ld her something that no explanations could
have made so clear. Seth was always the dominating factor in their
intercourse, but this outward submission was quite foreign to the girl.

They rode off together, the man's horse leading slightly. Neither spoke
for a while, but Rosebud noticed that almost imperceptibly they had
branched off and were heading for the bridge by unfrequented by-paths
which frequently demanded their riding in Indian-file.

Seth displayed no haste and no inclination to talk, and the silence soon
began to jar on the girl. It was one thing for her to give ready
obedience, but to be led like some culprit marching to execution was
something which roused her out of her docility. At the first opportunity
she ranged her horse alongside her companion's and asserted her presence.

"I want you to answer me a question, Seth," she said quietly. "How did you
get wounded?"

The man's face never relaxed a muscle, but there was a dryness in the tone
of his reply.

"Guess some bussock of a feller got monkeyin' with a gun an' didn't know a
heap."

Rosebud favored him with a little knowing smile. They were still amidst
the broken woodlands, and she was quick to observe her companion's
swift-moving eyes as they flashed this way and that in their ceaseless
watchfulness.

"I'm not to be cheated. Some one shot at you who meant--business."

"Guess I ain't aware jest how he figgered, Rosie." A smile accompanied
Seth's words this time.

"Well, who did it?"

"I never seen him; so I can't rightly say."

"But you guess?"

"I ain't good at guessin'."

The girl laughed.

"Very well, I won't bother you."

Then after a little silence the man spoke again.

"Those letters of yours was mortal fine," he said. "Seems to me I could
most find my way around London, with its stores an' nigglin' trails. It's
a tol'ble city. A mighty good eddication, travelin'."

"I suppose it is." Rosebud seemed to have lost her desire for
conversation.

"Makes you think some," Seth went on, heedless of the girl's abstraction.
"Makes you feel as the sun don't jest rise and set on your own p'tickler
patch o' ploughin'. Makes you feel you're kind o' like a grain o' wheat at
seedin' time. I allow a man don't amount to a heap noways."

Rosebud turned on him with a bright smile in her wonderful eyes.

"That depends, Seth. I should say a man is as he chooses to make himself.
I met a lot of men in England; some of them were much better th