summer heats.

On a very wet evening in June a young man in a high dogcart was driving
up the glen. A deer-stalker's cap was tied down over his ears, and the
collar of a great white waterproof defended his neck. A cheerful
bronzed face was shadowed by the peak of his cap, and two very keen grey
eyes peered out into the mist. He was driving with tight rein, for the
mare was fresh and the road had awkward slopes and corners; but none the
less he was dreaming, thinking pleasant thoughts, and now and then
looking cheerily at the ribs of hill which at times were cleared of
mist. His clean-shaven face was wet and shining with the drizzle, pools
formed on the floor of the cart, and the mare's flanks were plastered
with the weather.

Suddenly he drew up sharp at the sight of a figure by the roadside.

"Hullo, Doctor Gracey," he cried, "where on earth have you come from?
Come in and I'll give you a lift."

The figure advanced and scrambled into the vacant seat. It was a little
old man in a big topcoat with a quaint-fashioned wide-awake hat on his
head. In ill weather all distinctions are swept away. The stranger
might have been a statesman or a tramp.

"It is a pleasure to see you, Doctor," and the young man grasped a
mittened hand and looked into his companion's face. There was something
both kindly and mirthful in his grey eyes.

The old man arranged his seat comfortably, buttoned another button at
the neck of the coat, and then scrutinised the driver. "It's four