The Key Note

Mrs. Lowell understood it, but she spoke pleasantly: "When the right time comes for you to learn what brought us to Boston, you will find that your daughter deserves only approval," she said in her quiet, cheerful manner.

Mrs. Wilbur's nostrils still dilated and she used her fan in a majestic silence.

CHAPTER XIV
THE WILL

Herbert Loring's funeral was conducted in the church to which he had been a contributor for many years. Distant connections of the family, old business friends, and curiosity-seekers made a gathering of average size, and among those seated, toward the back of the audience, was Nicholas Gayne.

The astute lawyer's expectation of a visit from him was not disappointed. Indeed, Luther Wrenn came to his office at an earlier hour than usual the following morning, entirely in honor of that gentleman.

On the drive to the cemetery the day of the funeral, Mr. Wrenn had placed Diana, her mother, and Mrs. Lowell in the motor with himself. There was little said on the way out. The lawyer was well known by reputation to Mrs. Wilbur, and the only drawback to her satisfaction in the arrangement was Diana's preoccupation and the knowledge that interesting information was being kept back from her. Mrs. Wilbur had not only sent lavish gifts of flowers to the church, but, there seeming to be no one but paid workers to attend to the decorations, she had personally supervised them, and, coming back from the cemetery, the lawyer expressed his appreciation of her kindness and her presence in a manner to apply much balm. However, he turned directly from his respectful laudation of Mrs. Wilbur to her daughter.

"How long can you and Mrs. Lowell stay on?" he asked, and the mother became alert. His manner signified previous acquaintance with Diana.

"Just as long as is necessary," was the girl's surprising reply.

"I am certain that Gayne will call on me the first thing to-morrow morning, and I should like you to remain near the telephone if you will."

"Certainly," replied Diana.

"Mr. Wrenn, I don't understand what you are asking of my daughter," said Mrs. Wilbur crisply.

"Ah," – the lawyer bowed gravely. "Perhaps you have not been told of the surprising turn events have taken. It is a matter which requires secrecy until identities are established and evil-doers circumvented. Let me congratulate you, Mrs. Wilbur, on a remarkably fine and intelligent daughter. She is a credit to your bringing-up. Not many mothers can boast of having instilled such prudence."

The lady leaned back in her corner, not certain whether to accept this disarming, or to insist immediately upon her rights. She decided to compromise and wait until they reached the hotel.

"My daughter tells you she can wait in Boston as long as is necessary," she said at last, "and her mother will have to understand the necessity."

"Certainly, Mrs. Wilbur," responded the lawyer. "We have found ourselves in a totally unexpected situation. Mr. Herbert Loring destroyed his will and died before he could make another."

Mrs. Wilbur exclaimed. Mr. Loring was known to be wealthy and she was interested in fortunes. Her brain began working actively on the probabilities of the heirs.

"The next strange event is that your young daughter has probably found the heir."

Mrs. Wilbur raised her lorgnette and regarded Diana, drooping opposite, as if she were a new discovery.

"I wish to understand," she said with dignity.

"It seems that Mr. Loring's disobedient daughter left a son whose existence has been unsuspected unless Mr. Loring himself knew of it, which he never betrayed. Your daughter and Mrs. Lowell have found the boy."

"Not I," protested Diana. "Mrs. Lowell, in her sweet unselfishness, deserves all the credit. I should have paid no attention to him, but I – it was through your letter, Mamma, that I found the boy's grandfather."

"We all had a hand in it, then, it seems," said Mrs. Wilbur.

"The boy's uncle has possession of him. His father and mother are both dead, and, according to these ladies, the uncle can qualify as the world's meanest man. So we proceed carefully until the proofs which he is supposed to have are in hand. You, Mrs. Wilbur, will aid us in silence on the subject until the right time for speaking."

"How old is he, Diana?" burst forth the lady. "What does he look like? Is he clever and worthy of such a heritage?"

"He is a poor, shabby, ill-treated boy about fourteen years old. He has never had a chance, but I scarcely know him. Mrs. Lowell is the one who discovered him and cared for him."

Mrs. Wilbur glanced at Mrs. Lowell, but she could not bring herself to ask her a question. She felt a vague jealousy and sense of injury at finding this stranger in her child's confidence and aiding and abetting her in so much independence of action.

As soon as possible after the reception of Mrs. Wilbur's enlightening letter at the island, Mrs. Lowell had wired her husband that the search was ended before it had begun, and he returned Diana's check with congratulations.

"What an amazed boy that will be, Mr. Wrenn," remarked Mrs. Wilbur. "What is his name?"

"Herbert Loring Gayne."

"H'm. I suppose his mother had all sorts of hope that with a son of that name she could placate her father."

"Doubtless she did," replied the lawyer, "and I wish it might have proved so. Perhaps they would both have been alive to-day had she succeeded, but my old friend Loring never mentioned her to me and I don't know what efforts she made. There must be a good deal of delay before the young heir can come into his own."

"I suppose so," sighed Mrs. Wilbur. "That tiresome law moves slowly."

Diana looked up with sudden attention. "But we must not be dilatory in rescuing the boy."

Mr. Wrenn nodded. "If he is proved to be the right one."

"There can be no doubt of it," said Mrs. Lowell.

"Not to charming, sympathetic ladies, of course," returned the lawyer with a smile.

"I feel that every day counts," said Mrs. Lowell. "He must be removed from that mental malaria as soon as possible."

"I will – " began Diana, and then she glanced at her mother, – "I mean Mamma will gladly finance him, I'm sure, for the present."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Wilbur with dignity, "when you see fit to tell me the whole story. I'm sure I haven't it yet."

"There is no reason to burden you, Mamma, with disagreeable considerations," said Diana meekly. "I can myself look after the boy's needs."

"Yes, she can," said Mrs. Wilbur in an offended tone. "What do you think, Mr. Wrenn, of a father who insists on giving a young girl an unlimited check-book, not requiring her to give any account of what she does with money?"

The lawyer smiled at the embarrassed culprit. "I think that your husband has proved himself a very good reader of character all through his career."

Mrs. Wilbur bounced back into her corner. She didn't intend to bounce; she intended to lean back gracefully, with an air of renouncing all interest in this matter which had proceeded so far without her coöperation, but just at that moment the car went over a "thank-you-ma'am."

As has already been said, Luther Wrenn, the following morning, sought his office at an earlier hour than was customary, and Nicholas Gayne was there before him.

He did not keep him waiting long, and the stocky figure and dark face soon appeared in the private office.

The lawyer regarded the stranger over his eye-glasses.

"I didn't have any card," said the visitor. "My name is Gayne, Nicholas Gayne."

"Be seated, sir. What is your errand?"

"I would like to be present at the reading of the Herbert Loring will." The speaker's manner was confident, and he seemed endeavoring to repress excitement.

"Indeed? Are you a relative?"

"No, but my nephew is. I have a great surprise for you, Mr. Wrenn. My nephew is Herbert Loring's grandson and namesake." Nicholas Gayne marveled at the self-control of a lawyer, for Luther Wrenn's expression did not change. "I visited Mr. Loring before he went abroad the last time, but he would not listen to me or look at my proofs. So I suppose he has not mentioned his grandson in his will, and, if that is the fact, I wish to retain you to break the will." This declaration was made with great energy and a flash of the speaker's dark eyes.

"You have proofs, then," said Mr. Wrenn, after a short hesitation, perhaps to make sure of the retention of that self-control.

"Yes, right here." Gayne caught up from the floor a small black leather bag, and opened it. "Here are the letters Bert's mother wrote her father to try for a reconciliation. Returned unopened, you see. Here is her picture. Perhaps you knew her."

Luther Wrenn took the small card photograph and gazed at it long.

"My brother was an irresponsible sort of chap. At the time he met Miss Loring, he had put through a good deal and was riding on top of the wave. She was artistic in her tastes, and he met her through the artist set at Gloucester, where she was that summer, and she took a fancy to him that her father couldn't break off. Unfortunate, you'll say, but Lambert was a stunning-looking chap and she decided firmly on her course. So now here is this boy and the law should protect his rights. Here's the record of his birth fourteen years ago, in her own writing; perhaps you know her writing." Gayne was talking fast and excitedly, and Wrenn took from his hand one after another of the proofs he offered and laid them on his desk with no change of countenance.

"What sort of a boy is your nephew?" he asked. "A bright boy?"

Gayne's face changed. He looked away. "Well, no. I can't say he is. Bert is delicate. He needs all sorts of care, care that takes heaps of money to pay for. I haven't been able to do for him what I'd like to. As soon as you get his money for him, I shall engage professional care and see that he has the best. I'm a good business man, if I do say it, and I'll see that his funds multiply until he is able to look after his fortune himself."

Luther Wrenn nodded. "I see," he said; and he did, very plainly. "Now, there will be no reading of the will, Mr. Gayne. That is all attended to. So you may leave this matter with me."

"Was the boy mentioned?" asked Gayne eagerly.

"No; no mention of him."

"You think you can get some money, though, don't you?"

"Possibly. I'll see you again."

"There ain't any kind of doubt that he's the genuine grandson," said Gayne, rising reluctantly, as the lawyer got to his feet.

"Your proofs seem to be convincing," was the grave reply.

"Well, could you – couldn't you advance me something now for Bert's care? He needs a lot of things, that boy does."

"You go too swiftly, Mr. Gayne. Come back here at three o'clock day after to-morrow."

Gayne looked at the papers and picture strewn on the lawyer's desk. "I don't know about leaving the only proofs of our rights that I've got."

Luther Wrenn turned to the desk and gathered them up. "Certainly. Take them to some lawyer in whom you have confidence."

"Oh, pshaw, no," said Gayne sheepishly. "I didn't mean that. You were Mr. Loring's lawyer. You're the one to handle the case."

"Good-day, then, Mr. Gayne."

"Good-day," and Nicholas took his departure.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Wrenn seated himself at the desk and called up the Copley-Plaza. Diana was waiting.

"Miss Wilbur?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Wrenn speaking. Mr. Gayne has been here. Please wire at once to the island and get some one to bring the boy to your hotel as soon as possible."

"Yes, Mr. Wrenn."

"I think Mr. Barrison is the one to ask," said Diana to Mrs. Lowell, who was waiting near.

So it was that an hour later Philip Barrison was called to the telephone at the island store to receive a telegram.

"I know what it is!" exclaimed Barney Kelly. "'All Saints' is going to outbid 'The Apostles' for you. You're the rising young beggar."

He wandered down with Philip to the store and loitered about outside talking to Matt Blake. When Philip reappeared, it was with a hurried air.

"Want anything in Boston?" he asked.

"Of course, we do – the Brahms, but what's up?"

"I've got to go. Wire from Miss Wilbur."

"Aha," said Kelly, following Philip's long strides to the express wagon which Blake was just mounting.

"No, no, no," returned Philip. "Naught personal. No such luck. Hello, Matt, going up-along?"

"Yes."

"See you later, Kelly, I have to go up to Miss Burridge's." And Philip jumped into the seat beside the driver.

"No, you guessed wrong. You're going to see me right along," returned Barney, hopping up on the tail of the wagon and letting his feet hang over, while he whistled cheerily.

CHAPTER XV
A SUDDEN JOURNEY

"I have to get the afternoon boat, Matt," explained Philip. "Miss Wilbur wants me to bring the Gayne boy to Boston in a hurry."

Blake looked around alertly as his horse pulled slowly up the hill to the road. "Miss Wilbur?" he repeated. "Why didn't his uncle send for him? He is there."

"Is he?" asked Philip carelessly. "I didn't know the island had been deprived of his artistic presence."

"Yes. You bet he lit out when he saw by the paper that the millionaire he's had his eye on was dead." Blake shook his head. "There must be something doing or Miss Wilbur wouldn't be sending for the kid."

"Oh, you know she and Mrs. Lowell made a protégé of him. My idea is they want to give him some kind of a treat, but I must say I'm surprised at the importance she seems to put on my bringing him – dead or alive, as you might say. She says if he holds back, through fear of his uncle's displeasure, to tell the boy his uncle is there."

"Oh, yes, he's there, believe me. Keep it under your hat, but that old souse has got it all fixed that the boy is the grandson of that Herbert Loring who has just died, and that he's going to get a slice o' the money. Now you might as well know, Phil, as long as you're doing the errand, that Gayne's a skunk. He's counting on shutting that boy up and gettin' the money himself. He told me so one time when he was half-seas over. Believe me, I feel sorry for that kid. If he ever had any spirit, he's had it squeezed out of him. By George, I'd like to have those ladies know Gayne's plans."

"They certainly must be greatly interested in the boy to take all this trouble," said Philip. "I knew they were very much stirred up over Gayne's treatment of Bert, but I don't know whether they're aware of how far he intends to carry it. I'm glad you've told me this. I fancy we shall find that their plan is to give the boy a show or two and some ice-cream instead of a fortune. Bert Gayne, Herbert Loring's heir!" scoffed Philip. "Don't make me laugh. My lip's cracked. However, I'll oblige those two corking women and bring him to them, by the scruff of the neck, if necessary. Ever see the Copley-Plaza, Matt? If you did, you can make a picture of me making a grand entrance there with Bert."

"I do feel sorry for that kid," repeated Blake with feeling.

"So do I, and after what you say, I'm wondering why Gayne is keeping himself in the background and letting the goddess Diana take charge."

"I wish her luck," said Matt emphatically. "I wish her luck."

Arrived where the road branches away to the Inn, Philip and his friend left the wagon and struck off through the field. Halfway across they met Miss Emerson, walking triumphantly between Mr. Pratt and Mr. Evans, a parasol over her shoulder. It is not well to sun soft ripples of hair, when the head that grew them is far across the seas.

"Good-morning," she cried gayly; "we're going to the post-office. Can we do anything for you?"

"Thank you," said Barney. "We've just come from there. You might write me a letter or two, Miss Emerson, while you're waiting. I've been neglected since I've been here."

"I shall be delighted," she returned, regarding his tanned face and permanent wave with high approval. "I love to write. I even like pencil and paper games, verbarium, and crambo, and all those. I've been trying to convert these men. I wish you would both come up and spend the evening and let me show you how much fun it is."

There was a wild look in the grave faces of her escorts which advised caution.

"You're always so kind, Miss Emerson," said Kelly.

"Shall we see you at dinner?" she asked.

"Depends on how good your eyes are," said Philip pleasantly. "We dine at home and then I'm off for Boston."

"Really? How can you bear to leave here!" Miss Emerson waved her parasol as the young men nodded and passed on.

"I think that Mr. Kelly is perfectly delightful," she said as they pursued their way. "So full of fun always." Then she proceeded to tell her captives how many words could be made from the one: c-a-r-p-e-t.

Philip and Barney walked around to the front of the Inn and there were Veronica and the unconscious young Herbert, leaning over the sweet-pea bed. Veronica was using the trowel and the boy was weeding. He glanced up under his lashes, then went on with his work. Veronica rose and welcomed the arrivals.

"You see, Aunt Priscilla keeps us at it, Mr. Barrison. She isn't going to have your garden neglected, and just look at the buds."

"Fine. In another week they'll be a show."

"And a smell," said Barney fervently. "I adore them. You look rather sweet-peaish yourself, Miss Veronica," he added, regarding her gingham gown of fine pink-and-white checks. "Do you know you're going to have me on your hands the next few days?"

"What's going to happen?" asked Veronica.

"There is going to be a dance at the hall to-night," suggested Barney.

"I know it," returned Veronica. "Can you dance?"

Barney looked at her reproachfully. "It's a land sport. How can you ask? A duck can swim and Kelly can dance. Will you take me? I'm shy."

"If Mr. Barrison will allow it," said Veronica with a demure glance at Philip.

"Not a word to Puppa. I promise," he said.

"What a pity Miss Diana isn't here!" she exclaimed.

"I shall see her to-morrow," returned Philip.

"You going to Boston?"

"'M-h'm."

"That's what I'm telling you," said Kelly. "You mustn't allow me to get lonely. We'll row in the cove."

"Really go near the water?" replied Veronica, laughing incredulously.

"Yes. Aunt Maria is stuffing me like a Thanksgiving turkey. No tennis, I just natchelly had to get a boat – without a motor, be it well understood."

"That's fun," said Veronica, her eyes shining. She hoped Philip would stay away indefinitely. "If Mr. Kelly could really dance – "

Meanwhile Philip had stood watching the boy's slender hands pulling out weeds.

"Aren't you going to speak to me, Bert?"

"I – yes. How do you do?" The lad was so used to being overlooked by everybody except Mrs. Lowell and Diana that Philip's question surprised him and he rose and looked at him.

"Do you miss Mrs. Lowell and Miss Wilbur?" asked Philip.

"Yes."

"His uncle has gone, too," said Veronica. "We have had some good times all alone, haven't we, Bert? He is learning to play croquet and he helps me with the garden."

The boy regarded her in silence and with no change of expression. Philip thought or imagined that in his dull, undeveloped way he resented the girl's kindly tone of patronage. He caught the lad's eye again.

"I am going to see Mrs. Lowell and Miss Wilbur. Would you like to go with me to see them?"

Color stole up into Bert's face and he brushed the clinging soil from his hands.

"Yes. – No," he said.

"I am going to Boston this afternoon," continued Philip, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. "The ladies would like to have you come with me."

"No," returned the boy. "I have to – to wait here for – for Uncle Nick."

"Oh, he is there, too," returned Philip. "They have made some plan. We shall be all together there just as we were here. It won't take you long to get ready. I'll help you."

"No," said the boy breathlessly. "Uncle Nick – "

"But Mrs. Lowell wants you."

"No. Uncle Nick doesn't want – Mrs. Lowell – "

"Oh, boy, you know Mrs. Lowell wouldn't ask you to do anything that would get you into any trouble," said Philip pleasantly. "Perhaps your uncle has decided not to come back to the island. At any rate, they want you there in Boston and they sent me a telegram asking me to bring you. So it is up to us to do what they say. Don't you think so? Come upstairs and I'll help you get ready."

The boy's stolid habit of obedience stood Philip in good stead now. With heightened color, but no other change in his face, he followed to his room, washed his face and hands, and got into his shabby best while Philip found a comb and brush and toothbrush, and put them into a paper parcel. Returning downstairs, they found Veronica consuming with curiosity, but considerably entertained by her future dance partner, who was teaching her a new step by means of his blunt finger-tips on the porch rail.

"I'm going to take Bert home to dinner with me, Veronica. So say good-bye and expect us when you see us. Where's Miss Burridge?"

"Oh, Aunt Priscilla!" shouted Veronica at the kitchen door. "Come out. Bertie Gayne is going to Boston with Mr. Barrison."

Miss Burridge emerged wiping her hands on a towel. The other went to meet her.

"How nice!" she said, beaming. "What a nice outing for Bertie. That's real clever of you, Philip. How did you happen to think of it?"

"Well, his friends in Boston want him," said Philip, and he administered a wink which Miss Burridge understood sufficiently to postpone a catechism until later. The boy allowed her and Veronica to shake his passive hand in bidding him good-bye and then he went away with his companions with no further questioning.

When they were gone, Miss Burridge exclaimed her astonishment.

"Mr. Barrison received a wire, that's all I know," said Veronica. "The youngster's in mortal terror of his uncle, but Mr. Barrison told him his uncle was there and it was all right. Miss Wilbur or else Mrs. Lowell sent the telegram. Sort of queer they should be hobnobbing with old Nick, but perhaps he let them send the wire to save expense."

Philip made conscientious efforts to entertain his young charge on their trip. In Portland, where they spent the night, he bought some magazines, naturally guessing that the more filled with pictures they were the better, and he was puzzled at the evident shrinking from the illustrations that the boy displayed.

"Something seriously off with the poor little nut," he thought. "Any boy likes to look at pictures."

So he left him in peace and let him stare apathetically from the car window all the way to Boston, or doze in his corner.

Philip wired Diana just before they took the train, and she ordered luncheon to be served in her rooms. She wished very much that some kind turn of Fortune's wheel would call her mother forth to the shops that morning, but by reason of the fragments Mrs. Wilbur overheard passing between her child and Mrs. Lowell or the lawyer, her curiosity as to this waif who might be going to carry on the Loring fortunes became sufficiently vivid to determine her to remain where she could oversee all that her daughter did.

"Who did you say is bringing the boy on?" she asked Diana that morning.

"His name is Barrison."

"You wired him to do this?"

"Yes, Mamma."

"How could you ask it? Is he a servant?"

"No, Mamma, he is a professional singer taking his vacation at the island."

Mrs. Wilbur looked at the girl closely. "You must have become rather friendly with him to ask such a favor?"

Mrs. Lowell glanced up from a glove she was mending. "Everybody is friendly at the island, Mrs. Wilbur. It is one of the assets of the simple life. As one of the men at the Inn said: 'Every time you go out the door, you wade up to your knees in the milk of human kindness.'"

Mrs. Wilbur regarded her coldly. "An inexperienced schoolgirl cannot discriminate," she said. "I felt all the time that Diana should not go there."

Her dominating tone was significant of the relation she, contrary to the experience of most American mothers, had succeeded in retaining with her daughter. The average American girl of Diana's age would have had no difficulty in telling her mother that the expected boy would be embarrassed by the presence of a stranger and requesting her, more or less agreeably, to return to her apartments. Not so Diana. Her mother plied her now with additional questions about Herbert Loring's heir.

"For mercy's sake," said Mrs. Wilbur at last, "I should judge from what you say that the boy isn't far off melancholia."

Mrs. Lowell sighed unconsciously. Mrs. Wilbur heard her, but did not understand the reason for it.

"Well, don't ask me to lunch with him. I am sure he would make me nervous," added the lady.

"I think it quite likely he would, Mamma," said her daughter dutifully, one of her problems disappearing. "There certainly will be an interesting evolution observable in him very soon, but just at first his limitations might annoy you."

"Well, I'll just stay long enough to look at him and then I will go," returned Mrs. Wilbur.