I will come as rapidly as possible to the extraordinary happenings of that Saturday afternoon, which as much as any other event in this entire history, portrays the mutability of the feminine mind.  I had gone out to the cabin to see that everything was in order, and Jerry was to follow later, while a few of the men fished up stream, Marcia and some of her guests driving in motors to the upper gate, cutting across to the cabin through the woods.  Christopher had cleared the cabin and he and Poole had brought the eatables and set a table.  The two days that had passed since Jerry had given me his promise had been cheerful ones for the boy.  I had not seen Miss Gore, but for aught I knew Marcia Van Wyck might have been adoring Jerry again.  I did not care what her mood was.  All would come right, for Jerry had given me a promise and he would not break it.  The arrangements within the cabin having been completed, I went outside and wandered a short way down the path toward the stream, sat on a rock and became at once engaged in my favorite woodland game of counting birdcalls.  Thrushes and robins, warblers, sparrows, finches, all engaged in the employment that Jerry had described as “hopping around a bit,” or chirping, calling, singing until the air was melodious with sound.  The birdman’s surprise, a new note differing from the others, a loud clear gurgling song, brought me to my feet and I went on down the path listening.  It was different from the note of a wren which it resembled, that of a Lincoln sparrow, I was sure, a rarity at the Manor, only one specimen of which Jerry possessed.  But midway in my pursuit of the elusive bird I saw movement in the path in front of me and I caught a glimpse of leather leggins and a skirt.  In a moment all thought of my Lincoln sparrow was gone from my head.  At first I thought the visitor one of Jerry’s guests, but as she approached, butterfly net in hand, I saw that it was Una Habberton.  So great was my surprise at seeing her that I stood, mouth open, stupidly staring.  But she was laughing at me.

“You’re a nice one,” she was saying.  “Here I am a trespasser through the grille and not a soul to greet me.”

“You came,” I muttered inanely.

“Obviously; since here I am.  It’s Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  But—­” I paused.

“But what?”

“You said you wouldn’t come.”

“Oh,” she laughed.  “I merely changed my mind—­my privilege, you know.  I was a trifle stale.  I thought it would do me good.  But you don’t seem in the least glad to see me.”

I was—­delighted.  Joy was one of the things that made me dumb.

“I was just trying to realize—­er—­Won’t you sit down?  On a rock, I mean.  Jerry’s somewhere about.  He’ll be along in a minute.”

The possible effect on Una of Jerry’s guests, who also might be along in a minute, was just beginning to bewilder me.

“He’s fishing?”

“He was to meet me at the cabin.  He’ll be along presently.  It will be a wonderful surprise.  Suppose we hadn’t been out here at all?”