Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-06-22

me there. And why wasn't it an English
bill-a Bank of England note-they tore
in two?"
He didn't answer any of her questions.
He seemed to have gone off on a different
tack of his own.
After a little silence she went on. "I've
been thinking about it good deal these last
weeks. The only memories seem to have
that haven't got Father in them are those
of that little cottage, what told you about
that night the path and the well with the
queer tasting water. Was | right about
| that"
| He nodded al had forgotten about that"
he said, "and when you told me last nj ht
| what your father told you | was inclined to
| think you were mistaken, or that he had
mistaken the house you described. But he
| hadn't"
| His abstraction seemed to Pamela to be
growing deeper. He wasn't looking at her
any more, but out over the lagoon, in
thoughtful, unseeing sort of way, and once
he gave his head an impatient shake and
rubbed his hand across his eyes as if to drive
away a picture that was forming there.
put presently Pamela asked a question
u that reused him. "How long did you
| live in Wadebridge?" was what she asked.
And when he turned and faced her there was
half scared look in his eyes that was new
to her.
Il wonder how you happened on just that
question:" he said. "That's what has been
worrying me. You see, there's always been
sort of puzzle about it. My guardian al
ways said that my mother left for England
with me very soon after my fathers death,
when was just baby about a year old,
he thinks. | was eight when he heard of my
mothers death and sent for me and brought
me back to Oklahoma, and he always
thought that | had spent the time in be-
tween, the whole of it, in Wadebridge. He
said my mother had only money enough to
get me there, and that she had no friends in
America with whom she could have stopped.
Her father was an old man and the vicar of
the church there. The cottage we saw had
always been the viCarage.
"But my own memories don't agree with
that. l seem to remember going to Wade
bridge and finding it all very strange and
exciting. And when they put me on the ship
to go back to America was when was
eight know l remembered another long
sea voyage quite clearly, so that | was ia
miliar with all the sights and the interesting
things about the ship. Of course | couldn't
have remembered that if | had been only
year old when l made the voyage. My
guardian and l never talked about it very
much, because | could see that he thought
it was nothing but boyish nonsense. But l
knew it wasn't.
al don't suppose he went on thought
fully, shat could have remembered either
the voyage or my going to Wadebridge as
new, exciting sort of thing, if had been
we'll, very much less than six years old. Any
how, remember one summer there quite
clearly, and then being sent away to school.
So, you see, that would leave gap of four
or five years in my mothers life that-well,
my guardian in Oklahoma never knew any
thing about. 1 couldn't find anything very
definite in Wadebridge. One old man said
he remembered my mothers bringing me
there; said was a fine little lad or some
thing like that He wouldn't have spoken
that way of baby"
She saw the old abstraction settling over
him again "John,' she asked, chow did
your father die? Do you know? | mean,
did he wander away and get lost in biz
card, or disappear, so that there could be
doubt?"
mo, there's no doubt there He died in
his bed, and Charles Harding and the other
neighbors buried him. That much is clear
But about your mother-did your father
never tell you anything about herr"
Che cbool, bar heod "He need tO cpaal