CHAPTER XXII.

SYLVAN SUITORS

SOUTHWARD wound the green and whitevan; southward the hay-camp with infre-

quent scurries to inn and barn for shelter; south-ward, his health still improving, went the musicalnomad, unwinding his musical hullabaloo for thetorture of musical crowds.

Now the world was a-riot with the life andcolor of midsummer. Sleepy cows browsedabout in fields dotted with orange daisies, horsesswitched their tails against the cloudless sky ondistant hillsides, sheep freckled the sunny pas-tures, and here and there beneath an apple treeheavy with fruit, lumbered a mother-sow with herlitter of pigs. Sun-bleached dust clouded thehighway and the swaying fields of corn were slimand tall.

The shuttle of Fate clicked and clicked as shewove and crossed and tangled the threads of thesewandering, sun-brown nomads. How frequentlythe path of the music machine crossed the path ofthe van, no one knew so well perhaps as Philip,but Philip at times was tantalizing and mysteri-ous and only evidenced his knowledge in peculiarand singularly aggravating ways.

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For the friendship between Diane and thehandsome minstrel was steadily growing. Bywhat subtle hints, by what ingenuous bursts ofconfidence, by what bewildering flashes of in-herent magnetism he contrived to cement it, whomay say? But surely his romantic resources likehis irresistible charm of speech and manner, werevaried. A rare flower, an original and highlycommendable bit of woodland verse, some luxuryof fruit or camping device, in a hundred delicateways he contrived to make the girl his debtor,talking much in his grave and courtly way ofthe gratitude he owed her. Adroitly then thisromantic minstrel spun his shining, varicoloredweb, linking them together as sympatheticnomads of the summer road; adroitly too hebanned Philip, who by reason of a growing andmysterious habit of sleeping by day had gained'for himself a blighting reputation of callousindifference to the charm of the beautiful rollingcountry all around them.

"I'm exceedingly sorry," read a scroll of birchbark which Ras drowsily delivered to Diane onesunset, "but I'll have to ask you to invite me tosupper. Ras bought an unhappy can of some-thing or other behind in the village and itexploded.

"Philip."

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"If I refuse," Diane wrote on the back, "you'llcome 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'snomadic life, just how to treat Mr. Philip Poyn-ter. It was increasingly difficult to ignore orquarrel with him-for his memory was tooalarmingly porous to cherish a grudge or resent-ment. When a man has had a bump upon his onlyhead, held Mr. Poynter, things are apt to slipaway from him. Wherefore one may pardon himif after repeated commands to go home, and cer-tain frost-bitten truths about officious young men,he somehow forgot and reappeared in the campof the enemy in radiant good humor.

Philip presently arrived with a generous layerof hay under his arm and a flour bag of tomatoes.

"Hello," he called warmly. "Isn't the sun-set bully! It even woke old Ras up and he'sblinking and grumbling like fury." Mr. Poynterfell to chatting pleasantly, meanwhile removingfrom his clothing certain wisps of hay.

"You're always getting into hay or gettingout of it!" accused Diane.

Philip admitted with regret that this might beso and Diane stared hopelessly at his immaculatelinen. Heaven alone knew by what ingenuityMr. Poynter, handicapped by the peculiar limita-

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tions of a hay-camp, contrived to manage hiswardrobe. What mysterious toilet paraphernalialay beneath the hay, what occasional laundrychores Ras did by brook and river, what pur-chases Mr. Poynter made in every village, andfinally what an endless trail of shirts and cuffsand collars lay behind him, doomed, like the cheeseand buns, as he feelingly put it, to one-nightstands, only Ras and Philip knew; but certainlythe hay-nomad combined the minimum of effortwith the maximum of efficiency to the marvel ofall who beheld him. Ras's problem was infinitelysimpler. He never changed. There was muchof the original load of hay, Philip said, dispersedabout his ears and pockets and fringing the backof his neck.

"Where did you get tomatoes?" inquiredDiane at supper.

"Well," said Philip, "I hate to tell you. Istrongly suspect Ras of spearing 'em with a har-poon he made. Made it in his sleep, too. It'spretty long and he can spear whatever he wantsfrom the wagon seat. Lord help the rabbits!"He lazily sprinkled salt upon a large tomato andbit into it with relish. " But why should I worry? "he commented smiling. "They're mighty good.Johnny, old top, see if you can rustle up a loafof bread to lend me for breakfast, will you? I'mwilling to trade three cucumbers for it. And tell

172 Diane of the Green Van

Ras when you take his supper over that there'sa herring under the seat for Dick Whittington'ssupper. Tell me," he added humorously to Di-ane, "just how do you contrive to rememberbread and salt?"

"I don't," said Diane, smiling. " Johnny does.Did the storm get you last night, Philip?"

"It did indeed. It's the third load of haywe've had this week. We're perpetually furlingup the tarpaulin or unfurling it or skinning themattress or watching the clouds. I'm a wreck."

" Where have you been all day?""Haying!" said Philip promptly."Sleeping!" corrected Diane with a critical

sniff.Mr. Poynter fancied they were synonyms."Do you know," he added pointedly, " I imag-

ine I'd find ever so much more romance and ad-venture about it if I only had some interestingailment and a music-mill. I did think I had abully cough, but it was only a wisp of hay in mythroat."

Philip's powers of intuition were most fearful.Diane colored.

"Just what do you mean?" she inquired cau-tiously.

"Nothing at all," replied Philip with a charm-ing smile. "I never do. Why mean anythingwhen words come so easy without? It has oc-

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curred to me," he added innocently, "that ittakes an uncommonly thick-skinned and unro-mantic dub to tour about covered with hay.Fancy sleeping through this wild and beautifulcountry when I might be grinding up lost chordsto annoy the populace."

Diane had heard something of this sort beforefrom quite another source. Acutely uncomfort-able, she changed the subject. There was some-thing uncanny in Philip's perfect comprehensionof the minstrel's tactics.

A little later Mr. Poynter produced a greenbug mounted eccentrically upon a bit of birchbark.

"I found a bug," he said guilelessly. "Hewas a very nice little bug. I thought you'd likehim."

Diane frowned. For every flower the minstrelbrought, Philip contrived a ridiculous parallel.

"How many times," she begged hopelessly,"must I tell you that I am not collecting ridicu-lous bugs?"

Philip raised expressive eyebrows."Dear me!" said he in hurt surprise. "You

do surprise me. Why, he's the greenest bug Iever saw and he matches the van. He's a nomadwith the wild romance of the woodland boundingthrough him. I did think I'd score heavily withhim.

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Diane discreetly ignored the inference. Whis-tling happily, Mr. Poynter poured the coffee andleaned back against a tree trunk. Watching himone might have read in his fine eyes a keener ap-preciation of nomadic life -and nomads -thanhe ever expressed.

There was idyllic peace and quiet in this groveof ancient oaks shot with the ruddy color of thesunset. Off in the heavier aisles of golden gloomalready there were slightly bluish shadows of thecoming twilight. Hungry robins piped excitedly,woodpeckers bored for worms and flaming oriolesflashed by on golden wings. Black against thesky the crows were sailing swiftly toward thewoodland.

With the twilight and a young moon Philipproduced his wildwood pipe and fell to smokingwith a sigh of comfort.

" Philip " said Diane suddenly."Mademoiselle!" said Philip, suspiciously

grave and courtly of manner. The girl glancedat him sharply.

"It annoys me exceedingly," she went onfinally, finding his laughing glance much toobland and friendly to harbor guile, "to have youtrailing after me in a hay-wagon."

"I'll buy me a rumpus machine," said Philip."It would bother me to have you trailing after

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me so persistently in any guise!" flashed the girlindignantly.

"It must perforce continue to bother you!"regretted Philip. "Besides," he added absently,"I'm really the Duke of Connecticut in disguise,touring about for my health, and the therapeuticvalue of hay is enormous."

Now why Diane's cheeks should blaze so hotlyat this aristocratic claim of Mr. Poynter's, whomay say? But certainly she glanced with swiftsuspicion at her tranquil guest, who met her eyeswith supreme good humor, laughed and fell towhistling softly to himself. Despite a certainsignificant silence in the camp of his lady, Mr.Poynter smoked most comfortably, puffing forthingenious smoke-rings which he lazily sought tostring upon his pipestem and busily engaginghimself in a variety of other conspicuously peace-ful occupations. All in all, there was somethingso tranquil and soothing in the very sight of himthat Diane unbent in spite of herself.

"If you'd only join a peace tribunal as dele-gate-at-large," she said, " you'd eliminate war. Imeant to freeze you into going home. I do wishI could stay indignant!"

"Don't," begged Philip humbly. "I'm somuch happier when you're not.

"There is another way of managing me," he

176 Diane of the Green Van

said hopefully a little later. "I meant to mentionit before-"

" What is it ?" implored Diane."Marry me!""Philip!" exclaimed the girl with delicate dis-

dain, "the moon is on your head -""Yes," admitted Philip, "it is. It does get me.

No denying it. Doesn't it ever get you?""No," said Diane. "Besides, I never bumped

my brain- ""That could be remedied," hinted Philip, "if

you think it would alter matters-"Diane was quite sure it would not and later

Philip departed for the hay-camp in the best ofspirits. In the morning Diane found a con-spicuous placard hung upon a tree. The placardbore a bombastic ode, most clever in its trenchantsatire, entitled-" To a Wild Mosquito-byOne who Knows!"

Since an ill-fated occasion when Mr. Poynterhad found a neatly indited ode to a wild geraniumwritten in a flowing foreign hand, his literaryoutput had been prodigious. Dirges, odes, son-nets and elegies frequently appeared in spectacu-lar places about the camp and as Mr. Poynter'shighly sympathetic nature led him to eulogizethe lowlier and less poetic life of the woodland,the result was frequently of striking originality.

Convinced that Mr. Poynter's eyes were upon

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her from the hay-camp, Diane read the ode withabsolute gravity and consigned it to the fire.

The minstrel's attitude toward the hay-nomadmight be one of subtle undermining and shrug-ging ridicule, but surely with his imperturbablegift of satire, Mr. Poynter held the cards

Still another morning Diane found a book atthe edge of her camp.

" I am dropping this accidentally as I leave,"read the fly leaf in Philip's scrawl. "I don'twant you to suspect my classic tastes, but whatcan I do if you find the book!"

It was a volume of Herodotus in the originalGreekl