McClintock had brought from Penang three mangosteen evergreens; and, wonders of wonders, they had thrived —as trees. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves. CHAPTER XX.
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