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1884.] offers to the Indians is gradual absorption or extermination: there is no middle ground between these two extremes."

I read the slip to myself, and I read it aloud to gain time. Then I said in a weak way that I didn't know,—that I couldn't be expected to know more than seven United States senators.

"I only asked one," corrected Alice. "Besides, you must know,—you've read so many books, and you are always writing things down. Is it anything dreadful?"

I attempted a brief explanation of the present Indian situation.

Alice listened gravely, and remarked as I ended that she preferred Nancy in her present state, and that she didn't think it was nice to absorb or exterminate her.

We found Nancy. I offered her five cents. Alice, evidently intending to right such Indian wrongs as lay in her power, produced a bag of violet silk,—violet powder within, and without four artificial violets tied with a satin ribbon.

"Her relations, ever so far back, owned the whole of America, I believe," said Alice, in a suggestive way.

I replied meekly, "Yes, I believe they did," and felt as guilty as if I had murdered a whole tribe.

Meanwhile, Nancy, having secured the five cents and the bag, retreated to a corner and began to cry, evidently nervous from the fact that I was making a drawing of her small figure in Miss Alice Howard's sketch-book.

The yacht Beauty sailed early that morning. We, sailing at noon, overtook her. Our steamer fired a salute, and the Beauty returned the greeting by running up a banjo-case, which fluttered in the breeze like the ghost of our gay three days. We sent a song across the water as the outline of the yacht grew dimmer and dimmer:

"Narrowby," said Alice, slipping into my hand a cinnamon lozenge, "you look the way you do when you play the banjo."

"How is that?" I asked.

"Like a man playing a church organ," said Alice. "I heard a lady at Bar Harbor say, 'That young man in the front row, next to the little girl, looks exactly as if he were playing a church organ.

"And how does a man look doing that?"

"I never saw one," said Alice. "They always sit back to the people in church. But I know how you look,—very solemn and very happy."

I pressed my chaperon's hand in gratitude for her delicate appreciation of my feelings.

"Narrowby," continued Alice, "I've got a secret. If I can manage to keep it till to-morrow afternoon, I will come over to your house and tell you. Shall you be at home?"

I promised to be at home.

Wonderful scenery of the Maine coast! Wonderful wealth of youth and joy and beauty drifting by us that summer day and night, drifting by us through sunlight and moonlight, until at early dawn we found haven in Maine's fairest harbor!

Alice came at four that afternoon, bringing her secret in a basket. "It is something to remember Bar Harbor by," she said, "you are so fond of flowers, and you always can make things grow. I thought you'd like them better than anything I could buy of the Indians."

It was indeed "something to remember Bar Harbor by." It was a part of the place itself,—a cluster of harebells, flowers, leaves, stalks, and soil,—soil as sacred to me as the soil of the Holy Land to a way-worn pilgrim. The flowers were more or less wilted. One still bravely nodded its bonny blue head.