r mistake, he said, for Keela was very dear to
him.

"The white father?" asked Carl curiously.

"An artist."

"She has a marvelous gift in modeling," said Carl. "I know a famous
young sculptor whose work is nothing like so virile. Might not
something utterly new and barbaric come of it with proper direction?
If she could interpret this wild life of the Glades from an Indian
viewpoint--"

"I have frequently thought of it," agreed Mic-co. "You would help her,
Carl?"

"Yes."

"It would give a definite and unselfish direction to your own life,
would it not, like those weeks at the farm with Wherry?"

"Yes. You trust me, Mic-co?"

"Utterly."

Carl held out his hand.

"One by one," said Mic-co, "fate is slipping into the groove of your
life people who are destined to care greatly--"

"You mean--"

"It shall be Keela's to decide."

"Mic-co, I--cannot thank you. You and Philip--"

But he could not go on.

A little later he went to bed and lay restless until morning. He was
up again at sunrise, tramping over the island paths with Mic-co.

The quiet of the early morning was rife with the chirp of countless
birds, with the crackle of the camp fire where the turbaned Indians in
Mic-co's service were preparing the morning meal. There was young corn
on the fertile island to the east. Over the chain of islands lay the
promise of early summer.

There was a curious drone overhead as they neared the lake.

"Look!" exclaimed Carl. "A singular sight, Mic-co, for these island
wilds of yours."

An aeroplane was whirring noisily above the quiet lake, startling the
bluebills floating about on the surface.

"A singular sight!" nodded Mic-co, "and a prophetic one. Symbolic of
the spirit of progress which hangs now above the Glades, is it not?
The world is destined to reap much one day from the exuberant fertility
of this marshland of the South."

The aeroplane glided gracefully to the bosom of the lake, alighted like
a great bird and came to shore with its own power.

The aviator swept off his cap and smiled.

It was Philip.

CHAPTER XLVIII

ON THE LAKE SHORE

With the departure of Philip and the Baron for St. Augustine, a fever
of energy had settled over Diane. Riding, rowing, swimming, tramping
miles of Florida road, taking upon herself much of Johnny's camp labor,
she ruthlessly tired herself out by day that she might soundly sleep by
night. Youth and health and Spartan courage were a wh