Ras at a bargain and set out. Ras is a free lance without an
encumbrance on earth and I can't imagine a more comfortable manner of
getting about than stretched out full length on a load of hay. You can
always sleep when you feel like it. And every morning we peel the
bed--that is, we dispense with a layer of mattress and _presto_! I
have a fresh bed until the hay's gone. We bought a new load this
morning."

Swept by an irresistible spasm of laughter, Diane stared wildly about
the hay-camp.

"And Ras?" she begged faintly.

"Well," said Philip slowly, "Ras is peculiarly gifted. He can sleep
anywhere. Sometimes he sleeps stretched out on the padded seat of the
wagon, and sometimes he sleeps under it--the wagon I mean; not in the
pantry. And then of course he sleeps all day while he's driving and
once or twice I've found him in a tree. I don't like him to do that,"
he added with gravity, "for he's so full of hay I'm afraid the birds
will begin to make nests in his ears and pockets."

"Mistah Poynteh," reflected Ras, scratching his head through his hat,
"is a lunatict. He gits notions. I cain't nohow understan' him but
s'long as he don' get ructious I'se gwine drive dat hay-cart to de Norf
Pole if he say de word. I hain't never had a real chanst to make my
fortune afore."

"And what," begged Diane presently, "do you do when it rains?"

Mr. Poynter agreed that that had been a problem.

"But with our accustomed ingenuity," he added modestly, "we have solved
it. Back there in a village we induced a blacksmith with brains and
brawn to fit a tall iron frame around the wagon and if the sun's too
hot, or it showers, we shed some more hay and drape a tarpaulin or so
over the frame. It's an excellent arrangement. We can have side
curtains or not just as we choose. In certain wet circumstances, of
course, we'll most likely take to barns and inns and wood-houses and
corncribs and pick up the trail in the morning. You can't imagine," he
added, "how ready pedestrians are to tell us which way the green moving
van went."

Whereupon the nomad of the hay-camp and his ruffled guest crossed
swords again over a pot of coffee, with inglorious defeat for Diane,
who departed for her own camp in a blaze of indignation.

"I'll ignore him!" she decided in the morning as the green van took to
the road again. "It's the only way. And after a while he'll most
likely get tired and disgruntled and go home. He's subject to huf