she called. “This is our hen party, and the stag public is not admitted.”

Dick laughed, saluted acknowledgment, and led the way back through the lilacs to the road.

“Who � who was it?” Graham queried.

“Paula — Mrs. Forrest — the boy girl, the child that never grew up, the grittiest puff of rose-dust that was ever woman.”

“My breath is quite taken away,” Graham said. “Do your people do such stunts frequently?”

“First time she ever did that,” Forrest replied. “That was Mountain Lad. She rode him straight down the spill-way — tobogganed with him, twenty-two hundred and forty pounds of him.”