"Seems like you're always putting me in a cab," remarked the older woman as she climbed inside. "I don't know what Mary and me would have done if it hadn't been for you. You're a mighty handy person to have around, Mr. Magee. Ain't he, dearie?" She winked openly at Magee.
"And a delightful one," agreed the girl, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Mrs. Norton was driven away up the snowy street. As Mr. Magee and the girl turned, they beheld the Hermit of Baldpate staring with undisguised exultation at the tall buildings of Reuton.
"Why, it's Mr. Peters!" the girl cried.
"Yes," replied Magee. "His prediction has come true. We and our excitement proved too much for him. He's going back to Brooklyn and to her."
"I'm so glad," she cried. She stretched out her hand to the hermit. He took it, somewhat embarrassed.
"Glad to see you," he said. "You certainly appear to have stirred things up, miss. But women are good at that. I've always said—"
"Mr. Magee tells me you're going back, after all?" she broke in.
"Yes," returned Peters. "I knew it. I told you so. It was all right in the summer, when the bands played, and the warm wind was hermiting on the mountain, too. But in the fall, it's always been hard, and I've heard the white lights calling, calling—why, I've even heard her—heard Ellen. This fall you came, and there was something doing on Baldpate—and I knew that when you went, I'd just naturally have to go, too. So—I'm going."
"Splendid," commented the girl.