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So absorbed did she become that she failed to hear the approaching steps of a somewhat dusty and soiled, but decidedly good-looking, young man in a brown Norfolk suit, knee-length leather leggings, and a motoring cap. He was within a few yards of her when he saw her and stopped.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” he said, looking down upon the obscuring sunbonnet.

She uttered a little startled scream, and looked up, her blue eyes wide, her red lips parted. A glimpse of the pretty and youthful face which the sunbonnet had concealed caused the stranger to catch his breath.

“Reginald!” exclaimed Miss Wiggin, beholding before her the living incarnation of the hero of her book just as her fancy had pictured him.

“Daphne!” said the young man, thinking of the mythological wood nymph.

“Woof!” barked the old dog, awaking and springing up as quickly as age and rheumatism would allow.

The stranger backed round to the opposite side of the tree. “Keep that beast away from me, please,” he begged, in evident apprehension.