Adroitly then this romantic minstrel spun his shining, varicolored web, linking them together as sympathetic nomads of the summer road; adroitly too he banned Philip, who by reason of a growing and mysterious habit of sleeping by day had gained for himself a blighting reputation of callous indifference to the charm of the beautiful rolling country all around them.
"I'm exceedingly sorry," read a scroll of birch bark which Ras drowsily delivered to Diane one sunset, "but I'll have to ask you to invite me to supper.

Ras bought an unhappy can of something or other behind in the village and it exploded.
"Philip." "If I refuse," Diane wrote on the back, "you'll come anyway.

You always do.

Why write?
Will you contribute enough hay for a cushion?
Johnny's making a new one for Rex." It was one of the vexing problems of Diane's nomadic life, just how to treat Mr.Philip Poynter.

It was increasingly difficult to ignore or quarrel with him--for his memory was too alarmingly porous to cherish a grudge or resentment.