n
the road; and from that to her bewilderment twenty-four hours later,
when he had called the dog Zola. She had reproved the enormity of the
syncopated pun, but Dick had insisted that Zola fitted an animal whose
expression was always either disgusted or disgusting.

She must not keep him here, so near the stone cottage, and the road.
They might be seen.

He had offered her brandy. Carefully she felt his coat. The right
outside pocket she could not reach, but there was a hard lump in it,
pressing against her cramped knees.

She leaned over sideways, twisted her legs in front of her, and made a
lap into which, by edging away from the heavy body, she let the head
slide gently. She got the flask out, pulled the metal cup from its base,
and into it poured a little brandy. With tender force she managed at
last to send a trickle of the spirit into his mouth.

He choked, tried to swallow, coughed violently, and then opened his
eyes.

"I told you," he said, "that you needed brandy, not to kill me with it.
What's happened?"

"You were walking in your sleep," she began.

"Sleeping in my walk, perhaps," he admitted. "Bad enough, but very
different."

His senses coming back to him, Dick felt a wet drop on his forehead,
brushed it away, and glanced at the sky, but not, as Amaryllis expected,
at her.

"Well," she said, "I was frightened."

"Why?"

"You dropped your pipe, tried to catch it, and fell on your face,"
explained Amaryllis.

Dick felt his nose and eyebrows. "No, I never!" he declared indignantly.

Amaryllis laughed shakily.

"You see, I'm softer than the ground. You fell on me." And she patted
her left shoulder.

"Your fault, I'm afraid. Must have tipped you right over."

"No, I just subsided--quite neatly. And you never got a bump, Dick. But
I was afraid--afraid, you know."

"I must be in rotten condition, going to pieces like that. Why, look at
you--been through twice as much."

"Oh, no," she answered, snatching greedily at the opportunity of telling
a little of what she had been thinking. "Did I drive two hundred and
fifty miles in the dark, at fifty miles an hour? Did I climb and crawl,
and fight, and nurse a squealing girl after carrying her for miles?"

"Three hundred yards," said Dick dryly. "And you must have been shamming
to know anything about it."

"Mrs. Brundage told me," she answered, "that you came through the wood
carrying me in your arms."

And so was he in hers--the reversal of