"Fees! 't was like to scald somebody
' its daffy simmer," he explained apol-ogetically
to the Guardian, being, in his
apacity of chauffeur, used to camping
mergencies among these picturesque hills
so like, in many respects, the wilds of
his Scottish Highlands where the Lady
of the Lake, an original Camp Fire Girl,
shot her skiff across the blue-eyed loch.

"My certy! but 't was pretty to see you
merle, though!" he murmured, having
restored the kettle to sanity. "Fine it
minded me, ma'am, o' the time when I
was a boy, huntin' like a nickurn for the
nests o' mavis an' merle--blackbird an'
thrush--when I'd rise 'wi' lark an*
light!' Fegs!" Scotch humor ripping
chauffeur silence, "yon was a thing to
make a sober body young again; a while
agone I don't know but I was feelin' like
the last o' pea-time; an'--an', noo, I'm
a green pea again, ... or I would be but
for the one sair memory, " added Andrew,
the truepenny, under his breath.

[[113]]

p112 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p113w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p114

v?