But there was a spirit of mischief abroad upon that mountain
slope. It embodied itself in a puff of wind that stirred
gratefully the curls above the girl's brow. Also, it fanned the
neck of the watcher below and cunningly moved his hat from his
side; not more than a few feet, indeed, but still far enough to
transfer it from the shade into the glaring sun and into the view
of the girl above. The owner made no move. If the wind wanted to
blow his new panama into some lower treetop, compelling him to
throw stones, perhaps to its permanent damage, in order to
dislodge it, why, that was just one more cause of offense to pin
to his indictment of irritation against the great island republic
of Caracuna. Such is the temper one gets into after a year in the
tropics.
Like as peas are panama hats to the eyes of the inexpert; far more
like than men who live under them. For the girl, it was a direct
inference that this was a hat which she knew intimately; which,
indeed, she had rather maliciously eluded, riot half an hour
before. Therefore, she addressed it familiarly: "Boo!"
The result of this simple monosyllable exceeded her fondest
expectations.
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