“A handkerchief?” he cried. “Let me help you search.” “Oh, don’t bother! It doesn’t matter, of course, only――I thought that if it was here I’d get it.” But Ethan was already out of the canoe. “Er――what was it like?” he asked. “Rather plain, I think; just a narrow lace edge.” They looked diligently over the grass. Plainly it was not there. She raised her head, brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and laughed. “I’m always losing them,” she said apologetically. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “it might be well to offer a reward.” “A splendid idea!” she cried. “We’ll post it on this tree here. Have you a piece of paper? And a pencil?” “Both.” He tore the front from an envelope and handed her his pencil. She accepted them and set herself down on the grass. “Oh, dear, what shall I write on? The canoe paddle? Thanks. Now let me see. What shall I say?” “You must start by writing ‘Lost!’ in big letters at the top. That’s it.” Ethan’s rôle of adviser carried delicious privileges. It allowed him to kneel quite close behind her and observe the pink lobe of one small ear from a position of disquieting proximity. “And then what?” “I beg your pardon!” he said, with a start. “Why, then――er――let me see. ‘Lost’――――” “I have that,” she said demurely. “A small handkerchief belonging――――” “How did you know it was small?” she asked with smiling interest. “They always are,” he answered. “Where was I?” “‘A small handkerchief belonging’――――” “That doesn’t sound quite shipshape. Let’s try again. ‘Lost, a small lady’s’――――” They laughed together as though it was a most novel and excellent joke. “I don’t care to advertise my smallness,” she objected. “Well, once more now. ‘Lost, a small handkerchief with a funny little lace border and an embroidered D in the left-hand lower corner. Finder――――’” “An embroidered D?” she asked puzzledly. “Wasn’t it a D?” “Perhaps it was,” she allowed. She leaned a little farther forward, for the brief glance she had cast toward him had revealed the fact that his head was startlingly near. “And――and the reward?” she asked a trifle constrainedly. “Finder may keep same for his honesty!” “But――but that’s ridiculous!” she cried. “What’s the use of advertising at all?” “To save the finder from committing theft,” he answered soberly. “Think of his conscience!” “How do you know it’s a ‘him’?” she asked carelessly. “I used the masculine gender merely in a――er――general way.” “Oh!” “Yes. Have you written that?” “No, what’s the good of it? If the finder is dishonest enough to keep it he may look after his own conscience!” “That’s unchristian,” he answered sadly. “I’ll do this, though,” she said. “If the finder will produce it I will allow him to keep it on one condition.” “And that?” he asked suspiciously. “If there is a D on it he may have it. Otherwise――――” The finder produced it, unfolded it and looked at the “left-hand lower corner.” “Well?” she asked, smilingly. He frowned.