CHAPTER VI

BARON TREGAR

Lilac and wistaria flowered royally. Carpenter, wheelwright and painter
departed. The trim green wagon, picked out gayly in white, windowed and
curtained and splendidly equipped for the fortunes of the road, creaked
briskly away upon its pilgrimage, behind a pair of big-boned piebald
horses from the Westfall stables, with Johnny at the reins. On the seat
beside him Diane radiantly waved adieu to her aunt, who promptly
collapsed in a chair on the porch and dabbed violently at her eyes.

"I shall never get over it," sniffed Aunt Agatha tragically. "Carl may
say what he will, I never shall. But now that I've come up here to see
her off, I've done my duty, I have indeed. And I do hope Carl hasn't any
wild ideas for the summer--I couldn't stand it. Allan, as long as Miss
Diane is camping within reasonable distance of the farm, you'd better
take the run-about each night and find her and see if she's all
right--and brush the snakes and bugs and things out of camp. If
everything wild in the forest collected around the camp fire, like as not
she wouldn't see them until they bit her."

The boy shifted a slim, bare leg and sniggered.

"Miss Westfall," he said, "Miss Diane she says she's a-goin' to a spot by
the river and camp a week an'--an' if she finds anybody a-follerin' or
spyin' on her from the farm, she'll skin him alive an'--an' them black
eyes o' her'n snapped fire when she said it. An' Johnny, he's got
weepons 'nough with him to fight pirutes."