"There is an interesting nomad in a picturesque suit of corduroy who
crosses my path from time to time with an eccentric music-machine.
Sometimes I see him gravely organ-grinding for a crowd of youngsters,
sometimes--with an innate courtliness characteristic of him--for a
white-haired couple by a garden gate. He is wandering about in search
of health. Oddly, his way lies, too, through Kentucky and Tennessee,
to Florida. He--and Ann, dear, this confidence of his I must beg you
to respect, as I know you will--is a Hungarian nobleman, picturesquely
disguised because of some political quarrel with his country. He
writes excellent verse in French and Latin, is a clever linguist, and
has a marvelous fund of knowledge about birds and flowers. Altogether
he is a cultured, courtly, handsome man whom I have found vastly
entertaining. Romantic, isn't it?
"A letter to Eadsville, Kentucky, will reach me if you write as soon as
this reaches you.
"Ever yours,
"Diane."
Let him who is more versed in the science of a nomad's mind than I, say
why there was no mention of the hay-camp!
Ann's answer came in course of time to Eadsville. As Ann talked in
sprightly italics, so was her letter made striking and emphatic by
numberless underlinings.
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