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“Revel and Revelation!” she murmured beatifically. “But why-y did he look so upset if he, really, didn’t believe that Una heard anything unusual in the wood ... now, that’s what I’d like to know!”

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“Well—‘Jack!’ Hullo, Unie! Haven’t you said good-bye to your flower clock yet? Good-bye for six weeks to your flower clock! Oh-h! I’m so excited over the start I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

Pemrose Lorry danced down the dew-blanched steps of the Grosvenor mansion, at Lenox, just a little earlier, as clock and dial hand went, than the “mornie” hour at which Una had descended them, seven weeks before, with electrifying results.

The sun was in the act of rising, no May moon-calf now, but a summer Sultan, proclaiming that July was here: Moon of Thunder, but moon of summer idylls, too, of wonderful shadows in the triple greens of brooks, of cardinal flowers fairly “smashing” across the eye with their joy of color in mountain passes—the ideal month for campers.