her, drawing her to
him in the shadow of some trees. But close as they stood, he had an odd
feeling that for the moment, the girl was far away from him.

"What are you thinking of? Tired, sweetheart?"

She leaned back against him, nodding. "Awfully. What a day! But wasn't
it worth it, just to see those people listening to Philip? Do you know,"
she said, "I believe old Reverend Flip is going to be a bishop one of
these days."

"Really?" he murmured, kissing her. It seemed an unlikely moment for the
discussion of the clergyman, admirable as the fellow was.

But Jacqueline had no sense of the fitness of things. She said between
one kiss and another, "Philip's so awfully _good_, you know."

Channing released her, "I daresay," he remarked with some dryness.
"Being good is his profession, of course."

CHAPTER XXVII

It was a sore and weary author who at length, having postponed the
inevitable as long as possible, crept into the bunk where his host and
the two sons slept audibly, with Benoix beside them. The latter stirred
a little, and greeted the newcomer.

"That you, Channing? This is the real thing in democracy, at last!" he
murmured drowsily, and slept again as soundly as the others.

But Channing, though every aching muscle cried aloud for oblivion, could
not sleep. He tossed and turned, listened to the heavy breathing of the
men beside him, listened to lighter sounds from the far end of the cabin
where Jacqueline was also tasting true democracy in company with the two
mountain women. He had lingered outside the door until the three women
came in from the lean-to where they had prepared for the night,
Jacqueline a tall sprite between her squat, thick-bodied companions, a
heavy rope of bronze hair over each shoulder, small feet showing bare
and white beneath the severe robe of gray flannel which was the nearest
approach to a negligee known to Mrs. Kildare's daughters. The atmosphere
of Storm did not lend itself to the art of the negligee.

Moonlight shone full upon her, and Channing, watching with quickened
heart-beat, saw her lips move as she gave a quick, shy glance toward the
bunk where he was supposed to be already sleeping.

"She's telling me good night, the darling!" he thought, quite correctly,
and blew her an unseen kiss.

There were times of late when the author almost forgot to analyze his
own sensations. The Overmind that observed and registered for future
reference had grown a trifle care