" said Keela with gravity.

Philip looked appalled.

"She says 'Good wishes to the white man!'" explained Diane, smiling.

"My Lord," said Philip, "I wouldn't have believed it. Keela, I thought
you were joint by joint unwinding a yard or so of displeasure at my
appearance. No-chit-pay-lon-es-chay!" he added irresponsibly, naming a
word he had picked up in Palm Beach from an Indian guide.

The effect was electric. Keela stared. Diane look horrified.

"Philip!" she said. "It means 'Lie down and go to sleep!'"

"To the Happy Hunting Ground with that bonehead Indian!" said Philip
with fervor. "Lord, what a civil retort!" and he stammered forth an
instant apology.

Immeasurably delighted, Keela laughed.

"You are very funny," she said in English. "I shall like you."

"That's really very comfortable!" said Philip gratefully. "I don't
deserve it." He held forth the bow and arrows. "See if you can shoot
fast and far enough to have six arrows in the air at once," he said,
smiling, "and I'll believe I'm forgiven."

With lightning-like grace Keela shot the arrows into the air and smiled.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Philip admiringly. "Seven!"

With deft fingers she strung the bow again and shot, her cheeks as
vivid as a wild flower, her poise and skill faultless.

"Eight!" said Philip incredulously. "Help!"

"Keela is easily the best shot I ever knew," exclaimed Diane warmly.
"Try it, Philip."

"Not much!" said Philip feelingly. "I can shoot like a normal being
with one pair of arms, but I can't string space with arrows like that.
You forest nymphs," he added with mild resentment, "with woodland eyes
and ears and skill put me to shame. You and I, Diane, quarreled once,
I think, about the number of Pleiades--"

"They're an excellent test of eyesight," nodded Diane. "And you said
there were only six!"

"There is no seventh Pleiad!" said Philip with stubborn decision.

"Eight!" said Keela shyly. And they both stared. Shooting a final
arrow, she sent it so far that Philip indignantly refused to look for
it.

CHAPTER XXXIII

BY THE WINDING CREEK

At dawn one morning a long black car shot out from Jacksonville and
took to the open road. It glided swiftly past arid stretches of pine
barrens streaked with stagnant water, past bogs aglow with iris,
through quaint little cities smiling under the shelter of primeval oaks
and on, stopping only long enough for the driver to ask a question of a
n