his head aggrievedly. 

 "There OUGHT to be a house just about here," he explained. 

 "There OUGHT to be a hotel and a garage, and a cold supper, just about here," said the girl cheerfully. 

 "That's the way with those houses," complained the owner.  "They never stay where they're put. At night they go around and visit each other. Where do you think you are, Fred?" 

 "I think we're in that long woods, between Loon Lake and Stoughton on the Boston Pike," said the chauffeur, "and," he reiterated, "there OUGHT to be a house somewhere about here—where we get water." 

 "Well, get there, then, and get the water," commanded the owner. 

 "But I can't get there, sir, till I get the water," returned the chauffeur. 

 He shook out two collapsible buckets, and started down the shaft of light. 

 "I won't be more nor five minutes," he called. 

 "I'm going with him," said the girl, "I'm cold." 

 She stepped down from the front seat, and the owner with sudden alacrity vaulted the door and started after her. 

 "You coming?" he inquired of Ernest Peabody. But Ernest Peabody being soundly asleep made no reply. Winthrop turned to Sam.  "Are YOU coming?" he repeated. 

 The tone of the invitation seemed to suggest that a refusal would not necessarily lead to a quarrel. 

 "I am NOT!" said the brother.  "You've kept Peabody and me twelve hours in the open air, and it's past two, and we're going to sleep. You can take it from me that we are going to spend the rest of this night here in this road." 

 He moved his cramped joints cautiously, and stretched his legs the full width of the car. 

 "If you can't get plain water," he called, "get club soda." 

 He buried his nose in the collar of his fur coat, and the odors of camphor and raccoon skins instantly assailed him, but he only yawned luxuriously and disappeared into the coat as a turtle draws into its shell. From the woods about him the smell of 

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