oodsman. Helen
was struck by the beauty of the sporting implements.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, "aren't they fine! What are you going to do with
them?"

"Going camping," replied Thorpe, his head in the excelsior.

"When?"

"This summer."

Helen's eyes lit up with a fire of delight. "How nice! May I go with
you?" she cried.

Thorpe shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, little girl. It's going to be a hard trip a long ways
from anywhere. You couldn't stand it."

"I'm sure I could. Try me."

"No," replied Thorpe. "I know you couldn't. We'll be sleeping on the
ground and going on foot through much extremely difficult country."

"I wish you'd take me somewhere," pursued Helen. "I can't get away this
summer unless you do. Why don't you camp somewhere nearer home, so I can
go?"

Thorpe arose and kissed her tenderly. He was extremely sorry that he
could not spend the summer with his sister, but he believed likewise
that their future depended to a great extent on this very trip. But he
did not say so.

"I can't, little girl; that's all. We've got our way to make."

She understood that he considered the trip too expensive for them both.
At this moment a paper fluttered from the excelsior. She picked it up. A
glance showed her a total of figures that made her gasp.

"Here is your bill," she said with a strange choke in her voice, and
left the room.

"He can spend sixty dollars on his old guns; but he can't afford to let
me leave this hateful house," she complained to the apple tree. "He
can go 'way off camping somewhere to have a good time, but he leaves me
sweltering in this miserable little town all summer. I don't care if he
IS supporting me. He ought to. He's my brother. Oh, I wish I were a man;
I wish I were dead!"

Three days later Thorpe left for the north. He was reluctant to go. When
the time came, he attempted to kiss Helen good-by. She caught sight of
the rifle in its new leather and canvas case, and on a sudden impulse
which she could not explain to herself, she turned away her face and
ran into the house. Thorpe, vaguely hurt, a little resentful, as the
genuinely misunderstood are apt to be, hesitated a moment, then trudged
down the street. Helen too paused at the door, choking back her grief.

"Harry! Harry!" she cried wildly; but it was too late.

Both felt themselves to be in the right. Each realized this fact in the
other. Each recognized the impossibility of imposing his own point of
view over t