sound seemed to come. What they saw made poor frightened Sim gasp. It was a white peering face, with hair plastered down by the rain, and a questioning look in the eyes.

“Terry! Go to the door! Let her in!” Mrs. Landry called, quickly realizing this was a girl’s face.

Terry sprang to obey. The front door opened; the screen door beyond it was blown back and slammed against the side of the house.

“Come in, come in,” Terry shouted against the screaming wind. “You’ll be blown away!”

But the storm-born creature, holding a torn sweater closer around her, looked sharply at Terry, then turned and dashed away in the dim light and was almost instantly lost to sight on the winding pathway.

Terry, drying her face and smoothing her hair, came back to the harbor of the lighted room.

“She ran when I called her,” she stated simply. “What do you suppose she wanted, if she didn’t want to come in?”

“It’s a queer time just to come for a look around,” Sim agreed. “You must have scared her away, Terry.”

“She’s probably a water pixie,” Arden remarked, still under the spell of the majestic storm. “She was most likely never there at all; we just imagined it.”

“What’s that?” Sim asked. “Do I imagine I hear a knock at the door? I’m sure I heard something.”

They all listened. There was certainly a sound like knocking.

“She’s come back!” Terry declared and once more opened the door. The storm by this time had abated a bit, although the rain still lashed down in lordly fury.

As Terry flung back the door, the girls gasped, for there stood their “handsome stranger” of the lift-ride, soaked thoroughly, with a shivering, bedraggled dog huddling close to him.

“Oh-h-h-h!” faltered Terry in her surprise. “Won’t you come in?” she continued, recovering her composure.

“I’m afraid I am too wet,” answered their strange caller, pushing a damp strand of hair back from his face. “I am sorry to trouble you——” A sudden gust of wind fury almost pulled the door from Terry’s grasp.

“Come in, come in,” interrupted Terry’s mother coming forward. “We don’t mind a little water; and the poor dog!”

She stooped to pet the cringing animal and then drew back in alarm as a snarl greeted her.

“Tania!” called the man in rebuke, and then to Terry’s mother he said: “You must forgive her, she is not used to strangers, but she will not harm you. Tania,” he said again, “these people are friends.” It was his voice, apparently, not his words, the dog understood.

Arden and Sim had pressed nearer to witness the little drama of the storm. The man and his white wraith of a dog now stood dripping puddles of rain water on Mrs. Landry’s spotless floor. He looked shyly down at the widening pools at his feet, smiled, and said:

“I wonder if you could give me a few matches? I have not been very practical, for I neglected to buy some. And the old ones I have are all like this.” He held up a soaked cardboard clip-container, soft from the rain. There was just a hint of a foreign accent as he continued: “I am, in a way, a neighbor, and, though I fear I am making a great deal of trouble for you, I cannot light my lamp without matches.” He made a helpless gesture.

“Neighbor?” questioned Mrs. Landry. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, yes!” Arden exclaimed, recognizing the visitor. “You are the gentleman we drove into town this afternoon. He lives on the houseboat down the bay,” she quickly whispered to Terry’s mother. Then to the caller: “Will matches be all that you need?”

“I think so, yes; thank you. But please allow me to introduce myself and beg pardon for intruding like this. I am Dimitri Uzlov. I have rented the houseboat for the summer while I do a little painting and sketching. This is Tania, my faithful dog. She is not as savage as she appears. This afternoon your daughters were kind enough to——” He looked at Mrs. Landry and bowed formally. But she interrupted:

“Only one daughter, Mr. Uzlov,” and she indicated Terry by putting a hand on her shoulder. “My other daughters are not here now. These young ladies are Terry’s guests—her college chums.”

Dimitri Uzlov bowed in acknowledgment. In so doing he turned the hat he was holding upside down, and water began dripping and splashing from the curved brim.

“Oh!” he exclaimed in some confusion.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Terry.

“Thank you. But the young ladies were very kind to me this afternoon. No doubt they have told you.” Another bow to Mrs. Landry. “But I must not stand here dripping like this. If I could have a few matches for my lamps——” His slow, ingratiating smile came out again.

Terry hurried to the kitchen and returned with matches and candles as well. Mrs. Landry always kept a supply of both in stock, knowing, from past sad experiences, that the electric current at Marshlands was not always entirely dependable during severe storms.

Terry held out the matches, long wooden ones with blue heads, and several candles.

“You are very provident,” said Mr. Uzlov, smiling once more as he took them, again bowing and splashing more water from his hat to the floor. “I must be wise in this same way. I thank you a thousand times! You are so kind!”

The rain-soaked visitor turned to go.

“Won’t you wait a little longer,” Mrs. Landry asked, “until the storm lets up a bit?”

“Thank you, but I must get back. I have stayed away too long already. My humble houseboat is alone. Come, Tania,” he replied and, giving them all a shy smile, he stepped out on the porch.

“But you’ll catch cold—the rain——” Arden began.

“It has almost stopped,” Dimitri Uzlov smiled. “We must not stay any longer. I am a solitary person. But thank you.” And he was gone, leaving only the telltale puddles behind him.

As they watched from the window they could see him walking down the damp sand in the direction of the houseboat with Tania, the Russian wolfhound, at his heels, looking thinner than ever because of the way her silk hair lay matted with the rain.

Like a character from the “King of the Golden River” he looked, getting farther and farther away until a sand-dune suddenly cut off their sight of him.

Only the footsteps were left, big ones for Dimitri and a series of small holes where the dainty Tania had followed him.

“What a strange man!” Mrs. Landry exclaimed.

“I think he’s just awfully shy,” Arden said. “I suppose he couldn’t bear to come in with all us women staring at him.”

“Perhaps you’re right, my dear,” Terry’s mother answered and once more turned to the window.

A big storm, a wild wraith of a girl, a real hermit, and a majestic wolfhound! What more could the girls have expected?

CHAPTER III
The Russian

When the storm was over and the late summer sun came out for a brief half hour before settling down for the night, there was hardly a hint of rain left. The sandy ground absorbed the water almost as quickly as it fell, leaving only tiny pock-marks behind.

The girls opened doors and windows to capture the cool air, and Arden let the porch awnings down and jumped back just in time to escape a small cascade as the rain water tumbled free of the canvas pocket.

Then Arden and Sim, Terry and her mother sat on the comfortably screened porch and watched night fold her dark-blue wings over everything.

“Funniest thing the way that ‘Tess-of-the-Storm-Country’