“It’s my birthday!” was the girlish announcement that followed her fun-provoking laugh. “It’s my birthday--and I’m twenty-two--and my name is Charmian Reemy. _Mrs._ Charmian Reemy, I suppose it is my duty to inform you. Aren’t you coming in, Dr. Shonto?” At last the doctor’s hat was in his hand, and Andy Jerome, standing just behind him and equally amazed, removed his too. Shonto was mumbling something about the unexpected pleasure of meeting a girl in the wilderness who knew his name while Andy followed him inside. The girl hurried on before them and was arranging comfortable thong-bottom chairs before a huge stone fireplace. Skins and bright-coloured Navajo rugs half covered the puncheon floor. Dainty, inexpensive curtains hung at the windows. Deer antlers and enlarged photographs of wildwood scenes broke the solemnity of the dark log walls. Before the fireplace another woman bent and cooked in a Dutch oven on red coals raked one side from the roaring fire of fir wood. “This is Mary Temple, my companion, nurse, cook, and adviser in all matters pertaining to my general welfare,” announced the girl. “I love her companionship, appreciate her nursing, rave over her cooking, and ignore her advice entirely. Mary Temple, this is Dr. Inman Shonto, lost in the woods with a friend whom I have not given him time to introduce.” Once more the bombarded doctor stood by his guns, bowed gravely to middle-aged Mary Temple--who smiled over her lean shoulder but continued to hover her Dutch oven--then turned to Andy. “Mrs. Reemy, permit me,” he said. “My friend, Andrew Jerome.” “Mr. Jerome,” laughed the girl, extending her hand, “I am happy to welcome you to my birthday party.” Then, with one of her amazingly swift movements, she swung about to the physician. “And you, Dr. Shonto, are to be the guest of honour--and you are going to tell us all about glands and things like that.” “It is absolutely impossible,” Dr. Shonto returned gallantly, “that I could have met you and forgotten you, Mrs. Reemy.”