mountains. All human habitations lay so far below the crossroads that no sound of man's activities ever arose to its height; of wild life there was sound enough, to ears attuned to it—mostly chattering of woodchucks and song of birds, enriched at this season with the melody of passing voyagers from the south. Yet none of these would have aroused the tired sleeper in the buggy. A far different sound came up through the forest, and Ogilvie was awake on the instant, with the complete consciousness of the man accustomed to sudden calls. 

 He looked down at the purpling valley, across through the gap to the gleaming plain, and laughed. 

 "Well, Rosy, couldn't you take me home till I admired the view?" he asked; and by way of answer the old white mare turned her head to look at him, her mouth comfortably filled with young grass. The doctor laughed again. 

 "Oh, I see!" he said.  "A case of afternoon tea, was it, and not of admiring the view? Well, let's get along home now." 

 He looked across the valley to the mountain westward of the gap; its form was that of a large crouching panther, and high up on its shoulder a light twinkled against the shadow. 

 "Come along! Mother Cary's already lighted her lamp!" the doctor said.  "There's bed ahead of us, old girl, bed for me and oats for you! Bed, Rosy! Think of it! And may Heaven grant good health to all our friends this night!" 

 He drew up the reins as he spoke, and with a farewell reach at a luscious maple leaf Rosy turned into the pike. 

 But again there echoed through the woods the unaccustomed sound that had aroused the doctor. This time it was too near to be mistaken; not even White Rosy's calm could ignore it. 

 "Hel—lo!" said Ogilvie.  "A big horn and a noiseless car!  Pretty early in the season for those fellows. Make way for your betters, White Rosy!" 

 He drew well into the green of the roadside; for, highway and turnpike though it was, the road was narrow enough in this unfrequented part to make passing a matter of calculation. The driver of the automobile had evidently discovered that for himself, for he was climbing slowly and carefully, sounding his horn as frequently as if driving through a village. As the car came out upon the cleared space of the crossroads, Ogilvie turned, with the frank interest of the country dweller in the passer-by, and with the countryman's etiquette of the road waved to 

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