"You'll have to," said Diane with unsmiling composure. "The doctor
said so."

"After all," mused Philip approvingly, "it's the young medical fellows
who have the finest perceptions. I _do_ need rest."

Off in the checkered shadows of the forest a crow cawed derisively.

"Did you like your shirt?" asked Diane with a distracting hint of
raillery under her long, black lashes.

"It's substantial," admitted Philip gratefully, "and democratic."

"You've still another," she said smiling. "Johnny bought them in the
village."

"Johnny," said Philip gratefully, "is a trump."

Diane filled a kettle from a pail of water by the tree and smiled.

"There's a hammock over there by the tent," she said pleasantly.
"Johnny strung it up this morning. The trees are drying nicely and
presently I'm going to wander about the forest with a field glass and a
notebook and you can take a nap."

Philip demurred. Finding his assistance inexorably refused, however,
he repaired to the hammock and watched the camp of his lady grow neat
and trim again.

On the bright embers of the camp fire, the kettle hummed.

"There now," said Philip suddenly, mindful of the hot, stinging
wound-wash, "that is the noise I heard last night just after you
stamped your foot and _before_ the doctor came."

"Nonsense!" said Diane briskly. "Your head's full of fanciful
notions. A bump like that on the back of your head is bound to tamper
some with your common sense." And humming lightly she scalded the
coffeepot and tin cups and set them in the sun to dry. Philip's glance
followed her, a winsome gypsy, brown and happy, to the green and white
van, whence she presently appeared with a field glass and a notebook.

"Of course," she began, halting suddenly with heightened color, "it
doesn't matter in the least--but it does facilitate conversation at
times to know the name of one's guest--no matter how accidental and
mysterious he may be."

"Philip!" he responded gravely but with laughing eyes. "It's really
very easy to remember." Diane stamped her foot.

"I _do_ think," she flashed indignantly, "that you are the most trying
young man I've ever met."

"I'm trying of course--" explained Philip, "trying to tell you my name.
I greatly regret," he went on deferentially, "that there are a number
of exceptional circumstances which have resulted in the brief and
simple--Philip. For one thing, a bump which muddles a man's common
sense is very likely to mu