t.
Particularly that. To any one needing it, I'd prescribe a month over
yonder. I've never been able to do that, but often, when the world seems
a little--gray, I ride up here for an hour. It does me good."

The philistine yawned and turned his passengers' thoughts to a more
interesting matter.

"See there." He pointed to a thin low-lying cloud on the western
horizon. "That's the city. 'Most sixty miles. Done it in two hours,
up-hill more'n half the way, too."

"That's very good time, isn't it?" said Jonathan politely.

"Humph!" The philistine's disdain was marked. "We'll do better'n that
goin' back. That is," he hinted, "if the dark don't catch us."

It seemed best, on such sound considerations as a waiting dinner, to take
the hint. The big car panted once more, moved slowly along the ridge,
then dipped sharply as it took the down grade. They coasted, gathering
headway with each turn of the wheels. The girl, half turned, wistfully
watched the mountains until the ridge rose to shut off the last crest
from her sight. Then she settled back in the seat as though she were
very tired.

David saw and on an impulse leaned toward her.

"Do you mean," he asked in a voice so low that the others could not hear,
"that you lose faith in yourself?"

"It's the same thing, I suppose. I lose courage sometimes. I get tired
of trying to like to do things I never really can like."

"I understand," he said gently. "Mr. Radbourne told me about you. Will
you let me say, I am very sorry?"

She started, as if she had forgotten herself, and flushed deeply in her
contrition.

"There! I'm perfectly nonsensical, letting myself be a cry-baby just
when I'd intended-- It isn't my habit at all. There's nothing really to
be sorry for. If you give any work your best and put your heart into it,
you'll get--",

"A great deal of happiness out of it," David finished dryly. "Exactly!
I recognize the formula. Also its author. I think you're just whistling
to keep up your courage now."

"But that isn't a bad thing at all to do. Why--" She turned to face
him, with a little gasp for her daring. "Why don't you try it?"

It was his turn to grow red. "You think I'd be more cheerful company?"

"I think," she said, with a pretty gravity, "you make too much of being
a--lame duck. And I think that isn't like you."

"How do you know whether it's like me or not?"

"That," she laughed to cover her discomfiture, "is an em