in the manner of his distinguished predecessor, by playing to all the nice old ladies in the dooryards. . . .  And one of them had given him a piece of pie and a bottle of excellent coffee and fretted a bit about the way he was wasting his life.  Mr. Poynter added that in the fashion of certain young darkies who infest the Southern roads, he would willingly stand on his head for a baked potato in lieu of a nickel, being very hungry.

“You probably mean by that, that you’re going to stay to supper!” said Diane.

Mr. Poynter meant just that.

“Where,” demanded Diane, “is the hay-camp?”

“Well,” said Philip, “Ras is a hay-bride-groom.  He dreamt he was married and it made such a profound impression upon him that he went and married somebody.  He slept through his wooing and he slept through his wedding and I gave him the hay and the cart and Dick Whittington.  I don’t think he entirely appreciated Dick either, for he blinked some.  All of which primarily engendered the music-machine inspiration.  It’s really a very comfortable way of traveling about and the wagon was fastidiously fitted up by my distinguished predecessor.  The seat’s padded and plenty broad enough to sleep on.”

Mr. Poynter presently departed to the music-machine for a peace offering in the shape of a bow and some arrows upon which, he said, he’d been working for days.  When he returned, laden with luxurious contributions to the evening meal, the camp had still another guest.  Keela was sitting by the fire.  Philip eyed with furtive approval the modish shirtwaist, turned back at the full brown throat, and the heavily coiled hair.

“The Seminole rig,” explained Diane, “was an excellent drawing card for Palm Beach tourists but it was a bit conspicuous for the road.  Greet him in Seminole, Keela.”

“Som-mus-ka-lar-nee-sha-maw-lin!” said Keela with gravity.

Philip looked appalled.

“She says ‘Good wishes to the white man!’” explained Diane, smiling.

“My Lord,” said Philip, “I wouldn’t have believed it.  Keela, I thought you were joint by joint unwinding a yard or so of displeasure at my appearance.  No-chit-pay-lon-es-chay!” he added irresponsibly, naming a word he had picked up in Palm Beach from an Indian guide.

The effect was electric.  Keela stared.  Diane look horrified.

“Philip!” she said.  “It means ‘Lie down and go to sleep!’”

“To the Happy Hunting Ground with that bonehead Indian!” said Philip with fervor.  “Lord, what a civil retort!” and he stammered forth an instant apology.

Immeasurably delighted, Keela laughed.

“You are very funny,” she said in English.  “I shall like you.”

“That’s really very comfortable!” said Philip gratefully.  “I don’t deserve it.”  He held forth the bow and arrows.  “See if you can shoot fast and far enough to have six arrows in the air at once,” he said, smiling, “and I’ll believe I’m forgiven.”