tle
now? I feel rather lonely."

This was said in such a pathetic, aggrieved tone, that Bernardine
laughed and looked at her companion. His face wore an unusually bright
expression. He was evidently out to enjoy himself.

"_You_ talk," she said; "and tell me all about the country."

And he told her what he knew, and, amongst other things, about the
avalanches. He was able to point out where some had fallen the previous
year. He stopped in the middle of his conversation to tell her to put up
her umbrella.

"I can't trouble to hold it for you," he said; "but I don't mind opening
it. The sun is blazing to-day, and you will get your eyes bad if you are
not careful. That would be a pity, for you seem to me rather better
lately."

"What a confession for you to make of any one!" said she.

"Oh, I don't mean to say that you will ever get well," he added grimly.
"You seem to have pulled yourself in too many directions for that. You
have tried to be too alive; and, now you are obliged to join the genus
cabbage."

"I am certainly less ill than I was when I first came," she said; "and I
feel in a better frame of mind altogether. I am learning a good deal in
sad Petershof."

"That is more than I have done," he answered.

"Well, perhaps you teach instead," she said. "You have taught me several
things. Now, go on telling me about the country people. You like them?"

"I love them," he said simply. "I know them well, and they know me. You
see I have been in this district so long now, and have walked about so
much, that the very wood cutters know me; and the drivers give me lifts
on their piles of timber."

"You are not surly with the poor people, then?" said Bernardine; "though
I must say I cannot imagine you being genial. Were you ever genial, I
wonder?"

"I don't think that has ever been laid to my charge," he answered.

The time passed away pleasantly. The Disagreeable Man was scarcely
himself to-day; or was it that he was more like himself? He seemed in a
boyish mood; he made fun out of nothing, and laughed with such young
fresh laughter, that even August, the grave blue-spectacled driver, was
moved to mirth. As for Bernardine, she had to look at Robert Allitsen
several times to be sure that he was the same Robert Allitsen she had
known two hours ago in Petershof. But she made no remark, and showed no
surprise, but met his merriness half way. No one could be a cheerier
companion than herself when she chose.

At la