ted itself as a compromise. He took the branch road.

It wound in and out among the little hills which he had noticed from
the windows and from the yard of the Phipps' house. It led past a little
pond, hidden between two of those hills. Then it led to the top of
another hill, the highest so far, and from that point Galusha paused to
look about him.

From the hilltop the view was much the same, but more extensive. The
ocean filled the whole eastern horizon, a shimmering, moving expanse of
blue and white, with lateral stretches of light and dark green. To the
south were higher hills, thickly wooded. Between his own hill and
those others was a small grove of pines and, partially hidden by it, a
weather-beaten building with a steeple, its upper half broken off. The
building, Galusha guessed, was an abandoned church. Now an old church in
the country suggested, naturally, an old churchyard. Toward the building
with half a steeple Mr. Bangs started forthwith.

There WAS a churchyard, an ancient, grass-grown burying ground, with
slate gravestones and weather-worn tombs. There were a few new stones,
gleaming white and conspicuous, but only a few. Galusha's trained eye,
trained by his unusual pastime of college days, saw at once that the
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