team was breaking training, obtained an excellent but chaotic
dinner; and by eight they were on their way back to the big
city.

The night was grandly beautiful. The waters of the Sound
flashed in the light of a cold, clear moon, which showed them,
like pictures in silver print, the sleeping villages through
which they passed, the ancient elms, the low-roofed cottages,
the town hall facing the common. The post road was again
empty, and the car moved as steadily as a watch.

"Just because it knows we don't care now when we get there,"
said Brother Sam, "you couldn't make it break down with an
axe."

From the rear, where he sat with Fred, he announced he was
going to sleep, and asked that he be not awakened until the
car had crossed the State line between Connecticut and New
York. Winthrop doubted if he knew the State line of New York.

"It is where the advertisements for Besse Baker's twenty-seven
stores cease," said Sam drowsily, "and the billposters of
Ethel Barrymore begin."

In the front of the car the two young people spoke only at
intervals, but Winthrop had never been so widely alert, so
keenly happy, never before so conscious of her presence.

And it seemed as they glided through the mysterious moonlit
world of silent villages, shadowy woods, and wind-swept bays