her,--who could tell, in the tangle of green, where the good and the
gift might ripen and fall? Every little fern-frond has its seed.

Jeannie came behind her again, and called her back to the contradictory
phase of self that, with us all, is almost ready, like Peter, to deny
the true. "What are you deep in now, Les?"

"Nothing. Only--we go _down_ from here, don't we, Jeannie?"

"Yes. And a very good thing for you, too. You've been in the clouds long
enough. I shall be glad to get you to the common level again."

"You've no need to be anxious. I can come down as fast as anybody.
_That_ isn't the hard thing to do. Let's go in, and get salt-fish and
cream for our breakfast."

The Haddens were new to mountain travel; the Thoresbys, literally, were
"old stagers;" they were up in the stable-yard before Mrs. Linceford's
party came out from the breakfast-room. Dakie Thayne was there, too; but
that was quite natural for a boy.

They got their outside seats by it, scrambling up before the horses were
put to, and sitting there while the hostlers smiled at each other over
their work. There was room for two more, and Dakie Thayne took a place;
but the young ladies looked askance, for Ginevra had been detained by
her mother, and Imogen had hoped to keep a seat for Jeannie, without
drawing the whole party after her, and running aground upon politeness.
So they drove round to the door.

"First come, first served," cried Imogen, beckoning Jeannie, who