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 "we'll drop in this afternoon and you can look 'em over."

"Heaven forbid!" cried Miles.

After luncheon Hunter fixed himself comfortably in two chairs with a volume of Victor Hugo. (Hugo and Dumas were the only novelists he ever read, if we except Miles.) His guest, after repeated attempts to interest himself in a magazine, donned a rain-*coat and, with the devoted Bistre at heel, went out for a walk. It still rained, but more gently, and in the east patches of blue sky appeared now and then behind the gray clouds. Miles turned toward the settlement. The road was empty save for a farmer's wagon just turning into a distant lane. It occurred to him that possibly at the Maple Tree Inn they sold cigars. Not that he smoked cigars very often, but there was no