The Joy of Living Copyright 191S by Sidney Qowlng *By Sidney Gowing Illustrations by ELLSWORTH YOUNG COUSIN ALICK SYNOPSIS.—Disliking the pros pect of a month’s visit to her aus tere aunt. Lady Erythea Lambe, at Jervaulx abbey, and her cousin, Alexander Lambe. Aimee. vivacious daughter of the Very Reverend Viscount Scroope, meets a young man who laughingly introduces himself as "Billy," American. The two ride on his motorcycle, the "Flying Sphinx," and part. With Georgina Berners, her cousin, Aimee sets out for Jervaulx. She forces Georgina to impersonate her at Jervaulx, and she goes on a holi day. Aimee again meets Billy. He tells her his name is Spencer, and she gives hers as Amy Snookes, at present "out of a job.” Billy offers to take her into partnership in sell ing the Sphinx. In a spirit of mad cap adventure, she accepts. The two proceed to the town of Stan hoe, taking separate lodgings in Ivy cottage. While Aimee is se cretly visiting Georgina at Jer vaulx, the place is burglarized, and the famous Lambe emeralds are stolen. Aimee escapes. Police de cide the thieves are "Jack the Climber” and “Calamity Kate,” who travel on a motorcycle. Billy, w'ho has shadowed Aimee to Jer vaulx, follows the thieves. He is knocked out, but emerges from the fight with the Lambe emeralds. He meets Aimee, with the police in pursuit. In a secure hiding place, a cave among the crag pits, Aimee tells him the whole story. He urges her that she make a frank confes sion to her father, but on reflec tion both realize Aimee’s good name has been compromised. As suring Aimee he has a plan to save her. Billy leaves her in the cave and, proceeding to Jervaulx. re stores the emeralds to the astound ed Lady Erythea. Billy tells a story that satisfies the police, re fuses a reward and accepts a chauffeur's Job from Lady Erythea. Aimee gets the place of parlor maid at Jervaulx. CHAPTER XV—Continued. “Ladies,” he said gravely, “Miss Amy Snooks. Late of Scroope Tow ers.” And took his leave. Aimee said “good-evening” shyly, and seated herself. It occurred to her that she had never seen so many plain women gathered at one table. With the exception of the cook, they were all angular and scraggy. Pulling her self together with an effort, Aimee took a generous mouthful from a slice of thick bread and butter. The fewer words the better, until she knew her ground. She seemed to detect an air of faint hostility in the others. “What's the feedin' like at Scroope?” asked an elderly housemaid opposite her. in a hollow voice. “They fare pretty good.” said Aimee, with her mouth full of bread and but ter, “but the place 13 dull. I been at home some time." “Ton won’t be 'ere long," said the pageboy regretfully, neglecting ills tea to stare at her. “Why not?” said Aimee with some pertness. “You're a sight too good-lookin’,” re plied the page gloomily. “Albert 1” said the cook with aus terity, “pass this cup o’ tea an’ don’t talk rubbish !’’ Aimee took refuge behind her stone ware teacup. She was aware of a crossfire of glances, so sour and side long, that the very milk seemed to curdle In sympathy. ******* The morning sun, full of the prom ise of a fair day, shone through the windows of the long drawing room. Aimee, in a snow-white cap and apron, was wielding a feather brush among priceless knick-knacks. Her manner of dusting wns desultory. “I wonder how long I can stick it?” she murmured in despondent tones. A Watteau shepherdess escaped destruc tion by a miracle. “In all my life I never saw such a lot of frumps. And the taste it leaves in one’s mouth—it’s awful. It’s all very well sitting tight and spying nothing. I shall break out—I know I shall, unless I can see Billy soon.” Slie observed a large photograph of the Rev. and Hon. Alexander Lambe, in an ornate silver frame, standing on a table. Aimee recognized the por trait, and flicked at it viciously with the feather brush. She miscalculated, the portrait crashed on to the floor. When she picked it up the glass was Dtiui ctri cu. “That’s torn it. All breakages come off my wages. I wish It had been his silly face!” At that moment Miss Georgina Ber ners entered by one of the French win dows. She was aware of a slimmer and more youthful figure than any she had yet seen In the household. Georgina made a point of always being civil to her hostess’ servants. “Are you the new parlor maid?” she said amiably. Aimce turned and faced her. “Hullo, Georgie!” she exclaimed. Georgina, during the last three days, had suffered more than any placid soul should be called upon to endure. She stared wildly for a moment at the slim form in the cap and apron. Georgina had arrived at the breaking-point. She collapsed backwards Into nn arm chair; a series of shrill whoops came from her; her hands beat>t$ie air. “Georgina!” cried her cousin in a panic. Tor pity’s sake don’t do that You’ll give the whole show away 1” “Honk! Honk ! Honk!” said Georg ina. Aimee had once heard a physician declare that sympathy and kindness merely made hysterics worse. It was time to change the treatment. She grabbed her cousin by the shoulders. “Shut up that beastly row 1” said Aimee fiercely, shaking her till her teeth rattled. “Stop it 1 Do you want to get me handcuffed and put in the cells? Idiot!” Georgina gasped, choked, and sat up. She clung to her cousin desper ately. "I will be quiet. I will," she said faintly. “Wh-wha-what does it mean, Aimee? Why—?” “Try to behave like a reasonable be ing, and I’ll tell you.” “Yes, yes! I’m better now, dear." Aimee inspected her and, Judging the danger to be past, kissed her af fectionately. After a cautious glance at the windows she proceeded, as Billy would have phrased it, to put her cousin wise. Georgina, having heard her to the end, pressed both hands pathetically to the sides of her head. “And—you're living in the servants’ hall?” she said feebly. “It’s no catch, I can tell you, Georgie. But one mustn’t grumble. Billy’s living at the garage—in a green uniform with brass buttons.” “That—that extraordinarily good looking young chauffeur?” said Georg ina, staring at her. “Then he is—” “Now don’t get sentimental,” said Aimee warningly. “Yes, he is not bad looking, is he? Billy's great. If it hadn’t been for him—” she checked herself. “Don’t you see what an ex cellent arrangement it is, my being here—in spite of the little draw backs?” Georgina gave a sigh—positively of relief. “It’s better than having you wan dering about the country, getting into all sorts of horrible scrapes. It will have to come out soon, and then Lady Erytliea—” “Yes, yes. Never mind Aunt. What I want you to do, Georgie, is this—oh, bother! Look out!” Aimee seized her brush and, darting to the sideboard, began dusting busily. A step was hear<} on the gravel, and Mr. Alexander Lambe entered by the window. “Cousin Aimee, you are looking pale,” he said in tones of concern. “It is delightful out of doors, the air is so balmy. Shall we—er—take a little walk in the rose—” Alexander stopped short, and his features froze. H« had caught sight V Aimee Flourished the Feather Brush in His Face. of Almee’s face, with the light full upon it, reflected in the mirror before her. He stared for a moment with remarkable Intentness. “Who is this?” he said sharply, step ping towards her. There was menace in his voice. “Who are you?” Aimee, preparing to meet her des tiny, turned composedly and faced him. She dropped him a small curtsey. “Please sir, the parlor maid,” she said. Mr. Lambe’s eyes were nearly start ing out of his head. “Parlor maid? You?” he said stern ly. “You are the woman who drove thsrffmotorcycle. I could vouch for y^gtfnnywhere. You are”—he shot the wWds out with extraordinary ve hemence—“you are that abandoned creature, Calamity Kate! You are the woman who knocked me down!” With unexpected agility he sprang forward and seized Aimee by the wrist. And with equal deftness she wrenched herself free. “Am I?" she said fiercely. “Then keep your hands off me, or I’ll do it again. Do you heftr me?” Aimee, thoroughly roused, flourished the feather brush in his face. Mr. Lambe started back, a little pale. He placed Ills thumb on the bell-push. “Almee,” he said sharply, “go out— go out quickly! I will deal with her.” “What are you going to do?” gasped Georgina. Instead of obeying him she came forward, trembling. “Go out! I am going to give this woman In charge 1” “In pity’s name, don’t do that!” Georgina gulped, and struggled for breath. “She—she Is your klk-kik Cousln Almee!” Georgina dropped Into a chair nnd began to cry. Alexander, taking bis hand from the bell, wondered if she had suddenly become Insane. “Quite right,” said Almee. With the calm of despair she planted herself In front of him, her eyes defiant. "I am your klk-kik-Cousln Almee. And that's my cousin, Georgina Berners. I made her take my place here, because I thought It would be dull, and Dad In sisted on my coming. So now call the police, Cousin Allck, and let's get It over.” It seemed to Alexander that he had suddenly been transported Into Bed lam. He stared from Almee to the gently sobbing Georgina. And then, as the door began to open, Mr. Lambe turned swiftly and caught the handle, preventing the Intruder from entering. “Did you ring, miss?” Inquired Mr. Tarbeaux’s voice. “A mistake,” said Alexander, quick ly. “I will ring If I want you." He closed the door, and peered searchlng ly at Almee. “I, do not understand what this means,” he said coldly, “but It does not seem an occasion for the intrusion of servants. We are alone. Will you explain?” Almee felt a sudden relief; a twinge almost of gratitude. She had not ex pected Alexander to do anything so sensible. “I’ll make it clear If I can,” she said, and, looking Alexander In the face with an nngelically simple expres sion, she told him the tale from the beginning, briefly, yet comprehensive ly. As she was speaking, Almee watched Mr. Lambe’s face. The waves of emotion that passed over his usu ally serene features made them Inter esting, suggesting some delicate In strument subjected to shocks for which it had never been designed. At the end he was gasping faintly, like a stranded but still dignified fish. “And so,” concluded Almee, “you see it’s a piece of my skirt the police have got. And It was I who tripped you up the stairs. I’m sorry—Cousin.” Mr. Lnmbe passed a somewhat un steady hand across his forehead. He looked at Almee, and then turned slowly to Georgina. “Miss Berners—” he said. Georgina’s answer was a sob. Imme diately Almee stepped across, raised her from her chair and, with an arm round her waist, faced Alexander. “Stop! Not a word from you to Georgina!" she said defiantly. ‘There’s no one to blame but me. Everything she’s done, I made her do. She want ed me to own up. All this, she’s done to try and save me. Georgie's the best thing that ever happened.” Alexander looked at Almee. “My dear child,” he said gently, “I have only one wish and that Is to help you.” Alrnee’s lips parted; she stared at him incredulously. She saw the most human sympathy in the clean-shaven, priestly face; the kindliest light In his large eyes. “Miss Berners,” said Alexander, still more gently, “will you leave me with your cousin? I should like to speak to her alone. I will see you presently, If you will give me an op J/'.U bUUU J » Georgina nodded brokenly, and moved to the window. “Georgie,” whispered Almee quickly, as she passed, "meet me by the little arbor down the gardens In half an hour—it won’t be safe here—after this.” Almee and Alexander were left to gether, facing each other. There was an embarrassed pause. “Tell me, Cousin,” said Alexander, quietly, “why have you done this mad thing?” "Well,” said Aimee, for once at a loss, “I—you see—I was afraid of you, Alexander." She glanced up at him almost shyly. "I didn't want to come to Jervaulx. I thought tt would suit Georgie much better than me.” Alexander’s firm lips twitched very slightly. “I got fed up at home,” continued Aimee, desperately. “Everybody was so solemn. They drove me to It! I Just did it on the impulse. And then I —things sort of happened—I—” She made an impatient, hopeless gesture with her hands. ‘Oh, what’s the use of talking about it? It’s done, and here I am In this wretched mess. Police after me, and— everything! You’ve found me out— you can give me away. What are you going to do?” “There is only one thing to do,” said Alexander. "Make a clean breast of It.” Aimee’s lips tightened. “Come with me to Aunt Erythea,” said Mr. Lambe soothingly. “I will ac company you. PH do everything I can for you. There la no other way. For I caq see,” he said, “that you have courage.” “No,” said Almee decisively, “It Is Impossible.” Alexander’s eyes became keener. He looked a little contemptuous. "Are you afraid?" he said. “Do you not see that you must face the conse quences of this foolish thing you have done? Once the truth Is told, you have nothing to fear from the police.” “The police 1” said Almee scornfully. “I’m not afraid of the police. I’m not much afraid of Aunt Erythea. It Isn’t that at all. It’s—the other thing.” “What other thing?” Almee looked at him with growing embarrassment. “Oh!” she said at last, desperately, “have I got to put It in so many words? My staying at Ivy cottage! Didn’t you understand what I told you? I was there—two nights." Mr. Lambe, to her surprise, did not look forbidding or censorious. Instead, he looked a little puzzled. And in that moment Ahnee conceived a liking for Alexander. “Now that I have seen yotf, and heard your story,” he said, “I attach no importance to that Incident, what ever.” “Ah,” said Almee sadly, “but other people will, you see.” Alexander suddenly flushed crimson, and he avoided Almee’s eye. But his face grew peculiarly grim. “I have only this to say. That man—that Spencer—who dared to ex pose you to such a situation, Is the culprit I wish to see. He deserves—” Aimee's heel smote the floor. “Not a word against Billy! It’s he who saved me, right from the begin ning. He begged me to let him wn up. But he has kept my secret, at his own risk, becnuse I wanted it kept. He Is a gentleman!” Alexander winced. At thnt moment, out of the tail of her eye, Aimee caught sight of a tall figure In over alls crossing the gravel-walk beyond the lawn. • “Here he Is!” exclaimed Almee. "Let him answer for himself, i‘f you want to see him.” She ran to the window and called recklessly: “Billy 1” Mr. William Spencer looked towards her, glanced quickly left and right to see if the coast was clear, and hurried to join Aimee. He stepped in through tne window. “Billy,” said Aimee, "this is my Cousin Alexander. And he’s — he knows all about it. It seems this Is our finish, Billy." The two men turned and faced each other. CHAPTER XVI "They Must Be Told." Mr. Lambe’s serious eyes had be come hard and penetrating as a pair of crystal lenses. They gave the Im pression of piercing the exterior of the man before him, and reading his mind. Alexander looked, at that moment, rather like an inquisitor of Torque mada’s court. •‘You are Mr. William Spencer?” said Alexander Icily. “That’s so. You don’t know me? I guessed you wouldn’t. But I remem ber you very well, though I never con nected your name till now,’’ said Billy calmly. “You were chaplain to the Tenth Rutlands, in 1918. Came from China to join ’em, I heard.” Mr. Lambe was silent. “I was a sub In the Ninety-seventh of the line, lying next the British Seventieth division at Arras,” added Billy. “I remember you because you brought in six wounded who got left, after the raid on the pillboxes. Two of them were ours. You got the mili tary brass.” Aimee stared at Alexander in blank amazement. “That will do,” interrupted Mr. Lambe Impatiently. “We are not deal ing with the war. Do you realize,” he said in his grimmest tone, “Uve posi tion in which you have placed this lady?” Billy looked straight nt him. “You are Miss Scroope’s cousin,” he said quietly, “and a parson. 1 guess I’ll take lying down, from you, any thing you choose to say or do. Of course I realize it, and it’s why I’m here. I’ve been a fool. I didn’t seem to know. But I ought to have known.” He sighed. “Things are so different, where I belong. An’ they were different in France—mighty different. But that's no excuse. I wish I’d broken my neck before I did such a fool thing. And here we are in the soup. I don’t mat ter. And you don’t matter either, parson. A1I that matters is’ Miss Scroope. Get me?” "Come here,” said Alexander. Be took Billy by the arm, led him to the window, and turned him so that the sun shone full on his face. Mr. Lambe looked at Billy for some mo ments in silence, with a peculiar In tentness. “Mr. Spenaer,” said Alexander, re leasing him, “I will see you presently. I shall hare something to say to you. For the moment, leave me with my cousin. And—go quickly I" Billy nodded. He turned to Almee with a smile. “Don’t you worry,” he said quietly, “the padre’s white.” Billy disappeared with extreme sud denness through the window. Alexan der came slowly up to Almee. “That young man,” he said, “has the heart of n child. It Is a good thing to have. And rare, at his age. That does not alter the fact that your situ ation Is dangerous, and even terrible. My decision Is Anal,” he said earnestly. “There is but one thing to do. The plain, honest course. Aunt Erythea must be told Immediately. Then you will be safe.” “And I repeat it’s Impossible,” re turned Almee quickly. “Can’t you see? You understand. And Georgle under stands. But there Is one who will never understand. My father. He doesn’t belong to our time. He’ll con Aimee Seized His Hands in Hers. skier only one thing—that his daugh ter has been disgraced before all the county. Her name a by-word among the rabble. That’s how he’ll take It. It will simply be Dad’s finish.” Aimee sniffed miserably. "I never thought about It. But Georgle told me what it would mean to my father. And she’s right. You don’t know Dad.” Alexander had turned rather white. He walked to the door and back, in some agitation. “It Is some years since I have seen your father. But I knew him very well. And I believe you are right. This would be a heavy blow to him. But—It has got to be faced.” “And I will not let Dad face Iti” said Aimee hotly. “I don’t care, for myself. But I’m not going to have him made miserable—for all the par sons in the country!” “You have no choice. You do not suppose for a moment this thing can bt concealed and overcome!” Aimee turned to him with supreme confidence. “Of course I do. Billy will see it through!” she said triumphantly. Alexander gasped. “I cannot countenance deceit. The whole thing is known to me—my po sition is impossible,” he said. “I should be abetting a lie." “There’s no need for you to do any thing at all. Nobody wanted you to butt in, Alexander. The secret Is mine, not yours. Go to Aunt Erythea. if you must!” said Aimee bitterly. “Oh, I’m not complaining—I can see that you must. Only you’ll do It with out my sanction. Go to her, and tell her all you know about me.” Alexander groaned. For awhile he was silent. The perspiration stood out on his forehead. The anguish in his face was so plain that even Aimee felt compunction. Alexander sighed aloud. “I Shall keep silence,” he said. "It is impossible for me to betray a wom an’s sefcret without her consent—or to utter ity unsullied. My admiration for you is greater, if that Is possible, than ever.” Georgina’s heart fluttered delight fully. “I think,” continued Alexander, with growing enthusiasm, "that you exist to sacrifice yourself for others, Mlsa Berners. You have more than piety— you have charity. It is one of the sweetest qualities in a woman.” Georgina turned to him with swim 1U1U^ VUI “Oh, Mr. Lambe!” she murmured with delicious confusion. Alexander answered her with a hol low groan. She was startled at the sudden distress in his face. "The question is not what I think of you,” he said bitterly, "but what you think of mel You know the prin ciples I profess, and that I impressed on you. Out of my own mouth I am condemned. How can you feel any thing but contempt for me! I have consented to connive at this mad esca pade of Aimee’s and all its conse quences. T® keep silent. To—to hol ster it up,” he said with a gulp. SjT have passed my word.” Georgina’s eyes shone. “You have done that!” she cried eagerly. “Why, now that you are on her side, she may be saved from ex posure after all! I think it is splen did of you—absolutely splendid!” "How can you think of me, but as a hypocrite? You do not mean, Miss Berners, that you feel any respect for me now?” “Mr. Lambe, when I first knew you, I thought you my ideal as a church man. I think so more than ever. When I was in trouble, and consulted you, I seemed to find you a little hard. Poor Aimee had enough to bear. But now,” gasped Georgina, quite carried away, "I consider your conduct noble —really noble! I admire you more than ever.” “Miss Berners,” said Alexander, husky with emotion, "If only you knew what a relief it is, that I have not forfeited your regard! I have only, known you a few days, but your kind ness, your sympathy—” his hand closed almost convulsively on hers—“Mlsa Berners, may I call you Aimee—I—I mean Georgina—!” “Poof P A stifled, explosive sound caused Mr. Lambe to start violently and look round him. “8 nooks! You're Aimee Seroopet Don’t deny tt!" said Diana, fiercely. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Thought for the Day. One can be loyal to his own convic tions without being Intolerant of an other's convictions.