well. I
thought so myself, and it made us both very amiable.

"Yes," he admitted, "we ought to be, of course. And it will take three
quarters of an hour to drive out there. Add fifteen minutes to that for
breakfast, and fifteen minutes to dress--would a quarter to four be too
outrageous?"

"Oh, make it half-past three," I rejoined recklessly, in a burst of
self-sacrifice.

At least I would not spoke our wheels by slothfulness. The clock was set
accordingly, and I went to sleep enveloped in virtue as in a garment,
the sound of the sea in my ears.

* * * * *

_Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!_ What _has_ happened? Oh, the alarm clock! It can't
be more than twelve o'clock. I hear the spit of a match, then "Half-past
three," from Jonathan. "No!" I protest. "Yes," he persists, and though
his voice is still veiled in sleep, I detect in it a firmness to which I
foresee I shall yield. My virtue of last night has faded completely,
but his zeal is fast colors. I am ready to back out, but, dimly
remembering my Spartan attitude of the night before, I don't dare. Thus
are we enslaved by our virtues. I submit, with only one word of
comment--"And we call this pleasure!" To which Jonathan wisely makes no
response.

We groped our way downstairs, lighted another candle, and sleepily
devoured some sandwiches and milk--a necessary but cheerless process,
with all the coziness of the night before conspicuously left out. We
heard the carriage being brought up outside, we snatched up our
wraps,--sweaters, shawls, coats,--Jonathan picked up the valise with the
hunting equipment, we blew out the candles, and went out into the chilly
darkness. As our eyes became accustomed to the change, we perceived that
the sky was not quite black, but gray, and that the stars were fewer
than in the real night. We got in, tucked ourselves up snugly, and
started off down the road stretching faintly before us. The horse's
steps sounded very loud, and echoed curiously against the silent houses
as we passed. As we went on, the sky grew paler, here and there in the
houses a candle gleamed, in the barnyards a lantern flashed--the farmer
was astir. Yes, dawn was really coming.

After a few miles we turned off the main highway to take the rut road
through the great marsh. The smell of the salt flats was about us, and
the sound of the sea was growing more clear again. A big bird whirred
off from the marsh close beside us. "Meadowlark," murmured