’He objected, because he said mine was ready made—­but that made no difference from my point of view.  And then he said he thought our road would “end in a squirrel track, and run up a tree.”  And do you know, sir,’ said Wych Hazel, the hidden merriment flashing out all over her face, ’that was what it really did!’

‘Did what, my dear?’

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ she said, trying to steady her voice and bring out words instead of a burst of laughter,—­’but—­that is a wild Western expression, which Mr. Falkirk used to signify that we should get into difficulties.’

’Why did Mr. Falkirk think you would get into difficulties?’—­ Dr. Maryland had not found the scent yet.

’I don’t think he has much opinion of my prudence, sir,—­and believes firmly that every one who goes off the highway finds rough ground.  Now I like a jolt now and then—­it wakes one up.’

‘Do you want to find rough ground, my dear?’

’I don’t mean really rough, sir, in one sense, but uneven—­ varied, and stirring, and uncommonplace.  It seems to me that I have a whole set of energies that never come into play upon ordinary occasions.  I should weary to death of the lives some people lead—­three meals a day, and a cigar, and a newspaper.  I think I should fast once a week, for variety—­and smoke my cigar wrong end first—­if there are two ends to it.’

’I heard a lady say the other day, that there was no end to them,’—­observed Rollo.

Dr. Maryland looked at her on his part, smiling, and quite awake now to the matter in hand.  Yet he was silent a minute before speaking.

’Have you laid your plan, my dear?  I should very much like to know what it is!’

‘No, sir,’ she said, shaking her head with a deprecatory little laugh.  ’Of course I have not!  People in fairy tales never do.’

‘Life is not a fairy tale, Hazel,’ said Dr. Maryland, shaking his head a little.  ’My dear, you are a real woman.  Did you ever think what you would try to do in the world?—­what you would try to do with your life, I mean?’

‘Do with it?’ the girl repeated, her brown eyes on the Doctor’s face as if looking for his meaning.  ’I think, I should like to enjoy it, if I could.  And it has been very commonplace, lately, sir.  Mr. Falkirk don’t pet me and play with me as he used to—­and he won’t let me play with him; not much.’

The smile which quivered on Dr. Maryland’s face changed and passed into a sort of sweet gravity.

‘There is one capital way to get out of commonplace,’ he said; ’but it isn’t play, my dear.  If you set about doing what God would have you to do with yourself, there will be no dullness in your life, and no lack of enjoyment, either.’

She looked at him again—­then down; but made no answer.