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Tish whispered to us to show moderate interest and to say as little as possible, except to protest our ignorance. And we got the story at last like this:–

It seems the newspapers had been full of the attempt Percy was to make, and so on the day before quite a crowd had gathered to see him come out of the wood.

“Ten of these here automobiles,” said the spring-wagon person, “and a hay-wagon full of newspaper fellows from the city with cameras, and about half the village back home walked out or druv and brought their lunches–sort of a picnic. I kep’ my eye on the girl and on a Mr. Willoughby.

“The story is that Willoughby who was the father’s choice–Willoughby was pale and twitching and kep’ moving about all the time. But the girl, she just kep’ her eyes on the trail and waited. Noon was the time set, or as near it as possible.

“The father talked to the newspaper men mostly. ‘I don’t think he’ll do it, boys!’ he said. ‘He’s as soft as milk and he’s surprised me by sticking it out as long as he has. But mark my words, boys,’ he said, ‘he’s been living on berries and things he could pick up off the ground, and if his physical condition’s bad he loses all bets!”

It seems that, just as he said it, somebody pulled out a watch and announced “noon.” And on the instant Percy was seen riding down the trail and whistling. At first they did not know it was he, as they had expected him to arrive on foot, staggering with fatigue probably. He rode out into the sunlight, still whistling, and threw an unconcerned glance over the crowd.

He looked at the trees, and located north by the moss on the trunks, the S.-W.P. said, and unslinging his Indian clock he held it in front of him, pointing north and south. It showed exactly noon. It was then, and not until then, that Percy addressed the astonished crowd.

“Twelve o’clock, gentlemen,” he said. “My watch is quite accurate.”

Nobody said anything, being, as the S.-W.P. remarked, struck dumb. But a moment afterward the hay-wagon started a cheer and the machines took it up. Even the father “let loose,” as we learned, and the little girl sat back in her motor car and smiled through her tears.

But Willoughby was furious. It seems he had recognized the horse. “That’s my horse,” he snarled. “You stole it from me.”

“As a matter of fact,” Percy retorted, “I found the beast wandering loose among the trees and I’m perfectly willing to return him to you. I brought him out for a purpose.”

“To make a Garrison finish!”

“Not entirely. To prove that you violated the contract by going into the forest to see if you could find me and gloat over my misery. Instead you found–By the way, Willoughby, did you see any wild-cats?”

“Those three hags are in this!” said Willoughby furiously. “Are you willing to swear you made that silly outfit?”

“I am, but not to you.”

“And at that minute, if you’ll believe me,” said the S.-W.P., “the girl got out of her machine and walked right up to the Percy fellow. I was standing right by and I heard what she said. It was, curious, seeing he’d had no help and had gone in naked, as you may say, and came out clothed head to foot, with a horse and weapons and a watch, and able to make fire in thirty-one seconds, and a tent made of about a thousand rabbit skins.”

Tish eyed him coldly.

“What did she say?” she demanded severely. “She said: ‘Those three dear old things!'” replied the S.-W.P. “And she said: ‘I hope you kissed them for me.'”

“He did indeed,” said Aggie dreamily, and only roused when Tish nudged her in a rage.

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