For a long time she wandered up and down its winding paths, finding many a shady pleasance hidden away among its labyrinths of hedges, where one might be tempted to stop and dream away a whole long summer afternoon.  But she did not pause until she came to a sort of court surrounded by rustic arbours, where a fountain splashed in the centre, and an ancient sun-dial marked the hours.  With a pleased cry of recognition she ran across the closely clipped turf, to read the motto carved on the dial’s face:  “I only mark the hours that shine.”

“The very words that Betty wrote in my Good Times Book the day she gave it to me,” she said, opening her diary to verify the motto on the fly-leaf.

“It was beyond my wildest dreams then that I’d ever be standing here in Warwick Hall garden, reading them for myself!  I mustn’t wait another minute to make a record of this good time.”

Choosing a seat in one of the arbours where a humming bird was darting in and out through a tangle of vines, she opened the thick red book in which she had kept a faithful record of her doings and goings for the last two years, and glanced at the last entry.  The date was such an old one that she read the last few pages to refresh her memory.

“THE WIGWAM, Thursday, August 4th.

“Jack came home yesterday to our joyful surprise.  Mr. Sherman had telegraphed him to come at once to Kentucky, on a flying trip to consult with the directors of the mine.  As he had to pass through Phoenix anyhow, he managed it so that he could stay over night with us.  I am so happy over the prospect of his having a chance at last to see our ‘Promised Land’ that I am fairly beside myself.  I sat up half the night making cookies and gingerbread and rolls, and broiling chickens for his lunch.  He says he’s been hungry for home-cooking so long that it will go away ahead of dining-car fare.

“Everything turned out beautifully, and while I waited for them to bake I wrote a list of the things he must see and questions he must ask at The Locusts; things I’ve wanted to know ever since I came back from Lloydsboro Valley, and yet you can’t very well find out just in letters.  He left on this morning’s early train.  If he finds he can take the time, he’s going on to Annapolis for a day, just to get a glimpse of Holland, and then to New York for a day and a half with Joyce.  Good old Jack!  He’s certainly earned his holiday.  I can hardly wait for him to come home and tell all about it.”

Spreading the book out on her knees, Mary adjusted her pen and began to write rapidly, for words always crowded to her pen-point as they did to her tongue, with a rush.

“WARWICK HALL, September 12.