fear of breaking the spell," mused Emma. "I suppose the best way
to do is to plod steadily along and not think much about anything but
the day's events. By the way, are you very sleepy?"

Grace shook her head. "Not a bit. On the contrary, I'm wide awake."

"Then let's doff our festival garb, clothe our magnificent selves in
kimonos and have a talking-bee," proposed Emma joyfully. "I'll give you
a faithful account of affairs in darkest Deanery, if you will agree to
furnish me with an equally detailed account of Harloweville doings. Is
it a go?"

"It is," acceded Grace with equal heartiness.

A little later, seated Turk fashion on Grace's bed, the two tried
comrades indulged in one of the protracted talks that had invariably
ended their day's work when together at Harlowe House. It was an
extremely confidential session, yet there was one bit of information
which Grace could not find it in her heart to divulge. Though it had
been over a week since she had said good-bye to Tom Gray, aside from a
brief letter written to her on the train just before his arrival at a
little town some miles from the lumber camp, she had received no further
communication from him. Within herself she argued that she had really no
cause for alarm. No doubt Tom had been too busy to write. Perhaps he had
written her, but, due to the isolation of the camp, had encountered
difficulty in mailing a letter to her. She would have liked to put the
situation before Emma, yet loyalty to love forbade her to speak of it
even to this trusted friend.

CHAPTER IX

THE MEANING OF SEMPER FIDELIS

Father Time has an unfortunate habit of scudding along at a tremendously
rapid pace over the delightful roads of life. It is only when the ways
are rough and stony that he is prone to lag and linger. To the
reunionists the prospect of a week spent together had offered limitless
possibilities. Once that coveted period of time had become theirs, it
proceeded to vanish in an alarming fashion. On Monday they had
congratulated themselves and one another that six glorious days were
still theirs. By Wednesday they had begun to mourn that only four were
left them.

Life at the Briggs' cottage offered a ceaseless succession of wholesome
pleasures. Early morning invariably found the reunionists strengthening
their acquaintance with the ocean. Breakfast over, a bathing suit
procession to the nearby beach became the usual order of things. They
spent long sunny hours