o indicate gratitude for blandishments,
never the faintest symptom of canine appreciation.

Chilled by my reception, I moused about for a while, poking into boxes
and bundles; then raised my head and inspected the landscape. Through
the vista of trees the pink shirt-waist of the pretty stenographer
glimmered like a rose blooming in the wilderness.

From whatever point I viewed the prospect that pink spot seemed to
intrude; I turned my back and examined the jungle, but there it was
repeated in a hundred pink blossoms among the massed thickets; I
looked up into the tree-tops, where pink mosses spotted the palms; I
looked out over the lake, and I saw it in my mind's eye pinker than
ever. It was certainly a case of pink-eye.

"I'll go for a stroll, too; it's a free country," I muttered.

After I had strolled in a complete circle I found myself within three
feet of a pink shirt-waist.

"I beg your pardon," I said; "I had no inten--"

"I thought you were never coming," she said, amiably.

"How is your finger?" I asked.

She held it up. I took it gingerly; it was smooth and faintly rosy at
the tip.

"Does it hurt?" I inquired.

"Dreadfully. Your hands feel so cool--"

After a silence she said, "Thank you, that has cooled the burning."

"I am determined," said I, "to expel the fire from your finger if it
takes hours and hours." And I seated myself with that intention.

For a while she talked, making innocent observations concerning the
tropical foliage surrounding us. Then silence crept in between us,
accentuated by the brooding stillness of the forest.

"I am afraid your hands are growing tired," she said, considerately.

I denied it.

Through the vista of palms we could see the lake, blue as a violet,
sparkling with silvery sunshine. In the intense quiet the splash of
leaping mullet sounded distinctly.

Once a tall crane stalked into view among the sedges; once an unseen
alligator shook the silence with his deep, hollow roaring. Then the
stillness of the wilderness grew more intense.

We had been sitting there for a long while without exchanging a word,
dreamily watching the ripple of the azure water, when all at once
there came a scurrying patter of feet through the forest, and, looking
up, I beheld the hound-dog, tail between his legs, bearing down on us
at lightning speed. I rose instantly.

"What is the matter with the dog?" cried the pretty stenographer. "Is
he going mad, Mr. Gilland?"

"Somethi