodgment, and had met her once on the village street
and half surmised she might be this mysterious violinist. He gave little
thought to it, however, for his new position and the open path to
success and possible riches that seemed before him was enough to put
cave-seeking maids, however charming, out of his mind. Then, too, he had
not quite recovered from Ethel Sherman.

When Sunday came, a new, and in a way pleasurable, experience came with
it. His landlady, Mrs. Moore, a widow whose two sons were away on a long
fishing voyage, and who seemed so afraid of her solitary boarder as to
no more than ask if he wanted this or that during his lonely meals, now
appeared to gain courage with the advent of the Lord's day.

"I'd be pleased, sir," she said humbly, "if ye'd attend sarvice with me
at the meetin'-house this morning."

And though Winn had planned to turn his back on the coop-like houses
that composed the town, and take a long stroll over the island, there
was such an appealing hope in this good woman's invitation that he could
not resist it, and at once consented to attend "sarvice" with her. And
he was not sorry he did, for when the little bell began calling the
piously inclined together, and he issued forth with Mrs. Moore, who was
dressed in a shiny black silk and a "bunnit" the like of which his
grandmother used to wear, and looking both proud and pleased, he felt it
a pleasant duty. On the way to the small brown church which stood just
beyond the steamer landing and at the foot of a sloping hill dotted
thick with tombstones, he felt that he was the observed of all
observers, and when seated in Mrs. Moore's pew, cushioned with faded
green rep, whichever way he looked some one was peeping curiously at
him. In a way it made him feel unpleasant, and he wondered if his
necktie was awry; then as he looked around at the worn and out-of-date
garb of the few men and almost grotesque raiment of the women and girls,
what Jess had said of the people recurred to him in a forcible way. The
usual service that followed, similar in kind to any country church, was
interesting to Winn mainly because it recalled his boyhood days. When
the minister, a thin, gray-haired man, began his sermon, Winn grew
curious. He was accustomed to pulpit oratory of a high class, and
wondered now what manner of discourse was like to emanate from this
humble desk. The text was the old and time-worn "The Lord will provide,"
that has instilled courage and hope into millions of despondent hearts,
and now used once more to encourage this little band of simple
worshippers. The preacher made no new deductions, in fact, seemed to, as
usual, lay stress upon the need of faith that the Lord would provide,
come what might. To this end he quoted freely from Scripture, and Winn
was beginning to lose interest and look around the bare and smoky walls
and out of one window that commanded a view of the rippled harbor, when
suddenly his attention was arrested by a direct reference to himself, or
rather, his errand to Rockhaven. "We have," asserted the minister, in
slow and solemn voice, "a certain and sure proof that the Lord watches
over and cares for us, and that we on this lonely island, striving to
live righteously, are not forgotten by Him. Our acres fit to till are
few and lack fertility; our winters dreary and full of the menace of
storm and shipwreck to those who must pursue their calling abroad; and
yet it seems that He who holds the waters in the hollow of His hand,
realizing our needs, has turned the minds of moneyed men toward our
barren home, and through them blessed us with a new source of
livelihood. Through them heretofore worthless ledges of granite are to
be reared into dwellings, or perhaps churches in the great city. It is
to me a certain and signal proof that the good Lord watches over us
here, as well as over others who dwell in more favored spots, and that
we have a new and greater cause for thankfulness. Many times we have
repined at our hard lot, at our scanty stores of sustenance and the
bitterness of poverty; many times, too, some of us have felt the burden
of our lives hard to bear, and almost doubted the good Lord's
watchfulness and care over all who believe in His word. It is this lack
of faith, and this lesson of His goodness, even unto us, that I wish to
impress upon your minds to-day, for, although we are but poor and
humble, illy fed and thinly clad, yet we are not forgotten by Him, the
Great Ruler of the Universe."

This peculiar and unusual reference to a mere matter of business and
Winn's mission to Rockhaven did not end his discourse, but it kept that
young man's attention away from all else until the minister closed and
bowed his head in prayer, and, when the inevitable and long-handled
collection box was passed, Winn felt he must, perforce, contribute
liberally, which he did.

When the congregation was dismissed and he and Mrs. Moore reached the
porch, there was Jess with two ladies, one elderly, and the girl Winn
had noticed in Rock Lane, seemingly awaiting him. An introduction to
Mrs. and Miss Hutton followed, and then all five walked homeward
together.

It is said that trifles determine our course in life, that, like chips
floating down the stream, we are moved hither and yon by imperceptible
forces. If it is so with one, it is with all, and was so with the people
of Rockhaven, and their estimate and subsequent opinion of Winn Hardy.
He attended that poor little church that day out of kindly regard for
Mrs. Moore's wishes, he listened patiently to services and the sermon,
only a few sentences of which interested him, and, of course, conducted
himself as any well-behaved and well-bred young man would. And yet that
trivial act was the starting-point in the good will and confidence of
those people, the worth of which he realized not at all then and never
fully until long afterward.

Neither was he entitled to special credit for his self-sacrifice, except
it be that his desire to please that worthy matron, Mrs. Moore, overcame
his selfishness. But whether or not, it led to immediate, though minor
reward, for late that afternoon, and upon his return from a short
stroll over Norse Hill, he found her on the porch of the white cottage
next to her home, chatting with the two ladies he met at church, and he
was invited to join them. How cordially the two elderly ladies
endeavored to interest him and what a soft witchery the dark eyes of the
younger one held for him need not be enlarged upon. It mattered not that
Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Hutton were neither cultured nor fashionable; they
were at least sincere in their enjoyment of his society and meant what
they uttered, which is more than can be said of many women of position.
He learned that the girl's name was Mona, that she had never been away
from the island, and, as might be expected, was somewhat bashful and a
little afraid of him. He had a mind to ask her if she played the violin,
but a romantic desire to surprise her, or whoever the mysterious
violinist was, restrained him.

The stars were out, a perfect quietude had fallen upon the little
village, and only the ceaseless murmur of the near-by ocean whispered in
the still air, when Mrs. Moore arose to go, and, much against his will,
Winn felt compelled to follow.

In his room he smoked for an hour in solitude, buoyant with hope for his
own future, amply satisfied with the business and social progress he had
so far made, and mentally contrasting the life he had left behind him
with the new one he had entered upon; and into these meditations, it
must be stated, came the faces of Ethel Sherman and Mona Hutton.

And so ended Winn's first Sunday on Rockhaven.




CHAPTER VIII

THE HAND OF FATE


For a few days Winn Hardy was the busiest man on Rockhaven. What with
setting up the steam drill that had been sent him, finding a man to work
it, adjusting the derricks, and laying out work for the dozen men Jess
had secured, he had no more time than occasionally to think of who the
mysterious violin-playing maid might be. He arose early, worked late,
and evenings wrote his firm a detailed statement of his progress, or
discussed matters with Jess at the store. By tacit consent that had
become a sort of office for the Rockhaven Granite Company, and evening
lounging place for not only the men who were at work for Winn, but
others interested in the new enterprise, and, in fact, all who were not
away on fishing trips.

Here, also, Winn met the Rev. Jason Bush, a worthy, if attenuated,
parson and pedagogue, who had so astonished Winn that first Sunday and
who seemed more interested than any one else in the quarry. It was all
the more pleasant experience to Winn, thus to feel that he was bringing
a business blessing to these hard-working and needy people, and the
barometer of his hopes and spirits was at top notch when Friday came and
with it funds from the firm to pay the men. He felt, indeed, that his
mission was bearing excellent fruit.

Then, too, he received a letter of praise from his employers,
congratulating him on the progress he was making, and reminding him
that, as soon as advisable, he should endeavor to interest those who had
means and induce them to invest in Rockhaven stock. It was all right, of
course, and a part of his mission there; and Winn, guileless of the
cloven hoof hidden beneath it, assured himself that he must carry out
their wishes as soon as possible.

It was while speculating on this part of his duty the next afternoon,
and wondering who except Jess was likely to have money to invest in this
stock, that he felt an unaccountable impulse to visit the gorge again
and at once. It was as if some invisible voice was calling him and must
be answered, and yet he could not explain what it was and how his
thought, at that particular moment, had turned to this spot. He was not
a believer in fate; he was just an ambitious and practical young man,
with good common sense and wholesome ideas, and though a little
embittered by the treatment he had received at the hands of Ethel
Sherman and not likely to fall in love easily with another girl, yet he
was the last person who would admit that fate was playing, or would
play, any part in his movements, as it did; and more than that, it led
him that balmy June afternoon, when the sea and sky were in perfect
accord, to the gorge and to the very spot where, ten days before, he had
been mystified. And now he was more so, for not only did he hear the
same low, sweet strains mingling with the ocean's murmur, but he began
to realize that some invisible influence, quite beyond his
understanding, had brought him hither. What it was he could not tell, or
where, or from whence it came, only that he felt it and obeyed.

And so forcibly did this uncanny sense of helplessness oppress him, that
the weird strains of music, issuing from the rocks below, seemed ten
times more so. For one instant he could not help feeling almost scared,
and thought it well to pinch himself to see if he were awake, and the
music and his presence there not a dream. Then he sat down. Surely, if
it were a dream, it was a most exquisite one, for away to the eastward
and all around, a half-circle, the boundless ocean, with here and there
a white-winged vessel, and white-crested waves flashing in the
sunlight, lay before; while beneath him and sloping V-shaped a hundred
feet below, and to where the billows leaped over the weed-clad rocks,
lay this chasm. Back of him, and casting their conical shadows over the
chaos of boulders in the gorge, was a thicket of spruce, and to add a
touch of heaven to this desolate but grand vision, the faint whisper of
music mingling with the monotone of the waves and the sighing of winds
in the spruces.

And then the wonder of it all, and what a romantic and singular fancy of
this fisher maid to thus hide herself where only the mermaids of old
might have come to sing sad ditties while they combed their sea-green
tresses. That it was Mona Hutton he felt almost certain, and his first
impulse was to descend into the chasm at once and surprise her. Then he
thought, if perchance it were not, would that be the act of a gentleman?
Doubtless whoever it was had come there to find seclusion, and for him
to thus intrude would certainly be rude. The next thought, and the one
he acted upon, was to go back a little of the way he came, hide himself,
and, when she appeared, advance to meet her. The way to the village was
over a rounded hill a full mile in length, with scattered clusters of
bayberry bushes between. Back over this a hundred rods Winn retreated,
and not thinking how his presence there would affect this unknown girl,
hid himself behind a rock. He had not long to wait, and soon saw the
same lithe figure, and under her arm the same bundle, emerge from the
gorge, and, as she advanced rapidly, saw that it was Mona. Still
unthinking, he stepped out into view and forward to meet her. In one
instant he saw her halt, turn back a step, then around, facing him, and
stand still; and as he neared her and she saw who it was, she sank to
the earth. Then, as he reached her side and saw her, half reclining
against a small ledge, and looking up at him, her face and lips ashen
white, he realized for the first time what a foolish thing he had done.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Hutton," he said earnestly, and removing his
hat on the instant, "I see that I have scared you half to death and I am
sorry; I didn't mean to."

And as she sat up, still looking at him with pitiful eyes, a realizing
sense of his own idiotic action came to him, and he told her, a little
incoherently, perhaps, but truthfully how he had come there both days,
and for what reason.

Frankness is said to be a virtue, and in this case it was more, for it
saved the reputation of Winn Hardy as a man of honor and a gentleman,
in the eyes of Mona Hutton.

"Yes, I was frightened," she said at last, in response to his repeated
plea for forgiveness, after he had told her his story, "and I almost
fainted. It is foolish of me to go there, I know, for mother has told me
it is not safe."

Then as she picked up the green bag that had fallen at her feet and
started to rise once more, Winn's wits came to his rescue, and in an
instant he grasped her hand and arm and almost lifted her to her feet.

"I shall never forgive myself for this day's stupidity," he said, "but I
have wondered a hundred times since that day who on earth it could be
that hid herself in that forbidding spot. I heard you play only one air
then, and that the sweetest ever composed by mortal man. I have heard it
many, many times, but never once when it reached my heart as it did that
day. What blind intuition brought me here I cannot say; but some impulse
did, and if you will believe what I say and that your playing has
wrought a spell over me, I shall be grateful."

To simple and utterly unsophisticated Mona Hutton words like these were
as new as life to a babe, and while she could not and did not believe he
meant them all, as uttered, nevertheless they were sweet to her. It is
likely, also, they were colored by the plight Winn found himself in and
his desire to set himself right in the eyes of Mona.

"I do not know why it is," she responded, "but when I go there I seem to
enjoy my practice better, and then I feel that no one can hear me.
Mother says that no one will ever want to," she added naively.

Winn smiled.

"But I want to," he said, "I want to go there with you some day and hear
you play 'Annie Laurie' again; will you let me?"

"I won't promise," she replied, and perhaps mindful of her mother's
opinion added: "Mother doesn't approve of my playing a fiddle. She says
it's not graceful."

This time Winn laughed. "I don't believe you could do anything and not
be graceful," he said. "As for that, I have seen Camilla Urso playing
one before an audience of thousands, and no one thought her ungraceful."

"Who is Camilla Urso?" asked Mona.

"She was a wonderful violinist," answered Winn, "and charmed the whole
world, years ago. If you will let me come to this spot with you, I will
tell you all about her."

Mona turned her face away.

"I don't go there very often," she replied evasively; "and if you have
heard such wonderful playing, I wouldn't dare let you hear me. I don't
know anything except what Uncle Jess has taught me." Then as she started
onward she added, "You must ask him to play for you some time; he knows
how."

"But it is you I want to hear," Winn asserted, and then, as an intuition
came to him, he added: "I think it best you go on home alone, Miss
Hutton; it might cause comment if we go on together. I passed a most
delightful hour with you and your mother last Sunday evening, and, with
your permission, I shall repeat it."

And then, having delivered this polite speech, so utterly unlike what
Mona was accustomed to hear, he raised his hat and turned away.

On the brink of the gorge he halted, and, turning again, watched her
rapidly nearing the top of the hill. Reaching its crest, she faced about
and looked back.




CHAPTER IX

A FRIENDLY HAND


The suggestion Jess had made regarding the scarcity of money on
Rockhaven was plainly evident to Winn, now that he had become
acquainted. It made him feel that his firm's enterprise was almost a
godsend to the island, and that first Saturday night when his men
gathered, as requested, at Jess Hutton's store, and secured their pay,
Winn, who in his time had also felt the need of more money, found it a
keen pleasure to pay these needy men their earnings. When they had
departed and he and Jess were alone, the worthy man who seemed to feel a
share of the general satisfaction, beamed with good nature.

"Money makes the mar' go," he said, "an', as the Irishman said, 'it's
swate Saturday night and sour Monday morning.' Ye've made a fine start,
Mr. Hardy, an' if things go well an' this 'ere company o' yourn don't
bust up, ye'll cum pretty near bein' the hull thing here. There's an old
saying here that 'It's time to dry fish when the sun shines,' an' now
with your sun shinin' it's purty good wisdom for ye to dry all the fish
ye kin. Things are onsartin in this world, an' there's no tellin' when a
sunny day's comin'. I'm goin' ter help yer all I kin, an' out o' good
will toward ye, 'n' hope things'll turn out all right. I'm sartin it
won't be yer fault if they don't."

"I'm glad to feel I've won your confidence, Mr. Hutton," answered Winn,
"and I feel sure there is no need of fearing any collapse of this
company. They are reputable business men, and have ample means; granite
is in good demand in the city, and certainly they would not have
invested in the quarry and set out to develop it, unless it was to make
money."

"Wal, mebbe," answered Jess, after a long pause, "an' I'm goin' to think
so. Distrustin' don't help matters, an' for the sake o' those men who
hev gone home happy to-night, I hope things'll turn out as ye 'spect."

Winn looked depressed, and for reason. To have the one man in Rockhaven
whose confidence he valued most express a word of distrust hurt.

"Oh, I ain't doubtin' you a mite," continued Jess, "an' no reason to
mistrust yer consarn, only I've had squalls hit me when least 'spectin'
'em, 'n' so got into the habit o' watchin' out fer 'em. It's jist as
well in this world, 'n' then ye ain't quite so likely to be caught
nappin'. Now t'other day ye mentioned the matter o' sellin' stock to us
folks here, an' that is all right, only it sorter 'curred to me if this
consarn o' yourn 'spected to make money quarryin' here, thar wa'n't no
real reason why they should want ter divide it with us folks, which is
what sellin' us stock 'mounts to in the end, an' as old Cap'n Doty would
say, 'hence my 'spicions.' I've hed a good many ups 'n' downs in this
world," he continued, in a philosophic tone, "an' while I allus try to
look on the bright side o' trouble, an' when it comes am glad 'tain't
any wuss, I've larned to be keerful--mighty keerful. Human natur's
slippery stuff, an' money a dum sight more so, an' every storeman allus
puts the best apples on top o' the basket. I've bought and paid for a
mighty lot o' 'sperience 'bout mankind, an' all I've got to show for
most on't is the 'sperience. I've picked up a little money, too, 'tween
times, but the only reason I hev, was 'cause I got sight on't 'fore the
other feller did. I like you, Mr. Hardy, fust-rate, on so short
acquaintance, an' know yer honest 'n' all right, but the side-whiskered
feller who blew in here last summer 'n' bought this yer quarry
offhand--wal, I mean no disrespect to yer firm, but in my humble
'pinion he'd bear watchin'. Now I'm goin' ter stand by ye in this matter
'n' do all I ken to help you make a go on't, an' if ye'll trust me all
the time, ye won't regret it."

It was a pleasant assurance, but the cloud on Winn's face remained. He
had from the outset hoped to interest this old man, who he realized held
the key of Rockhaven, as it were, and whose opinion of his mission
there, and the merits of Rockhaven stock as an investment, would without
doubt be accepted by others as final. His own belief in it was
optimistic, and beyond that it meant to him a success in business and an
avenue to prosperity that included all wealth meant to any one. So far
in life he had been but a mere menial, a poorly paid drudge, a slave to
so many hours a day. Now he was at once elevated to the management of
men and money, and assumed that it would be to his credit and necessary
that he interest the people and induce them to invest their money. For
these reasons the lack of confidence on Jess Hutton's part meant
discouragement.

"Ye mustn't mind my notions," Jess said at last, reading Winn's face; "I
mean to help ye, 'n' I will, only as I said I'm a leetle skeery o' yer
consarn. Ef things go on right fer a spell, I most likely'll feel
different. I've got pinched in schemes afore, an' grown cautious.
Faith, ez the parson says, is a mustard seed 'n' needs time to sprout.
We'll watch thet air mustard seed o' yourn, 'n' gin it time ter sprout.
Now, to sorter drive away your blues an' mine, I'm goin' to fiddle a
spell; ye won't mind, will ye?"

"I should be delighted," answered Winn, with sudden eagerness, "I have
heard you were an expert with a violin. Mr. Weston said you were." He
did not deem it wise just then to say who else had stated that fact.

Without further comment, Jess brought out his violin.

"Fiddlin's to me," he said, as he turned it up, "a good deal ez licker
used to be to old Bill Atlas, a cure-all fer everything from death to
the toothache. Bill was quite a case in his day, an' said licker was
made fer the purpose o' drownin' sorrow. He drowned his purty stiddy
in't anyhow, an' finally was driv' to his death by the tremens."

Then he began and fiddled away for an hour, his eyes closed, his kindly
face glowing with the pleasure of his own art, and one foot keeping time
on the floor. And, to Winn's surprise, his selections were all of Scotch
origin, and the liveliest of those best of all harmonies. From one to
another he skipped, a medley of those old tunes that have lived as no
other nation's music ever did or ever will live, because none other has
quite the same life and soul.

And Winn, listening as that quaint old man fiddled away, forgot his
troubles, carried to fair Scotland's banks and braes, where Wallace
bled, Prince Charlie fought, and Bonnie Dundee rallied his henchmen to
give battle, and, too, Winn heard the love plaint of many a Scotch lad
and lassie, centuries old, and yet reaching his heart as they always did
and always will all human kind. And as, entranced, he lived once more in
the olden days of chivalry and love faithful unto death, he thought of
Mona and how she had touched the same chord in his heart only a few
hours before.

And when Jess had tired of his pastime, and Winn, on his way to his
solitary room in Rock Lane, passed the white cottage next to it, he
halted a moment, wondering if Mona was asleep, or if not, was she
thinking of him.

For such is man, and so do the rose petals of love first unclose.

[Illustration: MONA.]




CHAPTER X

MONA HUTTON


Mona Hutton was, as Winn instinctively felt that Sunday when he first
glanced into her well-like eyes, a girl but little akin to her
surroundings--a child of the island, full of strange moods and fancies,
sombre as the thickets of spruce that grew dense and dark between the
ledges of granite, and solemn as the unceasing boom of ocean billows
below its cliffs. Even as a barefoot schoolgirl she had found the sea an
enticing playmate, and to watch its white-crested waves lifting the
rockweed and brown kelpie, as they swept over the rocks and into the
gorges and fissures, was of more interest than her schoolmates. She
would hide between the ledges and watch the sea-gulls sailing over them
for hours, build playhouses in out-of-the-way spots with lone
contentment, filling them with shells, starfish, and crabs, dig wells in
the sandy margin of the harbor, and catch minnows to put in them. She
loved to watch the fishing boats sailing away, the coasters pass the
island, the current sweeping in and out beneath the old tide mill, and
as she grew up and gained in courage roamed over the entire island at
will. The Devil's Oven, out of sight and sound of everybody, became a
charming spot for her; and here she would sit for hours watching the
waves leap into the gorge and wondering why they never sounded twice
alike. And so on, as she developed, she absorbed the mood of the ocean,
its grandeur shaped her thoughts, its mystery tinged her emotion, and
its solemnity, like the voice of eternity, gave expression to her eyes.

Companions of her own age she had none, leaving them to play as they
chose while she sought solitude, and found contentment on the lonely
shores. Uncle Jess only was akin to her, and if she could lead him away
as playmate, then was she happy.

And so she grew up.

With only a limited education, such as the island schools afforded, a
scant knowledge of books, since but few ever reached Rockhaven, a love
of music that amounted to a passion, no knowledge of the world except
that gleaned from Uncle Jess, a deep religious feeling, partially shaped
by the "Hardshell" Baptist teachings of the Rev. Jason Bush, and more by
the ocean billows that forever thundered against the island shores, she
was at twenty a girl to be pitied by those capable of understanding her
nature or realizing how incompatible to it was her environment. Of music
she knew but little, and that taught her by the genial old soul who,
since her babyhood, had been father, uncle, and companion. His constant
assistance had been hers through her pinafore days at school; his genial
philosophy and keen insight into human impulse had done more to develop
her mind afterward than the three R's she mastered there. His gentle
hand had taught her the scales on his old brown fiddle, and now that she
had reached that mystic line where girlhood ends and womanhood begins,
her future was of more concern to him than all else in his life. That
she must and would, in the course of human nature, love and marry, he
fully expected; that it was like to be a mateship with some of the
simple and hard-working fishermen's sons, he expected; and yet, with
dread for her far more than any one else, even her mother, he realized
that such an alliance would be but a lifelong slavery for Mona. To mate
a poetic soul like hers, that heard the voice of eternity in the
white-crested billows, the footsteps of angels in the music he drew from
his violin, and the whisper of God in the sea winds that murmured
through the spruce thickets they visited, as he knew she did, seemed as
unnatural as confining one of the white gulls that circled about the
island in a coop with the barnyard fowls.

To Mona herself no thought of this had come. Though the young men with
whom as schoolmates she had studied, and who now as fishermen, with
ill-smelling garb and sea-tanned hands and faces, often sought her, to
none did she give encouragement, and with none found agreeable
companionship. What her future might be, and with whom spent, gave her
no concern. Each day she lived as it came, helping her mother in the
simple home life and the making of their raiment, stealing away
occasionally to spend a few hours with Uncle Jess, or in summer to hide
herself in the Devil's Oven, and play on the violin he had given her, or
practise with him as a teacher. This violin and its playing, it must be
stated, had been and was the only bone of contention between Mona and
her mother, and just why that mother found it hard to explain, except
that it was a man's instrument and not a woman's. Their humble parlor
boasted a small cottage organ. "Let Mona learn to play on that," she had
said when Jess first began to teach Mona the art of the bowstrings,
"it's more graceful for a girl to do that than sawing across a fiddle
stuck under her chin." And this matter of grace, so vital to that
mother's peace of mind, was the only point of dispute between them. But
Uncle Jess sided with Mona, and the mother gave in, for with her, for
many potent reasons, the will and wishes of Uncle Jess must not be
thwarted, even if wrong. However, the dispute drove Mona and the fiddle
out of the house, and when she had finally mastered it (at least in a
measure), it stayed out.

In this connection, it may be said, there was also a difference in
opinion between Mrs. Hutton and Jess regarding the future of Mona, and
though never discussed before her, for obvious reasons, it existed. With
Mrs. Hutton the measure of her own life, or what it had been, as well as
that of her neighbors, was broad enough for Mona.

"It's going to spoil her," she asserted on one of these occasions, "this
getting the idea into her head that those she has been brought up with
are not good enough for her. They may not be, but we are here and likely
to stay here, and once a girl gets her head full o' high notions and
that she's better than the rest, it's all day with her."

"Thar ain't no use interferin'," Jess responded, "whatever notions
Mona's got, she's got, an' ye can't change 'em. If she likes the smell
o' wild roses better'n fishin' togs, she does; and if she turns up her
nose at them as don't think 'nough o' pleasin' her ter change togs when
they come round, I 'gree with her. Wimmin, an' young wimmin 'specially,
air notional, an' though most on 'em 'round here has ter work purty
hard, it ain't no sign their notions shouldn't be considered. I've
stayed in houses whar wimmin wa'n't 'lowed to lift a finger an' had
sarvants ter fan 'em when 'twas hot, an' though that ain't no sign
Mona'll git it done for her, I hope I'll never live ter see her drudgin'
like some on 'em here."

"If you'd had the bringing o' Mona up," Mrs. Hutton had responded rather
sharply, "you would a-made a doll baby out o' her, an' only fit to have
servants to fan her." At which parting shot, Jess had usually taken to
his heels, muttering, "It's a waste o' time argufyin' with a woman."

But Mrs. Hutton was far from being as "sot" in her way as might be
inferred, as she always had, and still desired, to rear her only child
in the way she considered best, and in accordance with her surroundings.
To be a fine lady on Rockhaven, as Mrs. Hutton would put it, was
impossible; and unless Mona was likely to be transplanted to another
world, as it were, it seemed wisest to keep her from exalted ideas and
high-bred tastes. But back of that, and deep in the mother's love, lay
the hope of better things for her child than she had known, though how
they were to come, and in what way, she could not see.

Mere pebbles of chance shape our destiny, and so it was in the life of
Winn Hardy, and the trifle, light as air, that turned his footsteps, was
the sound of church bells that Sunday morning in Rockhaven.

Had they not recalled his boyhood, he would have spent the day in
roaming over the island as he had planned, instead of accepting Mrs.
Moore's invitation to accompany her to church, with the sequence of
events that followed. And the one most potent was the accent of
cordiality in Mrs. Hutton's neighborly invitation to call. It may be
supposed, and naturally, that the expressive eyes of her daughter were
the real magnets; but in this case they were not. Instead it was the
mother with whom he desired to visit, and when he called that first
evening it was with her he held most converse. Out of the medley of
subjects they chatted about, and what was said by either, so little is
pertinent to this narrative, it need not be quoted. Winn gave a brief
account of his early life and more of the latter part, since he had been
a resident of the city, together with a full explanation of how the
Rockhaven Granite Company was likely to affect the island, and his
mission there. This latter recital, he felt, would be a wise stroke of
policy, as apt to be repeated by Mrs. Hutton, as in truth it was, later
on. While she was not inquisitive, he found she was keenly interested in
the new industry he had established there, and discerning enough to see
that, if successful, it would be a great benefit to the island. Winn
discovered also that in addition to being a most excellent and devoted
mother, she was fairly well posted in current events, had visited
relatives on the mainland many times, and in the city once, and was far
from being narrow-minded. With Mona, who sat a quiet listener, he
exchanged but a few words, and those in connection with the church and
social life of the village. In truth, he found her disinclined to say
much and apparently afraid of him. His call was brief and not
particularly interesting, except that it made him feel a little more at
home on the island, and when he rose to go, he received the expected
invitation to call again; and when he had reached his room, the only
features of the call that remained in his mind were that Mrs. Hutton
seemed interested in his mission there, and her daughter had eyes that
haunted him.




CHAPTER XI

THE DEVIL'S OVEN


The time-worn saw that two is company and three a crowd never struck
Winn so forcibly as that evening when he called again on Mrs. Hutton. On
the first occasion he had only felt interested to make the acquaintance
of that excellent lady, who, in many ways, reminded him of his own
departed mother; but now it was the daughter. But Mona was shy as
before, perhaps more so, and hardly ventured a remark, while the mother
was as cordial and chatty as ever. Once Winn came near speaking of the
little episode that had occurred the day before, but some quick
intuition prevented, and after an hour's visit he bade the two good
night and left them.

It was evident Mona had not confided the incident to her mother, and
until she had Winn thought it his place to keep silent. He did not know
that the girl's secrecy was solely due to fear of a scolding, and that
between her mother and herself existed that foolish, but often
dangerous barrier. It was several days after before Winn obtained a
suitable chance to speak with Mona alone, and then he met her just
coming from the store of Jess Hutton.

"When am I to hear you play again?" he asked pleasantly, "I wanted to
ask you the evening I called, but in view of what you said about your
mother's dislike of it, decided not to."

"I am glad you did," she replied, coloring a little.

"I am going over to that gorge this afternoon," continued Winn boldly,
"and I want you to promise to come and bring your violin. Will you?"

"I won't promise," she replied timidly, and all unconscious that his
proposal was not in strict propriety, "I may come, but if I do I shall
not dare play before you."

"Oh, I am harmless," he replied lightly, "and if you knew how anxious I
am to hear you, you would favor me, I am sure."

And that afternoon Winn betook himself once more to what was now likely
to be a trysting place, only instead of going directly, the way Mona
would naturally, over Norse Hill, he walked a mile extra around through
Worthaven. And this to protect the good name of a girl with a face like
a marguerite and eyes like deep waters.

She was not there when he arrived, and in truth Mona was having a hard
struggle to decide whether to go or not, for this man, with earnest
brown eyes, blond mustache, stylish garb, ways and manners so utterly
unlike any that had come under her ken, was one to awe her.

Then, would it be right, and what would her mother and Uncle Jess, and
all the good people of Rockhaven, say if it were known she met him thus?
For Mona, wise as only Rockhaven was, and pure as the flowers her face
resembled, was yet conscious what evil tongues might say, and dreaded
lest they be set wagging.

But a lurking impulse, first implanted in Mother Eve's heart, and
budding in Mona's since the hour she saw Winn's kindly eyes looking down
into her own, won the day, and taking her dearly-loved, old, brown
fiddle and bow safe in their green bag, she walked rapidly to the edge
of the gorge, with throbbing heart and flushed face.

Winn was there waiting, as full well she knew he would be, lazily
puffing a cigar while he leaned against a sloping bank and watched the
ocean below. When he saw Mona he threw the weed away and sprung to his
feet.

"I'm very glad you came, Miss Hutton," he said, raising his hat, "yet I
did not dare hope you would," and then extending one hand to take the
bag and the other to assist her, he added, "It's a risky place to come
down into, and you had best let me assist you."

"I'll go first," she replied quickly, "for I know the way and can go
alone, and you can follow me."

And follow her he had to, but not easily, for with steps as fearless and
leaps as graceful as an antelope, she led the way down into the chaos of
boulders and then up through them, until she paused in a sheltering
embrasure.

When Winn reached her side he was out of breath, and as he handed her
the bag and looked about, he was almost speechless at the wild, rocky
grandeur of the spot. And well he might be, for seldom had he seen one
like it. He had looked down into the gorge from above, but now he was in
a half-circular, wide-open cave the size of a small room, far below
where he had stood, and looking out upon cliff-like walls down to where
the ocean waves were beating.

"And so this is the Devil's Oven," he said when he had looked all about,
and finally at Mona seated upon a jutting ledge and watching him. "I
think it a shame to have given such a hideous name to a place so grand
and picturesque. Rather should it have been called the Mermaid's Grotto.
I dislike this idea of naming all the beautiful bits of natural scenery
after his satanship. It's not fair." Then seating himself as far away
from Mona as possible he added gently, "Now, Miss Hutton, I am ready for
my treat. Please don't think or feel that I am here, but play to
yourself and for yourself, just as you did the day I first heard you."

And Mona, charmed a little by his gentle, courteous ways and speech, and
her sense of fear lulled by his entirely respectful manner, drew her
violin from its case.

It may have been the spot that inspired her, or the tender admiration
she saw in his eyes, or a little of both, but from the first moment she
drew the bow across the strings of her violin, a wondrous sweetness and
feeling graced her playing, and strange to say, all the melodies she
rendered bore the Scotch flavor. Most of them had been heard by Winn at
one time or another, but never played upon an instrument that seemed so
sweet or with such an exquisite touch as now. When "Bonnie Dundee" came,
he could almost see that gallant chieftain with waving plume and Tartan
plaid, and hear him say:--

    "Come fill up my cup,
    Come fill up my can;
    Come saddle my horses
    And call up my men."

And when "The Campbells are Coming" echoed out of that rock-walled cave,
Winn could hear the bagpipes in the distance and see the dauntless hosts
of fair Scotland marching to battle.

When after an hour, during which Mona sat with lithe body swaying to the
measure of her music, rounded cheek pressed tenderly to her instrument,
and her eyes closed, as if lost to the world, she came to that old
utterance of love, sweet "Annie Laurie," Winn was enthralled as never in
his life before. And when the last exquisite note had floated out of the
cave and into the sad monotone of the ocean, and Mona paused, his eyes
were dimmed with tears.

"Miss Hutton," he said earnestly, brushing them away, "no words of mine
can tell you how much I have enjoyed this treat or with what rare
feeling you have played. If you could play as you have here before an
audience they would bury you under flowers and lavish wealth upon you."

These were warm words, and without doubt at the moment Winn felt all
they meant, but he little realized what an influence they would instil
into the heart of Mona Hutton or what fruit they were destined to bear.

"Who was that wonderful woman you told me about the other day?" asked
Mona, making no response to his flattering words. "I did not know women
ever played in public."

"Oh, yes, they do," answered Winn, "and there are many like her who have
gained fame and riches. You could if you would set about it and had the
courage to do it. You would have to study, of course, under a teacher
and learn to play classical music."

"And what is classical music?" asked Mona.

"It is what no one understands, though many claim to; or perhaps better
described as soulless sound," answered Winn. "I do not care for it.
There is no feeling, no pulse, no heart in it."

"Then why is the world willing to pay for it?" she asked.

"The world is ready to buy anything that comes high," he answered, "and
the more in proportion to its value that is asked, the quicker they will
buy it. But do not ask about the world, Miss Hutton. It is not in
harmony with this spot. We are out of it here."

Mona looked at him curiously. "You are a queer man," she said suddenly,
"and at first I was very much afraid of you."

Winn laughed. "You need not be," he replied, "I never harmed man, woman,
or child." Then as a sudden thought came to him he added, "Did you tell
your mother you met me here the other day?"

"No," she replied, looking confused and coloring. It was on her lips to
say that she dreaded a scolding if she did, but she restrained herself.

"It is time you were starting home," he said suddenly, looking at his
watch, "and I am so sorry," and rising he added, "you must pardon me for
saying so, but I think you had best mention to your mother you met me
here, by accident of course. If you do not, and if she hears of it, she
will think it strange." When he had assisted her down the rocky pathway
and up the steep sides, the while carrying her precious violin, and they
reached the brink of the chasm, he paused.

The gorge was all in shadow, the wind fallen away, and only the long
sweeping ground swells caught and mirrored the red glow of the sun now
almost at the horizon line. For a moment Winn looked out over the broad
ocean and then turned to the girl beside him.

"Little one," he said gently, "I thank you for the confidence you have
placed in me by coming here and for the pleasure you have given me. I
shall never forget it. There are two favors I want you to grant me, the
first to let me call you Mona, the next to come here some day again and
play for me. Will you?"

"I will unless mother forbids," she answered simply.

And then as they turned toward the village, he carrying the green bag
and still retaining the hand he clasped to assist her out of the chasm,
and guiding her footsteps along the way, a new and exalted sense of
happiness came to her. But little was said by either, for she like a
timid child waited for him to speak, and he was so hushed by the mood of
the afternoon in the gorge, and the blessed unity of sea and sky and
sunset here, he enjoyed silence best.

When they came in sight of the village he released her hand, and when
her home was reached handed her the bag, and with a whispered "good
night, Mona," passed on.




CHAPTER XII

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS


When Winn passed out of Rockhaven the next morning, Mona was in her
dooryard kneeling beside a bed of flowers, her face shaded by a checked
calico sunbonnet. At the gate he paused.

"Good morning, little girl," he said pleasantly, "do I get a flower for
my good looks this morning?" Had Mona been a cultured society girl she
would have replied in the same coin, instead she merely answered his
greeting and plucking one each of a half dozen kinds, still moist with
the dew, handed them to him. And he looked into the wondrous eyes raised
to his, saw a new light lingering in them, and smiling softly as he took
the flowers he thanked her and went his way.

And strange to say, when he reached the quarry, he hid that little
nosegay in a shaded nook beside the ledge where a tiny spring dripped
out, and when he returned that noon, carried them wrapped in a wet
handkerchief to his room and left them in a glass of water. And that
night when the vexation and cares of the day had passed, he, a little
homesick and with the charm of Mona's playing still lingering in his
mind, held communion with himself. And the cause was the following
missive which had reached him:--

     "DEAR MR. HARDY:

     "I was surprised a few days ago when your aunt told me you had
     left the city to be manager of the Rockhaven Granite Co., and
     had gone away to some unheard of island. I had missed seeing
     you for a week, and when you were not at church with your aunt,
     asked her what had become of you. When she told me where you
     were it seemed likely you would be glad to hear from home, and
     as I am aware your worthy aunt hates letter writing, I thought
     I would be good to you. There isn't a bit of news to write, and
     the city is getting positively unbearable.

     "Mother and I are getting ready to go to the mountains; we
     shall start early in July and your aunt goes with us. I presume
     from what she said you will remain where you are this summer. I
     almost envy you, for it certainly must be cool there, and no
     doubt you have or will find some sweet fishermaid to flirt
     with. Grace is not going with us for she says a baby is a
     nuisance at a hotel and then 'hubby' can't afford it. I saw
     Jack (your chum) the other evening at the Bijou with a girl who
     was stunning, also Mabel Weston and her mother.

     "I do not know of anything else that will interest you except
     my address for the summer, which I enclose, and the hope that
     you won't forget us all before your return.

    "Yours sincerely,
    "ETHEL SHERMAN."

And this from the girl who two short years before had laughed his
marriage proposal to scorn.

And he was like to find some simple fishermaid to flirt with, was he?
And the cool indifference to that fact; and the covert, yet openly
expressed invitation for him to write to her.

Now Winn Hardy was not blind, and in spite of the two years, during
which he had never met or thought of Ethel Sherman without a pin-prick
in his heart, clear and distinct in his mind was the alluring glance of
her blue eyes that had led him to make a fool of himself, and the red
ripe temptation of her lips he had once stolen kisses from. And now she
was inviting him to write to her. And not two rods away was a girl as
simple and sweet as the daisies that bloomed in a meadow, as utterly
unsophisticated as though reared within convent walls, with eyes like
deep waters, and a soul trembling with passionate music!

For one hour Winn communed with himself, glancing attentively at the
little knot of flowers on a small table near him, and the letter beside
them, and then arose and putting on his hat, left the house. It was a
still summer evening with the crescent of a new moon glinting in the
waters of Rockhaven harbor and outlining the spectral shape of the tower
on Norse Hill. To this Winn turned his steps, and seating himself where
he could look over the undulating ocean, continued his meditation.

All his life, since the day he first entered the office of Weston &
Hill, came to him. All the many snubs he had received, all the
disappointments he had met, all the weeks, months, and years of
monotonous drudgery in that office, all the "fool's paradise" hours he
had passed with Ethel Sherman, all the harsh bitterness he had heard
from the lips of Jack Nickerson--and now the new life, new ambition, and
new influence that had come to him--passed in review. And as he
leisurely puffed his cigar, looking the while out upon the boundless
expanse that, like an eternity, lay before him, he saw himself as he
was, and knew that as a man of honor and for his own peace of mind, he
must choose between two ways. That he could not escape the island for
months and perhaps for years, he saw clearly, and if he remained, as
remain he must if he were to win success in this new project, he must
inevitably become one and a part of the social and hard-working life of
the people with whom he mingled, sharing their hopes and encouraging
their ambitions. And if he did, could he go on holding himself aloof
from all tender impulses, living the life of a recluse, as inflexible as
the granite he quarried, and as void of sentiment?

Winn Hardy besides being impulsive was endowed with a vein of romance,
and saw and felt the poetic side of all things. The whispers of winds in
the pine trees, flowers that grew wild in out of the way nooks, birds
singing, bees gathering honey, squirrels hiding their winter store of
nuts, the sea in all its moods, clouds sailing across a summer sky and
all that was beautiful in nature appealed to him. This island whose
frowning cliffs faced the ocean billows so defiantly, the placid harbor
with its rippled sandy shore, the old tide mill an ancient ruin, the
dark thickets of spruce between the rolling ledges of granite, and the
weird gorge where this girl had hid herself, each and all seemed to him
as so many bits of poetry. Then the peculiar and romantic fact of her
going to such a picturesque spot, out of sight and sound of even the
island people, and beyond that the wonderful sweetness and pathos of her
simple music, all appealed to him as to but few. It was as if he felt in
her a kinship of soul, an echo of his own poetic nature, a response to
his own ideals in life, with a face like a flower, lips like two
rosebuds, and eyes like a Madonna.

For a long time he sat there in communion with his own needs and nature,
sobered by the silence of night and eternity so near him. When he arose,
turning back toward the village, he paused on the brow of the hill,
looking down upon it still and silent in the faint moonlight. Away to
the right and pointing skyward, he saw the little spire of the church
whose bell had recalled his early boyhood days and all the sweet and
pure influences they had contained, even the face of his own mother, he
knew he should never look upon again. And with that recollection came
the half-pitiful words he had heard in that church that seemed like a
plea for help from starvation.

Winn was not religious. He had never been drawn toward an open
profession of faith. He had at first felt church going and
Sabbath-school lessons an irksome task, and later a social custom,
useful because it bound together congenial people. He believed in God
but not in prayer. His heart was in sympathy with all the carnal needs
of humanity, but not the spiritual; those he considered figments of the
imagination, useful, maybe, when old age came, but needless during
healthy, active life. To the customary observance of them he always
yielded respectful attention, but felt not their influence. And musing
there it came to him that perhaps some divine power had directed his
footsteps and brought him into the lives of these simple honest people
for a purpose not understood.

When he reached his room it was fragrant with the flowers Mona had given
him that morning, and beside them lay the letter of Ethel Sherman.




CHAPTER XIII

WILD ROSES


It has been said of the modern young lady that the more of her home life
a gentleman saw, the less likely he was to fall in love with her; but as
the days sped by and Winn saw more of Mona's, he felt that that truism
was likely to be reversed.

Then another natural result was attained, for finding his mission there
a practical one and the money he distributed each Saturday night a
powerful argument in his favor, the islanders, from Rev. Jason Bush
downward, began to show their cordial interest in his presence. On
Sundays when he with Jess, Mrs. Hutton, and Mrs. Moore and Mona usually
formed a little group that walked together to church, in that modest
sanctuary he was the one most observed. All to whom he had been
introduced seemed to seek an opportunity to bow, and many of the men,
whose names he had not learned, showed the same courtesy. When he walked
out after the service, old and young would stand aside for him to pass.
The Rev. Jason Bush perhaps showed the most interest, and in a purely
business way, for when he had opportunities (and he found many) it was
the quarry and its management and prospects which he was desirous of
discussing, instead of the spiritual welfare of Winn, as might be
expected. In fact, the latter was never mentioned, and although Mr. Bush
lamented that Rockhaven was divided into two sects, and that neither
church had a following sufficient to support it, it was here again the
business side of the matter which seemed uppermost in that worthy
parson's mind.

But it was the cordiality shown by Mrs. Hutton on all possible occasions
that interested Winn most, because it appealed to the domestic and
home-loving side of his nature. He had never known much of home life
since maturity, for his aunt was not a home-maker, leaving that to her
servants and scolding because they failed, and to see what thought and
care could do in that direction, even though in a modest way, attracted
him. And since her door appeared always open to him and an unfailing
welcome waiting, he would have been less than human had he not availed
himself of the opportunity. Hardly an evening passed that he did not see
or speak with either mother or daughter, and occasionally made one at
their table. It was here that Jess was often in evidence, usually eating
his dinner there--always on Sunday. Then again, as the grass-grown
dooryard of his domicile adjoined the flower-filled one of Mrs. Hutton,
by some occult process a freshly cut bunch of roses, sweet peas or
pinks, found its way to his room each day. It was a trifle, perhaps, but
it is such trifles that make up home life.

And Mona herself, now that her timidity had worn away to a certain
extent, began to grow upon him. He had, from the evening when he
communed with himself in solitude, continually treated her with a sort
of big brother consideration; but as he saw more of her and realized the
limitations of her life, so small in comparison with her aspirations;
how day by day she lived, feeling herself a prisoner on the island, with
no one there who understood her except Jess, a little bud of pity
started in Winn's heart, and the temptation that assailed him that day
in the cave grew stronger.

"If I should feel the witchery of her playing in that romantic spot a
few times," he said to himself, "I should fall in love with her, and
couldn't help it."

But temptations of that nature are hard to resist, and like sweet
potations, once tested, we desire to sip again. So it came about that
one morning Winn said to her: "Mona, I am going to treat myself to a
half day away from the quarry, and if your mother is willing, I want you
to visit the gorge with me this afternoon and bring your violin. I would
rather you asked her consent," he added pointedly, "I shall enjoy it
better."

As this perfect June afternoon and its enjoyment had much to do with
shaping the heart histories of these two young people, considerable
space can well be devoted to it, and especially to their exchange of
ideas and feelings.

"I will let you carry the violin now," said Winn, when they had left the
village out of sight, "I want to gather a few wild roses to decorate
your trysting place. I have odd fancies about such things and believe,
as the Greeks did, that every cave and grotto is inhabited by some nymph
or gnome. From the way your playing there has affected me each time, I
am sure it is some beautiful nymph who has chosen the Devil's Oven for
her abode, so I am going to present her with a nosegay."

"I have read about fairies," responded Mona, artlessly, "but I do not
believe such creatures ever existed."

"But they do," asserted Winn, smiling, as he gathered his roses, "and if
your imagination is strong enough, you can feel their presence many
times. I made sure there was one hid somewhere, that day I first heard
you playing."

"And did you think so when you hid behind the rock and scared me half to
death?" she queried.

"No," he responded, "I knew it was a real flesh and blood fairy then,
for I had seen you come out of the gorge."

"And so you came back to scare me," she said playfully, "that wasn't
nice. If you wanted to know who it was, why didn't you ask Uncle Jess?
He would have told you."

"Yes, and spoiled all the romance of it," answered Winn. "It's like
detecting the presence of nymphs and fairies. If you go to a grotto or
cave alone and listen for them, you will feel or hear them always, in
some way."

"If I believed that," replied Mona, seriously, "I would never go to the
cave alone again. I should feel it to be haunted."

"But you admit you can play better there, and feel more of the spirit of
your music," asserted Winn; "tell me why that is."

"Because I am alone, and feel myself to be so," she answered firmly. "I
do not believe it is due to any unseen creature."

"But you played with wondrous feeling the day I came there with you," he
replied, "you weren't alone then."

"I am glad you think so," she answered, turning away, "I tried to, but
was so afraid of you, I trembled."

Winn smiled at her candor. "You don't know how to flirt, do you, Mona?"
he asked pointedly, "you utter the truth always."

"Does flirting consist of deception?" she asked, looking earnestly at
him.

"Yes," he answered, "and of the most adroit kind. It's the weapon that
all world-wise women use to enslave men, and the more skilled they are
at it, the more assured is their success."

"Do men ever deceive?" she queried, her fathomless eyes still on him.

"Yes, little girl," he answered, looking away and out over the ocean and
resolving to be sincere, "men are the same as women in that respect;
some do it in self-defence, and others out of selfishness. Then once in
a while, one will never do it, except out of kindness. Such men are
usually imposed upon."

When they reached the brink of the chasm he took her hand. "I am so
afraid you will slip in going down," he said, "and if you were hurt, I
should never forgive myself." He retained it down the steep path and up
the devious way to the cave. When it was reached she seated herself and
said, smiling at him, "Now you are here, let me see you give your
flowers to the fairy."

For answer he gallantly touched them with his lips and handed them to
her. "You are the fairy who lives here," he said, "for I shall never
think of this spot without seeing you in it."

Mona colored a little and then a shade crossed her face. "Isn't that
deception?" she said. "You do not mean it."

"I mean to say every nice thing I can think of to-day," he answered,
"and do all I can to make you enjoy it. A truly happy hour is a rare
experience in life, and I want to find one for you." Then, taking his
cigar case out and stretching himself on one side of the cave, he added:
"I wish we had brought some cushions. I will, the next time we come."

"I do not think how hard the rock is," she answered; "when I am playing
I forget where I am, even."

"Well, forget it quick," he said, "so I can. Only do not play 'Annie
Laurie' till the last thing. You brought a mist to my eyes with it the
other day. It's a sweet bit, full of tears."

And then, not heeding his pleasantries, many of which she did not
understand, Mona drew her dearly loved brown fiddle out of its case, and
once more that uncanny den in the rocks echoed to its magic. A medley of
old-time ballads, jigs, reels, and dance music came forth in succession,
while Winn, forgetting his cigar, yielded to her music and watched her
lissom body encased in blue flannel, open at the throat, swaying
slightly as she played, her winsome face turned from him in profile and
eyes closed at times. Once only, when a certain air recalled the past,
did he think of the woman who had scorned him, and whose letter was
still unanswered.

"Do not play any more now," he said finally, when Mona paused, "you must
be tired."

"I must have tired you of it," she answered bluntly, "and I am glad. I
want to hear you talk and tell me about fairies and the great city where
you lived, and about that woman who played before people. I wish I could
learn to play as you say she did."

"Oh, there's not much to tell about fairies," he answered, smiling at
her earnestness, "they are merely imaginary and used to amuse children.
Many years ago, when the world was young, people believed in and
worshipped them as gods and goddesses; now they are poetic fancies."

"What are poetic fancies?" she asked, understanding him only partially.

"Well, for instance," he answered, "a poet would describe this gorge as
a way through the cliff carved by Neptune, and this cave a shelter the
mermaids sought to comb their tresses and sing the songs of the sea. Of
old every cascade and grotto was believed to be inhabited by nymphs and
gnomes, every grove by wood sprites and brownies. If they saw a brook
rippling over the pebbles in the sunlight, they said it was elfins
dancing; and in autumn when the fallen leaves blew over the hilltops, it
was the brownies holding carnival."

"I do not believe such creatures ever did exist," she replied, "but I
shall enjoy coming here all the better for having heard about them."

Then as if she already looked to him as a source of all information, she
added, "Tell me about the women in your city who ride in carriages and
wear beautiful dresses."

A shade of annoyance crossed his face. "I would rather tell you about
the fairies, little girl," he answered bitterly; "the women in my world
are mostly charming liars. They live to outshine each other in dress,
they utter pretty speeches that are false, they go to church to show off
their raiment and come back to sneer at what others wear, they consider
a man as eligible for a husband solely because he has money, and if he
tells them the truth, call him a fool. I do not admire them much, Mona,
and the less you know of them the better woman you will grow to be, and
the better wife you will make some man."

Mona flushed slightly and raising her eyes and looking full at him,
responded, "Do all the men in your world despise women as you do, and is
there not among them one who is good and tender and truthful?"

Winn remained silent a moment, for the delicate reproach of her words
was unexpected.

"There may be some," he answered evasively at last, "but I have never
met them and a man is apt to judge all women by those he has known."

"And if there is now and then one among them who is not false-hearted,"
continued Mona, "is she not respected and loved for it?"

"She might be by some," he answered doubtfully, "but most would call her
stupid."

"Would the men call her stupid?" persisted Mona.

"Some of them would," he answered, smiling at her earnestness, "but most
of them would take advantage of it. World-wise men grow to be selfish."
Then, as if the subject was distasteful, or her inquiries too pointed,
he added, "Do you know what love is, Mona, and have you never had a
lover among the young fishermen here?"

"T have read about it," she answered with perfect sincerity, and smiling
at her own thought, "but I've never had much for any of the boys I've
known; they smell too fishy."

This time Winn laughed heartily. "And is your nose the by-road to your
heart?" he asked.

"It may be," she replied, also laughing, "if I have one."

It was the first coquettish word she had so far uttered, and Winn did
not like it.

"That does not sound like you, Mona," he replied soberly, "your greatest
charm, and it is a charm, is sincerity. When you speak that way you
remind me of the ladies in my world, and I do not like them."

"And if I am always truthful," she said, "you will call me simple, won't
you?"

"No, I told you I admired that in you," he said, "but you have not
answered my question, Mona. Have you never had a lover?"

"I have had two or three," she replied again, looking sober, "at least
they said they loved me, but I did not return it."

And as Winn looked at the girlish figure, just showing the rounded
curves of womanhood beneath its close-fitting blue flannel gown, and at
the pansy face with eyes like one of those purple petals, fixed on him,
he, manlike, thought how sweet it would be to moisten them with the dew
of love's light and feel the touch of her velvety lips.

But should he try for that prize, and did he want it, if he could win
it?

The lowering sun had thrown the shadows of the spruce trees adown the
gorge, the wind scarce ruffled the ocean and only the low lullaby of its
undulations crept up the ravine. It was the parting of day and night,
the good-by of sunshine, the peace of summer twilight.

"Now, Mona," he half whispered, as if fearing to scare the mermaids
away, "play 'Annie Laurie'!"

And lost to the world, he watched her bending over and caressing that
old brown fiddle, even as a mother would press her baby's face to her
own, again and once again came that whisper of a love that never dies, a
refrain that holds the pathos of life and parting in its chords, a love
cry centuries old, as sweet as heaven, as sad as death.

"Come, little girl," he said, rising suddenly when only the ocean's
whisper reached his ears, "it's time to go home." And as, clasping her
hand, and in silence leading her out of the gorge, he noticed when one
of the roses she carried from the cave fell among the rocks, she stooped
and picked it up.




CHAPTER XIV

J. MALCOLM WESTON


There is in this land of the free, where all men are created equal (on
paper), a class of financial sharpers, whose ambition and sole
occupation is to secure for themselves the wealth of others by the most
occult and far-reaching scheming ever evolved by human brain. They toil
not, neither do they produce, yet Satan with all his archness is not
equipped like one of these. There is no taint of illegality in their
methods, they are outwardly the best of men, heralded by the press as
great financiers, railroad magnates, oil, copper, and iron kings,
praised by the rich and toadied to by the poor. They are envied by many,
lauded by editors who seek advertisements, and (if they contribute
liberally) praised by college presidents and preachers alike. Political
fortunes are turned by their nod, laws enacted in their aid, the code of
morals shaded in their favor, club doors opened, and society bowing low
whichever way they turn. Only the toiling millions whose lives are one
long fight against poverty think or speak ill of them, and such are not
considered. Those magnates of extortion so colossal that it is legal,
have one trite expression that contains their contempt for the millions
who envy, and that is, "The public be d----d."

Of their operation on the chess board of finance little need be said. It
is known, or at least its results are, to high or low, rich or poor.
These octopuses, or rather human sharks, organize trusts, corner every
necessity of life where conditions will permit; buy bankrupt railroads,
inflate their stock, boom it by systematic deception and then unload it
at top prices on the countless flocks of lambs ever ready to buy what is
dear, and who never by any known process can be induced to buy what is
cheap.

And those are financiers!

There is another class, usually with less money, but equal in brains and
audacity, who have come to be known as promoters. Relatively speaking
they should be called dogfish. They would be financiers if they could,
but lacking capital to buy railroads, or corner everything on the earth,
except water, they merely organize schemes and sell stock. How many, and
how varied those are, it is waste of space to specify. All that the
patient reader need do is consult the pages of any or all city dailies
and read the tempting list of schemes there to be found. All are alike
in the main, for all offer safe investments, sure and ample returns,
indorsed by names that glitter, and promise everything under the
sun,--except to return your money if you do not get value promised.

Of this class was J. Malcolm Weston.

He had organized two or three glittering bubbles before the firm of
Weston & Hill was established, but from lack of capital failed to reap
the hoped-for reward. Then along came Hill, a retired manufacturer,
whose history shall be given in due time, who had more money than brains
and more conceit than either. Weston, a shrewd and smooth-tongued
schemer, reading Hill at a glance, was not long in flattering that
gullible man into a partnership and taking him and his money into camp,
as it were. For a time, and while Winn Hardy was serving apprenticeship,
the firm conducted a fairly honest and respectable business. They bought
and sold stocks and bonds of all kinds, that is, they sold and then
bought to fill orders only,--a species of commission business perfectly
safe, but not satisfying to Weston. He longed to soar, to organize a
great scheme, a glittering bubble, to see his name in print as a king of
finance, and do it on other people's money--and Hill's.

Then one day, while off with his broker, Simmons, on the latter's steam
yacht, visiting various north coast islands, the impulse culminated.

"Why not buy one of these islands," said Simmons, "and start a quarry
company? You can buy one for a song and a granite-quarrying industry
_sounds_ safe and will catch the cautious. I am intending to build a
fine residence in the near future, and you can furnish me the stone. In
return, I'll market stock enough to pay for it. We can find an island
with a harbor and buy it, or a part, which is all that is needful, and
you can do the rest." And thus the scheme was hatched, and when J.
Malcolm Weston, the to-be great financier, returned to the city, he was
sole owner of Jess Hutton's unused quarry and the Rockhaven Granite
Company was born.

It took time, however, for Hill was a cautious man, holding on to his
purse-strings with the grip of death, and Weston must needs approach him
circuitously. Then there were outsiders to warm up, as it were, men of
some financial standing whose names were of value, to interest; a
charter to be obtained, and all the legal and business detail necessary
to the carrying out of a scheme to be attended to. It also needed all of
Weston's plausible arguments to perfect the plot, and summer came around
again before the conspiracy was ready to be launched. Then "the street"
was cautious, and knowing Weston's reputation in the past, was not
eager, or even willing, to buy this stock. At first, a few credulous
people like Winn's aunt and two or three others who believed in Weston
bought small lots, and the men whose names appeared on the prospectus
were each and all given stock in due ratio to their prominence. And then
Simmons began his fine work. He knew, and so did Weston, that every
share they had given away would be offered for sale as soon as a price
for it had been established "on 'change" and then the scheme would fall
flat. But Simmons had ideas of his own. "We must wait," he said, "until
your man Hardy has shipped us one or two loads of granite, then herald
that fact repeatedly in the papers until the dear confiding public don't
know whether one or ten shiploads have arrived, and then--declare a
dividend!"

It was not long after, and when Winn Hardy, the honest dupe that he was,
was either zealously striving to push the Rockhaven Granite Company
interests toward success, or thinking about what fine eyes Mona Hutton
had, that the _Market News_ contained the following item:--

"The first load of granite destined for the new and palatial residence
which Richard Simmons, the well-known broker, is about to build, has
arrived. It came from the Rockhaven Granite Company's quarries on an
island they own, which produces the finest quality of building stone
obtainable."

A week later this item also appeared in the same financial sheet:--

"It is rumored that all the treasury stock of the Rockhaven Granite
Company has been subscribed for and that this enterprising corporation
is overwhelmed with orders for their excellent product. This is due to
the rapid growth of our beautiful city and the consequent demand for
building materials."

And J. Malcolm Weston, after reading them in the privacy of his office,
stroked his abundant side whiskers with an admiring caress, while a
smile of satisfaction spread over his genial face. It was the beginning
of his long-cherished ambition to pose as a great financier and it
filled his soul with joy.

"A dozen or more of such items will start the ball rolling in glorious
shape," he said to Hill, "and boom Rockhaven to beat the cards."

But Hill, the narrow-minded and close-fisted man that he was, only
looked cross, and sourly asked, "What did they cost?"




CHAPTER XV

A MATTER OF BUSINESS


As the days passed on Winn noticed that more and more interest came to
be felt in the Rockhaven Granite Company and his management. And when
the first schooner he had chartered to load with quarried stone came
into the harbor and alongside the little wharf in front of the quarry,
almost a breeze of excitement seemed to ripple through the village. The
women whose husbands were working there came down to see the loading,
children wanted to climb aboard the vessel, and even the Rev. Jason Bush
spent hours watching the massive blocks as they were swung on board. Old
Jess Hutton left his store, and the people to help themselves, every
afternoon, and perched on a convenient outpost, looked on. Only Mona
kept away, and when one evening Winn asked her why, she colored slightly
and replied, "It hurts me a little to see that old ledge Uncle Jess used
to own being blasted and carried off."

It wasn't her only reason, though a part of it; the rest was of such a
nature that Mona kept it locked in her breast. For the good natives of
Rockhaven, as well as others, had noticed that Winn always walked with
her going and coming from church and had commented upon it, and Mona had
heard of their comments.

Winn was not her lover as yet, she felt, and not likely to be. She could
not and would not avoid walking and talking with him, but she could
avoid seeming to pursue him over to the quarry. It was all due to a
remark Mrs. Moore had made in a neighborly way.

"I like Mr. Hardy, right well," she had said one morning when Mona
brought in a fresh bunch of June roses and asked that she put them in
his room, "an' if I was a young gal like you, I'd set my cap for him. It
looks as if you had, a-bringin' him fresh posies, an' if ye keep it up
the right way, an' don't let him make too free with ye, ye kin. It 'ud
be a great catch for ye if ye did."

After that Mona brought no more flowers for Winn's room, but her mother,
observant ever, and world-wise in a way, did so, and Winn never knew the
difference.

When the second load of stone had been shipped, and the July sun had
begun to shrivel the scanty grass in Mrs. Moore's dooryard, her two
sons sailed into the harbor one day to spend a Sunday there. They were
browned by the sea-winds and redolent of its crisp odors, and when Winn
came back from the quarry at supper time he found them there.

"I hear ye're blowin' up an' carryin' off our island," said David, the
oldest, on being introduced, "an' it's a good thing. The rock ain't o'
much account an' most on't is in the way. Thar ain't room 'nough
'longside o' the water here to dry fish, let alone settin' up houses."

And that Saturday evening, when Winn, as usual, repaired to the store of
Jess Hutton to pay off his men, this swarthy sailor was sitting upon the
doorstep of Mrs. Hutton's home, chewing tobacco vigorously and talking
to Mona.

The next day, too, dressed in a suit of new clothes that, to use a slang
phrase, "could be heard across the island," he boldly and with an air of
proprietorship walked beside her to church and seated himself in the
same pew.

Winn, who had never taken this liberty, and who sat with Mrs. Moore just
to the rear, watched Mona industriously and noticed that once when the
young fisherman leaned over to whisper she edged away. All that day not
once did Winn exchange a word with her except the "good morning" that
was his early greeting, and when evening came he once more lit his cigar
and strolled up Norse Hill to commune with himself, for the sight of
that swaggering son of Neptune making himself agreeable to Mona was not
pleasant. In this respect men are all alike, and whether they want a
woman or not, a shadow of the old instinct that existed among the cave
dwellers is latent.

It was two days after when the brothers sailed away, and by that time
Winn had decided that no matter how interested young Moore was in Mona,
she reciprocated no part of it.

And then another, and totally unexpected success in his new life came to
him, and that from Jess.

"I've been layin' back 'n' watchin' how things was goin' on," observed
that philosopher one evening when they were alone in the store, "an' how
ye have behaved yerself, an' I'm goin' to be plain spoken with ye. In
the fust place I've made up my mind ye're a good, honest and
well-meanin' young man, an' if 'twas goin' ter help ye any, an' if ye
are likely to make it yer home here a year or two, I'd buy a few shares
of this stock jist ter show ye 'n' yer folks Rockhaven appreciates the
wages ye're payin' out. I'm goin' ter ask ye a few questions, an' if
matters is all right, I'll take five hundred on't an' mebbe I cud git
Cap'n Moore an' Cap'n Roby n' one or two others to buy a leetle. They
would if they knew I had."

To say that Winn was surprised was to put it mildly.

"I will gladly answer any question you may ask, Mr. Hutton, and
truthfully," he replied. "I know how you feel in regard to this
enterprise and how much any one would hate to lose a dollar they
invested in our stock. It is because of this that I have not so far
asked a soul, not even you, to invest a cent with us, though we are
ready and shall be glad to have you. As to how long I shall stay here,
that is a matter over which I have no control. I am only a manager for
the company. I own some of the stock and draw a fair salary, and if this
quarry pays (and I shall do my best to make it) I may stay here for
life."

"Is this here Weston wuth a good deal o' money," queried Jess in
response, "an' what sort o' man is he reckoned in the city? Is he
counted as square an' honest, or a sharper?"

"So far as I know," responded Winn, "he is an honorable business man;
and although this quarrying company is like any other enterprise--a
venture--I do not think Mr. Weston would have gone into it unless he
felt sure of making money."

Jess asked a good many other questions which, with their answers, not
being pertinent to the thread of this narrative, need not be quoted.
When Winn left him that night, after he had gone over in detail all he
knew regarding Weston & Hill and their business, it was with the feeling
that he had conquered Rockhaven and its oracle without an effort. He
little realized that a far more subtile influence than dividends had
interested Jess Hutton, and a desire to conserve matters to the end that
Mona might be made the happier, was the motive force that governed him.

"I've noticed," he said a little later to Mrs. Hutton, "that this young
man sorter takes to Mona n' she kinder cottons to him. I think it 'ud be
a good idee if ye'd jest caution her not to be free with him 'n' kinder
hold herself off as it were. These city chaps have a winnin' way with
'em to a gal, n' I'd hate to see her git a heartache out on't." He did
not tell Mrs. Hutton he had bought five hundred shares of Rockhaven
stock and insisted that Winn also keep the matter a secret.

A week later Winn received the following missive from Jack Nickerson,
only a portion of which it is necessary to quote.

"... I hear," he wrote, "that you have captured an island and are
sending it here in shiploads according to the _Market News_ (two
clippings of which I enclose). They show the fine Italian hand of Weston
or Simmons. I hope you are enjoying yourself and drawing your per annum
with promptness and regularity. The street is growing curious as to what
deep-laid scheme Weston & Hill are preparing to spring upon it, and
Rockhaven stock is not as yet selling to any extent. I saw the gay and
festive Weston out driving yesterday and Simmons was with him. They are
a pair that will bear watching. I hope they won't play you for a
tenderfoot in this new deal. Last week I took a run up to the mountain
where Ethel Sherman and her mother are spending the summer. Ethel was,
as might be expected, deep in a flirtation with a young idiot in golf
clothes and hardly noticed me. Incidentally I heard that he was possible
heir to millions."

"What an inveterate scoffer Jack is," was Winn's mental comment on this
missive. "He sees no good motive in any one;" and then he re-read the
long and flowery letter from Weston received the same time and
congratulating him on his excellent work. Also notifying him they had as
usual anticipated his pay-roll and expressed sufficient currency to meet
it.

And of the two letters the one from Weston seemed to him just then to be
honest and business-like, and Jack's as but the sneering of a confirmed
cynic.

"They wouldn't be putting good money into this quarry if they did not
see a safe and sure return," he thought, and then he took Ethel
Sherman's letter that had been lying for weeks unanswered on his table
and tore it into shreds.

A few days later he received instructions to make a present of fifty
shares of stock to the minister of Rockhaven church, and to assure him
that the Company donated it for the good of the cause and to show their
cordial interest in the religious welfare of the island. And the Rev.
Jason Bush, who never in his life owned more than the humble roof that
sheltered him, and whose patient wife turned and dyed her raiment until
worthless, marvelled much. And more than that, twenty-four hours had not
passed ere every man, woman, and child on the island had been told it,
for such unexpected, such astounding liberality seemed nothing short of
a miracle.




CHAPTER XVI

THE GROWTH OF A BUBBLE


"Young Hardy's making his mark down on the island," observed J. Malcolm
Weston to his partner that morning when they had received notice of the
stock purchase made by Jess, "and if the fellow keeps on as he has
started the quarry won't stand us out a penny."

"I doubt if he does," responded Mr. Hill, who, be it said, fulfilled the
part of a balance wheel to Weston. "From what you have told me there
aren't many on the island who have any spare money."

"Oh, you can't always tell by the clothes such jays wear how much they
have hid away in old stockings," responded Weston. "Those mossbacks
never spend a cent and once they grasp a dollar it passes out of
circulation."

"I am surprised Hardy landed this man Hutton for five hundred," said
Hill, "and so early in the game."

"I am also," replied Weston, "and if I felt sure that Hardy could be
trusted with our plans, I would tell him what our next move is, but I am
not. The trouble with him is, he is too honest, and when we begin to
throw out bait in the way of advance dividends, he will suspect our game
and I am not sure how he will take it."

"Do not think of that yet," replied Hill, "so long as we keep all the
cards in our own hands, we know where the joker is, but never
afterward."

"I am a good mind to take a ran down to Rockhaven," continued Weston
meditatively, "and get better acquainted with this old duffer Hutton and
the rest. Also make some of them a present of a little stock, just to
interest them. It's the way to catch mackerel and those few shares will
return us good results when we declare a dividend."

"Better not," replied the more cautious of the two, "those old fishermen
are not fools, and will conclude that if you are willing to give stock
away, it's of no value. When we do pay a dividend this Hutton will not
keep it a secret and Hardy can then reap the harvest. Besides, he and
his honesty must be considered. It won't do to alarm him. He believes
the scheme is legitimate, and as he has a finger in the pie, will work
for his own end and sell all the stock he can. What I should advise is
that we notify him the price is now two dollars per share and let that
leaven work as it will. How much stock have we sold already?"

"About six thousand shares," replied Weston, "counting that bought by
Hardy."

"And two per cent on the par value of that," continued Hill, figuring on
a slip of paper, "would be twelve hundred dollars. I think one per cent
enough as a starter and that we should pay it now."

"No," replied the more liberal Weston, "it's not best to pinch in the
matter of chum, as the fishermen say, and do things by halves. If we
must bait them now let us bait them well."

And bait them well they did, for the next day's issue of the _Market
News_ contained the following:--

"It is with pleasure we announce that the Rockhaven Granite Company has
declared a dividend of two per cent on the par value of the stock,
payable at the office of Weston & Hill. As we stated a short time ago in
these columns, this well-known and reliable firm, whose enterprise is
now so agreeably proven, do nothing by halves and are only too glad to
distribute all profits as soon as accrued. The stock has already doubled
in price and we predict will reach par in the near future."

And when Jess Hutton received by mail a check for one hundred dollars
as his share of the dividend upon the par value of five hundred shares
and the parson one for ten, Rockhaven began to get excited, and all who
had a dollar to invest made haste to call upon Winn. Captain Doty bought
one hundred shares, Captain Moore, uncle to David the irrepressible, the
same, a few others lesser amounts, and to cap the climax, poor
hard-working Mrs. Moore, Winn's landlady, came to him.

"I've got a little money laid away in the savin's bank ashore," she
said, "an' it's only drawin' four cents a dollar, which ain't much. If
you thinks it's safe mebbe I'd best take some out an' buy some o' this
stock. They all tell me it's payin' and like to go up."

And that night, in the seclusion of his own room, as Winn Hardy thought
matters over, and realized how this speculative excitement was starting
on Rockhaven, just a faint suspicion that the golden apple might be
rotten at the core came to him. As was his way when he wanted to think
and think hard, he at once betook himself out of sight and sound of even
that quiet village, and hied away to the top of Norse Hill. Here he lit
a cigar and planted himself beside the strange structure there, the
history of which no one knew.

And how solemn and silent the still summer evening seemed, and how like
eternity the boundless ocean faintly visible in the starlight. Only its
low murmur at the foot of the cliff and just a faint breeze redolent of
its salty zest reached him. And of Weston & Hill and this new outcome?

He had worked and talked to this end; he had hoped for it, striving to
bring it about, and now that the quarry was each day a busy hive of
workers, the third vessel load of quarried stone nearly all on board and
ready to ship, the entire island agog over this new industry, and not
only willing but anxious to invest their hard-earned savings in
Rockhaven stock, and a prosperous outcome to his ambition in sight, Winn
hesitated.

And the more he ground the grist of Weston & Hill's scheme in his mind
there beside the old stone tower, the less he liked it and the deeper
the germ of suspicion took root. And the cause of it all was the two per
cent dividend!

Winn Hardy, though a country-born boy and lacking in worldly experience,
as well as education, was no fool. He knew that two shiploads of
granite, though sold at a fabulous price, would not pay a profit equal
to half the cost the quarry had so far been, to say nothing of a
dividend, and the only conclusion was not flattering to his firm's
honesty. Then one by one, every little detail of the entire affair;
every instruction they had given; the stock they had presented to him;
the letters they had written; the donation to the parson; Jack
Nickerson's innuendoes; and now this unreasonable payment of dividends
which he knew were not earned,--all passed in review. Honest himself, he
was slow to suspect dishonesty in others, but the longer and more
carefully he weighed these facts in his mind the plainer he saw the word
"fraud" written on each one of them.

And he had put every dollar of the few he had saved into this stock and
borrowed some besides! And worse than that; this honest old fellow Jess,
out of good will to him had put five hundred in and persuaded others to
invest also!

Suspicion is like sailing in a fog; we cannot tell where clear air ends
and fog begins, only the first we know the air seems damp and chill, the
sun obscured and danger near. And so with Winn, there on Rockhaven, with
his vocation and paths in life all mapped out, these people looking
toward him as a benefactor and ready to trust him with their money and
the sun of success shining! And all at once the air seemed chill with
the fog of deceit and fraud, and he knew not where he was. To refuse
those who would buy more stock, he dare not, since it would awaken
suspicion; to accept it was as bad, for it compromised him the deeper.
For a long hour he tried to think a way for himself out of this fog, and
the more he thought the more positive his suspicion grew, and then he
returned to his abode. And there in Rock Lane and as if to increase his
burden of responsibility, was Mona sitting in the porch of her humble
home alone.

"Why, little girl," he said softly, pausing at the gate, "are you not
abed and asleep?"

And Mona, unconscious of how or in what way it would strike him, and in
the utter innocence of her heart, came quickly out to where he was
standing.

"I was lonesome," she said simply, "and waiting for you to come back. I
saw you go up the hill and wondered what for." And Winn, despondent and
worried as he was, and looking down into the sweet face and earnest eyes
upraised to him, felt their tender sympathy wondrously sweet.

"I went up there to think," he said, "and to be alone. It is a way I
have when business troubles me." And bidding her "good night" he left
her.




CHAPTER XVII

IN THE PATH OF MOONLIGHT


For a few weeks Winn worried over the suspicions of Weston & Hill's
honesty that seemed like a cloud of danger, and then, to a certain
extent, it passed away. To no one, not even Jess, did he dare confide
them, but just drifted on, day by day, doing the duty he was paid to do.
Each week came his pay-roll and salary remittance, and an assuring and
pleasant letter from the firm. It also contained a request or hope that
he would not forget to sell stock when he could. This latter, however,
made no impression on Winn. Collectively, he had sold about one thousand
shares to these islanders, and that he felt was enough. In fact,
believing, as he had almost come to do, that the entire scheme was a
gigantic swindle, it was certainly all he intended to sell, and more
than he wished he had sold. Then there was another matter of serious
interest, and that was Mona.

Between her and himself, these summer days, there had come a little bond
of feeling, deep-rooted in her simple but passionate nature, and more
lightly in his. To her it was a new wonder-world, and as each evening
when he chanced to linger by the gate watching her, as she cared for the
sweet williams, pinks, and peonies that grew in her dooryard, or later
when he sat with her in the vine-hid porch, chatting of commonplaces or
relating incidents of the great world outside, his earnest eyes, the
melodious tones of his voice, and the careless, half cynical, half
tender way he had of expressing himself, only increased the charm.
Occasionally, on Thursday evenings, when her mother, as usual, made one
of the little band who gathered in the church, they two would stroll
over to the cliff beyond Norse Hill or up the road to Northaven to the
old tide mill. On two occasions he had persuaded her to take her violin
and visit the gorge with him, where she played at his bidding, her heart
gladdened by the thought that he cared to hear her. But she preferred
his poetic fancies and world-taught sayings to the violin, and since she
was so charming and interested a listener, it was inevitable that he
talked much. Another matter also troubled him seriously.

He had, at the beginning of their acquaintance, and from a desire to
utter pleasant words to Mona, assured her that she was gifted with a
remarkable talent for playing, and if she would but make the effort,
the world would bow before her. It was a kindly speech, and charmed as
he was by time, place, and the power of the old love songs she rendered
with such exquisite feeling, he really meant it, little realizing its
effect on her. Now that he did realize it, and could not fail to see
that every word he uttered was considered by her as authoritative, he
wished that he had been more cautious. Then again, he understood her
better and saw what an ardent child of nature she was, and how her heart
and soul vibrated to every pulse of the ocean and the mystic romance of
the wild gorge she sought so often. To him now she seemed like a
veritable nymph of old, or a mermaid, whose soul was attuned to the wild
voice of wind and wave sighing through the rock-walled ravine and the
thicket of spruce above it. For such a creature of moods and fancies to
thrust herself into a merciless world, where sentiment was a jest and
romance an illusion, seemed a sacrilege. And he was to blame for her
wish to do so! Then again, he felt that if the world could but see and
hear her, it must, perforce, crown her with the laurel wreath. True to
his impulsive nature, in this as in all things, he alternated in his own
opinions as to what was best for her.

And so the summer days passed, and Winn, half conscious that she was
learning the sad lesson of love, and yet stifling his conscience with
the feeling that he was only playing the role of big brother, which he
had decided to adopt, allowed the (to him) pleasant pastime to continue.

It may be said that it was unfair for him, a polished man of the world,
and knowing full well that there could be but one result to this
delightful intimacy, to allow it to continue, and yet he did. And it
must also be asserted, that under the same circumstances and like
provocation, few men there are who would not do likewise.

One surprise came to him, however, for he had sent to the city for a
book of instructions on the violin and a supply of new music, only to
find, when he gave them to her, that she was unable to read a note.

"I told you," she said plaintively, "that I knew nothing about music
except what Uncle Jess has taught me, and I wonder how you can think I
play so well. If only I could go away and learn even a little, I should
be so happy."

"Yes," he responded, smiling at her, for he had come to speak as he
thought and felt, "and learn also that men admired you, and grow vain of
your looks, and become one of the artful women of society, instead of
sweet and pure-minded Mona. You are better off where you are, for here
you are happy and care-free."

Then one evening came another, and more serious, revelation to him.

They had strolled up to the old tide mill, and sat watching the moon
high overhead, outlining its path of silver sheen upon the rippled
waters of the harbor, while he, as usual, was giving utterance to some
of his delicately worded sayings.

"I do not understand," she said in response to one more pointed than the
rest, "why you think so badly of womankind in the great world. Are they
all so selfish, and artful, and deceitful, as you say? I have seen some
who came here in their beautiful yachts, and they looked so nice in
their white dresses, and so sweet and gentle, I envied them."

Winn looked at her and smiled.

"I have no doubt, little girl, you admired and envied them, and that
they looked to you as beautiful and charming as so many fairies. That
was the principal reason they came ashore--just to be seen and admired
by you people here, who, they knew, never were, and, most likely, never
would be, clad as they were. That is all these butterflies of fashion
live for--to show off their beautiful plumage and be envied by others."

"Maybe you know them best," she responded regretfully, as if sorry he
had spoiled an illusion, "but I thought them so beautiful and sweet and
so like pictures in books, it seemed to me they must be as described
there and never wicked or deceitful."

"And so you have been believing all you read in books, have you, little
one?" he said, smiling again, "and that those show birds who lit on the
island flew out of the pages of story books? And yet, the other day,
when I told you about the nymphs and elfins, you did not believe me,
Mona!"

"I have never seen those creatures," she replied, "and I have seen
these."

"Neither have you seen God, or the Saviour, or the angels," he said,
"and yet you believe they exist."

"I do," she answered firmly, "and I should go crazy with fear if I
didn't. But your wonderful creatures, who lived so long ago, did not
make this world, as God did."

"People believed they did in those days," he replied quietly, "and just
as firmly as we believe God did."

She made no answer, for the subject was beyond her, but silently
watched the beauteous moonlight picture before her.

"I should like to go into the great world," she said at last, as if that
fascinated her, "and wear beautiful dresses and see those others wear,
and hear that wonderful woman you told about play the violin, and watch
them throw flowers at her. I should like to be one with the rest just
for a little while, and then come back."

"If you did that you would never come back," he answered, "or if you did
you would be miserable ever after."

"I should have to," she said, as another side of the question presented
itself to her, "if I couldn't earn my living there."

"You would have to, surely," he answered slowly, thinking of some phases
of city existence, but allowing no hint of them to escape him. "It is
foolish to dream of these things, little girl," he continued, "for they
are impossible. Even if you had the means to join the great throng of
city revellers, you would, with your disposition, be wounded deep on all
sides. The women would say spiteful things about you, and scratch you
every way they could, as is their nature; and the men would fill your
ears with subtle flattery, and each one spread before you the most
insidious net ever woven by mortal brain. No, little sister, be content
where you are, and if you are lonely, go to the cave and listen to the
whisper of the fairies. They will never stab you to the heart, as the
worldly women will. You are like a wild rose now, and as sweet and
innocent. You say what you think and mean what you say. Your heart is
tender and true and your thoughts pure and simple. You deceive no one,
and would not, if you could."

"But might I not learn to play as the wonderful woman did," she asked
stoutly, "and could I not earn my own living if I did? I need not know,
nor care, what these spiteful women said about me, need I?"

Winn looked at her in surprise.

"And so this is the bee that has crept into the heart of my wild rose,
is it?" he said. "You thirst for fame and the laurel wreath, do you,
Mona? I thought I had come to know you well, little one," he continued
tenderly, "but this surprises me. Do you know what it means, and that to
win the world's applause you must study your art for years, and step by
step win your way up the ladder, and that already ahead of you are
hundreds who will miss no chance to push you backwards? And who will pay
for all the cost of tuition and training you must go through, Mona?"

"Uncle Jess will," she answered simply, "if I ask him. He loves me."

Winn was silent, conscious that beside him was a creature as tender as a
flower and as innocent, with a will to do and dare, or strive to do,
what few women would, and in her heart was an ambition that, like the
bee in the flower, would rob her of all life's sweetness.

"I am sorry," he said at last, "that you have this ambition. It is
creditable to you, but hopeless. Put it out of your mind before it
destroys your peace. Be your own sweet self here on the island, and some
day you will learn to love one of its hardy sons, like David Moore,
perhaps, and he will make you a home and strive for your happiness."

"I do not care for him, or any of the others," she answered, "and never
shall."

It was not the first time he had mentioned young Moore to her, but never
before in so serious a way, and it hurt.

"I am sorry," she continued, "that I told you what I have, but somehow I
thought you understood me better than any one else. It is all right,
however, and no doubt what you say is true."

He noticed there was a little quiver in her voice, and realized he had
hurt her. He had, but not in the way he thought.

For a long time they sat in silence, watching the whitened ledges that
bordered the island, the spectral spruces that grew to the right of
where they were, the twinkling gleam of the lighthouse in the distance,
and the shimmering path of moonlight across the harbor that ended at
their feet.

"It's a beautiful night," said Winn at last, "and I hate to leave this
spot, but I think it's time you were home."

And as he spoke he stooped, and, putting his hand under her arm, lifted
her to her feet.

As he did so, a single tear fell upon his hand.




CHAPTER XVIII

IN A FOG


Men are very much alike in this respect: if one finds fortune or a path
that seems to lead that way, all who suspect it will try to crowd in.
The same instinct may be seen among a flock of fowl, only we do not
pursue so openly. And so, when news of the unexpected and early dividend
on Rockhaven stock circulated--as it was quick in doing--everybody on
the island who had a few dollars laid away made haste to seek Winn,
anxious to invest. The leaven worked as that shrewd swindler, Weston,
knew full well it would, and had Winn's suspicions not been aroused, and
he too honest to take advantage of these people, he might have sold five
thousand shares, and as the sequel proved, bankrupted the island. For
these hard-working people, though living in hovels and wearing clothing
a tramp would almost disdain, were frugal, and each and all had
something saved for a rainy day. The wisest had, from time to time, sent
their savings ashore by Captain Roby to deposit in a savings bank;
others kept a few dollars hid in bedticks or similarly secreted; but
now, solely because Jess Hutton, the oracle of the island, was known to
have invested in this stock and received such fabulous returns, all were
anxious to follow his lead. A little spice of envy crept in also at his
good luck, and Mrs. Moore, in chatting with a neighbor, voiced it.

"It's allus the way," she said plaintively, "when Jess bought that ledge
o' stun from Gad Baker an' gin him a hundred dollars for't, 'most
everybody thought he was a fool, and now 'long comes this city man and
gives him two thousand for't, an' on top o' that Jess buys some o' this
stock an' gets a hundred dollars profit fust go-off. Here I've been
cookin' an' washin', year in an' year out, an' jist keepin' soul 'n'
body together, an' the boys spendin' every cent they airned--not thet
I'm complainin' on them, only if I had five hundred laid away I might
put in as much as Jess did. It don't seem right, that it don't!
Howsoever, it's the way o' the world, an' them as has, gits."

Little did hard-working Widow Moore realize when Dame Fortune was good
to her!

But Winn was the most worried person on the island, and his burden the
heavier to bear since he dared not hint his suspicions to any one. To
all who came and almost begged him to take their savings in exchange for
stock he made only one reply, "We have no more to sell," and had there
been a stock exchange on the island, Rockhaven would have soared to
twenty dollars a share, so eager were those credulous people to invest.

Then another incident of life began to interest them, and, though Winn
knew it not, his attentions to Mona began to create gossip, more
especially as he was the actual and present representative of a rich
corporation. His walking to and from church with her, the hours he had
spent in her home, and more than these, the summer evening strolls up to
the old tide mill, to linger and watch the moonlight on the water, had
all been noticed and commented upon. For these people, albeit they
worked hard and lived poorly, intuitively knew where Cupid hid himself
and how and when he shot his arrows. It was all right, of course, and
though other less fortunate maids envied Mona, and many of the good
mothers voiced their congratulations to Mrs. Hutton, there was no
opposition to this summer idyl.

One thing Winn noticed, however, and that was the pertinent fact that
when he "dropped in" at Mona's home, as he so often did, her mother
usually found some excuse to absent herself and leave the young couple
alone. Had he been desirous of wooing this winsome maid nothing would
have pleased him better, but he hardly felt that way. It was true she
interested him, for what young man could resist her sweet and tender
ways, her patience with her mother's implacable dislike of her violin
playing and the beautiful soul her truthful eyes bespoke? Then the hours
with her in the romantic spot in which she had chosen to seek the
goddess of music were more than charming. In a way this trysting place
began to seem sacred to him, and the secret hours he had passed with her
there a tender bond between them. All these sweet motive forces that
move man's nature, like so many little hands, began to entwine
themselves in his. He had no thought of marrying. He realized that he
had yet to carve his way upward to independence before thinking of a
home and wife, and beyond that the lesson of distrust Ethel Sherman had
taught him still held sway. He was not a model of discretion; he was an
unthinking young man with the germs of fine honor and sturdy honesty
latent within him, and in spite of the cynicism he had imbibed from Jack
Nickerson he was sure in the end to commit no folly, nor wrong man,
woman, or child.

And yet, insensibly, he was doing Mona Hutton the greatest wrong in his
power--almost.

Some realizing sense of this came to him after that evening beside the
old tide mill, when his words had caused a single tear to fall upon the
hand that helped her to arise, and yet he could not tell what he had
said that hurt her so.

There is, perhaps, nothing so fascinating in this wide world to a young
man as the first signs of a sweet maid's budding love for him, and it
must be stated, nothing is harder to turn away from, and Winn was no
exception to young men in general. And now that he was conscious of it,
that fact, coupled with the business dilemma confronting him, created a
double burden. He saw whither he was drifting with her and seeing, had
not the heart to turn away. On the other hand, the Rockhaven Granite
Company began to seem a quagmire of fraud in which he and all who had
trusted in him might any day become entangled, their investments swept
away, the men he had hired left without pay, and he stranded on this
island. It may seem that Winn was borrowing needless worriment, and yet
once the canker spot of suspicion fastens itself upon a man's mind, it
grows until it turns all things green.

One thing he tried to do--avoid Mona. And yet he could not to any
extent, for since she dwelt next door he must needs meet her and speak
almost daily. And strange to say, now that it was in his heart to act
indifferent, her appealing eyes and winsome face began to seem a
reproach, and his conscience troubled him. For a week he passed each
evening alone in his room trying to read one of the books he had brought
with him, or else in Jess Hutton's store, listening to the gossip of the
men who gathered there, interspersed with an occasional bit of quaint
philosophy from the lips of Jess himself, and then a bombshell in the
way of a letter to him reached the island. It was as follows:--

     "DEAR WINN,

     "Have been back to the city now for two weeks and watching the
     trend of the market. I was satisfied, as I wrote you, that
     Weston & Hill were preparing to launch a skyrocket--now I know
     it. What with printer's ink and that walking tombstone,
     Simmons, they have managed to get Rockhaven among the unlisted
     but active stocks, and by some chicanery, worked the price up
     to six dollars. Page, my broker, says it's a wildcat of the
     most pronounced stripe. A good many are short of it at below
     its present price and yet it holds firm. I've unloaded half I
     bought, so I am on Easy Street, and am watching out. It may go
     up with a whoop or down with a thud. One guess is as good as
     another, but what you best do is send me your stock and let
     Page sell it. Also if you have sold any to your friends, give
     them the tip. I know you believe in Weston and think, as you
     have said, that I am a perpetual scoffer. They may be all
     right, but I don't believe it, and now as you have a chance to
     unload and make a good thing, better do it.

     "Yours ever,

     "JACK.

     "P.S.--I forgot to mention that Ethel Sherman is still up in
     the mountains and the belle of all occasions. She asked a lot
     of questions about you and in such a way I was almost tempted
     to believe they were sincere. She has failed to land the golf
     dude, for his mother scented danger and, like a hen, led him
     away to safety."




CHAPTER XIX

A PHILOSOPHER


Winn had felt it best to keep silent regarding his suspicions of Weston
& Hill, but this new development forced him to unbosom himself to some
one and he went to Jess. He waited until the usual evening gathering of
callers had left the store, and then he told the story of his distrust
from the beginning and ended by reading a portion of Jack's letter. To
his surprise Jess received it all as unmoved as a granite ledge.

"I ain't a mite s'rprised," he said, "I sorter felt all 'long that this
'ere boss o' yourn was a swindler 'n' foolin' ye, an' the only reason I
took any stock was jist to help ye."

"I know it," responded Winn, "and it's that and because you have
influenced others to do so, that worries me."

But Jess only smiled.

"Keep cool," he said, "an' let yer hair grow. I ain't in it so deep but
I kin 'ford to lose all I've put in 'n' take keer o' the rest on 'em
here. What we want to do now is ter cac'late. When the wind gets
squally, the fust thing's to shorten sail. I'll 'low yer friend knows
his business, 'n' we'd best send this stock to him 'n' let him sell it
if he kin find fools to buy it at the price it's goin', an' then we'd
best lay the men off at the quarry 'n' let 'em go fishin'. We might keep
two or three on 'em goin'," he added as an afterthought, "jist to keep
up 'pearances 'n' lay low till the wind shifts."

"It may be you are right," asserted Winn, "but I do not know what to do
and the situation worries me."

"No sorter use 'n' worryin'," said Jess tersely, "ye'r healthy, ain't
ye?"

And then Winn laughed. "Yes," he said, "I am, and no worse off than when
I came here, but it disturbs me to find I've been deceived."

"You'll git used to that," replied Jess, "I hev. I cac'late in my time I
hev hed more'n a hundred pounds o'wool pulled into my eyes 'n' I ain't
blind yit. The only cause I've hed fer blamin' myself is 'most every
time I got skinned it was 'cause I was too dum good-hearted."

"And that is just why I feel so bad," put in Winn; "you bought this
stock to help me, and if you lose, it's on me."

Jess laughed heartily.

"Well, you're shakin' hands with the divil a good ways off," he said,
"up to date I'm ahead o' the game a cool hundred 'n' a middlin' good
chance o' gittin' more'n double my money back. I cac'late, of course,
this stock ain't wuth a cuss, but if by some hocus-pocus they're sayin'
it's wuth what your friend says 'tis, I stand a fair chance o' gittin'
square. Better tell him he kin let it go fer a dollar 'n' not hang on
fer more. I'll be satisfied if I git my hat back."

Then Jess, the big-hearted, thought of Winn. "It's none o' my bizness,"
he said, "but ez you've made free to trust me, how air ye fixed on this
stock? Hev ye put much money into it?"

"I've put five hundred, part borrowed," answered Winn candidly, "and
they made me a present of five hundred shares besides."

"Wal, that's a credit to ye, anyhow," responded Jess with an approving
look, "an' ye kin feel ye come higher'n the parson." Then after a few
minutes' silent meditation during which he closed his eyes and stroked
his chin affectionately, he added: "As a gineral thing I'd be slow in
advisin' anybody to go crooked, but when ye feel ye're in the hands o'
sharpers, it's the only way. Now what I'd advise ye to do is to keep on
reportin' the same pay-roll right 'long 'n' lay most o' the men off fer
a week or two till ye find what yer friend's done with the stock. What
they send ye extra may come handy 'fore this cat's skinned and buried.
Then ye kin kinder take it easy for a spell 'n' look the island over so
long's yer time 'n' wages is goin' on. Let 'em do the fiddlin' while you
dance this time. They cac'late ter make ye do all the fiddlin' an' turn
about is fair play."

[Illustration: JESS HUTTON, PHILOSOPHER.]

"I'll take your advice and do just what you say," replied Winn eagerly,
his spirits once more raised to their normal level by this quaint
philosopher, and as it was late in the evening and the mention of fiddle
recalled Jess Hutton's hobby, he added: "You have lifted a load off my
mind, and now please give me a few tunes, Mr. Hutton. I feel like
hearing some music."

And Jess the genial, to whom his fiddle was wife, child, friend, and
companion, once more drew it forth, and as Winn lighted a fresh cigar
and leaned back to enjoy it, again as before was he charmed by the old
man's art.

And that spell wrought by "Money Musk," "Fisher's Hornpipe," "The
Devil's Dream" and such old-time dance tunes that followed in quick
succession carried Winn back to his boyhood days and out of the turmoil
and strife of city life, and once more he felt himself in the old farm
barn with lanterns swinging aloft and a score of country lads and
lassies keeping step with him to the same lively measures. He could see
their happy faces and the sparkle of their eyes as "balance and swing,"
"do-see-do" and "all promenade" echoed from the rafters. He could even
feel the supple waist and warm handclasp of the willing maid who danced
with him, and when the evening of simple but unalloyed delight was over,
came the long walk home with that same farmer's daughter while the
moonlight silvered the landscape and the rustling leaves in the maple
lane, tinkling like tiny bells beneath their feet. Gone were all the
hectic years of city life, the stab of Ethel Sherman, the distrust of
Jack Nickerson, and the humiliation of the years with Weston & Hill.
Gone, too, all his present dread and the fog that for weeks had obscured
his course. Once more he felt full of young courage with success and
riches almost within his grasp. Then as the evening waned and Jess
Hutton's fingers strayed to the old sweet love songs of Scotland and
"Robin Adair" and "Annie Laurie" whispered the burden of their
affection, the tender eyes of Mona and the wild rock-walled gorge where
he had first heard her play the same songs touched his heart. With this
memory, so sweet in a way, came a heartache. When the evening was ended
and he, having thanked Jess for the good cheer in words and music,
betook himself to Rock Lane, he paused a moment in front of Mona's home.
Not a light was visible, not a sound except the low murmur of the
distant sea. Only a few seconds he stood there, looking and thinking,
and then kept on to his room.

The mood of the church bells was with him still.




CHAPTER XX

A CLOUD OVER ROCKHAVEN


A man is happiest when he has most to do, and though a woman's face
intrudes upon his thoughts and he feels her smiles are all for him, it
is life and action and the push forward toward success that interest him
most.

And so with Winn. He had come to Rockhaven to upbuild his fortune,
believing himself in a fair way to do so. He had taken up his new life
and care with earnestness and energy, putting his best thought into it,
and not only carrying out his employer's instructions in letter and
spirit, but in addition trying to make friends of those honest islanders
and interest them in this new enterprise. The latter was not hard since
Jess, the oracle of Rockhaven, was on his side, and, in a way, sponsor
for him. Then, too, he had adopted their simple homely ways and, though
not a believer, attended church each Sunday. How much of this was due to
the occult influence of Mona's eyes, and how much to sympathy and
interest in the spiritual life of the island, is hard to say. Most of
the men considered Sunday as a day of rest, and to some extent,
recreation. A few accompanied their families to the little church, but
more spent the day lounging about the wharves, smoking and swapping
yarns, and if a boat needed caulking, a net mending, or a new sail
bending, they did not hesitate to do it. While all had sufficient
reverence for the Lord's Day not to actually start out fishing, most
were willing to get ready. And perhaps for good reason, for a livelihood
on Rockhaven was not easy to obtain and with them, as with most
hard-working people, the necessities of life displaced spiritual
influences.

"It is a hard field to labor in," asserted the Rev. Jason Bush to Winn
one day, "and I've grown old and gray in the work. We have a little
church that has not been painted but twice since I came here forty-odd
years ago, or shingled but once. We have no carpet, and the cushions in
the pews are in rags. I have taught this generation almost all they know
of books, and laid most of their parents away in the graveyard back of
the meeting-house, and my turn will come before many years. We are poor
here, and we always have been and most likely always shall be, and at
times it has seemed to me the Lord was indifferent to our needs. Your
coming here and this new industry has seemed to me a special
providence."

And Winn, thinking of the fifty shares of stock he had given this poor
old minister, and the ten dollars dividend that must have seemed a
godsend, felt his heart sink, for he had by this time come to realize
why he had been told to donate this stock. And perhaps that fact gave
added force to the parson's words.

And when, after Jess had advised him to lay off some of the men and he
had done so, a sort of gloom seemed to spread over the island. A few of
the men took to their boats and fishing once more, and though Winn gave
out the plausible excuse that lack of demand for granite was the cause,
the rest who were out of work now seemed a constant reproach.

Then, too, since his own ambition and hope received a setback he was not
content. The growing distrust was a thorn in his side, in fact it was
more than that; it was almost a certainty that his mission there was
nearing its end. To leave, he could not; to go ahead, he dared not, for
any day he might be left in the lurch with no money to pay his men. And
Friday, when he usually received his remittances, was awaited with keen
anxiety. When it came and a letter, slightly fault-finding in tone
because he had sold no more stock for some weeks, and insisting that he
must go about it at once, Winn was not only irritated but disgusted.

"I am but a mere tool in their hands," he thought, "and they pay me to
do their bidding, be it work or to rob honest people." And then Winn had
a bad half-hour.

"Don't ye mind 'em," said Jess consolingly, when Winn had told him what
they wrote, "but keep cheerful 'n' let 'em keep on sendin' money. It's a
long lane ez hez no turns 'n' ours'll come bimeby. Better write yer
friend 'n' git posted on what's doin'."

But this excellent advice had scant effect on Winn, for his ambition had
been chilled, his hopes seemed like to be thwarted, his mental sun in a
cloud, and the barometer of his spirits at low tide. Then the honest
people here who had trusted him implicitly and who could ill afford to
lose became a burden to his mind. Honest himself in every impulse, to
realize that in the near future he might be cursed as a rascal only
added to his gloom. He dreaded to meet them lest they read the worriment
in his face, and especially the patient and hard-working Mrs. Moore, who
daily prepared his meals. To her the hundred dollars she had invested
was a small fortune, and then the kindly old minister whose long life
of patient work for starvation pay had made him pathetic, and who had
considered this gift as coming from the hand of God--to feel that he
also might join the rest in sorrowing hurt Winn. He dared not say a word
to any one except Jess, and what to do he knew not. At times he thought
of going to them, one and all, explain the situation, and ask them to
intrust him with their stock, when he would send it to the city to be
sold if possible. He even confided this impulse to Jess.

"No," replied that philosopher, "it ain't my idee to cross bridges till
ye come to 'em, 'n' we'd best wait till we see which way the cat's goin'
to jump. If wuss comes to wuss, an' 'fore I'd see ye blamed, I'll stand
the loss o' every share ye've sold here."

This was some consolation to Winn, but did not remove his gloom.

Then Mona became a factor in his perplexity. He had tried to avoid her
to a certain extent, but he could not avoid his thoughts, and deep in
his heart he knew that whatever bond of sympathy had come between them
was due to his own seeking. He had praised her playing, passed hours in
delightful exchange of poetic thoughts and recital of old-time lore,
pathetic, romantic, and altogether alluring, and this thrusting his
personality, as it were, into the thoughts and life of this untutored
island girl could have but one ending, and full well Winn knew what that
was.

The next Sunday chance threw them together, for Winn, to escape his
mood, if possible, had taken a long stroll over the island and up to the
north village. Returning late in the afternoon, he found her sitting by
the old mill watching the tide slowly ebbing between its mussel-coated
foundations. It was a spot romantic in its isolation, out of sight from
any dwelling and, in addition, of somewhat ghostly interest. Winn had
heard its history. It had been built a century ago and made useful for
the island's needs, but finally it fell into disuse and decay, its roof
gone, its timbers and floor removed, its windows but gaping openings in
the stone walls and akin to the eyeless sockets and mouth of a skull.
Then, too, the half-demented girl who years before had been found
hanging lifeless from one of its cross beams added an uncanny touch.
Winn had felt its grewsome interest and once or twice had visited it
with Mona. And now, coming to it just as the lowering sun had reached
the line of spruce trees fringing the western side of the harbor, he
found Mona sitting where they had sat one moonlight evening, idly
watching the motionless harbor stretching a mile away. She was not
aware of his approach, but sat leaning against an abutting stone,
looking at the setting sun's red glow on the harbor, a lonely, pathetic
figure.

For a moment Winn watched her, and watching there beside this uncanny
old ruin, lived the past two months over again like a momentary dream,
and then drew nearer.

"Why, Mona," he said, "what are you doing here?"

"Nothing," she answered, straightening up and turning to face him, "only
I did not know what else to do, and so came here." She did not disclose
the impulse which brought her to this spot, for of that no man,
certainly not Winn, should be told.

"Well," he continued, with assumed cheerfulness, "I'm glad to have come
across you, for I too have been lonesome and trying to walk it off. I've
had the blues for a week or more now," he added, feeling that some sort
of apology was due her, "and am not myself."

"And why?" she asked interestedly, turning her fathomless eyes upon him;
"are you getting tired of us here, and wanting to go back to the city?"

"No, little girl," he replied, assuming his usual big-brother's tone and
address, "I hate the city, as I've told you many times; but business
matters vex me, and as you may have heard, I've had to lay off some of
my men."

"Yes, I have heard," she answered quietly, her eyes still on him,
"nothing happens here that all do not know in a few hours."

And Winn, with the burden of dread that like a pall oppressed him just
then, wondered how long it would take for all to hear what he or Jess
could utter in five words.

"Why did you come here, Mona, if you were lonesome?" he said, anxious to
change the subject. "It's the last spot on the island you should visit
if lonely."

Mona colored slightly; "I always go to some lonely spot when I feel
sad," she said, unwilling to admit the real reason for her coming here.

"And that is where you are wrong," put in Winn, forcing a laugh and
seating himself beside her. "When I am blue I go to Jess or else take a
tramp as I did to-day," he added hastily.

Mona still watched him furtively and with an intuitive feeling that he
was concealing something. "I wish I knew how to play the violin," he
continued, looking across the harbor to where a dory had just started
toward the village, "it must be, as your uncle says, 'a heap o' comfort'
when one is lonesome."

"It has been to him all his life long," she answered a little sadly,
"and is now."

"And to you as well," he interposed, "it has helped you pass many a long
hour, I fancy. Do you know," he continued, anxious to talk about
anything except his present mood, "I've thought so many times of that
day I first heard you playing in the 'Devil's Oven,' and what a strange
place it was to hide yourself in. You are a queer girl, Mona, and unlike
any one I ever knew. I wish I were an artist, I'd like to make a picture
of you in that cave."

Mona looked pleased.

"You would make a picture," he added, smiling at her, "that the whole
world would look at with interest; I'd have you holding your violin and
looking out over the wide ocean with those sphinx-like eyes of yours,
just as if the world and all its follies had no interest for you."

"And what is a sphinx?" asked Mona.

"A woman that no man understands," he answered carelessly. "There are a
few such, and they are the only ones who interest men any length of
time."

"And am I like one of them?" queried the girl.

"Oh, no," he answered, "except your eyes, and they are absolutely
unreadable. Beyond them you are as easily understood as a flower that
only needs the sun's smiles."

It was a bit of his poetic imagery faintly understood by Mona. "You must
not mind my odd comparison," he continued, noticing her curious look,
"it's only a fancy of mine, and then, you are an odd stick, as they used
to say up in the country where I was born."

"And so you were not born in the city," she said with sudden interest.
"What Uncle Jess has told me and what you have said has made me hate the
city."

"I thought you said once you envied the city girls who came here in
yachts," laughed Winn.

"I might like to dress as they do," she answered, a little confused,
"but not to live where they do."

"And what has that to do with where I came from," he persisted, "and why
are you glad I am country-born?"

"Because," she replied bluntly, "Uncle Jess says country-born people are
usually honest and can be trusted."

Winn was silent, and as he looked at this simple island girl, so
unaffected and winsome, a new admiration came for her. "Give her a
chance," he thought, "and she would hold her own with Ethel Sherman
even."

"That is true," he said aloud, after a pause, thinking only of his own
business experience, "and the longer I remain here, the less I wish to
return to the city. I feel as your worthy uncle does, and for good
reasons. With the exception of an aunt, who has made a home for me, the
women whom I met there were not to be trusted, nor the men either. When
I left the old farm I was too young to understand people, but now that I
do, I often long for the old associates of my boyhood, and if my
business here becomes successful, I shall never go back to the city."

A look of gladness lit up the girl's face.

"I feel vexed over my business," continued Winn, longing to confide his
troubles to Mona and looking down into the dark mussel-coated chasm left
by the ebbing tide close by where they sat, "but I presume I shall come
out all right."

Then, as he glanced up at the roofless wall of the old mill just back of
them, its window openings showing the dark interior, he thought of the
girl who, a century ago, had come there to end her heartache and whose
story was fresh in his mind.

"Come, Mona," he said tenderly, as a sigh escaped him, "it's time we
returned to the village, for I am going to meeting to-night with you
and your mother." And all the long mile of sandy roadway that lay
between the mill and Rockhaven was traversed in almost unbroken silence.

Though far apart as yet, they were nearer to one another than ever
before.




CHAPTER XXI

THE MOOD OF THE BELLS


There were two church bells on Rockhaven, one at each village, and every
Sunday evening, year in and out, they called the piously inclined
together, always at the same time. That at Northaven sounded the sweeter
to Winn, since its call came over a mile of still water, like an echo to
the one in Rockhaven. He had noticed them, one answering the other, many
times before, each time to return in thought to the hillside home where
he was born and to the same sweet sound that came on Sunday from the
village two miles away. It had been to him what seemed long years since
he heard them, yet now, this evening, while he waited in the little
porch of Mona's home for her and her mother to join him churchward, and
this call came sweetly through the still evening air, it carried a new
peace to his vexed spirit, and the threatened upset of his mission to
Rockhaven faded away. Once more he was a boy again, and for a time
without a care.

And when Mona appeared, dressed in a simple white muslin, a white hood
of knitted wool half hiding the coiled masses of her jet black hair, her
eyes filled with tender light, Winn, in spite of his moroseness and the
bitter lessons in love he had learned, felt it a proud privilege to walk
beside her.

The usual number, mostly womankind, were emerging from the scattered
houses along the way to the church, and as Winn and Mona, together with
her mother and Mrs. Moore, followed the one plank walk which led to the
church, the last call of the bells came at longer intervals.

When the church was reached the lamps had been lighted, but the white
headstones, dotting the upward slope just back of it, still showed
faintly in the twilight.

The services were simple as usual, the few dozen who gathered all joined
in the same hymns of praise their ancestors had sung in the same church.
What the minister said was not new or eloquent; and yet the prayer he
uttered seemed to Winn to contain an unusually touching strain. It was
the mood of the bells still on him, for he had never known what church
believers call a change of heart; and while the devotions of the people
were pathetic in their very simplicity, they seemed more like a plea for
pity than an expression of thanks. When the services were ended, and
all rising joined in "The Sweet By and By," never before had it voiced
such a plaintive appeal as it did then in Winn's estimation.

When he and Mona, loitering behind the rest, reached her little dooryard
where the scent of many blooming flowers saluted him, they paused a
moment. Mrs. Moore had seated herself on the porch for a social chat
with Mrs. Hutton, the faint disk of a new moon showed in the western
sky, and in spite of the resolution taken weeks before, Winn could not
resist the temptation of longer privacy with his companion.

"Let us walk up to the top of Norse Hill," he said, "and look out over
the harbor. I feel like it to-night."

"Here is where I come to be alone," he observed when they had reached
the ancient beacon and were looking down over the village. "I wonder who
built this odd tower and for what use; do you know?"

"I have been told it was built by Leif Ericson," she replied, "ever so
many years ago, to prove he first discovered this co

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