of true philosophy.

Then from the darkness behind (for the moon, her work done, had retired
again) came guffaws, and gurgles, and wails of laughter. The three men
in the automobile eyed each other inquiringly. The laughter drew nearer.
They could distinguish, amid mirth unmistakably negroid, a beautiful
contralto voice demanding. "_Did_ you see 'em skedaddle, Lige? Oh,
wasn't it glorious! Riding on their stomachs, their ears, any old way.
Holding on with their toe-nails--Oh, Lord!"

One of the men jumped out of the machine. He had recognized that voice.
"Jacqueline Kildare, you wild hoodlum! What have you been up to?"

Into the lamplight rode a disheveled figure straddling a horse bareback,
her pink gingham skirts well up above her knees, hair flowing in a
cascade of splendor about her shoulders.

"Oh, Reverend Flip, were you in time for the fun?" she asked, weakly.
"'The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold.' Those bold, bad
'Possum Hunters' will never be able to hold up their heads in _this_
county again! Routed by a girl with a troop of cattle!" (It may be added
that she spoke no less than prophecy.)

"The 'Possum Hunters'! Do you mean to say _you've_ been mixed up in this
performance? My dear girl," said Philip, sternly, "what will your mother
say."

"She'll kick herself to think of missing it!" cried Kate Kildare's
daughter, and was off on another peal of laughter in which the three men
joined with a will.

"I should have been sorry to miss it myself," said a voice which
Jacqueline recognized, behind the headlight. "Better one night of
Kentucky than a cycle of Cathay."

Jacqueline made ineffectual attempts upon her skirts, blushing, but she
said demurely enough, "Why, if it isn't the author, just in time for
some more local color! Where did you come from, Mr. Channing?"

"From Holiday Hill, where I am visiting my friend Farwell. Your sister
telephoned for help, and we were on our way to the rescue. Farwell,"
continued Channing, "is now nudging me in the ribs and demanding to be
properly introduced. Do you mind? Mr. Farwell, Miss Kildare."

Jacqueline's eyes were sparkling. "One ahead of Jemmy," she thought,
triumphantly. The owner of the great new house five miles away which
made Kate Kildare feel crowded, was an object of no small interest to
her daughters.

"We've been _so_ anxious to see you, Mr. Farwell! I wish it weren't
dark," she said with her usual frankness. "We've been so afraid you
w