When he’d made one sleeve of his coat we had a sort of celebration.  He’d found an empty bottle somewhere in the woods, and he had made a wild-cherry decoction that he declared was cherry brandy, keeping it in the sun to ferment.  Well, he insisted on opening the brandy that day and passing it round.  We had cups made of leaves and we drank to his sleeve, although the stuff was villainous.  He had put the sleeve on, and it looked rather inadequate.  “Here’s fun,” he said joyously.  “If my English tailor could see this sleeve he’d die of envy.  A sleeve’s not all of a coat, but what’s a coat without a sleeve?  Look at it—­grace, ease of line, and beauty of material.”

Aggie lifted her leaf.

“To Dorothea!” she said.  “And may the sleeve soon be about her.”

Tish thought this toast was not delicate, but Percy was enchanted with it.

It was on the evening of the fourth day of Percy’s joining our camp that the Willoughby person appeared.  It happened at a most inauspicious time.  We had eaten supper and were gathered round the camp-fire and Tish had put wet leaves on the blaze to make a smudge that would drive the mosquitoes away.  We were sitting there, Tish and I coughing and Aggie sneezing in the smoke, when Percy came running through the woods and stopped at the foot of a tree near by.

“Bring a club, somebody,” he yelled.  “I’ve treed the back of my coat.”

Tish ran with one of the tent poles.  A tepee is inconvenient for that reason.  Every time any one wants a fishing-pole or a weapon, the tent loses part of its bony structure and sags like the face of a stout woman who has reduced.  And it turned out that Percy had treed a coon.  He climbed up after it, taking Tish’s pole with him to dislodge it, and it was at that moment that a man rode into the clearing and practically fell off his horse.  He was dirty and scratched with brambles, and his once immaculate riding-clothes were torn.  He was about to take off his hat when he got a good look at us and changed his mind.

“Have you got anything to eat?” he asked.  “I’ve been lost since noon yesterday and I’m about all in.”

The leaves caught fire suddenly and sent a glow into Percy’s tree.  I shall never forget Aggie’s agonized look or the way Tish flung on more wet leaves in a hurry.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but supper’s over.”

“But surely a starving man—­”

“You won’t starve inside of a week,” Tish snapped.  “You’ve got enough flesh on you for a month.”

He stared at her incredulously.

“But, my good woman,” he said, “I can pay for my food.  Even you itinerant folk need money now and then, don’t you?  Come, now, cook me a fish; I’ll pay for it.  My name is Willoughby—­J.K.  Willoughby.  Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

Tish cast a swift glance into the tree.  It was in shadow again and she drew a long breath.  She said afterward that the whole plan came to her in the instant of that breath.