"No matter," he said. "I thought I heard a dog." But I noticed that
he quickened his pace.

"I was saying," he continued, "that I had really thought to have
lost Parnassus for good by this morning, but I'm tickled to death to
have a chance to see her again. I hope she'll be as good a friend to
you as she has been to me. I suppose you'll sell her when you return
to the Sage?"

"I don't know I'm sure," I said. "I must confess I'm still a little
at sea. My desire for an adventure seems to have let me in deeper
than I expected. I begin to see that there's more in this
bookselling game than I thought. Honestly, it's getting into my
blood."

"Well, that's fine," he said heartily. "I couldn't have left
Parnassus in better hands. You must let me know what you do with
her, and then perhaps, when I've finished my book, I can buy her
back."

We struck off into the lane. The ground was slippery under the trees
and we went single file, Mifflin in front. I looked at my watch--it
was nine o'clock, just an hour since I had left the van. As we
neared the spot Mifflin kept looking ahead through the birch trees
in a queer way.

"What's the matter?" I said. "We're almost there, aren't we?"

"We _are_ there," he said. "Here's the place."