They had had it in the usual place, down by the dam on the river, "with a bonfire--a perfect peach--down by the big yellow rock--the one you call the Elephant." As Roger read the letter he could feel his daughter listening, vividly picturing to herself the great dark boulders by the creek, the shadowy firs, the stars above and the cool fresh tang of the mountain night.
"After this little sickness of yours--and that harum scarum wedding," he said, "I feel we're both entitled to a good long rest in mountain air." "We'll have it, too," she murmured.
"With Edith's little youngsters.

They're all the medicine you need." He paused for a moment, hesitating.

But it was now or never.

"The only trouble with you," he said, "is that you've let yourself be caught by the same disease which has its grip upon this whole infernal town.

You're like everyone else, you're tackling about forty times what you can do.