The velvet dusk of Diane's eyes was sparkling with the zest of woodland adventure.

To repose a confidence in one so spirited and beautiful was fascinating sport--and safe.
Now the minstrel found as the morning waned that he was not so strong as he had fancied.

Wherefore he lay humbly by the fire and talked of his fortunes by the roadside.

Bits of philosophy, of sparkling jest, of vivid description, to these Diane listened with parted lips and eyes alive with wholesome interest as her guest contrived to veil himself in a silken web of romance and mystery.
It was sunset before the girl felt uncomfortably that he ought to go.
A little later, on her way to the van, she found a volume of Herodotus in the original Greek which with a becoming air of guilt the minstrel owned that he had dropped.
"Ah, Herodotus!" he murmured, smiling.

"After all, was he not the wandering, romantic father of all of us who are nomads!" "I wonder," said a lazy voice among the trees, "I wonder now if old Herodotus ever heard of a hay-camp." Removing a wisp of hay from his shoe with a certain matter-of-fact grace characteristic of him, Mr.Poynter, who had been invisible all day, arrived in the camp of the enemy.