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At your service," with a glance at his Grecian attire, "Herodotus, father of nomads!" But Ann Sherrill in the gorgeous raiment of a Semiramis was already at hand, sparkling italics upon her royal guest, and Philip moved aside. "I am overwhelmed!" whispered Ann a little later. "I am indeed! I was not in the least aware that our mysterious incognito was a prince, were you, Diane?"
Carl slit the two directed to himself and rapidly scanned their contents. One was from Ann Sherrill jogging his memory about a promise to come to Palm Beach in January, the other from Aunt Agatha, whose trip to her cousin's in Indiana Carl had encouraged with a great flood of relief, for it had made possible this nine weeks with Wherry at the Glade Farm.
With a groan of horror and suffering, he pitched forward upon the ground, breathing Philip Poynter's name like an invocation against the things of evil crowding horribly about him. It was Dick Sherrill who at last found him. "Nick!" he called in horror to one of the guides. "For God's sake bring some brandy! No! he's had too much of that already. Water! Water can't somebody hurry!"
There was a veritable paradise of birds in the pine barren, Dick Sherrill had said, robins and bluebirds, flickers and woodpeckers with blazing cockades, shrikes and chewinks. It was an endless monotony of pine trees, vividly green and far apart, into which Diane presently rode. A buzzard floated with uptilted wings above the sparse woodland to the west.
"Diane, dear!" exclaimed Ann Sherrill one lazy morning, "what in the world is that exceedingly mournful tune you're humming?" "That," said Diane, "is the 'Song of the Great Horned Owl, my clever little Indian friend taught me. Isn't it plaintive?" "It is!" said Ann with deep conviction. "Entirely too much so. I feel creepy. And Nathalie says you did some picturesque dance for her and your aunt "
Poynter had said he was building himself a much-needed tunic, though he had experienced considerable difficulty in the excavation of the sleeves. "What the devil is the matter with you, Carl?" demanded Dick Sherrill irritably. "If I'd known you were going to moon under a tree and whistle through that infernal flute half the time, I'd never have suggested camping.
"Leave him to me, Mr. Sherrill!" said Nick with quiet authority. And bending over the motionless figure under the oak, he gently loosened the flannel shirt from the throat, laid a wet cloth upon the forehead and fell to rubbing the rigid limbs. Presently, with a long, shuddering sigh, Carl opened his eyes, stared at the scared circle of faces about him and instantly tried to rise.
But he saw vividly again a girl straight and slender as a silver birch, with firm, wind-bright skin and dark, mocking eyes. There were hemlocks and a dog and Dick Sherrill had been talkative over billiards the night before. "Miss Westfall," added Philip guilelessly, "is the owner of the Glade Farm below here in the valley." "Ah, yes," nodded Tregar. "It is so I have heard."
"Curvilinear grace is all very well but " "Shut up!" said Sherrill viciously. "Have you ever met this king-pin I'm exploiting?" "I've seen him," said Car. "Once when he was riding up the mountain road to Houdania with a brilliant escort and one er other time. Think I told you I'd spent a month or so in a Houdanian monastery several years ago, didn't I, Dick?" "Yes," said Dick. "That's why I asked.
"If I may crave still further hospitality and indulgence," he begged regretfully. "There is already much excitement at the Sherrill place owing to the officious act of my man, Themar, and his accident. Another invalid my secretary one flounders in a dragnet of unfortunate circumstances. And I am sensitive in the disturbance of my host's guests "
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