was getting supper," she wrote, "our minstrel
appeared with a great bunch of silver-rod and I begged him to stay to
supper. He was greatly gratified and when later I confessed my
indiscreet revelation to you--and your invitation--he accepted it
instantly. He will be honored to be your guest, he said, provided of
course he may depend upon us to preserve his incognito. That is very
important. Do you know it is astonishing how I find myself keyed up to
the most amazing pitch of interest in him--he's so mysterious and
romantic and magnetic.

"Your constant craving for new and original sensations brings back a
lot of memories. Will you never get over it?

"I shall probably leave the van with Johnny at Jacksonville and go down
by rail. There are certain spectacular complications incident to an
arrival at Palm Beach in the van which would be very distasteful, to
say the least. Besides, I'd be later than we planned."

For most likely, reflected Diane, nibbling intently at the end of her
pen, most likely Palm Beach had never seen a hay-camp and much Mr.
Poynter would care!

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LONELY CAMPER

The west was yellow. High on the mountain where a mad little waterfall
sprayed the bushes of laurel and rhododendron with quicksilver, the
afterglow of the sunset on the tumbling water made a streak of saffron.
The wings of a homing eagle were golden-black against the sky. Over
there above the cornfields to the west there was a cliff and a black
and bushy ravine over which soared a buzzard or two. Presently when
the moon rose its splendid alchemy would turn the black to glowing
silver.

A Kentucky brook chuckled boisterously by the hay-camp, tumbling
headlong over mossy logs and stones and a tangled lacery of drenched
ferns.

Philip laid aside a bow and arrow upon which he had been busily working
since supper and summoned Dick Whittington. Beyond, through oak and
poplar, glowed the camp fire of his lady.

"Likely we'll tramp about a bit, Richard, if you're willing," said he.
"Somehow, we're infernally restless to-night and just why our lady has
seen fit to pile that abominable silver-rod in such a place of honor by
her tent, we can't for the life of us see. It's nothing like so pretty
as the goldenrod. By and by, Whittington," Philip felt for his pipe
and filled it, "we'll have our wildwood bow and arrows done and we
fancy somehow that our gypsy's wonderful black eyes are going to shine
a hit