“Let de lady go foist,” he suggested. “Dat’s de perlite system.” As they took the indicated order of precedence Mr. Connors added, “An’ den if yer makes a break, I won’t haf ter shoot t’rough de lady ter git yer, see?” While they were picking their way through a bit of woods the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow was moved to speech. “You see, Miss Asheton—Mary—I may call you Mary, mayn’t I? Life is full of chances. You need a protector. You had better reconsider and give me the right to act always——” But Miss Asheton interrupted him with a clear peal of laughter. Despite the guard at the rear, she halted in her tracks. “Certainly you may call me Mary,” she said, “and you may protect me, too. Protect me now. Take the gun away from this person.” The halting of Miss Asheton forced the Honorable Alexander to halt, and the halting of the Honorable Alexander brought the cold muzzle of the revolver against the back of his neck. “Move on dere!” ordered Mr. Connors. “Cut out de chin-music an’ keep hikin’!” The march was resumed. “Of course,” said Mr. Burrow, in a less jaunty voice, “there are times when we are at a disadvantage. The protection I alluded to——” “Cut it out!” suggested Mr. Connors. “Less of dat comedy! Less of it!” Mr. Burrow fell silent. To have one’s tenderest declarations pronounced comedy by a critic one is not at liberty to contradict, is disconcerting. Then they came to the embankment and were instructed to climb up. On the railroad track they saw three men. One was an elderly gentleman in rusty clerical garb. One was a tall man of a younger generation, but the salient feature of the situation was that between them they supported a third person. Despite mud-smeared clothes and demoralized personal appearance, this third person was clearly recognizable to bride-elect and best man as Mr. Lewis Copewell. Mr. Lewis Copewell raised his head and saw standing at the edge of the embankment a rare and radiant maiden whom mortals called Mary Asheton. For an hour Mr. Lewis Copewell had been demanding of the smoldering logs whether he should ever again clasp this rare and radiant maiden. It was upon this reverie that the Minister and his son, the Justice of the Peace, had arrived. And now—miracle of miracles!—there seemed to stand the lady in the flesh! He tore himself from the supporting arms of the minister and the justice of the peace with an inarticulate roar. Then he proceeded to hop on one foot across the track, to find out whether this were a true vision or merely a brain mirage. Miss Mary Asheton took a swift inventory of his injuries and went to meet him. Miss Mary Asheton did not have to hop, and a man can stand quite well on one foot when he has both arms around the only girl in the world. If you don’t believe it, try it.