the dim-lit paths singing a nonsense song which he had learned as a child:
"The cow is in the bathtub.
The cat is in the lake,
Baby's in the garbage pail—
What difference does it make?"
He was as carefree as a lad. The youth and joy of spring possessed him. He wanted somebody to talk to, somebody to laugh with him, and then abruptly he came to the fringe of the woods to behold a tiny white road winding off into the hills like a strip of silver.
"There must be romance hidden somewhere on that road," he cried.
As he spoke he noticed a little lop-eared white bull-terrier sitting in the center of the road, with one ear sticking up and one hanging down in the most droll little way imaginable. At Hugh's approach the dog gave a series of yelps which, without stretching the imagination too much, certainly resembled a series of chuckles.
"Good afternoon," said Hugh, bowing in mock gravity. "You seem to be having a doggone good time. I prithee, will you tell me your name?"
"Grr, Grr," barked the dog.
"Rather an odd name," chuckled Hugh. "Foreign, isn't it? Russian, I should imagine, with a dash of Chinese. . . Well Mr. Grr Grr, something tells me that if I followed you, you would lead me to a charming adventure. A dignitary with such a distinctive name as yours must have had a very adventurous career. Lead on, Mr. Grr Grr, and I will follow. Throw in a dash of romance to give the adventure piquancy."
Even as Hugh spoke, the little dog turned and trotted down the road. He seemed as pleased with himself as Punch, oi', if you prefer, Judy. Soon he rounded a bend in the road, and Hugh, whistling a merry tune, followed after him. And now he noticed that they had arrived at a tiny cottage from the chimney of which issued a thin, lazy haze of smoke. Mechanically Hugh repeated to himself the verse of a poem which he had read somewhere and which had remained hidden away in his memory to recur to him now:
"I knew by the way the smoke gracefully curled
Above the green elms that a cottage was near.
And I knew that if peace could be found in this world,
A heart that was humble might look for it here."
He stopped abruptly in his quoting as he noticed the figure of a girl standing by the entrance gate to the garden, and what was most odd about it was that she was speaking to him as though she had known him all her life.
"You have been long in coming," she said softly. "I have waited for you many weeks. But come, it is lunchtime and I will serve tea for two, with toast, marmalade and waffles."
As she spoke, the girl turned and entered the cottage. Much interested, Hugh followed after her.
She led him into a decidedly attractive
room in the house. It was
furnished in English walnut, and the
paneled walls were of the same wood.
The carpet also was in harmony and,
save for a single tea-rose in a slender
glass vase in the center of the table,
there was no other bit of color in the
room.
When the girl noticed Hugh looking curiously at the table, she smiled.
"It is in the style of William and Mary," she told him roguishly, "but don't ask me what William and don't ask me what Mary. Some of my friends do not like the idea of furnishing a room in a single tone. They say, although this is a dining room, it looks like a 'brown study.' Tell me, do you think there is sufficient color in the room?"
