"Old Man Greylock doesn't talk to one, you know--only roars sometimes." The woman lifted her eye to the dim peak above her, with the pale mists streaming, tress-like, about its crown, from which Mount Greylock takes its name; then her anxious glance returned to the sufferer. "Ha! there he goes--making faces at the pain again," she murmured pityingly. "And, mercy! I suppose 'twill be a blue moon yet--a dog's age--before his son can get here." It was a long age anyhow; although, in reality, little more than an hour--a wild, wind-ridden, fire-painted hour--before three haggard men came stumbling up the trail. Two carried a stretcher between them. One had a bag in his hand. As they hoisted that collapsible stretcher between its poles over the last bleak hurdle of rock, one, the youngest, dropped his end of it, which the doctor, shifting his bag, took up. Jack at a Pinch rushed forward. And ever afterwards Pem liked that churlish nickum because he ignored her then; because he had no more consciousness of her presence, or of Una's, or of the June woman's, than if they had been rocks--blank rocks--by the trail, as he flung himself on his knees beside his father. "Dad! _Dad!_" he cried, his face as gray-blue with hurry as his baseball flannels. "Oh-h! Dad, what have you been doing to yourself--now?" "The biter bitten--Treff! Joker pinched!" came the answer in tones almost jocular, for the love in that boyish voice was a cordial. "Well! I guess I haven't got my death-blow now you've come. And--and the murder is out, boy: these little girls know all-ll: who you are--who I am!" Then, indeed, Jack at a Pinch raised his head and looked straight across into the blue eyes of Pemrose Lorry. "You must have thought me an awful 'chuff'," he said. "I'm sorry about the oars," was the mute reply of the girl's eyes, but the least little tincture of a smile trickling down from her lip-corners, said: "But I'm glad I got even with you, somehow!" However, there was too much "getting even" just now in this wild spot--Life grimly settling accounts with the dragon who had so often "hazed" others--for the boy and girl to spend any more conscious thoughts upon each other. There was the terrible trip--the worst mile ever traveled--down the Man Killer trail, for him, strapped to the stretcher, after the doctor had examined the injury and found the delicate kneecap both slipped and broken. "I guess if--if I pull through this, I'll be a--reformed--character; no more--no more eccentricity for me," he murmured dizzily to Pemrose who, when the trail permitted, walked beside him, stroking his hand,--and he rolled his eyes faintly, through the veil of the opiate which the doctor had given, at the knapsack beside him, wherein lay the golden egg. And with his own hands, the Man Killer at last conquered, as they laid him in an ambulance, he took the five-inch, open-work steel box, the precious record, from that knapsack's depth and handed it to her.