Diane was to learn that the infernal persistence of the Old Man of the Sea of Arabian origin could find its match in youth.  A week slipped by.  Philip wove an unsatisfactory mat of sedge upon a loom of cord and stakes, whittled himself a knife and fork and spoon which he initialed gorgeously with the dye of a boiled alder, invented a camp rake of forked branches, made a broom of twigs, and sunk a candle in the floor of his tent which he covered with a bottomless milk bottle.  All in all, he told Nero, he was evoluting rapidly into an excellent woodsman, despite the peculiar appearance of the sedge mat.

When Diane was honestly indignant, Philip was quiet and industrious, and accomplished a great deal with his knife and bits of wood.  When, finding his cheerful good humor irresistible, she was forced to fly the flag of truce, he was profoundly grateful.

“When do you think you’ll go?” demanded Diane pointedly one morning as she deftly swung her line into the river.  “Unless you contrive to get stabbed again,” she added doubtfully, “I really don’t see what’s keeping you.”

“When I may help you break camp and escort you back to your aunt,” replied Philip pleasantly, “I’ll pack up my two shirts and my wildwood pipe and depart, exceedingly grateful for my stay in Arcadia.”

Diane bit her lip and frowned.

“Suppose,” she flashed, with angry scarlet in her cheeks, “suppose I break camp and leave you behind!”

“I’ll go with you,” shrugged Philip.  “Don’t you remember?  I told you so before.  And I’ll sit on the rear steps of the van all the way to Florida and play a tin whistle.”

Appalled by the thought of the spectacular vagaries which this Young Man of the Sea might develop if she took to the road, Diane said nothing.

“No matter how I view you,” she indignantly exclaimed a little later, “you’re a problem.”

“Settle the problem,” advised Philip.  “It’s simple enough.”

“He’ll go presently,” she told herself resentfully.  “He’ll have to.”

“How it amuses these fish to watch me murder worms!” exclaimed Philip in deep disgust.  “Look at the audience over there!  I attract ’em and you get ’em!  Miss Westfall, are you a slave driver?”

“What do you mean?” asked Diane cautiously.

Philip’s most innocent beginnings frequently led into argumentative morasses for his opponent.

“Does Johnny have complete freedom in your camp?”

“Certainly!” exclaimed Diane warmly.  “Johnny is old and faithful.  He may do as he pleases.”

Philip changed an angemic worm of considerable transparency for one of more interest to his river audience and smiled.

“Johnny,” said he cheerfully, “has been good enough to invite me to stay in camp with him indefinitely.  I’m his guest, in fact, until you go home.  I imagine that as Johnny’s guest I ought to enjoy immunity from sarcastic shafts, but I may be mistaken.  I’ve washed and drained most of these worms.  Will you lend me an inch or so of that stout invertebrate climbing out of the can by you?”