that he came up beside her. 

 "Amiss? With what, with whom?" 

 "You. What's wrong? What's on your mind?" 

 A shaft of moonlight fell through a break in the branches and struck across her shoulder. It caught the little rosebuds that lay against her neck and he saw them move as if lifted by a quick breath. 

 "There's nothing on my mind. Why do you think there is?" 

 "Because at dinner you didn't eat anything and were as quiet as if there was an embargo on the English language." 

 "Couldn't I be just stupid?" 

 He turned to her, seeing her face a pale oval against the silver-moted background: 

 "No. Not if you tried your darndest." 

 Dick Ferguson's tongue did not lend itself readily to compliments. He gave forth this one with a seriousness that was almost solemn. 

 She laughed, the sound suggesting embarrassment, and looked away from him her eyes on the ground. Just in front of them the woodland roof showed a gap, and through it the light fell across the path in a glittering pool. As they advanced upon it she gave an exclamation, stayed him with an outflung arm, and bent to the moss at her feet: 

 "Oh, wait a minute—How exciting! I've found something." 

 She raised herself, illumined by the radiance, a small object that showed a golden glint in her hand. Then her voice came deprecating, disappointed: 

 "Oh, what a fraud! I thought it was a ring." 

 On her palm lay what looked like a heavy enameled ring. Ferguson took it up; it was of paper, a cigar band embossed in red and gold. 

 "Umph," he said, dropping it back, "I don't wonder you were fooled." 

 "It was right there on the moss shining in the moonlight. I thought I'd found something wonderful." She touched it with a careful finger. "It's new and perfectly dry. It's only been here since the storm." 

 "Some man taking a short cut through the woods. Better 

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