THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
on a lively horse were spells of wonderful freedom. I suppose it's in my blood to love the open. My father"—her voice softened magically with the most patent adoration—"wanders about in all the strange nooks. To-day I'll receive a letter from Shanghai; the next one will come from Chimborazo; or he's at the emerald-mines in Bolivia or the gold-fields in Africa. I don't suppose he's ever remained in any one place more than a month, except when he's on archeological work." She laughed. "Sometimes I'm convinced that he is the Ancient Mariner, or the Flying Dutchman, or the Prince of India, condemned to wander over the face of the earth. Have you ever by chance run across him? Have you ever heard of him?"
"There's an echo to the name, but I can't place it. Besides, I'm only a big-game hunter, and he, as I understand it, goes in for ruins and tombs and excavations. I'm a know-nothing on those points. Miss Athelstone. There are only a few men like your father, and the world at large never hears of them until they discover a new Babylon; and even then the world forgets
57
