It was in the little village St. Anton (in reality a suburb of the town) that he met Adventure--Adventure so novel, so bewildering, that he felt that he had been singled out by fate for such an experience as had never before fallen to mortal man. He met a girl. He met her violently, for she was speeding along a road behind the wheel of a small motor ambulance and it happened that the road in question ran at right angles to that which Tam was following. Both saw the danger a few seconds before the collision occurred; both applied fierce brakes, but, nevertheless, Tam found himself on his hands and knees at the feet of the lady-driver, having taken a purler almost into her lap, despite the printed warning attached to this portion of the ambulance: DRIVER AND ORDERLIES ONLY "Oh, I do hope you aren't hurt," said the girl anxiously. Tam picked himself up, dusted his hands and his knees and surveyed her severely. She was rather small of stature and very pretty. A shrapnel helmet was set at a rakish angle over her golden-brown hair, and she wore the uniform of a Red Cross driver. "It was my fault," she went on. "This is only a secondary road and yours is the main--I should have slowed but I guess I was thinking of things. I often do that." She was obviously American and Tam's slow smile was free of malice. "It's fine to think of things," he said, "especially when y're drivin' an ambulance--but it's a hairse ye ought to be drivin', Mistress, if ye want to gie yeer thochts a good airin'." "I'm really sorry," said the girl penitently. "I'm afraid your cycle is smashed." "Don't let it worry ye," said Tam calmly. "It's no' ma bike anyway; it belongs to one of the hatefu' governin' classes, an' A've nothin' to do but mak' guid the damage." "Oh," said the girl blankly, then she suddenly went red. "Of course," she began awkwardly, "as I was responsible--I can well afford--" She halted lamely and Tam's eyes twinkled. "Maybe ye're the niece of Andrew Carnegie an' ye've had yeer monthly library allowance," he said gravely, "an' maybe ye could spare a few thousand dollars or cents--A've no' got the exact coinage in ma mind--to help a wee feller buy a new whizzer-wheel. A' take it kindly, but guid money makes bad frien's." "I didn't intend offering you money," she said hurriedly, flushing deeper than ever, "let me pull the car up to the side of the road." Tam examined his own battered machine in the meantime. The front wheel had buckled, but this was easily remedied, and by the time the girl had brought her car to rest in a field he had repaired all the important damage. "I was going to stop somewhere about here for lunch," she said, producing a basket from under the seat; "in fact, I was thinking of lunch when--when--" "A' nose-dived on to ye," said Tam, preparing to depart. "Weel, A'll be gettin' along. There's nothing A' can do for ye?" "You can stay and lunch with me." "A've haid ma dinner," said Tam hastily.