The Man Who Could Not Swim

by H. B. Marriott Watson

The Man who Could Not Swim

By H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON.*

 

"WELL, he is back, because Jenkins' young man told me the coachman told him he was coming; so there!"

Little Marjorie delivered this statement with the air of one firmly clinching an argument, and looked defiantly at her sister.

"Pooh!" said Eilean, who was in her teens. "Servants' gossip."

"It's really of no consequence if he is back," said Lady Molly languidly, as she lay upon the bank, her hat beside her, and cooled her slim body in the long grasses that sultry August afternoon.

"Isn't he good-looking, Molly?" inquired Eilean.

"How on earth do I know? And what does it matter?" responded her sister lazily.

"If I were the Duke," said Marjorie thoughtfully, "I wouldn't keep all those bulls in the meadows."

"They're not bulls, silly; they're only cows," said Eilean.

"They are bulls," said Marjorie emphatically, "I can tell from the way they glare at you."

"Wouldn't you like to live in the island, Molly?" asked Eilean, kicking her heels in the turf as she looked across the stretch of the little river that ran between Lord Templeton's estate and the Duke's.

"Why should I?" said Molly, without looking up; "I'd sooner live in a house."

"How old did you say the Duke was?" asked Marjorie, whose inquisitive little mind had been busy. "Twenty-seven, or was it seventy-two?"

"Twenty-seven, you idiot!" said Eilean.

Marjorie paid no heed to the implied censure, but went on with her brisk self-communion. "Didn't he come over with William the Conqueror?" she asked.

"No, duffer; we did," said Eilean. "He's not as old as we are."

"Are we very old, Eilean?" inquired Ovidia Naso.

"Of course. Wouldn't you like to be married to him, Molly?" asked Eilean of her graceful sister.

"How absurd! Of course not! He's always shooting things in Africa," said Molly languidly.

"All old families die out," remarked Marjorie complacently.

"You little duffer; they don't!" said Eilean.

"They do. I read it in a paper somewhere," said Marjorie, willing to embark on an argument at once. "They always die out."

"We haven't died out," said Eilean scathingly.

That was obvious, and for a moment took Marjorie aback, but she recovered hesitatingly. "We shall," she pronounced; "you'll see if we don't."

"If we died out, how could I see if we did?" inquired scornful Eilean.

"We'll die out; I know we shall," said Marjorie, cheerfully insistent. "Oh, Molly! what's that? It's a boat!"

Molly, at the suggestion of a new arrival, sat up and straightened herself. She took her hat on her knee and stared.

"It's an empty boat," she said.

"It's a canoe," said Eilean. "Oh, what fun, Molly! Let's fish it into the bank and have a lark."

She rose and went to the water's edge. The canoe, a Canadian canoe, with paddles obvious in the stern, drifted in a leisurely way upon the stream, and was clearly pointing for the place where they were sitting.

"Do let's get it," cried Marjorie ecstatically.

But practical and tomboy Eilean was already scooping the water with a stick in the hope that the eddies thus raised would drag the canoe ashore. Molly watched her with interest. On the idle summer day had broken, after all, a sort of adventure.

"Grab it when it lifts its nose next," she authoritatively commanded. Eilean grabbed and missed, and almost lost her balance. Molly rose and joined her, with some excitement in her pretty face. She issued instructions and took command of the operations; the canoe reluctantly grounded and was seized by the triumphant girls.

"Oh, Molly, let's ride in it!" said Eilean, between entreaty, enthusiasm, and timidity.

"You'd upset it; you can't keep still a moment," said her sister, eyeing the canoe and the paddles doubtfully.

"Oh, Molly, no one could sit in that; they'd fall out! It rocks like a see-saw," said Marjorie.

Molly made no reply to this. "Hold the nose, Eily," she said, and put one foot over the side.

"You're not going in; you'll be spilt!" said Eilean.

"Oh, Molly, don't be drowned!" pleaded poor Marjorie.

That decided it. With the utmost exhibition of assurance and sang froid, Molly stepped into the canoe and sat down.

"Bosh! Of course, it's different for children," she observed. "It's easy enough," and she reached round for a paddle. That action set the crazy canoe wobbling, and Molly clutched the sides. "Oh, Eily, hold it!" she gasped.

But the alarm proved false, and she recovered her eighteen-year-old dignity.

"You must have shoved it," she said.

"I didn't shove it," said Eilean indignantly. "It's you. You don't know how to manage a canoe."

"Indeed!" said her sister loftily, waving a paddle in the air. "Well, you'll see."

She dipped it in a gingerly fashion in the water, and the craft rolled over. "Oh!" she gasped; "hold it, Eily!" and then, when it righted: "You're pushing the nose down, stupid!"

Eilean let it go. "Oh, very well," she said crossly; "then perhaps you'd better manage for yourself."

Molly looked aghast for a moment as the canoe started on its independent career; but nothing happened, save that the nose turned on the current and pointed outwards; so she recovered herself.

"It's awfully easy," she declared, sitting well back and plying her paddle very timidly. The canoe moved out into the water, as though reluctant to leave the safe shore; seeing which, Molly's courage rose. "You've only got to know how to use the paddles," she exclaimed over her shoulder. The canoe trudged out, and the space between it and the bank widened. Its nose was pointed towards the island. "It's awfully jolly!" she called back, plying her paddle with more confidence. The two watched her with fascinated admiration. It did seem jolly, and, what was more, it seemed easy.

"Where are you going, Molly?" screamed Eilean.

"Oh, do be careful, Molly!" shrieked Marjorie in an ecstasy of excitement.

To the latter exhortation Molly deigned no reply; to the former she threw into the air, without looking round: "To the island."

Indeed, she was not at all certain about looking round. She was tempted to enjoy the admiration which she knew was marked in her sisters' faces, but—but she did not know about looking round. Some vague instinct seemed to warn her against it. But it was a great satisfaction to have cast upon the air so nonchalantly those indifferent words: "To the island."

The island, indeed, was fast approaching. She was more than half way across the not very considerable strait of water, and her heart beat with exhilaration. To be sure, there was the return; but as she had succeeded so well so far,, there was no reason why her luck should not hold. Should she land? And how did you land? Landing from a boat was no easy matter, unless some man held it for you; and landing from this crazy craft must be a ticklish business. On the whole she decided that she would not land; she had surely done enough for glory. But, on the other hand, it would be the coping-stone of her performance—to step lightly ashore and wave a triumphant signal to the amazed children. She wondered—should she—should she not? She would—she wouldn't—she——

"It was so kind of you to bring my canoe back. I've been wondering for the last fifteen minutes how I was to get hold of it."

The voice out of nowhere startled Molly. Her paddle dipped over-deep, and the canoe spun round, half-a-dozen feet from the island. It struck a projecting bough, which alarmed her. She uttered a little cry and threw herself to one side instinctively to avoid a blow. The skiff reeled under the dislocation of the balance; with agitation she flung her weight the other way, and the canoe toppled over in that direction. All at once it became to her terrified senses a pit of all the hazards. It was Death's stalking-horse. It strove to shake her out and bury her fathoms deep in the cruel water.

Molly suddenly felt herself seized under the arms, and was conscious next that she was upon the projecting bough. Below her she now saw the canoe to which she had so rashly committed herself afloat, bottom upwards. It was drifting down-stream.

"I'm afraid I spoke too soon. And now we're both in it," said a voice.

Molly was now aware that she was being held fast in the arms of a young man whose gaze was directed with a certain comic ruefulness at the ebbing boat. Then he glanced at her.

"Frightened?" he asked.

"Not at all," said Molly weakly, and strove to disengage herself. "Thank you."

"I don't think you'd better do that," said the young man, observing her. "You see, if I let go, we'll probably both go in and join the canoe. But I'll see if we can't get ashore."

He scrambled into a standing posture on the bough by the aid of smaller branches, and, still holding her against him, crawled carefully to the island. Then he released her.

"Thank you," said Molly a little breathlessly, and smoothed her frock. The young man contemplated her, and she met his glance when she had finished. He was about thirty, good to look at, and had a quiet and persistent eye.

"I'm afraid you've wet your dress a little," said the young man.

"Oh, it's of no consequence," said Molly quickly, conscious of a damp skirt.

"You see, you went over too quickly for me," he went on; "I never saw a canoe stagger so before."

Molly, her gaze wandering afield, beheld the two children across the intervening space of water. They were gazing enthralled, and it somehow annoyed her.

"Eilean, go away!" she called. "Run and ask them to bring a boat! Quick!"

"Did you fall in, Molly?" screamed back Eilean with great interest.

"Oh, Molly! did you say your prayers this morning?" wailed Marjorie.

"Quick!" cried their elder sister. "I can't stay here all day! Find Stubbs or someone!"

"And how long will it take to find Stubbs or someone, do you suppose?" inquired the young man, as the children started to run along the field. He leaned against a tree and surveyed the river, withdrawing from a pocket his cigarette-case.

"I should say about twenty minutes," said Molly, reflecting.

"Another twenty minutes for Stubbs to get here, and then the rescue—say, a third period of twenty minutes," mused the young man aloud, as he softened a cigarette between his fingers. "I'm afraid you must reconcile yourself to an hour on a desert island, then."

Molly eyed him askance. "It's the Duke!" she thought, with a beating heart; and aloud: "I'm afraid we both must."

"Oh, as for me," said the young man, "I shall enjoy it——" he paused and added—"now. You see, it was different before. I was, so to speak, marooned."

"Marooned!" she echoed.

"Yes. My canoe marooned me, as it has done you. It's a little beast. Only I have less excuse than you; in fact, I've none. I was asleep under that tree yonder, and woke up to find the wretch gone."

"It is very hot," said Molly sympathetically.

"Do you mind my lighting a cigarette?" he inquired politely, and, receiving her answer, struck a match. "You see," he resumed, "we are in a way shipwrecked strangers, who are forced to make the best of the situation. Not that the situation is so bad," he added, with a pensive glance at his companion. "But I am forgetting my hospitality as host. I must find you a seat."

Molly thanked him, but assured him that she was not in need of a seat, and, to show her independence, hooked herself up on a low-lying branch, and swung there, watching him with interest. It really was the Duke!

"Of course," he resumed in his casual, polite voice, "the real difficulty will come if those young ladies get lost in the wilds, or overtaken by the storm, or——"

"Oh, they're not likely to do that," said Molly dryly.

"Indeed! Well, I suppose I ought to be glad to hear it, but I confess it would have been an experience to be benighted here. Don't you agree with me?"

"Certainly not," said Molly with decision.

"In that case, let us hope the storm won't fall just yet," he said glancing at the sky.

Molly followed his example. The sky was certainly very lowering, and darkness was rolling up from the south.

"Do you think it will rain?" she asked anxiously.

He examined his cigarette.

"Speaking as one marooned of shipwrecked traveller to another, I will not deny the probability," he said; and, as if in answer to his words, heavy drops began to fall, the first-fruits of the thunderstorm.

Molly started. "Oh, I do wish they would be quick!" she said. She looked down the river, where the canoe tossed gently a hundred yards away. "Couldn't we—isn't there any chance of getting the boat?" she asked.

"You are suggesting to me," said the young man deliberately after a pause, "that I might plunge into the water, swim to shore, and bring back the canoe? Frankly, I do not feel equal to the occasion."

Molly felt contempt and anger rise in her. "You might as well get wet that way as any other, and we shall both be drenched in this storm," she said, scarcely veiling her indignation.

"That is true," he remarked thoughtfully; "and since we are partners in distress, perhaps one should make an effort to——" He moved towards the water as he spoke, but a thought struck Molly.

"Can you swim?" she called out.

"No," said the young man composedly.

"Then how absurd of you to think of it!" she declared. "Don't be so foolish. Perhaps we shan't get so very wet. I thought all men could swim," she added contemptuously. And this was the Duke!

"It is good of you to let me off," he said philosophically, returning to her. "But I dare say I could have floundered across. You see, when you were so kind as to bring my canoe back——"

"I didn't bring it back," said Molly shortly. "I didn't know anyone was here. If I'd known it, of course, I would have got someone to take it over to you."

"Stubbs, for example?" said he. "It might have been more effective, but I doubt if it would have been as pleasant."

"I shouldn't have been shut up here helpless," said Molly, ignoring his insinuated compliment. She did not like his imperturbability, and she suspected him of irony. Moreover, he did not appear to be at all ashamed of not being able to swim. It all came of being a Duke and superior.

"If you hadn't shouted out and startled me, it wouldn't have happened," said she, resolved that he should be put in the wrong.

"I apologise," he said. "But you must remember that I thought you knew I was waiting here."

That was reasonable, but Molly was not to be pacified. She was determined to show him that he was in disgrace, and she turned her shoulder to him. Suddenly a burst of thunder opened the heaven above him, and the rain streamed down. She cried out in dismay.

"You will be drenched to the skin in that light dress," said the stranger in quite another voice, and he put out his hand and felt her arm. She shook it off.

"Please come this way," he commanded, and obeying the new note of authority in his tone, she followed him to the further edge of the island, where she was surprised to find an easel erected. Quickly he unfolded a huge white artist's umbrella and pushed a stool forward. "Sit under this, please. It will keep the worst off," he said. Molly obeyed again, and the rain beat upon the umbrella. The young man stood a few paces away, regarding the black sky critically.

"You are getting wet yourself," she said presently. "Won't you come under?"

"Not wetter than if I had plunged after the canoe," he observed gravely, as he stooped to her invitation.

Molly made no answer to this; she had done her duty in asking him to share his own umbrella, and was going to leave it at that. The rain plumped heavily in dense, straight sheets about them. The umbrella wobbled and would have fallen, but he put out a hand and saved it, holding it in position. His arm was thus at the back of her, and it irked her as a sort of familiarity.

"Shall we tell each other stories? " he asked. "It will while away the time till the rescue party arrives. My story is the story of the man who could not swim."

"I think every man should be able to swim," said Molly disdainfully.

"And I think every woman should be——" she turned her face slightly towards him, "beautiful," he ended.

What did he mean? Was he insinuating that——?

"Even if we are compelled to be like this, I don't see any necessity to talk," she said curtly.

"No?" he added amenably. "Very well."

Thereafter was silence, which only the rain broke, falling on the thick umbrage of the trees, on the water, and on the easel and canvas in front of them. Molly, after a little, began to wish she had said anything rather than what she had said. The silence was awful; it was far worse than anything he might say. There he sat with his arm in a suggestive position behind her, stolidly looking forth upon the streaming river, without so much as the movement of a muscle in his face, so far as she could see. She herself kept her gaze fixed in front of her for a long time, while only the storm talked overhead. Heaven thundered and the clouds opened in a red streak; the deluge continued. Across the river were "empty pastures blind with rain."

The earth, now soaked and soft, ran gutters down the little slope, and the leg of Molly's stool suddenly sank on the side towards her companion. She toppled over upon him, hands foremost, and struck him in the chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she cried.

"Not of the slightest consequence," he replied formally, struggling with politeness in his prostrate condition, and battling wildly with the pole of the umbrella. But the latter contest was in vain; the next moment it collapsed, and they were involved in the damp folds together. Molly was conscious only of a hurly-burly of wet and misery and despair; she gave up the attempt to extricate herself and sat still, which was perhaps the best thing she could have done in the circumstances. The young man fought, as is the duty and privilege of the male, and presently conquered. The umbrella resumed its pacific mien and once more protected them, and Molly's stool was removed to a more secure place. After that the silence was worse than ever, and Molly began to feel a sense of resentment surging in her.

"Why on earth doesn't he say something?" she asked herself indignantly, oblivious of the fact that she herself had enjoined silence, "He might have asked me if I was hurt," she thought aggrievedly.

But he did not. He had reacquired his stolid demeanour and was gazing once more into the storm. Molly mentally shrugged her shoulders. How stupid he was! The rain poured on the easel in front. She could not stand it any longer and spoke.

"Your picture will be ruined," she said.

He turned his head towards it critically. "It is possible," he said, "if that is capable of ruin which I had some misgivings about the oil. I half thought it ought to have been water, and it is, now, you see. Nature is always right."

"I didn't know you painted," said Molly.

He looked at her inquiringly, even in surprise.

"I mean," she went on in a little confusion, "I didn't think you looked like a painter."

"I'm not," he answered her. "If you could see that sketch, you'd understand. But, thank Heaven! Providence has washed it out."

The thunder pealed over the island, and the lightning ripped across the firmament blindingly.

"Oh!" cried Molly, "they'll never come in all this! Eilean will never have got there. It's dreadful!"

The young man frowned, as if he were suddenly displeased with himself. He rose.

"Do you think you can manage to hold this stick for a minute or two?" he asked. "I've an idea."

Molly grasped the umbrella and watched him interestedly. He stalked out into the rain and made his way to the water's edge, where he stood contemplating the dismal scene. Then he came back. "I am a dolt," he remarked, without any feeling. "I ought to have known, or, not knowing, should have found out. There's only four feet of water this side."

Molly gazed at him. The statement conveyed nothing to her.

"It's a ford," he explained, "We need no longer be prisoners."

"Oh!" she gasped, as the heavens opened overhead once more. "Can we—can you get across?" she asked.

"Wade," he said, and gazed at her doubtfully, "at least, I can wade, and you——"

"Oh, I couldn't," said Molly decisively, "I should be afraid. It looks awful, boiling along like that."

"Of course, it is quite possible that I could carry you," he suggested, as if weighing the chances. "I couldn't very well take you on my back, as the water would come too high. But if I were to hold you in my arms, like so—as one carries a baby—I think you would be above the stream. If you were to cling round my neck——"

"Thank you, I have no intention of being carried," said Molly coldly.

He scrambled under the umbrella and resumed possession of it.

"Certainly I might go down in mid-stream, with that heavy pull of water on me," he said. "I suppose you weigh——"

"As I'm not going to cross that way, my weight doesn't matter," said Molly loftily.

"Then I'd better go by myself and bring help," he said.

He moved out again, and was half way to the stream when a voice stopped him: "But you don't know—it may be more than four feet."

"Oh, no, it isn't. But if I find it is, I can come back. As you sensibly observed a little while ago, one may as well be wet one way as another."

Molly had no reply at the moment, and he resumed his path, but she called out as he reached the bank—

"I don't see any sense in it. You won't get anywhere sooner than my sisters have done."

He came back. "That's true," he said. "But perhaps they've been storm-bound."

There was that possibility to face, but Molly bravely dodged it.

"As you can't swim," she remarked cruelly, "you would not be able to get to the canoe, and you would only have to trudge two miles to the Castle boathouse. Stubbs is sure to be on his way here. It's really abominable the way he is delaying."

The storm was passing, and in the south gleams of the sun appeared. The rain was like a retreating phantom in the sky. As he stood there so submissively, Molly's spirits bettered with the improvement of the weather. She rose to her feet.

"It's clearing," she observed.

"It's a pity we can't cheat this dilatory rescue party," he said. "I hate being indebted to people, don't you?"

He eyed her curiously, and Molly was conscious that he had pulled her out of the canoe.

"Yes, I do!" she snapped.

"Very well, then," said he. "What do you say to an adventure? Here is a splendid branch which is so heavily anchored that it could not possibly capsize. Shall we risk it?"

"I—I don't understand," answered the girl in surprise.

He indicated a fallen branch which spread out from a huge central log. "If I launch this, we can make the land. Are you game?"

Molly looked at it hesitatingly. "Ye—es," she said, "if you think it's really safe."

"Safe as shipboard," he said cheerily. "We can pole along beautifully. And when Stubbs comes, he will find the prisoners flown."

He stooped and by the application of stout arms succeeded in pushing the great bough into the stream, where it lay half-submerged. "If you sit towards the thick part and hold on to this outstanding branch, you will be as right as a trivet," he went on.

Molly gingerly stepped aboard the craft and stood clutching the branch. He stepped past her and plunged the pole he had secured into the water. "Hold on tight!" he enjoined. "Steady! Whoa!"

The big bough moved sluggishly out and bobbed and dipped. Molly uttered an exclamation of alarm, which caused him to glance round.

"Don't be afraid. It can't go down, and it can't turn over," he said reassuringly. "Sit on that branch and you'll feel safer."

She obeyed him, and their vessel glided down the channel, the young man directing it with his pole.

"It will be easier to go with the current than get her across to the bank," he explained. "We'll strike the bank lower down."

The sun had now resumed the sky, and Nature beamed after the blackness of that eclipse. There was a certain satisfaction in the gentle motion, and as Molly began to feel herself safe, she gave herself up to enjoyment. After all, she and the Duke were having a really romantic adventure. Fancy sailing down the river on a tree! She wished Evelyn, her elder sister, had been there to see her. Even Delia would have been better than no one. But the landscape was singularly empty, save for Marjorie's "bulls," who gazed mildly at the craft and its occupants and then went on browsing. Molly felt quite gay.

"I'm afraid you're awfully wet," she said kindly.

He laughed. "Probably," he replied, as if it mattered nothing. "But you?"

"Oh, I'm almost dry, thanks to you," she said still more graciously. "It was your umbrella. Do you——" she paused, and went on—"do you take that with you on your excursions?"

"Excursions?" he echoed, with a wary eye on the corner they were approaching.

"I mean, of course, expeditions," she corrected.

"Expeditions?" he repeated, and then suddenly turned to her, inquiry and amusement on his face. Almost as he did so, the log went aground and swung round, and Molly was almost precipitated into the water. In her alarm she held close to him, while he backed out with the aid of his pole, and facing the bank, brought them to anchor out of the current and under a small, precipitous bank.

"We can land here," he said, and put out one hand without turning to seize her. She gave him hers, and he drew her carefully forward till she was in front of him, still anchoring his craft by the pole in his other hand. "Can you climb up there without assistance?" he asked.

Molly was doubtful, so he hoisted her with a strong arm, and, using her fingers and nails, she gradually scrambled up. Then she looked down on the young man with an unintelligible feeling of regret that it was all over. It did not take him more than two minutes to join her. She greeted him smilingly.

"You're on the wrong side," she reminded him.

"Am I?" he said, and gave her a look. "Well, perhaps Stubbs will come in useful, after all."

They began to walk along the bank almost involuntarily. "Stubbs can take up your easel and things to the Castle," said Molly affably, "so that——"

"Many thanks," said he. "But, may I ask, how did you know I was staying at the Castle?"

Molly turned a little red. "Oh, I thought—I guessed——"

"You see, I don't go on expeditions. And I'm not the Duke," he went on evenly. "My name happens to be plain Messiter."

"Oh," said Molly, and was silent.

"If I had been the Duke, I should probably have been able to swim," he continued reflectively. "But if I'm not the rose, I have at least lived near it, for I was at school with him."

"Indeed!" murmured Molly again. Somehow the glory of the adventure was fading. She had only been engaged in it with a man who could not swim. Looking up, a boat caught her eye. "Tiggy!" she shouted. The Hon. Roger Martin brought to land the nose of the boat which was being laboured up the tinged stream by himself and Stubbs the gardener. He adjusted his eyeglass.

"Not drowned, Molly?" he asked, staring at her companion.

"Would you mind putting me across?" said the latter. "I'd better get a change, I suppose."

Tiggy assented, and went so far as to row the stranger down to the landing-stage, exchanging friendly talk. But Molly said nothing. She sat in the bows, and Mr. Messiter, with the strings of the rudder in his hand, was full face to her as he chatted. He did not seem at all disturbed, and Tiggy and he conversed with the ease of old acquaintances. They did not appear to be embarrassed by long pauses. Nor did this Mr. Messiter seem aware of his wet clothes and undignified appearance. Molly contemplated him.

Was he undignified? He looked up at a remark of Tiggy's and caught her eye. His was quiet and kind and friendly. He even smiled. Molly's glance fled fast away to the meadows.

"Thanks very much," said he, as he stepped out of the boat. "I hope it's not taken you out of your way."

As he went up the bank, Molly's eyes drifted after him; and she saw him pause and turn to gaze at the boat. Though she knew he could not see her looking at that distance, she hastily dropped her glance.

"Decent sort of fellow, that," observed Tiggy, labouring with the sculls. "Wonder who he is?"

"His name's Messiter," said Molly quickly.

"Oh!" said Tiggy.

"He was at school with the Duke," she added.

"Oh!" said Tiggy again.

"And he paints," she further explained.

"Oh!" said Tiggy, and added to that: "Why the deuce didn't he go after the canoe?"

"Well, you see," said Molly hesitatingly, "he—he can't swim."

"Indeed!" said Mr. Martin, elevating his eyebrows.

Somehow this annoyed Molly. "I don't see why people should be expected to be able to do everything."

Tiggy pondered. "No; I think that's fair," he said. "And, you see, he paints."

Molly was cross, and when she met her sisters a little later, was crosser still.

"Aren't you going to marry him? Didn't he save your life?" cried Marjorie in anxious excitement.

"Good gracious me, no!" said Molly with lofty anger. "There was no question of saving anyone's life. Don't be absurd, child. And if anyone saved anyone, it was Tiggy."

"Are you going to marry Tiggy?" inquired Marjorie, interested.

"Don't be silly."

"Would you marry Tiggy if he'd saved your life?" persisted the little girl.

"Of course not."

"Would you marry the—Mr. Messiter if he'd saved it?" pursued the cross-questioner.

"Marjorie, if you ask so many stupid questions, I'll—I'll call Taylor," was all that her sister vouchsafed in answer.

* Copyright, 1906, by H. B. Marriott Watson, in the United States of America.