This was daring. People rarely questioned Manly. "It was seeing my soul!" Quite simply the answer came. There was a long, significant silence. Both men had to travel back to the commonplace and they felt their way gingerly. "Northrup, drop things. It is your friend speaking now. Go where the roar and rumble of what doesn't concern you haven't reached. Good-night." Northrup got up slowly. "I wonder if there is such a place?" he muttered. "Sure, old man. Outside of this old sounding-board of New York, there are nooks where nothing even echoes. Usually you find good fishing in them. Come now, get out!" CHAPTER I Brace Northrup received the first intimation of his jog when he knocked on the door of a certain little yellow house set rakishly at the crossroads, a few miles from King's Forest. The house gave the impression of wanting to go somewhere but had not decided upon the direction. Its many windows of shining glass were like wide-open eyes peering cheerfully forth on life, curiously interested and hopeful. The shades, if there were any, were rolled from sight. It might have seemed an empty house but for the appearance of care and a curl of smoke from the chimney. Northrup walked across the bit of lawn leading, pathless, to the stone step, and knocked on the door. It was a very conservative knock but instantly the door swung in--it was that kind of a door, a welcoming door--and Northrup was precipitated into a room which, at first glance, appeared to be full of sunlight, children, and dogs. As a matter of fact there were two or three little children and an older girl with a strange, vague face; four dogs and a young person seated on the edge of a table and engaged, apparently, before Northrup's arrival, in telling so thrilling a story that the small, absorbed audience barely noted his entrance. They turned mildly interested eyes upon him much as they might have upon an unnecessary illustration adorning the tale. The figure on the table wore rough knickerbockers, high, rather muddy boots, a loose jacket, and a cap set crookedly on the head. When Northrup spoke, the young person turned and he saw that it was a woman. There was no surprise, at first, in the eyes which met Northrup's--the door of the little yellow house was constantly admitting visitors--but suddenly the expression changed to one of startled wonder. It was the expression of one who, never expecting a surprise, suddenly is taken unawares. "I beg your pardon!" stammered Northrup. "I assure you I did knock. I merely want to ask the direction and distance of Heathcote Inn. Crossroads are so confusing when one is tired and hungry and----" Once having begun to speak, Northrup was too embarrassed to stop. The eyes confronting him were most disconcerting. They smiled; they seemed to be glad he was there; the girl apparently was enjoying the situation. "The inn is three miles down the south road; the lake is just beyond. Follow that. They serve dinner at the inn at one."