entered into its gaieties with the joyous zest of the child that she was.
Her own social experiences had been up to this time very limited, for
she had come straight from the convent in France into the household of
her semi-invalided father. He had had very few friends and in a vaguely
uncomfortable way she had been made to realize that her millions made her
position inaccessible; but by these delightful people to whom social
position was a birthright, and wealth regarded only as a purchasing power
for the necessities and gaieties of life, she had been adopted with much
enthusiasm. Her delight in the round of entertainments in her honor and
the innocent and slightly bewildered adventures she brought the major for
consultation kept him in a constant state of interested amusement. Such
advice as he offered went far in preserving her unsophistication.

And so the late November days found him enjoying life with a decidedly
added zest in things, though his Immortals claimed him the moment he was
left to his own resources and at times he even became entirely oblivious
to the eddies in the lives around him. One cold afternoon he sat in his
chair, buried eyes-deep in one of his old books, while across from him
sat Phoebe and Andrew Sevier, bending together over a large map spread
out before them. There were stacks of blueprints at their elbows and
their conference had evidently been an interesting one.

"It's all wonderful, Andrew," Phoebe was saying, "and I'm proud indeed
that they have accepted your solution of such an important construction
problem; but why must you go back? Aren't the commissions offered you
here, the plays and the demand for your writing enough? Why not stay at
home for a year or two at least?"

"It's the _call_ of it, Phoebe," he answered. "I get restless and there's
nothing for it but the hard work of the camp. It's lonely but it has its