you."

The girl smiled comfortably. In that mood she was not afraid of him.

She lifted her face, and stretched out her arms as though she were
drinking in the moonlight.

"It has been such a good day," she said simply, "and I am really so
very happy."

"I shall be equally frank," said Winthrop. "So am I."

For two hours they had been on the road, and were just entering
Fairport. For some long time the voices of the pursuing grizzlies had
been lost in the far distance.

"The road's up," said Miss Forbes.

She pointed ahead to two red lanterns.

"It was all right this morning," exclaimed Winthrop.

The car was pulled down to eight miles an hour, and, trembling and
snorting at the indignity, nosed up to the red lanterns.

They showed in a ruddy glow the legs of two men.

"You gotta stop!" commanded a voice.

"Why?" asked Winthrop.

The voice became embodied in the person of a tall man, with a long
overcoat and a drooping mustache.

"'Cause I tell you to!" snapped the tall man.

Winthrop threw a quick glance to the rear. In that direction for a
mile the road lay straight away. He could see its entire length, and
it was empty. In thinking of nothing but Miss Forbes, he had forgotten
the chaperon. He was impressed with the fact that the immediate
presence of a chaperon was desirable. Directly in front of the car,
blocking its advance, were two barrels, with a two-inch plank sagging
heavily between them. Beyond that the main street of Fairport lay
steeped in slumber and moonlight.

"I am a selectman," said the one with the lantern. "You been exceedin'
our speed limit."

The chauffeur gave a gasp that might have been construed to mean that
the charge amazed and shocked him.

"That is not possible," Winthrop answered. "I have been going very
slow--on purpose--to allow a disabled car to keep up with me."

The selectman looked down the road.

"It ain't kep' up with you," he said pointedly.

"It has until the last few minutes."

"It's the last few minutes we're talking about," returned the man who
had not spoken. He put his foot on the step of the car.

"What are you doing?" asked Winthrop.

"I am going to take you to Judge Allen's. I am chief of police. You
are under arrest."

Before Winthrop rose moving pictures of Miss Forbes appearing in a
dirty police station before an officious Dogberry, and, as he and his
car were well known along the Post road, appearing the next morning in
t