. More than
that, I'll never go to sleep any more."

This bold assertion naturally filled the vision with surprise.

"Why for not?" she asked, sitting down on a log beside March in such a
position that she could see him easily.

"For thinkin' o' _you_!" replied the bold youth firmly.

The vision looked at him in still greater astonishment, opening her eyes
slowly until they seemed like two pellucid lakelets of unfathomable
depth into which March felt inclined to fling himself, clothes and all,
and be drowned comfortably. She then looked at the fire, then at March
again. It was evident that she had not been accustomed to hold
intercourse with jocular minds. Perceiving this, March at once changed
his tone, and, with a feeling of respect which he could not well account
for, said rather bluntly--

"What's your name?"

"Mary."

"Ay! did your father give you that name?"

"My father?" echoed the girl, looking hastily up.

"Ay, did Dick give it you?"

"Did him tell you him's name be Dick?" asked Mary.

"Oh! he's known by another name to you, then, it would seem. But, Mary,
what _is_ his name?"

The girl pursed her mouth and laid her finger on it. Then, with a
little sad smile, said--

"Him tell you Dick, that be good name. But Dick not my father. My
father dead."

The poor thing said this so slowly and in such a low pathetic tone that
March felt sorry for having unwittingly touched a tender chord. He
hastened to change the subject by saying--

"Is Dick kind to you, Mary?"

"Kind," she cried, looking up with a flashing eye and flushed face,
while with one of her little hands she tossed back her luxuriant
tresses. "Kind! Him be my father _now_. No have got nobody to love me
now but him."

"Yes, you have, Mary," said March stoutly.

Mary looked at him in surprise, and said, "Who?"

"Me!" replied March.

Mary said nothing to this. It was quite clear that the Wild Man must
have neglected her education sadly. She did not even smile; she merely
shook her head, and gazed abstractedly at the embers of the fire.

"Dick is not your father, Mary," continued March energetically, "but he
has become your father. I am not your brother, but I'll become your
brother--if you'll let me."

March in his enthusiasm tried to raise himself; consequently he fell
back and drowned Mary's answer in a groan of anguish. But he was not to
be baulked.

"What said you?" he inquired after a moment's pause.

"Me s