Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony.
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