“Holler?” the stranger’s tone was faintly questioning.  “Oh, I see.  You mean ‘hollow,’ which being interpreted means ‘valley,’ which means, I fear, another hill.  Little boy, do you want to carry a knapsack?”

“Nope.”

“No?  Strange that nobody seems to want to carry a knapsack.  I least of all.  Well,” lifting the object with disfavour, “good-day to you.  I perceive that you grow impatient for those aquatic pleasures for which you have temporarily abjured the more severe delights of scholarship.  Little boy, I wish you a very good swim.”

“Gee,” muttered the small boy, “gee, ain’t he the word-slinger!”

He returned to the pool but something of its charm was dissipated.  Vague thoughts of school inspectors and retribution troubled its waters.  Not that he was at all afraid of school inspectors, or that he really suspected the stranger of being one.  Still, discretion is a wise thing and word-slinging is undoubtedly a form of art much used in high scholastic circles.  Also there had been a remark about a simple sum in arithmetic which was, to say the least, disquieting.  With a bursting sigh, the small sinner scrambled to his feet, reached for the hated books, and disappeared rapidly in the direction of the halls of learning.

Meanwhile the stranger, unconscious of the moral awakening behind him, plodded wearily up the steep and sunny hill.  As he is our hero we shall not describe him.  There is no hurry, and there will be other occasions upon which he will appear to better advantage.  At present let us be content with knowing that there was no reason for the hat and suit he wore save a mistaken idea of artistic suitability.  “If I am going to be a tramp,” he had said, “I want to look like a tramp.”  He didn’t, but his hat and coat did.

He felt like a tramp, though, if to feel like a tramp is to feel hot and sticky and hungry.  Perhaps real tramps do not feel like this.  Perhaps they enjoy walking.  At any rate they do not carry knapsacks, but betray a touching faith in Providence in the matter of clean linen and tooth brushes.

Before the top of the hill was reached, Dr. Callandar wished devoutly that in this last respect he had behaved like the real thing.  In setting out to lead the simple life the ultimate is to be recommended—­and knapsacks are not the ultimate.  They are heavy things with the property of growing heavier, and prove of little use save to sit upon in damp places.  The doctor’s feelings in regard to his were intensified by an utter lack of dampness anywhere.  The top of the hill was a sun-crowned eminence, blazingly, blisteringly, suffocatingly hot.  The valley, spread out beneath him, was soaked in sunshine, a haze of heat quivered visibly above the roofs of the pretty town it cradled.  There was a river and there were woods, but the trees hung motionless, and the river wound like a snake of brass among them.

The doctor regarded both the knapsack and the prospect resentfully.  He had hoped for a breeze upon the hill-top, and there was no breeze.  Raising his hand to remove his hat, he noticed that the hand was trembling, and swore softly.  The hand continued to tremble, and holding it out before him he watched it, interestedly, until a powerful will brought the quivering nerves into subjection.