Diane had heard something of this sort before from quite another source. Acutely uncomfortable, she changed the subject. There was something uncanny in Philip's perfect comprehension of the minstrel's tactics. A little later Mr. Poynter produced a green bug mounted eccentrically upon a bit of birch bark. "I found a bug," he said guilelessly. "He was a very nice little bug. I thought you'd like him." Diane frowned. For every flower the minstrel brought, Philip contrived a ridiculous parallel. "How many times," she begged hopelessly, "must I tell you that I am not collecting ridiculous bugs?" Philip raised expressive eyebrows. "Dear me!" said he in hurt surprise. "You do surprise me. Why, he's the greenest bug I ever saw and he matches the van. He's a nomad with the wild romance of the woodland bounding through him. I did think I'd score heavily with him." Diane discreetly ignored the inference. Whistling happily, Mr. Poynter poured the coffee and leaned back against a tree trunk. Watching him one might have read in his fine eyes a keener appreciation of nomadic life--and nomads--than he ever expressed. There was idyllic peace and quiet in this grove of ancient oaks shot with the ruddy color of the sunset. Off in the heavier aisles of golden gloom already there were slightly bluish shadows of the coming twilight. Hungry robins piped excitedly, woodpeckers bored for worms and flaming orioles flashed by on golden wings. Black against the sky the crows were sailing swiftly toward the woodland. With the twilight and a young moon Philip produced his wildwood pipe and fell to smoking with a sigh of comfort. "Philip!" said Diane suddenly. "Mademoiselle!" said Philip, suspiciously grave and courtly of manner. The girl glanced at him sharply. "It annoys me exceedingly," she went on finally, finding his laughing glance much too bland and friendly to harbor guile, "to have you trailing after me in a hay-wagon." "I'll buy me a rumpus machine," said Philip. "It would bother me to have you trailing after me so persistently in any guise!" flashed the girl indignantly. "It must perforce continue to bother you!" regretted Philip. "Besides," he added absently, "I'm really the Duke of Connecticut in disguise, touring about for my health, and the therapeutic value of hay is enormous." Now why Diane's cheeks should blaze so hotly at this aristocratic claim of Mr. Poynter's, who may say? But certainly she glanced with swift suspicion at her tranquil guest, who met her eyes with supreme good humor, laughed and fell to whistling softly to himself. Despite a certain significant silence in the camp of his lady, Mr. Poynter smoked most comfortably, puffing forth ingenious smoke-rings which he lazily sought to string upon his pipestem and busily engaging himself in a variety of other conspicuously peaceful occupations. All in all, there was something so tranquil and soothing in the very sight of him that Diane unbent in spite of herself.