"Easy, old top!" he advised ruefully, as the dog bounded against him.
"It would seem that we're an invalid with an infernal bump on the back
of our head and a bandaged shoulder." He peered curiously through the
tent flap and whistled softly. "By George, Nero," he added under his
breath, "we're in the camp of my beautiful gypsy lady!"

There was a bucket of water by the tent flap. Philip painfully made a
meager toilet, glanced doubtfully at the coarse cotton garment which by
one of the mystifying events of the previous night had replaced the
silk shirt he had worn from Sherrill's, and emerged from the tent.

It was early morning. A fresh fire was crackling merrily about a pot
of coffee. Beyond through the trees a river of swollen amber laughed
in the morning sunlight under a cloudless sky. The ridge of a distant
woodland was deeply golden, the rolling meadow lands of clover beyond
the river bright with iridescent dew. But the storm had left its trail
of broken rush and grasses and the heavy boughs of the woodland dripped
forgotten rain.

A girl presently emerged from the trees by the river and swung lightly
up the forest path, her scarlet sweater a vivid patch in the lesser
life and color all about her.

[Illustration: Diane swung lightly up the forest path.]

"Surely," she exclaimed, meeting Philip's glance with one of frank and
very pleasant concern, "surely you must be very weak! Why not stay in
bed and let Johnny bring your breakfast to you?"