John Westley clapped his hands to his head. "Good gracious, no wonder I got lost! And just where am I now?" "You're right on the other side of the mountain. Little-Dad says that if a person could just bore right through Kettle you'd come out on the sixth hole of the Wayside Golf course--only it'd be an awfully _long_ bore." John Westley laughed hilariously. He had suddenly thought how carefully his guide always planned _easy_ hikes for him. The girl went on. "But it's just a little way down this trail to Sunnyside--that's where I live. Little-Dad's my father," she explained. "I'd rather believe that you're a woodland nymph and live in yonder birch grove, but I suppose--your garments look so very man-made--that you have a regular given-to-you-in-baptism name?" "I should say I had!" the girl cried in undisguised disgust. "_Jerauld Clay Travis._ I _hate_ it. Nearly every girl I know is named something nice--Rose and Lily and Clementina. It was cruel to name any child J-e-r-a-u-l-d." "I think it's--nice! It's so--different." John Westley wanted to add that it suited her because _she_ was different, but he hesitated; little Miss Jerauld might misunderstand him. He thought, as he watched from the corner of his eye, every movement of the slim, strong, boyish form, that she was unlike any girl he had ever known, and, because he had three nieces and they had ever so many friends, he really knew quite a bit about girls. "Yes, it's--different," she sighed, unconscious of the thoughts that were running through the man's head. Then she brightened, for even the discomfiture of having to bear the name Jerauld could not long shadow her spirit, "only no one ever calls me Jerauld--I'm always just Jerry." "Well, Miss Jerry, you can't ever know how glad I am that I met you! If I hadn't, well, I guess I'd have perished on the face of Kettle Mountain. I am plain John Westley, stopping over at Wayside, and I can swear I never before did anything so silly as to faint, only I've just had a rather tough siege of typhoid." "Oh, you shouldn't have _tried_ to climb so far," she cried. "As soon as you're rested you must go home with me. And you'll have to stay all night 'cause Mr. Chubb's not back yet from Deertown and he won't drive after dark." If John Westley had not been so utterly fascinated by his surroundings and his companion, he might have tried immediately to pull himself together enough to go on to Sunnyside; he was quite content, however, to lean against a huge rock and "rest." "I'm trying to guess how old you are. And I thought you were a boy, too. I'm glad you're not." "I'm 'most fourteen." Miss Jerry squared her shoulders proudly. "I guess I do look like a boy. I wear this sort of clothes most of the time, 'cept when I dress up or go to school. You see I've always gone with Little-Dad on Silverheels when he went to see sick people until I grew too heavy and--and Silverheels got too old." She said it with deep regret. "But I live--like this!"