For some reason or other the spirits of our driving party seemed steadily rising. It was simply impossible to put anybody out of humor, no matter what happened. Everything was lovely and just as it should be, even to the pelting showers that came down with such swift suddenness as to almost soak them through before they could get under cover of waterproofs and umbrellas, and then a moment after left them stranded in brilliant sunshine, fairly steaming within the rubber coats which, with much difficulty, had but just been adjusted. Indeed, every day seemed more full of enjoyment than the one that preceded it and to call for more enthusiasm. If any one had asked Mr. Harris, for instance, how he accounted for this, he would probably have laughed good-naturedly at the question, and answered: “Why, easily enough! How could it be otherwise with this glorious weather, this beautiful country, and our jolly little party!” But the real secret of what made the party so jolly was, in fact, quite beyond Mr. Harris's ability to divine. The real secret lay with Marie-Celeste and Dorothy in the good news that had been committed to their keeping; and, strange to say, it seemed to mean as much to Dorothy, who was no relation of Theodore's, as to Marie-Celeste, who was. As a result, they were both brimming over with fun and merriment; and as there is, fortunately, nothing in the world more contagious than good spirits, the other members of the party were equally merry without in the least knowing why. Even Mr. Farwell, who had simply been invited to fill up and because he was a friend of Mr. Harris's, fell under the spell, and bloomed out in a most surprising and delightful manner, and by the time the first week was over felt as though he had known them all all his life, and, indeed, very much regretted that such was not in truth the case.