never saw
anything so funny in all my life. A man in regimentals in this weather
and upon a desert island. You look as if you had marched faster than
your army, and that you had lost it in the forest."

Dickory smiled. "You ought not to laugh at me," he said, "for these
clothes are really a great misfortune. If I could change them for
something cool I should be more than delighted."

"You might take off your heavy coat," said she; "you need not be on
parade here. And instead of that awful hat, I can make you one of long
grass. Do you see the one I have on? Isn't that a good hat? I have one
nearly finished which I am making for my father; you may have that."

Dickory would most gladly have taken off his coat if, without
observation, he could have transferred his sacred letter to some other
part of his clothes, but he must wait for that. He accepted instantly,
however, the offer of the hat.

"You seem to know all about me," he said; "did you hear me tell my
story?"

"Every word of it," said she, "and it is the queerest story I ever
heard. Think of a pirate carrying a man away to marry him to his
daughter!"

"But why don't you come from behind that bush and talk to me?"

"I can't do it," said she, "I am dressed funnier than you are. Now I am
going to make your hat." And in an instant she had departed.

Dickory now strolled on, and when he returned he seated himself in the
shade near the house. The letter of Captain Vince was taken from his
coat-lining and secured in one of his breeches pockets; his heavy coat
and waistcoat lay upon the ground beside him, with the cocked hat placed
upon them. As he leaned back against the tree and inhaled the fragrant
breeze which came to him from the forest, Dickory was a more cheerful
young man than he had been for many, many days. He thought of this
himself, and wondered how a man, carrying with him his sentence of
lifelong misery, could lean against a tree and take pleasure in
anything, be it a hospitable welcome, a sense of freedom from danger, a
fragrant breeze, or the face of a pretty girl behind a bush. But these
things did please him; he could not help it. And when presently came
Mrs. Mander, bringing him a light grass hat fresh from the
manufacturer's hands, he took it and put it on with more evident
pleasure than the occasion seemed to demand.

"Your daughter is truly an artist," said Dickory.

"She does many things well," said the mother, "because necessity compels