rom the cabin, she
plunged into the woods, with the parcel swung behind her like a
knapsack. Leaving the trail, she presently struck off in a straight
line through cover and underbrush with the unerring instinct of an
animal, climbing hand over hand the steepest ascent, or fluttering like
a bird from branch to branch down the deepest declivity. She soon
reached that part of the trail where the susceptible Postmaster had
seen the fascinating unknown. Assuring herself she was not followed,
she crept through the thicket until she reached a little waterfall and
basin that had served the fugitive Lance for a bath. The spot bore
signs of later and more frequent occupancy, and when Flip carefully
removed some bark and brushwood from a cavity in the rock and drew
forth various folded garments, it was evident she used it as a sylvan
dressing-room. Here she opened the parcel; it contained a small and
delicate shawl of yellow China crepe. Flip instantly threw it over her
shoulders and stepped hurriedly toward the edge of the wood. Then she
began to pass backward and forward before the trunk of a tree. At first
nothing was visible on the tree, but a closer inspection showed a large
pane of ordinary window glass stuck in the fork of the branches. It was
placed at such a cunning angle against the darkness of the forest
opening that it made a soft and mysterious mirror, not unlike a Claude
Lorraine glass, wherein not only the passing figure of the young girl
was seen, but the dazzling green and gold of the hillside, and the
far-off silhouetted crests of the Coast Range.

But this was evidently only a prelude to a severer rehearsal. When she
returned to the waterfall she unearthed from her stores a large piece
of yellow soap and some yards of rough cotton "sheeting." These she
deposited beside the basin and again crept to the edge of the wood to
assure herself that she was alone. Satisfied that no intruding foot had
invaded that virgin bower, she returned to her bath and began to
undress. A slight wind followed her, and seemed to whisper to the
circumjacent trees. It appeared to waken her sister naiads and nymphs,
who, joining their leafy fingers, softly drew around her a gently
moving band of trembling lights and shadows, of flecked sprays and
inextricably mingled branches, and involved her in a chaste sylvan
obscurity, veiled alike from pursuing god or stumbling shepherd. Within
these hallowed precincts was the musical ripple of laug