It is at Nyoda's bidding that I am writing the story of our automobile
trip last September. She declared it was really too good to keep to
ourselves, and as I was official reporter of the Winnebagos anyway, it
was no more nor less than my solemn duty. Sahwah says that the only
thing which was lacking about our adventures was that we didn't have a
ride in a patrol wagon, but then Sahwah always did incline to the
spectacular. And the whole train of events hinged on a commonplace
circumstance which is in itself hardly worth recording; namely, that
tan khaki was all the rage for outing suits last summer. But then, many
an empire has fallen for a still slighter cause.

The night after we came home from Onoway House and shortly before we
started on that never-to-be-forgotten trip, I was sitting at the window
watching the evening stars come out one after another. That line of
Longfellow's came into my mind:

"Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels."

That quotation set me to thinking about Evangeline and the tragedy of
her never finding her lover. Could it be possible, I thought, that two
people could come so near to finding each other and yet be just too
late? Not in these days of long distance telephones, I said to myself.
As I looked out dreamily into the mild September twilight, I idly
watched two little girls chasing each other around the voting booth
that stood on the corner. They kept dodging around the four sides,
playing cat and mouse, and trying to catch each other by means of every
trick they could think of. One would go a little way and then stop and