"He looked almost like a gentleman," she thought. "I wonder why he did not come inside?" Her mind reverted to this man more than once. When they were on their way back up the moonlit trail, she and Channing lingering behind the others, an explanation suddenly struck her. "The non-believing school teacher, of course!" she exclaimed. "Ashamed to be caught listening to 'the Word of God.' Well, he may not be interested in the Word of God," she added musingly, "but he certainly was interested in the word of Philip. Never took his eye off Phil's face!" Channing had taken her hand, which turned and clung to his with its usual nestling gesture. Now he put his arm around her, drawing her to him in the shadow of some trees. But close as they stood, he had an odd feeling that for the moment, the girl was far away from him. "What are you thinking of? Tired, sweetheart?" She leaned back against him, nodding. "Awfully. What a day! But wasn't it worth it, just to see those people listening to Philip? Do you know," she said, "I believe old Reverend Flip is going to be a bishop one of these days." "Really?" he murmured, kissing her. It seemed an unlikely moment for the discussion of the clergyman, admirable as the fellow was. But Jacqueline had no sense of the fitness of things. She said between one kiss and another, "Philip's so awfully _good_, you know." Channing released her, "I daresay," he remarked with some dryness. "Being good is his profession, of course." CHAPTER XXVII It was a sore and weary author who at length, having postponed the inevitable as long as possible, crept into the bunk where his host and the two sons slept audibly, with Benoix beside them. The latter stirred a little, and greeted the newcomer. "That you, Channing? This is the real thing in democracy, at last!" he murmured drowsily, and slept again as soundly as the others. But Channing, though every aching muscle cried aloud for oblivion, could not sleep. He tossed and turned, listened to the heavy breathing of the men beside him, listened to lighter sounds from the far end of the cabin where Jacqueline was also tasting true democracy in company with the two mountain women. He had lingered outside the door until the three women came in from the lean-to where they had prepared for the night, Jacqueline a tall sprite between her squat, thick-bodied companions, a heavy rope of bronze hair over each shoulder, small feet showing bare and white beneath the severe robe of gray flannel which was the nearest approach to a negligée known to Mrs. Kildare's daughters. The atmosphere of Storm did not lend itself to the art of the negligée. Moonlight shone full upon her, and Channing, watching with quickened heart-beat, saw her lips move as she gave a quick, shy glance toward the bunk where he was supposed to be already sleeping. "She's telling me good night, the darling!" he thought, quite correctly, and blew her an unseen kiss.