The playmates who were at Cliffmore for the Summer were having a delightful time, but in a quiet way, John Gifford, or “Gyp,” as he was still called, was very happy, and also very busy.

At the end of the school year in June, he had stood at the head of his class, and now, employed by Captain Atherton, he knew that he was respected, and that he had honestly earned that respect.

“I’m to be the hired ‘man’ on his place,” he said, “so I’ll be earning something, while I study evenings, for I mean to get somewhere worth while.  I don’t mind if anyone in Avondale who likes me, calls me “Gyp.”  It sounds friendly, but I’ll not always be known as Gyp, the gypsy boy.  When I get out in the world I’ll be John Gifford, and I mean business.  I don’t know yet just what I’ll do, but Captain Atherton will advise me, and with his help, I’ll be able to decide.”

Of course there were a few who continued to shake their heads, and say that “A gypsy is always a gypsy, and what can you expect of a boy brought up, or rather permitted to grow up, as Gyp has been?”

The larger number of the people of Avondale seemed determined to take a more cheerful view of it, and to believe in the boy, even as he now seemed to believe in himself.

Gyp proved that he needed no watching, for he commenced work early each day, and never stopped until night.

The lawn was carefully clipped, the flowers and lawn were given an abundance of water, vines were trained, and shrubs were trimmed, until after a month of Gyp’s care, the place looked finer than ever before.

Captain Atherton left Cliffmore one day to visit Avondale, and get some papers that he remembered having left in his safe.

As he walked up the path he noticed what fine care the place had received during his absence.  The lawn had never looked so green, the plants and shrubs had never blossomed so freely.

As he stood looking about him the click of the lawn mower caused him to turn just as Gyp came around the corner of the house.

“You’ve worked wonders here, Gyp,” the Captain said.  “I always had a fairly good lawn, and much could be said of the vines and the flowers, but everything looks far better than it ever did before.  Where did you get the knowledge to do the work so well, and so successfully?”

“I asked the gardener down in the Center, the one who takes care of the parks, to tell me how to do my best for you, and then ­I did it,” Gyp said, simply.

“Work like that at whatever you undertake, and you’ll be pretty sure to achieve success,” said Captain Atherton.

“I mean to,” Gyp replied, firmly, and as he looked after the fine figure ascending the steps to the porch he murmured: 

“I’ll do my very best for him,” while Captain John Atherton said, as he opened the door of his safe to take out the papers that he needed:  “That boy is worth helping, and I’ll help him.”

With the genial Captain away, the housekeeper felt free to enjoy a bit of gossip, and seeing the cook in the garden of the next house, she slipped out of the rear door, and across the lawn, where, that her coming might look like a mere happening, she took a bit of paper from her pocket, and commenced scribbling upon it.

She wished the cook in the next garden to think that she was jotting down a few things that she wished to remember.

Curiosity was at once aroused, and the cook moved toward the hedge.

“E’hem!” she coughed softly.

The housekeeper turned coolly.

“Oh, good morning,” she said.  “I just come out here for a bit of a rest, there’s so much going on just now, that I’m nearly wild with the planning.”

“Do tell!” cried the cook.  “I’ve heard there was to be great doings of some sort over at ‘The Cliffs,’ but I haven’t yet heard what it is.  What’s it all about?  I’m wild to know.”

Mrs. Wilton sighed, as if she were already very weary.

“We’re not more than half ready for the great event,” she said, “but Captain Atherton does not wish me to tell anyone the least thing about it.”

“Mercy sakes!  Why I came out purpose to hear!” said the cook, her round face very red, and her little eyes snapping.

“Well, you’ll hear later,” Mrs. Wilton said, and turning, she walked across the lawn and entered the house.

Inside the door she whispered: 

“There!  I guess that paid her for being so private that she wouldn’t tell me a thing about the company that left their house in such a hurry one day last week, and hustled off before daylight at that!”

The cook, still standing with her fat arms akimbo, stared wrathfully at the closed door where the housekeeper had vanished.

“Well, of all the mean things not even telling a decent woman like myself one bit of what’s going on there!  I’ll find out, though, some way.  To-morrow is my afternoon off, and I’ll go from one end of this town to the other to see what I can hear.”

Even little Rose Atherton was pledged to keep the secret.

“We’re to have a lovely time at our house,” she said to Polly and Sprite, one morning.  “We’re to have a perfectly lovely time, and you’ll be there to enjoy it, but that is all I can tell.  Uncle John said I could say that if I wished to but that I musn’t tell any more just now.”

“Well, we won’t mind waiting to hear just what it is,” Polly said, “because we know it will be nice, whatever sort of party it is.  We always have a nice time at your house.”

“And we’ll like it all the better because there’s to be a surprise of some sort,” said Sprite.

“We can wonder and wonder, and then when the day comes we’ll have the fun of not guessing what it is, but just knowing what it is and enjoying it.”

Rose looked very wise.

“It’s to be lovely, I told you that, and there’s one thing more I can tell, and that is that it will be different from any party we ever went to, or any party any of us ever had.”

“Won’t we be glad when we haven’t to wait any longer to know just what kind of a party it is?” said Sprite.

“Oh, yes,” agreed Princess Polly, “and so will ever so many other people, for I’ve heard people talking about it, and saying that they were tired of guessing, and that they wished they knew now, instead of having to wait still longer to know.”

“It won’t be very long now before they know,” Rose said, laughing gaily.

The secret was out, because the invitations were out.

Captain John Atherton, the genial master of the beautiful home at Cliffmore, known as “The Cliffs,” and of an equally beautiful estate at Avondale, was to marry the girl whom he had always faithfully loved.

The misunderstanding that had parted them had come about because of the loss of a miniature of the girl, Iris Vandmere.

Its loss had grieved John Atherton.

He could not imagine how it could have so completely vanished.  In truth, it had been stolen, but Iris thought that her lover must have valued it lightly, believing if he had properly guarded it, it could not have been taken from him.  One word had led to another, and she had sent him away, grieving and wretched.

Her own heart was not less sad, but she had endeavored to hide that.  Then, on that lucky day of the Summer before, Princess Polly had found the exquisite miniature lying in the middle of the sandy road.

How it came to be there, no one could say.  Evidently someone, perhaps, the one who had stolen it, had dropped it, and travelled on, unaware that the famous miniature lay waiting a claimant, on the main road of Cliffmore.

The Summer colony was excited, but of all those who were invited to be present, none were more lovingly interested than the children.

John Atherton loved the children, and they dearly loved him.

One would have thought that the grand old house of the Vandmere’s would have been chosen for the wedding, but Iris was quite alone there, save for her servants.

Both parents had but recently passed away, and the lonely girl felt that the home with its sad memories was not at all the place for the happy event.

“Let it be at Cliffmore,” she had said, and at Cliffmore it was to be.

“Only think of it,” Princess Polly said one morning, “Rose is to be maid of honor, and Sprite and I are to be bridesmaids.  Rose is to wear pink, with pink roses, and we shall wear white with pink roses.  Miss Iris will wear white, because brides always wear white.  Mamma, why can’t brides sometimes wear something else?”

Mrs. Sherwood laughed.

“This time the bride will wear ‘something else.’  Miss Vandmere’s gown will be of the palest blue satin, and beautiful lace,” she said.

“Oh, how lovely!” cried Princess Polly.

At last the great day arrived, just as the children felt that they could not wait much longer.

It was like a dream of Fairyland, for the great gardens at “The Cliffs” had never looked finer, the rooms were bowers of flowers and foliage, soft music floated through the halls, and then, Iris in shimmering blue satin, attended by her dainty little maids, came forward to the floral arch, where handsome Captain Atherton stood waiting.

After the ceremony, the guests moved forward to kiss the lovely bride, and Iris, bent to give her first kiss to her little maid of honor.

“You are my little Rose, now,” she whispered, and Rose, happy Rose, clasped her arms about her soft, white neck.

And quite as the weddings in the old fairy tales it was, for the banquet was like an old time feast, and dancing, in which the Captain and his bride took part, followed.

When, after a gay, brilliant evening, the happy pair said “good-bye,” their friends gathered about them, wishing them a pleasant voyage on the Dolphin, a safe return, and all good fortune.

Never a thought of loneliness had little Rose.  During Uncle John’s absence, she was to be with her dear Princess Polly, and what could be better than that?

For a few more weeks they would be at the shore, and Rose would be at the Sherwood’s cottage, at play all day with Princess Polly and Sprite.

Then she would leave Cliffmore with the Sherwoods, and go with them to Avondale, there to remain until, upon his return, Uncle John, and the lovely, new Aunt Iris, should come for her.  Rose was delighted to stay with Princess Polly, and she looked forward to her home with Uncle John, now to be even pleasanter than before, because of the sweet, new relative, whom she already loved.

The day after the wedding, Gwen decided to go over to “The Cliffs” to learn if Rose were there, and if she were so lucky as to find her, to remain and play with her.  It would be a fine way to spend the morning.

She had quarreled with Max.

She was always either vexed with him or just making up, and no one could ever guess which had happened, because Gwen looked quite as cheerful after a disagreement, as when the friendship had been renewed.

She hurried along the beach, rushing past a group of small girls whom she often played with, because she meant surely to find Rose before she might leave “The Cliffs” to go over to Princess Polly’s house.

She knew that the walk would be a long one, yet it seemed farther than she thought.

The sun was hot, and the sand seemed burning under the thin soles of her dainty shoes.

“How long it takes me to get there!” she said impatiently.  “I couldn’t run all the way.”

She reached the low gate a few minutes later, however, and opening it, swung it wide between the two stone posts, and ran up the path, laughing when the gate swung to with a clang of its iron latch.

Mrs. Wilton, the housekeeper, opened the door, believing that some important person had arrived, for the bell had rung as if the opening of the door were imperative.

She was not pleased to see the small girl standing there.

“No, Rose is not here,” she said in answer to Gwen’s question.  “She is to stay with Polly while her Uncle John is away.  She went over there this morning.”

“Why this is ’this morning’,” Gwen said, pertly.

“It is ten o’clock, and Rose went over to the Sherwood house at eight,” the housekeeper said, at the same time stepping back, as if she intended to close the door.

She was free to close it as soon as she chose, for Gwen had turned, and without a word or a glance, raced down the path, out of the gateway and up the beach to join Rose and Polly whom she now saw standing and talking.

“Hello!” she cried, as she drew nearer.  “I’ve been over to ’The Cliffs’ to find you, Rose, and then I came here.  What you two talking about?”

“Trying to choose what to play,” Rose said.

Both wished that Gwen had remained away, but they could not be rude, so she of course would join in the game, whatever it might be.  It was a warm morning, and Princess Polly was just thinking that it would be fine to choose a shady spot, and sit there telling fairy tales, but Gwen’s arrival made that impossible.

She never cared to listen while someone told a story.  To be happy she must be the story teller, and as her stories were always wildly improbable, and always about her silly little self, they were never at all interesting.

For that matter, she was never willing to join in any game unless it was very exciting.

Several games were suggested by Rose and Polly, but to all Gwen shook her head, and refused to play either one of them.

One she thought too stupid, another she declared that she had never liked, and, yet another was “awfully dull” she said.

At last Rose lost patience.

“What will you play?” she asked sharply, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gwen replied carelessly.  “I guess I won’t play at all, anyway not with you two.  I’ll run back and find Max Deland.  He’s good fun, and he’ll surely be able to think of something I’ll like to play.  He most always does, and I like him because he is wide awake.  Good-bye!” and she was off like a flash down the beach.