wered her own question with an air of amused
conviction:

"It _is_ perfectly killing!"

His hand fumbled the cap in his pocket.

"Here's something I found down yonder--your clown's cap."

She took it with a murmur of thanks, and darted away toward the bungalow.
He heard her light step on the veranda and then a door closed with a
sharp bang.

Deering walked back to the inn with his head high and elation throbbing
in his pulses. He observed groups of people playing bridge in the inn
parlor, and he was filled with righteous contempt for them. The May air
had changed his whole nature. He was not the William B. Deering who had
meditated killing himself a few hours earlier. A new joy had entered into
him; he was only afraid now that he might not live forever!

Hood slept tranquilly, his bed littered with the afternoon's New York
papers which evidently he had been scissoring when he fell asleep.
Deering's attitude toward the strange vagrant had changed since his
meeting with Pierrette. Hood might be as mad as the traditional hatter,
and yet there was something--indubitably something--about the man that
set him apart from the common run of mortals.

Deering lay awake a long time rejoicing in his new life, and when he
dreamed it was of balloon-like moons cruising lazily over woods and
fields, pursued by innumerable Pierrettes in spotted trousers and pointed
caps.

V

He awoke at seven, and looked in upon Hood, who lay sprawled upon his bed
reading one of the battered volumes of Borrow he carried in his bag.

"Get your tub, son; I've had mine and came back to bed to let you have
your sleep out. Marvellous man--Borrow. Spring's the time to read him.
We'll have some breakfast and go out and see what the merry old world has
to offer."

With nice calculation he tossed the book into the open bag on the further
side of the room, rose, and stretched himself. Deering stifled an impulse
to scoff at his silk pajamas as hardly an appropriate sleeping garb for
one who professed to have taken vows of poverty. Hood noted his glance.

"Found these in some nabob's house at Bar Harbor last fall. Went up in
November, after all the folks had gone, to have a look at the steely blue
ocean; camped in a big cottage for a few days. Found a drawer full of
these things and took the pink ones. Wrote my thanks on the villa's
stationery and pinned 'em to the fireplace. I hate to admit it, son, but
I verily believe I could stand a littl