our ears like sweet
bells jangled out of tune.

Pale with rage at this final proof of the dingue's identity, she
seized her camera and note-book.

"I haven't any time to waste over that musical woodchuck!" she
shouted, and bounced out of the tent.

"What have you discovered, dear?" cried Dorothy, running after her.

"A mammoth!" bawled Professor Smawl, triumphantly; "and I'm going to
photograph him!"

Neither Dorothy nor I believed her. We watched the flight of the
infatuated woman in silence.

And now, at last, the tragic shadow falls over my paper as I write. I
was never passionately attached to Professor Smawl, yet I would gladly
refrain from chronicling the episode that must follow if, as I have
hitherto attempted, I succeed in sticking to the unornamented truth.

I have said that neither Dorothy nor I believed her. I don't know why,
unless it was that we had not yet made up our minds to believe that
the mammoth still existed on earth. So, when Professor Smawl
disappeared in the forest, scuttling through the underbrush like a
demoralized hen, we viewed her flight with unconcern. There was a
large tree in the neighborhood--a pleasant shelter in case of rain. So
we sat down behind it, although the sun was shining fiercely.

It was one of those peaceful afternoons in the wilderness when the
whole forest dreams, and the shadows are asleep and every little
leaflet takes a nap. Under the still tree-tops the dappled sunlight,
motionless, soaked the sod; the forest-flies no longer whirled in
circles, but sat sunning their wings on slender twig-tips.

The heat was sweet and spicy; the sun drew out the delicate essence
of gum and sap, warming volatile juices until they exhaled through the
aromatic bark.

The sun went down into the wilderness; the forest stirred in its
sleep; a fish splashed in the lake. The spell was broken. Presently
the wind began to rise somewhere far away in the unknown land. I heard
it coming, nearer, nearer--a brisk wind that grew heavier and blew
harder as it neared us--a gale that swept distant branches--a furious
gale that set limbs clashing and cracking, nearer and nearer. Crack!
and the gale grew to a hurricane, trampling trees like dead twigs!
Crack! Crackle! Crash! Crash!

_Was it the wind?_

With the roaring in my ears I sprang up, staring into the forest
vista, and at the same instant, out of the crashing forest, sped
Professor Smawl, skirts tucked up, thin legs flying like
bi