This time the stare in Barry Houston's eyes was genuine. To hear a girl of the mountains name a particular form of mental ailment, and then to further listen to that ailment described in its symptoms by a grinning, bearded giant of the woods was a bit past the comprehension of the injured man. He had half expected the girl to say "them" and "that there", though the trimness of her dress, the smoothness of her small, well-shod feet, the air of refinement which spoke even before her lips had uttered a word should have told him differently. As for the giant, Ba'tiste, with his outlandish clothing, his corduroy trousers and high-laced, hob-nailed boots, his fawning, half-breed dog, his blazing shirt and kippy little knit cap, the surprise was all the greater. But that surprise, it seemed, did not extend to the other listener. Thayer had bobbed his head as though in deference to an authority. When he spoke, Barry thought that he discerned a tone of enthusiasm, of hope: "Do they ever get over it?" "Sometime, yes. Sometime--no. Eet all depend." "Then there isn't any time limit on a thing like this." "No. Sometime a year--sometime a week--sometime never. It all depend. Sometime he get a shock--something happen quick, sudden--blooey--he come back, he say 'where am I', and he be back again, same like he was before!" Ba'tiste gesticulated vigorously. Thayer moved toward the door. "Then I guess there's nothing more for me to do, except to drop in every few days and see how he's getting along. You'll take good care of him?" "Ah, _oui_." "Good. Want to walk a piece down the road--with me, Medaine?" "Of course. It's too bad, isn't it--" Then they faded through the doorway, and Barry could hear no more. But he found himself looking after them, wondering about many things,--about the girl and her interest in Fred Thayer, and whether she too might be a part of the machinery which he felt had been set up against him; about the big, grinning Ba'tiste, who still remained in the room; who now was fumbling about with the bedclothes at the foot of the bed and-- "Ouch! Don't--don't do that!" Barry suddenly had ceased his thoughts to jerk his feet far up under the covers, laughing and choking and striving to talk at the same time. At the foot of the bed, Ba'tiste, his eyes twinkling more than ever, had calmly rolled back the covering and just as calmly tickled the injured man's feet. More, one long arm had outstretched again, as the giant once more reached for the sole of a foot, to tickle it, then to stand back and boom with laughter as Barry involuntarily sought to jerk the point of attack out of the way. For a fourth time he repeated the performance, followed by a fourth outburst of mirth at the recoil from the injured man. Barry frowned. "Pardon me," he said rather caustically. "But I don't get the joke." "Ho, ho!" and Ba'tiste turned to talk to the shaggy dog at his side. "_L'enfant_ feels it! _L'enfant_ feels it!"