oldest stones must date from early colonial times. Very likely there
might be some odd variations of the conventional carvings, almost
certainly some quaint and interesting inscriptions. It would, of course,
be but tame sport for one of the world's leading Egyptologists, but to
Galusha Cabot Bangs research was research, and while some varieties were
better than others, none was bad. A moment later he was on his knees
before the nearest gravestone. It was an old stone and the inscription
and carving were interesting. Time paused there and then for Galusha.

What brought him from the dead past to the living present was the fact
that his hat blew off. The particular stone which he was examining at
the moment was on the top of a little knoll and, as Galusha clambered
up and stooped, the breeze, which had increased in force until it was a
young gale, caught the brown derby beneath its brim and sent it flying.
He scrambled after it, but it dodged his clutch and rolled and bounded
on. He bounded also, but the hat gained. It caught for an instant on the
weather side of a tombstone, but just as he was about to pick it up, a
fresh gust sent it sailing over the obstacle. It was dashed against the
side of the old church and then carried around the end of the building
and out of sight. Its owner plunged after it and, a moment later, found
himself at the foot of a grass-covered bank, a good deal disheveled
and very much surprised. Also, close at hand some one screamed, in
a feminine voice, and another voice, this one masculine, uttered an
emphatically masculine exclamation.

Galusha sat up. The old church was placed upon a side-hill, its rear
toward the cemetery which he had just been exploring, and its front door
on a level at least six feet lower. He, in his wild dash after the brown
derby, had not noticed this and, rushing around the corner, had been
precipitated down the bank. He was not hurt, but he was rumpled and