Berrie uttered a happy word. “How do you feel this morning?” she asked.
“Not precisely like a pugilist—well, yes, I believe I do—like the fellow who got second money.”
“How is the bump?” inquired Nash, thrusting his head inside the door.
“Reduced to the size of a golf-ball as near as I can judge of it. I doubt if I can wear a hat; but I’m feeling fine. I’m going to get up.”
Berrie was greatly relieved. “I’m so glad! Do you feel like riding down the hill?”
“Sure thing! I’m hungry, and as soon as I am fed I’m ready to start.”
Berrie joined the surveyor at the fire.
“If you’ll round up our horses, Mr. Nash, I’ll rustle breakfast and we’ll get going,” she said.
Nash, enthralled, lingered while she twisted her hair into place, then went out to bring in the ponies.
Wayland came out a little uncertainly, but looking very well. “I think I shall discourage my friends from coming to this region for their health,” he said, ruefully. “If I were a novelist now all this would be grist for my mill.”