"No, it isn't. It was light down at the railroad station, anyhow. If you had any sand--thunder, but I did get up early this morning! Say, do you play tennis?" "After a fashion," said Hawker. "Why?" "Oh, nothing," replied Hollanden sadly. "Only they are wearing me out at the game. I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning with the Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will be down on me before long. It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player." "Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people," remarked Hawker. "Yes, but up there"--Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of the inn--"they think I'm so amiable." "Well, I'll come up and help you out." "Do," Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against the littlest Worcester girl and me." He regarded the landscape and meditated. Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble. "That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk," observed Hollanden softly. Hawker looked up irascibly. "What colour hair and eyes?" he demanded. "I believe you're crazy." "What colour hair and eyes?" repeated Hollanden, with a savage gesture. "You've got no more appreciation than a post." "They are good enough for me," muttered Hawker, turning again to his work. He scowled first at the canvas and then at the stubble. "Seems to me you had best take care of yourself, instead of planning for me," he said. "Me!" cried Hollanden. "Me! Take care of myself! My boy, I've got a past of sorrow and gloom. I----" "You're nothing but a kid," said Hawker, glaring at the other man. "Oh, of course," said Hollanden, wagging his head with midnight wisdom. "Oh, of course." "Well, Hollie," said Hawker, with sudden affability, "I didn't mean to be unpleasant, but then you are rather ridiculous, you know, sitting up there and howling about the colour of hair and eyes." "I'm not ridiculous." "Yes, you are, you know, Hollie." The writer waved his hand despairingly. "And you rode in the train with her, and in the stage." "I didn't see her in the train," said Hawker. "Oh, then you saw her in the stage. Ha-ha, you old thief! I sat up here, and you sat down there and lied." He jumped from his perch and belaboured Hawker's shoulders. "Stop that!" said the painter. "Oh, you old thief, you lied to me! You lied---- Hold on--bless my life, here she comes now!" CHAPTER IV.