Lightwood. Now,--now
where is that, Daddy?"

"There's a little, one-horse village of the name among the Berkshire
Mountains, not far from fashionable Lenox." Her father smiled.

"Lenox! How lovely! Why! that's where you and I are going to stay--stay
for a week or two--isn't it, father, _en route_ for Greylock and
the experiments. You know the Grosvenors have invited us--and they have
a wonderful old place up there. Una's mother is carrying coals these
days--" Pemrose winked--"coals of penitence in her heart for ever having
sneered at your invention, Daddy."

"Hot ones, are they? Well! I wish she'd hasten and spill them out before
she reaches Lenox." The inventor chuckled. "Let me see, she was born
there, I believe, at their mountain home--yes, and one or other of her
brothers, too."

"Ho! Was it--was it the unicorn; I--I mean the oddity; the Thunder
Bird's rival for all-l that money?" The girlish hand shook now as it
wielded the coffee-pot. "Oh, dear! wouldn't his horn be exalted if he
never came back?" With a droll little catch of the breath. "Una and I
are as friendly as ever now, Dad," ran on the girlish voice, hurriedly
leading off from the neighborhood of the will. "And she's to be taken
out of school early, when we go, because she has been so nervous since
the train-wreck. So chummy we are--oh, as chummy as in the old days when
we measured eyelashes and she laughed at my 'chowchow' name!" The
speaker here shot the bluest of glances through those twinkling lashes
at their reflection in a neighboring teapot, older than Columbia
herself.

"Chowchow, indeed! It just suits you, that compound. There's a vain elf
in you somewhere, Pem, that sleeps in the shadow of the Wise Woman."

"Maybe--maybe, there's a nickum! That's Andrew's word, Andrew's word for
an imp, a tomboy. He's the Grosvenors' Scotch chauffeur, you know, who
talks with a thistle under his tongue. Well! nickum, or not!" the girl
was a rosy weathercock again. "I--I'm just dying to get up to the
mountains, to climb the Pinnacle, the green Pinnacle, that rough,
pine-clad hill, with Una--and sit in the Devil's Chair!"

"_What!_ My Wise Woman sitting in the Devil's Chair! Why! 'twould
take a daredevil nickum, indeed, to do that."

The inventor threw up his hands, laughing again, as he beat a retreat to
his hardware den, his laboratory, where there was ever a magnet, potent
by night or day, to draw him back.

Yet when still another six weeks had passe