keeping my
man from throwing them away, though. You see, he hadn't my point of
view! Roberta--here we are! Will you forgive what will seem like a piece
of the most unwarrantable audacity?" He was speaking fast as they came
up over the crown of the hill: "I didn't do it because I was sure of
anything at all, but because--it was something to make myself think I
could carry out a wish of yours. Do you remember the '_stout little
cabin on the hilltop_', Roberta? Could you--_could_ you care for it, as
I do?"

The last words were almost a whisper, but she heard them. Her eyes were
riveted on the outlines, two hundred feet away through the trees, of a
small brown building at the very crest of the hill over-looking the
valley. Very small, very rough, with its unhewn logs--the "stout little
cabin" stood there waiting.

Well! What was she to think? He _had_ been sure, to build this and bring
her to it! And yet--it was no house for a home; no expensive bungalow;
not even a summer cottage. Only a "stout little cabin," such as might
house a hunter on a winter's night; the only thing about it which looked
like luxury the chimney of cobblestones taken from the hillside below,
which meant the possibility of the fire inside without which one could
hardly spend an hour in the small shelter on any but a summer day.
Suddenly she understood. It was the sheer romance of the thing which had
appealed to him; there was no audacity about it.

He was watching her anxiously as she stared at the cabin; she came
suddenly to the realization of that. Then he threw himself off his horse
as they neared the rail fence, fastened him, and came back to Roberta.
Near-by, Stephen was taking Rosamond down and she was exclaiming over
the charm of the place.

Richard came close, looking straight up into Roberta's face, which was
like a wild-rose for colouring, but very sober. Her eyes would not meet
his. His own face had paled a little, in spite of all its healthy,
outdoor hues.

"Oh, don't misunderstand me," he whispered. "Wait--till I can tell you
all about it. I was wild to do something--anything--that would make you
seem nearer. Don't misunderstand--_dear_!"

Stephen's voice, calling a question about the horses, brought him back
to a realization of the fact that his time was not yet, and that he must
continue to act the part of the sane and responsible host. He turned,
summoning all his social training, and replied to the question in his
usual quiet