who seemed bent upon nothing more important than making the
little hand of the speedometer climb higher and higher--this was a new
Peter Hyde, unfamiliar and yet strangely familiar in that now he
resembled the dozens of other young men Nancy had known.

Nancy felt suddenly shy. Always before, when with Peter, she had
enjoyed the least bit of a feeling of superiority, that she was
graciously bringing, with her friendship, much into a life that must,
because it was limited to Judson's farm, often seem dull and empty.
But it was not easy to feel that way toward this very good-looking
young man in immaculate blue serge who tended to her comfort with the
assurance of a person quite accustomed to taking young ladies on
automobile picnics!

Because they were both young, because the breeze blowing deliciously
against their faces was fragrant with summer smells, their hearts were
light; they chattered merrily, as young people will, about everything
under the sun, then lapsed into pleasant silences, broken only by the
regular humming of the engine.

However, after a little, these silences irritated Nancy. Peeping from
a corner of her eye at Peter Hyde's blonde head, she was annoyed by an
overwhelming curiosity as to what was going on, within it! What _was_
the mystery concealed behind that pleasant mask? And why, when they
seemed such good friends, could he not tell her?

Then she suddenly realized, with a quick sense of shame, that she, too,
was concealing much from Peter Hyde!

As they rode along he pointed out old landmarks with the familiarity of
a life-long Islander. He admitted that history fascinated him. "Not
in books as much as when you can hook it up with the very ground you're
walking on! Look at that lake over there--can't you picture it covered
with the canoes of the Indians? They used to come around here in
flotillas--the Iroquois, the Algonquins and the Hurons, always
fighting. Great lot they were--scrapping all the time!"

He seemed to have at his tongue's end some interesting bit of
information about every spot they passed. As they wandered around Isle
La Motte, he told how on this little Island Champlain had first landed
on his voyage down into the valley. He explained that a Jesuit mission
had been established there as far back as 1660, long before any other
white men had ventured into the wilderness.

They visited the ruins of Fort Ste. Anne on Sandy Point and the little
chapel with its cro