Billy gave one genuine whoop. “Can we take your motor?”
Terry hesitated.
“I suppose you are too little to run it?” said Billy.
“I am not!” flashed Terry. “I know how to start and stop it, and I drive lots for Stephens. It is hard to turn over the engine when you start.”
“I'll turn it,” volunteered Billy. “I'm strong as anything.”
“Maybe it will start without. If Stephens has just been running it, sometimes it will. Come on, let's try.”
Billy straightened up, lifted his chin and cried: “Houpe! Houpe! Houpe!”
The little O'Mores stared in amazement.
“Why don't you come on and whoop?” demanded Billy. “Don't you know how? You are great Indians! You got to whoop before you go on the warpath. You ought to kill a bat, too, and see if the wind is right. But maybe the engine won't run if we wait to do that. You can whoop, anyway. All together now!”
They did whoop, and after several efforts the cry satisfied Billy, so he led the way to the big motor, and took the front seat with Terry. Alice and Little Brother climbed into the back.
“Will it go?” asked Billy, “or do we have to turn it?”
“It will go,” said Terry as the machine gently slid out into the avenue and started under his guidance.
“This is no warpath!” scoffed Billy. “We got to go a lot faster than this, and we got to whoop. Alice, why don't you whoop?”
Alice arose, took hold of the seat in front and whooped.
“If I open the throttle, I can't squeeze the bulb to scare people out of our way,” said Terry. “I can't steer and squeeze, too.”
“We'll whoop enough to get them out of the way. Go faster!” urged Billy.
Billy also stood, lifted his chin and whooped like the wildest little savage that ever came out of the West. Alice and Little Brother added their voices, and when he was not absorbed with the steering gear, Terry joined in.
“Faster!” shouted Billy.
Intoxicated with the speed and excitement, Terry threw the throttle wider and the big car leaped forward and sped down the avenue. In it four black, feather-bedecked children whooped in wild glee until suddenly Terry's war cry changed to a scream of panic.
“The lake is coming!”
“Stop!” cried Billy. “Stop! Why don't you stop?”
Paralyzed with fear Terry clung to the steering gear and the car sped onward.
“You little fool! Why don't you stop?” screamed Billy, catching Terry's arm. “Tell me how to stop!”
A bicycle shot beside them and Freckles standing on the pedals shouted: “Pull out the pin in that little circle at your feet!”
Billy fell on his knees and tugged and the pin yielded at last. Just as the wheels struck the white sand the bicycle sheered close, Freckles caught the lever and with one strong shove set the brake. The water flew as the car struck Huron, but luckily it was shallow and the beach smooth. Hub deep the big motor stood quivering as Freckles climbed in and backed it to dry sand.
Then he drew a deep breath and stared at his brood.
“Terence, would you kindly be explaining?” he said at last.
Billy looked at the panting little figure of Terry.
“I guess I better,” he said. “We were playing Indians on the warpath, and we hadn't any ponies, and Terry said it was all the style to go in automobiles now, so we——”
Freckles's head went back, and he did some whooping himself.
“I wonder if you realize how nearly you came to being four drowned children?” he said gravely, after a time.
“Oh, I think I could swim enough to get most of us out,” said Billy. “Anyway, we need washing.”
“You do indeed,” said Freckles. “I will head this procession to the garage, and there we will remove the first coat.” For the remainder of Billy's visit the nurse, chauffeur, and every servant of the O'More household had something of importance on their minds, and Billy's every step was shadowed.
“I have Billy's consent,” said Philip to Elnora, “and all the other consent you have stipulated. Before you think of something more, give me your left hand, please.”
Elnora gave it gladly, and the emerald slipped on her finger. Then they went together into the forest to tell each other all about it, and talk it over.
“Have you seen Edith?” asked Philip.
“No,” answered Elnora. “But she must be here, or she may have seen me when we went to Petoskey a few days ago. Her people have a cottage over on the bluff, but the Angel never told me until to-day. I didn't want to make that trip, but the folks were so anxious to entertain me, and it was only a few days until I intended to let you know myself where I was.”
“And I was going to wait just that long, and if I didn't hear then I was getting ready to turn over the country. I can scarcely realize yet that Edith sent me that telegram.”
“No wonder! It's a difficult thing to believe. I can't express how I feel for her.”
“Let us never speak of it again,” said Philip. “I came nearer feeling sorry for her last night than I have yet. I couldn't sleep on that boat coming over, and I couldn't put away the thought of what sending that message cost her. I never would have believed it possible that she would do it. But it is done. We will forget it.”
“I scarcely think I shall,” said Elnora. “It is something I like to remember. How suffering must have changed her! I would give anything to bring her peace.”
“Henderson came to see me at the hospital a few days ago. He's gone a rather wild pace, but if he had been held from youth by the love of a good woman he might have lived differently. There are things about him one cannot help admiring.”
“I think he loves her,” said Elnora softly.
“He does! He always has! He never made any secret of it. He will cut in now and do his level best, but he told me that he thought she would send him away. He understands her thoroughly.”
Edith Carr did not understand herself. She went to her room after her good-bye to Henderson, lay on her bed and tried to think why she was suffering as she was.
“It is all my selfishness, my unrestrained temper, my pride in my looks, my ambition to be first,” she said. “That is what has caused this trouble.”
Then she went deeper.
“How does it happen that I am so selfish, that I never controlled my temper, that I thought beauty and social position the vital things of life?” she muttered. “I think that goes a little past me. I think a mother who allows a child to grow up as I did, who educates it only for the frivolities of life, has a share in that child's ending. I think my mother has some responsibility in this,” Edith Carr whispered to the night. “But she will recognize none. She would laugh at me if I tried to tell her what I have suffered and the bitter, bitter lesson I have learned. No one really cares, but Hart. I've sent him away, so there is no one! No one!”
Edith pressed her fingers across her burning eyes and lay still.
“He is gone!” she whispered at last. “He would go at once. He would not see me again. I should think he never would want to see me any more. But I will want to see him! My soul! I want him now! I want him every minute! He is all I have. And I've sent him away. Oh, these dreadful days to come, alone! I can't bear it. Hart! Hart!” she cried aloud. “I want you! No one cares