Something jubilant laughed and sang in Philip's veins. A day in
Arcadia lay temptingly at his feet.

"Great Scott," he protested feebly. "I can't. I really can't, you
know--"

"You'll have to," said Diane with unsmiling composure. "The doctor
said so."

"After all," mused Philip approvingly, "it's the young medical fellows
who have the finest perceptions. I _do_ need rest."

Off in the checkered shadows of the forest a crow cawed derisively.

"Did you like your shirt?" asked Diane with a distracting hint of
raillery under her long, black lashes.

"It's substantial," admitted Philip gratefully, "and democratic."

"You've still another," she said smiling. "Johnny bought them in the
village."

"Johnny," said Philip gratefully, "is a trump."

Diane filled a kettle from a pail of water by the tree and smiled.

"There's a hammock over there by the tent," she said pleasantly.
"Johnny strung it up this morning. The trees are drying nicely and
presently I'm going to wander about the forest with a field glass and a