like," he said.

When she had gaily marched him downstairs, she suddenly and unhappily
remembered the people she would have to face, the gibing questions she
would have to answer.

The night clerk was still at the desk, as though he had slept standing.
He hailed them. "Well, well! Up bright and early! Hope you folks slept
well. Beds aren't so good as they might be, but we're kind of planning
to get some new mattresses. But you get pretty good air to sleep in.
Hope you have a fine hike today."

His voice was cordial; he was their old friend; faithful watcher of
their progress. Claire found herself dimpling at him.

In the dining-room their inquisitional acquaintance, the waitress,
fairly ran to them. "Sit down, folks. Waffles this morning. You want to
stock up for your drive. My, ain't it an elegant morning! I hope you
have a swell drive today!"

"Why!" Claire gasped, "why, they aren't rude. They care--about people
they never saw before. That's why they ask questions! I never thought--I
never thought! There's people in the world who want to know us without
having looked us up in the Social Register! I'm so ashamed! Not that the
sunshine changes my impression of this coffee. It's frightful! But that
will improve. And the people--they were being friendly, all the time.
Oh, Henry B., young Henry Boltwood, you and your godmother Claire have
a lot to learn about the world!"

As they came into the garage, their surly acquaintance of the night
before looked just as surly, but Claire tried a boisterous "Good
morning!"

"Mornin'! Going north? Better take the left-hand road at Wakamin. Easier
going. Drive your car out for you?"

As the car stood outside taking on gas, a man flapped up, spelled out
the New York license, looked at Claire and her father, and inquired,
"Quite a ways from home, aren't you?"

This time Claire did not say "Yes!" She experimented with, "Yes, quite a
ways."

"Well, hope you have a good trip. Good luck!"

Claire leaned her head on her hand, thought hard. "It's I who wasn't
friendly," she propounded to her father. "How much I've been losing.
Though I still refuse to like that coffee!"

She noticed the sign on the air-hose of the garage--"Free Air."

"There's our motto for the pilgrimage!" she cried.

She knew the exaltation of starting out in the fresh morning for places
she had never seen, without the bond of having to return at night.

Thus Claire's second voyage into democracy.

While