"Don't you think that variety would suit Tavia better than me?" asked
Dorothy. "I thought you always picked out the real good kind for me,
the sort that wear collars all summer," and Dorothy laughed at the
idea, for the day was warm, and the thought of a stiff collar was
rather incongruous.

"Well, he must be nice, at any rate," replied Cologne, as they turned
into a lane, a short cut over the woodland. "But, say, Dorothy, do you
know I believe that fellow--the one who rode the farmer's horse--is
out this way? I saw some one who had that same queer gait, and who
wore his hat on the side of his head, and I am almost sure it was he.
I was not near enough to see his face, but there is something so
characteristic about his swing, I am sure I could not be mistaken. Did
Tavia tell you anything about the letter?"

"No," replied Dorothy slowly, "but I do hope he is not going to spoil
our camping days. I should never feel safe with him loitering about
the woods. What could fetch him away out here?"

"Well, this is a great rendezvous for swell invalids and nature
lovers," Cologne told her, "and of course, it may be a mere
coincidence. I even might be mistaken."

"Let us hope you are," said Dorothy fervently. "I would not mind so
much--but Tavia--Oh well, you know how queer she is."

"Yes, indeed I do, but never mind, Doro, we are going to have the time
of our lives this summer, and we must not go into the missionary
business for it's awfully wearing."