Wherefore he pursed his lips and shook his head.

The hay wagon turned on into the forest on the farther side of the road
and halted. The drowsy negro leisurely alighted and shuffled through
the trees until he stood before Diane with a square of birch bark in
his hand. Greatly astonished--for this negro was apparently too lazy
to talk when he deemed it unnecessary--Diane took the birch bark and
inspected it in mystification. A most amazing message was duly
inscribed thereon.

"Erastus has acquired a sinewy chicken from somebody's barn yard," it
read. "Why not bring your own plate, knife, fork, spoon and a good saw
over to my hay-camp and dine with me?

"Philip."

Diane stared with rising color at the load of hay. From its ragged,
fragrant bed, a tall, lean young man with a burned skin, was rising and
lazily urging a nondescript yellow dog to do the same. The dog
conceivably demurred, for Philip removed him, yelping, by the simple
process of seizing him by the loose skin at the back of his neck and
dropping him overboard. Having brushed his clothes, the young man
came, with smiling composure, through the forest, the yellow dog
waggling at his heels.

"I've read so much about breaking the news gently," apologized Philip,
smiling, "that I thought I'd better try a bit of it myself. Hence the
sylvan note. Ras, if you go to sleep by that tree, I'll like as not
let you sleep there until you die. Go back to camp and build a fire
and hollow out the feathered biped."

Ras slouched obediently off toward the hay-camp.

"You've hay in your ears!" exclaimed Diane, biting her lips.

"I'm a nomad!" announced Philip calmly. "So's Erastus--so's Dick
Whittington here. I'm likely to have hay in my ears for months to
come. Dick Whittington," explained Philip, patting the dog, "is a
mustard-colored orphan I picked up a couple of days ago. He'd made a
vow to gyrate steadily in a whirlwind of dust after a hermit flea who
lived on the end of his tail, until somebody adopted him and--er--cut
off the grasping hermit. I fell for him, but, like Ras, a sleep bug
seems to have bitten him."

"Most likely he unwinds in his sleep," suggested Diane politely. And
added, acidly, "Where are you going?'

"Florida!" said Philip amiably.

The girl stared at him with dark, accusing eyes.

"The trip is really no safer now," reminded Philip steadily, "than it
was when I left camp."

"In a huff!" flashed Diane disparagingly.