some mornings after alice's arrival—she had spent most of the hours in her room in the interim—she came gaily into the room where her husband and margaret were at breakfast, her face all smiles, her figure clothed in a jaunty walking dress which fitted her to perfection. thayor looked up from his coffee and bacon; he thought he had never seen her look so pretty.

"why, alice!" he exclaimed, all his love for her in his eyes.

"yes—i don't wonder you are astonished," she said, regarding them both mischievously. "the day is too glorious to breakfast in bed; besides, i've slept like a top. sam, the camp is exceedingly pretty," she went on, as blakeman ceremoniously pushed a chair beneath her and hurriedly laid the unexpected cover.

"and now may i ask where you two gad-abouts are going?" she inquired, noticing margaret's short skirt and sam in a pair of stout tramping boots.

"to a pond, mother—the nearest, i believe. think of it—we have four of them," announced margaret proudly.

"then i'm going too," declared her mother.

"good!" cried thayor. "holcomb says he can easily take us there and back in time for luncheon."

alice turned to her husband, and patting the back of his hand, said:

"sam, you'll forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm since i came, won't you? i was really ill; the heat was something frightful coming up." the tone of her voice was captivating.

thayor covered her hand with his own.

"of course i will—you were tired out, dear—that was all. hurry up and drink your coffee," he continued, looking at the clock over the chimney-piece in the breakfast room; "holcomb is waiting for us. but put on your heaviest boots, alice, before you start; the trail is apt to be damp in places after the misty night. we are lucky not to have waked up in a drizzling rain."

margaret looked across the table at her mother:

"oh, what a night it was!" she burst out. "could there be anything more beautiful than the wilderness in the moonlight? it really seemed a sin to go to bed. i hope you saw it too—i was coming to wake you, it was so lovely."

"and so i gather," returned alice with a smile, "that you went to bed very late."

"yes, i did," confessed margaret; "and so i have every night since we came—never have i seen anything so grand as the tumbling water. oh, i just love it!" and she laid her little hand in her father's as a silent tribute to his generosity in giving it to her.

the breakfast hurriedly finished, thayor went out to the veranda and lighted a long, slim cigar. he felt like a man who had just received good news. for some moments he paced jauntily up and down, waiting for holcomb to appear. alice's sudden change of manner had made him as happy as a boy. it was so extraordinary and so unexpected that he could hardly believe it was true. her whole attitude during the drive in, and since, had been a bitter disappointment to him; now it seemed as if he had awakened from a bad dream. the caressing touch of her hand had put new life in him. was she at last really repentant? he wondered; was there after all, a throb of love in her heart for him?

suddenly he caught sight of holcomb coming across the compound. he wore his gray slouch hat, a short jacket and his high boots. very few of the young fellows about him had his build and breadth, and none his easy grace.

"good morning, billy!" he called.

"good morning, mr. thayor," returned holcomb cheerily.

"and what a day, billy!" answered thayor, rubbing his hands in boyish glee.

"just about as nice as they make them. you look happy, mr. thayor, and you look hearty—that's best of all."

"i am, billy—who wouldn't be well and happy a morning like this? and i've got a piece of news for you, too—good news; mrs. thayor is coming along with us. how will the new trail be—a little rough for her, do you think?"

"not a bit of it! clear going all the way—besides it isn't more than two miles there and back. freme has made a clean job of it. there's a short swamp just before we get to the pond, but i guess we can manage to get the ladies across without their getting wet."

"oh, that air—just smell it, billy!" reiterated the owner of big shanty enthusiastically. think of the poor people in the city who have none of it. i must send for randall as soon as we get settled, and some of those fellows we met at the players that day, and let them have a whiff of it—do them a lot of good. randall loves it. poor boy—he needs a change now worse than i did. and have you seen mrs. thayor this morning?"

"no."

"well—you never saw her look better; she tells me she slept splendidly. why, think of it, my boy, she actually came down to breakfast—a thing i have not known her to do in years."

"i'm mighty glad to hear mrs. thayor is better," returned billy thoughtfully—he wished it might include her manners. "she did not seem well yesterday or the day before."

"no—one of her old headaches. it must have been pretty hot, even in the 'wanderer.' here they are now!"

alice and margaret appeared on the veranda.

"good morning, mr. holcomb," said alice, nodding pleasantly. "you see," she added with her most captivating smile, "you must show me this wonderful little pond my daughter has told me about, too. may i come?"

holcomb lifted his slouch hat from his head.

"why, certainly, mrs. thayor. we can make it there and back by noon," and his eyes wandered over the trim and graceful figure accentuated so charmingly by her short skirt.

margaret had also followed the lines of the costume. "you must always wear a short skirt, mother—it is most becoming."

"and so comfortable, my dear," added alice nonchalantly as she placed both hands about her flexible waist and half turned. it was her stronghold, this figure—she would have been adorable in sackcloth and ashes, she knew, but she preferred a tailor-made.

soon the little party, lead by holcomb, were seen picking their way along the trail; margaret keeping close to the young woodsman and plying him with innumerable questions. she thought she had never seen him look so handsome, debonair and manly. then, too, his wide knowledge of the woods was a delight to her. little by little he explained, as he followed the trail, those secrets of woodcraft not found in books.

at length the trail ended in an opening at the edge of a small pond—nameless, and round as a dollar, its circumference framed in an unbroken line of timber. a few rods from this opening, where the little party was now seated, a big trout plunged half out of the water.

"he's after that miller," explained holcomb. the others strained their eyes, but they could see nothing but the widening rings where the trout had disappeared. again he rose out of a basin of moulten turquoise like a flash of quicksilver. "the old fellow will get him yet," remarked billy; "the miller's wing is broken—he's lying flat on the water."

"your eyes are better than mine, holcomb," declared thayor.

"take an old trout like that," explained holcomb, "and he'll always strike with his tail first; he broke that miller's wing the second time he rose."

alice and margaret were straining their eyes to catch, if possible, a glimpse of the unfortunate moth.

"i can't see him," confessed margaret; "can you, mother?"

"my dear child, my eyes are not fitted with a microscope," alice laughed.

"there!" cried holcomb, as the trout splashed still farther out on the quiet pond. "he's got him!"

"and we'll get him some day," exclaimed thayor, the fever of fishing tingling within him.

"there are some big trout in here, mr. thayor," continued holcomb. "i've known this pond for several years and it has been rarely, if ever, fished."

"then, billy, we'll have to go at them at twilight," declared thayor.

"you had better tell freme to bring in one of the canvas canoes."

the four retraced their way over the trail. as they reached a muddy place half way home holcomb noticed the imprint of margaret's trim little feet. it was evident to alice, who had been watching him, that the tracks puzzled the young woodsman. there were four of these dainty tracks instead of two; soon the mystery was cleared as alice thayor passed ahead of him and holcomb saw that margaret's and her mother's footprint were identical in size.

"you seem puzzled," alice remarked, as holcomb steadied her along a sunken log.

"i was looking where you had stepped, mrs. thayor," he confessed.

alice laughed, a low, delicious laugh.

"you see," she explained frankly, putting forth her trim boot, "my daughter and i wear the same size."

again margaret and holcomb took the lead. thayor and alice followed them leisurely, thayor talking of his purchase of which he had yet only seen a small portion, alice listening eagerly. during a pause she said carelessly:

"it must be frightfully hot in town, sam. new york is dirty and deserted; i pity those who cannot get away." he stopped and grew enthusiastic again over the rare purity of the air.

"we ought to be thankful for that," he said, as he filled his lungs with a deep breath. "think of how many poor devils and delicate women struggling for a living, and little children it would save."

"and the other people, too," she ventured boldly. "poor dr. sperry told me he would be lucky if he got out of new york at all this summer. there are some important cases of his, i believe, which may need him at any moment."

the mention of the doctor's name would have jarred on sam at any other time, but this morning he was too happy to care, and alice, quick to notice it, pressed on:

"i do wish he could come up here for a rest. i saw him at the trevises thursday; he seemed utterly used up. do you think he would come if we asked him, sam? besides," she added cleverly, "i should like him to see margaret."

thayor stopped abruptly and looked at his wife with a curious expression.

"so should i," he replied with some severity. "i should like him to see that child now, if for nothing more than to have the satisfaction of seeing how much even these few hours in the woods have accomplished, and what a mistake he made when he said the child's lungs needed looking after. sperry is a surgeon, not a physician—and he only makes himself ridiculous when he tries to be."

"i am quite of your opinion, sam," alice declared, not daring to contradict her husband—a feeling of infinite rest creeping through her veins as she spoke.

"he will then see for himself, i believe, that he was mistaken," continued thayor in the same positive tone. "margaret delicate! nonsense, my dear! by george—his diagnosis was not only brutal, it was ridiculous. why, leveridge—"

"be tolerant, sam," returned alice. "you know you always tell others to be tolerant. dr. sperry evidently said what he believed to be the truth. if he has been wrong i am sure he will be the first one to acknowledge it, as any gentleman who has been mistaken would."

"then he shall have the chance," replied thayor. "you may invite him at once, alice, if you wish, but for one week only. too much of sperry gets on my nerves."

when alice reached her bedroom she locked the door and threw herself on the bed in an ecstasy of tears. after some moments she arose with an exultant look in her eyes, went over to her desk, unlocked a jewel case and extracted from between the lining of a hidden compartment a small photograph of sperry at thirty, taken at heidelberg.

below the torrent of big shanty laughed in the sunlight.