The excursionists drove off, and Elsie, having provided the little ones with amusement, gave herself up to the enjoyment of her book and an easy-chair set where she could catch the pleasant sea breeze without feeling the sun.  Still, she did not forget the children, but now and then laid aside her book for a little, while she suggested or invented some new game for their entertainment.

So the morning passed quietly and pleasantly.

It was a little past noon when, stepping out upon the veranda, she caught sight of a forlorn figure, hatless, coatless, and dishevelled generally, yet bearing a strangely familiar look, slowly approaching the other cottage.  A second glance told her who it was.

“Max!” she exclaimed in astonishment, and forgetting all about her headache, caught up a sunshade and hurried to meet him.

“Max! can it be you?” she asked.  “Why, my poor boy, where have you been? and what has happened to you?”

“O Grandma Elsie!” he said, looking much mortified and ready to cry, “I did hope I’d be able to get into the house without anybody seeing me!  Do you know where my father is?”

“Yes; the two families have all gone on an excursion except Gracie, Walter, and me.  But come in out of the sun,” she added, leading the way into the Raymonds’ cottage.  Max followed her, and won to confidence by her sweet and kindly sympathy, told her the whole story of his morning’s adventure.

“O Max, my dear boy! what a narrow escape!” she said, with tears in her eyes.  “What a mercy that you are alive to tell the tale!  What a terrible, terrible shock it would have been to your father to learn that his only son was drowned! and that while in the act of disobeying him, for you say he bade you not to go into any danger.”

“Yes, Grandma Elsie, and if he finds it out I’ll be pretty sure to get a severe flogging.  I deserve it, I know; but I don’t want to take it.  You won’t tell on me, will you?  Perhaps he’ll find it out through the loss of the coat and hat, but I hope he won’t miss them, at I have several others.”

“No, Max, I shall certainly not tell on you; no one shall ever learn from me what you have told me in confidence; but I do hope, my dear boy, that you will not try to deceive your kind, loving father, but will confess all to him as soon as he comes home, and patiently bear whatever punishment he sees fit to inflict.  It is the only right and honorable course, Max, and will save you a great deal of suffering from remorse and fear of detection.”

“But it will be dreadfully hard to confess!” sighed Max.  “I believe I really dread that more than the flogging.”

“Yet take courage, my boy, and do it.  Do not allow yourself to indulge in moral cowardice, but dare to do right, asking help of God, who is able and willing to give it.”

Max made no reply, but sat there before her, looking very guilty and miserable.

“You must be hungry,” she said presently, “and it is not easy to be brave and strong on an empty stomach.  Suppose you go to your room and make yourself neat, then come into the other house and join me and the little folks in a nice luncheon.”