Part 24 (2/2)

A few days later, however, Cicely was destined to make an impression upon something besides the nerve centres of her hero. As a rule, Mr.

Barrett took his baths at odd hours, either going to the beach in the early morning, or else delaying until the rest of the world was at the noon dinner which it sought ravenously, the moment it left the beach.

On this particular day, however, his watch apparently had played him false, and he came down upon the sand just as the throng of bathers was at its height. In the eyes of Dragons' Row, he immediately became an object of derision, for it was as Phebe had said, there was certainly no doubt whatever of his being extremely bow-legged, and, strong and powerful as he looked, he kept himself well away from the shock of the breaking waves.

After his wonted fas.h.i.+on, he paddled about in the edge of the water for a few moments, then turned to walk back to the sh.o.r.e. The next moment proved to be his undoing. Unconscious for the once of his appearing, Cicely had been swimming back and forth just outside the line of surf; then borne on the crest of a wave higher by far than any of its fellows had been, she came floating towards the beach. She landed on her feet as usual; but the wave, heavier than she expected, swept her off her balance and sent her sliding up the sand, straight against the retreating heels of her hero. There were two hurried exclamations, there was a splash; then the backward flow caught them, pulled them down and they reached the line of breakers again just in time to be boiled sociably together in the next in coming wave.

Gifford Barrett shook the water from his eyes and rubbed his right arm a little anxiously, as he staggered to his feet again. Cicely had fled to Allyn's side, and the young man nodded curtly to her as he stalked back to the sh.o.r.e. At the water's edge, he was greeted with a voice which sounded strangely familiar to his ears.

”How do you do? Vat was ve time you got boiled; wasn't it?”

No childish voice ever fell unheeded on Gifford Barrett's ears. The stoutest spot in his mental armor yielded to the touch of small fingers, and some of his best comrades.h.i.+ps had been with tiny boys and girls. Now, in an instant, all his sense of injured dignity fell away from him, and the watchers under the awnings wondered at the sudden kindliness in his face, as he grasped Mac's pudgy fist.

”Why, Mac, who ever dreamed of seeing you here, old man!”

”I live here now,” Mac said gravely; ”me and my mamma and everybody, only papa.”

”I thought you lived in Helena.”

”Not now. We like it better here; it's so funny to sit in ve sand and build pies. Can you build pies?”

”Yes, and forts.”

Mac fell to prancing delightedly, quite regardless of the havoc his small shoes were creating among the bare toes of his companion.

”Oh, can you? Truly, no joking? Make me one now.”

”Mac!” The call came from the nearest awning.

”Vat's mamma,” Mac said. ”She wants us. Come.” And he tugged at Gifford Barrett's hand.

”Not just now, old man.”

”Come. Aunt Teddy's vere, and all ve rest. Come.”

”Mac!” This time, the voice was more decided.

”Yes, mamma; but he won't come.”

”Mac, come here at once.”

There was a brief skirmish; then as usual, Mac conquered, and Gifford Barrett was led, an unwilling victim, to the awning where sat Mac's mother, beyond her a serried rank of Mac's relatives and, beyond them all, a tall girl in a black suit who watched him with dancing eyes.

The situation was not an easy one. It was Theodora who relieved it.

”Isn't this Mr. Gifford Barrett?” she asked, rising to meet him with the easy dignity which she a.s.sumed at times and which made her husband feel so proud of her. ”You may not remember me, Mrs. Farrington; but I think I met you in New York, two years ago, at a dinner that Mrs. Goodyear gave.”

And, as she spoke, Theodora was distinctly grateful for the accident which had left a dozen old letters in the tray of her trunk.

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