In spite of Mrs. Thatcher’s watchfulness, Billy had seen Merry and met his Waterloo. Blissfully unaware of the momentous happenings about him, and determined to “get even” with “the Gorgon,” the boy developed a plot of his own which was perfect in conception barring one important detail: he and Merry were to slip away in a motor-car, dash over to Fall River to a young clergyman he knew, have the knot tied before interference was possible, and then return to Sagamore Hall for the parental blessing. The question of license occurred to him, but that was a mere detail which could be arranged on the way over.

It was several days after this brilliant idea came to Billy before he found opportunity to take Merry into his confidence, but the more he thought it over the more strongly it appealed. The fact that she seemed even less responsive than usual did not discourage him, for girls, he had discovered, always act exactly contrary to their real feelings in affairs of this kind. The details were so absurdly simple and the outcome would be so eminently satisfactory that the possibility of failure became more and more remote. But, as the strength of any chain is determined by its weakest link, it was in this one omitted detail that Billy’s plan slipped up; the idea did not appeal to Merry with sufficient force even to be given serious consideration.

As a matter of fact the boy could not have selected a less opportune moment for presenting his forlorn hope. Merry had reached that ecstatic height to which martyrs attain. Joan of Arc was no more zealous to sacrifice herself to save Orleans than was Merry to pay the debt of honor her mother owed to Hamlen. It may be that the Maid was influenced in her heart by other motives beyond the “heavenly voices” which are generally accredited; it may be that Merry was more susceptible to the “call” she believed had come to her for some reason other than a willingness for martyrdom, but in both cases the sincerity of the response was too genuine to be questioned. Billy’s infatuated wooing seemed to her like sacrilege, and his mad plan for elopement too ridiculous for discussion.

“Let us be friends, dear Billy,” she said to him sweetly and gently, “just friends, you and Philip and I. We’ll always have the best of times together, help each other over the hard places, and sympathize with every sorrow which comes to any one of us.”

“No!” he protested vigorously, kicking viciously at an inoffensive root protruding slightly beneath his foot. “Nix on this brother and sister game; there’s nothing in it.”

“I need you as a friend, Billy, I need you this very minute!”

Billy pricked up his ears at the words and at the pathetic note in Merry’s voice; but he did not intend to be caught off his guard.

“What do you mean ‘need me as a friend’? Want me to run an errand for you? All right, off I go.”

“No, Billy; I need your sympathy. We’re old pals, and ought to stand by each other.”

He looked at her with a dawning understanding.

“Merry,” he said, with the conviction of one who has made a great discovery, “you’re unhappy!”

“Perhaps,” she admitted; “I’m not sure.”

“I knew it!” he declared with satisfaction. “You are unhappy and I know the reason why: you’re in love with me without realizing it. You’re fighting against your destiny and you don’t understand what the trouble is. That’s why you are unhappy.”

“No, no, Billy; that isn’t it.”

“Yes, it is; you take my word for it. We’ll just slip it over on the whole bunch, get married, and then you’ll see. You’ll be as happy as a lark.”

“Oh! Billy, I do wish you’d be serious!”

“Serious? ha! I should say I was serious! And to show you how sure I am I’m right, I’ll make you a sporting proposition: if our getting married doesn’t shake your fit of blues then we’ll call the whole thing off. What do you say?”

Merry laughed in spite of herself. “You certainly are the most impossible boy! You speak of getting married as if it were a set of tennis.”

“It’s easy enough to get a divorce. Why don’t you take a chance? Come on, be a sport!”

When he found this wooing ineffective, Billy adopted the tragic motif. “Every time I think I’ve picked a rose,” he declared disconsolately, “it turns out to be poison ivy; and here I am, stung again!”

It was unfortunate for Billy that Merry could never take him seriously. While the boy poured out his youthful protestations she was gentle and considerate, but her appeal to his reason proved futile because no such thing existed. Later, when alone, the absurdity of the situation gave her an outlet, and she laughed quietly to herself. Poor, dear, easy-going Billy! She would have spared him even these imaginary heart-pangs if she could, but the real meaning of life and its responsibilities was yet for him to learn.

Constant in the purpose to which she had consecrated herself, Merry received her mother on that eventful morning with mind prepared to accept the supreme test. She had been standing at the window before her chamber door opened, looking out across the broad lawn to the wide expanse of water sparkling in the morning sun. She had watched a stately four-master sailing majestically by; she had watched the little pleasure craft, darting in and out as if playing at hide and seek. The great ship pursued its dignified course, following the track laid down for it by the mariner’s chart; the frolicsome boats went hither or thither, whichever way the favoring wind filled their sails. The great ship by holding steadfastly to her course would eventually reach that port toward which she had set out, with her mission fulfilled; the little boats would return to the moorings from which they fluttered with no other purpose accomplished than the pleasure of the passing moment. Yes, Merry had told herself, it was purpose which counted. She had dashed out over and over again on brief excursions, but even her serious errands had been undertaken because they gave her pleasure. Unless the course be charted, unless the goal be predetermined, there could be no permanence, no majestic dignity to any performance. The time had come when she would permit no wavering. She would show her confidence in the experience of the older mariner, who had plotted out the chart, by following it without the semblance of a doubt.

“I’m ready, Momsie,” she said brightly, turning toward Mrs. Thatcher, “why, Momsie! what’s the matter? It’s all right, dearie. I’m sure we’ll be very, very happy. I’m ready to see Mr. Hamlen whenever you say. It’s all right, dearie.”

Mrs. Thatcher sat down wearily, and Merry slipped to the floor at her feet, looking wonderingly up into her strained face. Marian leaned forward impulsively and kissed her, resting her cheek against the girl’s face.

“My darling!” she said in a low, tense voice. “I have made a horrible mistake!”

The spoken words started a flood of tears which until then Marian had been able to restrain. The full weight of the responsibility again rushed over her. She had dared to interfere in two lives which should have been allowed to find their own expression, she had dared to pit her human judgment against Nature. What would be the final outcome? With Merry, she could not believe it would result in anything more serious than a further confusion of ideals, but with Hamlen she knew well how disastrous the effect must be. How could she make matters clear to this dear child when her own brain was so bewildered!

But when the tears had relieved the tension, and Marian felt the sympathetic encouragement of the heart beating against her own, the mother love, as always, rose triumphant over mental and physical limitations. During the next hours, amid confidences and revelations which enabled each at last to understand the other, mother and daughter experienced that rare communion which had been denied them, but which was theirs by right. The sacrifice Merry had been ready to make accomplished its purpose without necessity of execution; the sincerity of her mother’s purpose became clear, and the girl discovered the natural refuge where she might always find relief from overpowering perplexities. When they went down-stairs together, with arms around each other, and strolled out into the rose-garden, there was a new meaning to the sunlight and to the fragrance of the flowers. Marian saw in it a promise that her morning supplication might not have been in vain.

The telephone message from Huntington that Hamlen had been located and that all was well relieved Marian’s apprehensions, and left her with such thankfulness and joy that she was able to join her remaining guests in the day’s activities. How all could be well she was unable to comprehend, for the shock to Hamlen’s nature must have been too great for easy convalescence; but at all events the worst had not happened, and until Huntington returned no further details could be obtained. Merry, too, entered into the family life for the first time with any show of interest. Philip and Billy, who now alone remained of Philip’s friends, annexed themselves in the absence of something better to do. Billy was still disgruntled, but his malady seemed to be located in his head rather than in the region of his heart.

Activity was an absolute necessity to Marian, so she announced that instead of the usual dinner they would picnic on the shore at a spot perhaps two miles distant from Sagamore Hall. Not that this required physical exertion for her, but it was a novelty which would prove diverting. As the sun sank low, the little party boarded the electric launch.

“Excuse me for asking, Marian, but where does the picnic come in?” Edith demanded, noting the total absence of baskets and bottles and the other usual paraphernalia. “I don’t want to criticise, but I’m no air-plant.”

Marian laughed, “Have faith,” she replied. “A relief train is even now on its way to save you from starvation.”

“Too bad for Huntington and Hamlen to miss all this,” Cosden remarked, hoping to call forth some word of explanation.

“If you vote it a success, we may repeat it after they return,” she answered evasively. “Perhaps then we can include Harry.”

“That reminds me,” Edith broke in, looking vindictively toward Cosden. “Perhaps you will tell me why Harry rushed down here like a lost soul and then back again to New York. Mr. Cosden is very mysterious about it, and my curiosity is aroused.”

“There isn’t any mystery,” Marian assured her. “There were some papers he had forgotten to take.”

“Why didn’t he telephone me to bring them to him?” Philip demanded. “Why is it he won’t let me go to the office, when he promised me I could help him as soon as college was over?”

Mrs. Thatcher looked at Cosden questioningly. “Is there anything more than Harry told me?” she asked him.

Cosden knew that Thatcher was still trying to keep his family in ignorance of the strain under which he was laboring. It was for him to give such details as he chose rather than for his guest.

“I don’t know how much you already know, Mrs. Thatcher,” he replied with apparent candor. “These are strenuous days in Wall Street, and no one can tell what is going to happen next. As for you, Philip, don’t be impatient. This is no time to initiate a youngster into any business. War is breaking loose in Europe, and if Germany and England lock horns there will be something doing.”

“War!” Philip cried. “Do you really think there will be a war?”

“The idea!” Edith sniffed. “Those little savage tribes in the Balkans may call each other names and throw things around, but Germany and England are civilized nations. How perfectly absurd!”

“If there is a war, I want to get in it,” Philip insisted. “I’ve always wanted to go to war, and never supposed I would have a chance.”

“I’ll go with you,” announced Billy with sudden enthusiasm, looking significantly at Merry as he saw the solution of his troubles. “I don’t care what side I’m on or against whom I fight. Let’s enlist together, Phil.”

“You couldn’t fight except for your own country, you silly,” Merry laughed.

“Of course I could,” he insisted stoutly. “You never think I can do what I say I can, but I’ll show you. I can be a soldier of fortune like Robert Clay, or I can be a Canadian and get shot up as much as I like.”

“But this isn’t in a story, Billy, and Robert Clay was. More than that, you’re no Canadian.”

“Anyhow I was in Canada once.”

“Don’t mind Billy,” Phil interrupted. “I’m really serious. There must be some way I could get into it. You know, Mother, how much I’ve always wanted to.”

“Yes, my boy; I do know,” Mrs. Thatcher answered. “Ever since you were old enough to play with toys it has always been soldiers and wars. I have thanked God that war was a horror of the past, for I know how hard it would be to hold you back if the opportunity offered.”

“If he goes, then I go with him,” Billy said with decision.

“You both had better wait until war is declared by somebody against somebody else,” Cosden suggested.

“You don’t think they’ll patch it up, do you?” Philip inquired anxiously.

“Let us hope so,” Mrs. Thatcher answered; “but this is a pleasure expedition. Let us banish thoughts of war.”

As the launch rounded a rocky promontory a roaring fire was disclosed burning on the beach, around which several of the house servants were already busied in preparing supper. Back from the beach, beneath great spreading oaks, a cloth was laid on the ground, to which the contents of the hampers were being transferred. The usual limitations of camp life were conspicuous by their absence, the fascinations were emphasized by the marvelous smoothness with which everything was conducted.

“I don’t call this picnicking,” Edith declared, after her first taste of chowder. “Plant a forest of trees in Sherry’s ball-room, paint an ocean on the wall, fake a moon rising over the orchestra stage, everybody sit cross-legged on the floor, and there you have it. Sherry certainly couldn’t improve on the service or the food.”

“I can’t find even an ant on mine,” Billy complained, corroborating Edith’s praise.

“Champagne like this is far too good for the common people,” added Cosden turning to Mrs. Thatcher. “How did you do it? It is the apotheosis of gipsy life, and makes me reluctant to return to civilization.”

Billy edged around until he gained a seat next to Merry. “This feast might have been in honor of our marriage,” he whispered. “It’s all your fault that I’m going to war, and if I’m shot up I’ll come back and haunt you.”

“Don’t, Billy!” Merry sputtered, laughing and choking, “you’ll make me swallow this the wrong way. There ” she continued as she recovered; “that’s better. Now don’t be silly or you’ll spoil our fun. We are going to be good friends always, and that’s all there is to it.”

“You wait. You’ve been lots happier since I told you that you loved me, now haven’t you? I know. You think it’s a joke because you think I’m a joke, but when once I’ve gone to war you’ll understand. I’ll bet you even that you’ll chase after me as a Red Cross nurse, and that I’ll die with my head in your lap. Do you take me?”

Phil approached near enough to put an end to the proposition without Merry’s reply.

“Do you suppose there’s anything in this war talk?” he queried, sitting down beside them.

“Not a thing,” his sister replied. “That would be too absurd.”

“If there is, I could at least go as a correspondent, that is, if Dad could spare me. I’m terribly keen about this.”

“How could you work me in?” Billy demanded. “I couldn’t do any newspaper stunt.”

“How about taking pictures to illustrate my articles?”

“Great! I can shoot a Kodak like anything. Then it’s all settled that we go together?”

“Suppose there isn’t any war?” Merry persisted in throwing cold water upon their plans.

Both boys looked gloomily at each other. Then Billy had an inspiration.

“If there isn’t,” he declared with decision, “then Phil and I will dash over there and stir one up. We could make faces at them or do something and get one started. That’s the idea, isn’t it, Phil?”

“You make me tired!” Philip retorted. “This is too serious a matter to joke about.”

As the older boy moved away disgustedly Billy again whispered to Merry. “Phil is just as bad as you,” he said disconsolately. “He doesn’t know seriousness when he sees it. Come on! Take a chance and be a sport!”

The boy’s persistency was the only jarring note in the whole experience, and the extent of that was too limited to produce lasting effect. The picnickers watched the sun set and the moon rise, then, filled with the calm delights which Nature so generously shared with them, and over-satiated with the creature comforts supplied by their hostess, they re-embarked in the launch and returned to Sagamore Hall. To their surprise, as they walked across the great lawn to the house, they saw some one coming down to meet them.

“Mr. Huntington has returned!” Marian cried, and she hastened toward him in advance of the others.

“Why, Harry!” she exclaimed surprised to discover that it was her husband. “How did you manage to get back to-night? I’m so glad to see you!”

Cosden hurried forward, sensing important revelations in Thatcher’s return. The new-comer grasped his hand cordially, and his face even in the moonlight showed a relief from the long strain.

“With your help, old man, I’ve pulled through,” he whispered later. “The stock-markets of the world are closed indefinitely. Germany and England are straining to jump at each other’s throats. The history of the world starts revision from to-day, and now I’m going to stay down here for a while and let other people worry!”