climbed the fence into the field after him and ran on. "David, don't
you hear me?" she panted, for David was walking faster than ever.

She was now so near to David that she knew there was no possibility of
his not knowing that she had called to him. When he did not turn his
head or show any sign of answering her, she stopped still in the center
of the field, with an involuntary exclamation of hurt surprise. Then she
turned her back on the boy and began to slowly retrace her steps toward
home.

David had heard every sound that Madge made, even to her last little
admission of defeat. As she moved away from him he stopped still. He
then swung himself around and gazed wistfully after her retreating form.
"If she asked me the truth, I think I would have to tell it to her," he
murmured to himself. "I don't dare trust myself. It is better that she
should think me the rude boor that I am. But I am not a thief; I wish I
could tell her that, at least."

Madge's eyes were full of tears as she stumbled back across the fields.
She was hurt, angry and disappointed. Somehow, in spite of everything,
she had believed that David could explain his mysterious possession of
the stolen property. She would not try again to tell him that she still
had faith in him, she thought resentfully.

The field was full of loose rocks and stones, but Madge was apparently
oblivious to this. Suddenly a stone rolled under her foot, giving her
ankle an unexpected wrench. With a little cry of pain she sank down on
the ground to get her breath. In an instant David Brewster was at her
side.

"I am afraid you have hurt yourself," he said humbly.

"No," she returned coldly. "I wrenched my ankle for a second; it is all
right now."

"Do let me help you home," offered David miserably.

Madge shook her head. "No, thank you; I wouldn't trouble you for
worlds," she protested icily.

"But you wouldn't trouble me; I should dearly love to do it," replied
David so honestly that the little captain's heart softened though her
severe manner never changed. "See here, Miss Morton," David burst out
impetuously, "if you won't let me take you home, do let me help you to
that old tree over there. You can't stay here in the broiling sun; it
will give you a dreadful headache. I know you don't want to speak to me,
and I will go right away again."

"I _did_ want to speak to you very much, David," returned Madge gently;
"only you would not let me."

"I know," answered Da