irl
was evidently getting weary, but not losing her pluck. The young fellows
were very anxious that the artist should keep at his work; they would
catch her. There was a pause; the girl had come to the last limb; she
was warily meditating a slide or a leap; the young men were quite ready
to sacrifice themselves; but somehow, no one could tell exactly how, the
girl swung low, held herself suspended by her hands for an instant,
and then dropped into the right place--trust a woman for that; and
the artist, his face flushed, set her down upon the nearest flat rock.
Chorus from the party, "She is saved!"

"And my sketch is gone up again."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Forbes." The girl looked full of innocent regret. "But
when I was up there I had to come down that tree. I couldn't help it,
really."

IV. NEWPORT

On the Fourth of July, at five o'clock in the morning, the porters
called the sleepers out of their berths at Wickford Junction. Modern
civilization offers no such test to the temper and to personal
appearance as this early preparation to meet the inspection of society
after a night in the stuffy and luxuriously upholstered tombs of a
sleeping-car. To get into them at night one must sacrifice dignity; to
get out of them in the morning, clad for the day, gives the proprietors
a hard rub. It is wonderful, however, considering the twisting and
scrambling in the berth and the miscellaneous and ludicrous presentation
of humanity in the washroom at the end of the car, how presentable
people make themselves in a short space of time. One realizes the debt
of the ordinary man to clothes, and how fortunate it is for society that
commonly people do not see each other in the morning until art has
done its best for them. To meet the public eye, cross and tousled
and disarranged, requires either indifference or courage. It is
disenchanting to some of our cherished ideals. Even the trig,
irreproachable commercial drummer actually looks banged-up, and nothing
of a man; but after a few moments, boot-blacked and paper-collared, he
comes out as fresh as a daisy, and all ready to drum.

Our travelers came out quite as well as could be expected, the artist
sleepy and a trifle disorganized, Mr. King in a sort of facetious
humor that is more dangerous than grumbling, Mr. De Long yawning and
stretching and declaring that he had not slept a wink, while Marion
alighted upon the platform unruffled in plumage, greeting the morning
like a bird.