HE artist held outu 5aaz his hand gallantly and Harry stepped on to the Jolly Roger with all the impressiveness of a queen disembarking from a royal barge.
“This way, if you please,” said Mr. Cole, holding open the studio door. They all trooped in and Harry gave a little cry of surprise and delight. On the easel, with a broad shaft of sunlight across it, stood a small canvas. The others echoed Harry’s exclamation. For there were two Harrys present, one gazing with shining eyes at the canvas, and one gazing smilingly back at her. Mr. Cole had copied the head and shoulders from the sketch for which Harry had posed, and in the lower right-hand corner were painted the words “To Harriet Emery with the artist’s homage.” Then followed the date and the signature: “F. Cole,” and for once Harry didn’t mind being called Harriet.
“Oh, it’s—it’s lovely!” she sighed. “Do you—do you really mean that it’s for me?”
“I really do,” answered Mr. Cole. “But there’s a string to it.”
“Wh-what?” faltered Harry anxiously.
“You’ll have to leave it with me until to-morrow at least, for I only finished it an hour ago and the paint is still wet.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” she answered vastly relieved. “And—and I can’t tell you how much I thank you.” Then, in spite of the fact that she had been sixteen for several hours, which, as every one knows, is quite grown up, she impulsively threw her arms about the artist and hugged him. And Mr. Cole stood it beautifully!
“And now,” cried Harry, blushing a little, “I’ve got something to show you all. Look! You take it, Roy.”
She held out the folded paper which she had kept tightly clutched in her hand and Roy took it. He looked it over.
“Shall I read it?” he asked.
Harry nodded vehemently. Roy unfolded it and began to read.
“Why, it’s a deed!” he exclaimed.
“Yes!”
“And—and—why, say, Harry, that’s great!”
“Oh, come,” said Chub impatiently. “Let us into it!”
“Papa has given me the island!” cried Harry.
“The isl—you mean this island, Fox Island?”
“Yes, he’s given it to me—forever—and my ‘heirs and signs—’”
“Assigns,” corrected Roy.
“And—and it’s all my owntiest own!” ended Harry happily.
“Well, that is great!” cried Chub.
“And some day I’m going to live on it,” declared Harry. “And I’ll invite you all to come and visit me.”
“And we all hereby accept,” laughed Mr. Cole. “Well, I suppose I shall have to begin and pay you wharfage after to-day.”
“And I guess we’ll have to pay you rent,” laughed Dick.
“No, you won’t,” answered Harry. “But isn’t it fine to have an island all of your own? Oh, I’ve always wanted to own an island.”
“So have I,” answered the artist, “but no one has ever insisted on giving me one, and I’ve never been able to make up my mind which particular island I wanted to buy. Well, and now how about supper, Mr. Dick?”
“Ready as soon as we finish setting the table.”
“Let me do it!” Harry begged.
“No, sir,” answered Dick. “You’re to stay out until it’s all ready.”
“Where are we going to eat?” asked Chub, looking anxiously about for the table which had disappeared.
“Forward, in the sitting-room,” answered Mr. Cole. “There’s more room there, and it’s pleasanter. You and I, Miss Emery, will take a stroll on deck until they’re ready for us.”
And so Harry and her host went up to the roof-deck and watched the sun setting behind the western hills, and Harry told about her birthday luncheon at the Cottage, and the big cake with its sixteen pink candles, and—
“Oh!” she cried, halting in the midst of her narrative, “I ought to have brought some of the cake for you!”
“Well, it’s just as well,” said Mr. Cole, “because—er—well, you see, there’s another cake! I believe it was to be a surprise, but I didn’t want you to feel bad about not bringing any of the other, you see. Perhaps you won’t mind just seeming a little surprised when you go in?”
“Oh, no” laughed Harry, “not a bit. That’ll be fun, won’t it? They won’t know that I knew anything about it!”
And they never did, for when, presently, they were summoned to supper, and Harry entered the sitting-room on Mr. Cole’s arm, she simulated astonishment so perfectly that the boys howled with glee.
“Why,” exclaimed Harry, “I was never so surprised—!”
The cake—it wasn’t a very big one, nor, as events proved, a very excellent one—sat in the center of the round table, the sixteen flames from the sixteen little pink candles making sixteen little points of rosy flame in the glow of the late sunlight. There were five places set and one of them, to which Harry was ceremoniously conducted, was piled with packages.