s of the young girl. Leaning against an ancient
oak, so old the heart of it was gone and it towered but a mighty
shell, the slender figure of the actress was clearly outlined, but
against that dark and roughly-furrowed background she seemed too
slight and delicate to buffet with storms and hardships. That day's
experience was a forerunner of the unexpected in this wandering life,
but another time the mishap might not be turned to diversion. The
coach would not always traverse sunny byways; the dry leaf floating
from the majestic arm of the oak, the sound of an acorn as it struck
the earth presaged days less halcyon to come.

"How do you enjoy being a stroller?" asked a voice, interrupting the
soldier's reverie. "It has its bitters and its sweets, hasn't it?
Especially its sweets!" Susan added, glancing meaningly at the young
girl. "But after all, it doesn't much matter what happens to you if
you are in good company." The semi-gloom permitted her to gaze
steadfastly into his eyes. He ignored the opportunity for a
compliment, and Susan stifled a little yawn, real or imaginary.

"Positively one could die of _ennui_ in this wilderness," she
continued. "Do you know you are a welcome addition to our band? But you
will have to make yourself very agreeable. I suppose"--archly--"you
_were_ very agreeable in the property wagon?"

"Miss Carew had a part to study," he returned, coldly.

"A part to study!" In mock consternation. "How I hate studying parts!
They say what you wouldn't, and don't say what you would! But I'm off
to bed," rising impatiently. "I'm getting sleepy!"

"Sleepy!" echoed Barnes. "Take your choice! The Hotel du
Omnibus"--indicating the chariot--"or the Villa Italienne?"--with a
gesture toward a tent made of the drop curtain upon the walls of which
was the picture of an Italian scene.

"The chariot for me," answered Susan. "It is more high and dry and
does not suggest spiders and other crawling things."

"Good-night, then, and remember a good conscience makes a hard bed
soft."

"Then I shall sleep on down. I haven't had a chance"--with a sigh--"to
damage my conscience lately. But when I strike civilization
again"--and Susan shook her head eloquently to conclude her sentence.
"Oh, yes; if beds depend on conscience, boughs would be feathers for
me to-night." With which half-laughing, half-defiant conclusion, Susan
tripped to the chariot, pausing a moment, however, to cast a
reproachful glance over her sho