the finery from her dead mother's treasure chest at home there in the
mountain cabin. It was with heart not quite so doubtful of her own
ability to shine a bit, that, after she had borrowed every fashion-plate
the woman owned (many of them ten years old; not one of them of later
date than five years previous), she set out upon the long and weary
homeward way.

Instinctively as she progressed she searched the soft mud in the
shadowed places of the road, the soft sand wherever it appeared, for
signs that those great foot-marks which she had thought she could
identify as Lorey's in the morning, had returned while she was at the
store. Nowhere was there any trace that this had happened, and again she
thrilled with apprehension. Almost she made a detour by the road which
led to Layson's camp to make quite sure that all was right with the
young "foreigner," but this idea she abandoned as much because she felt
that such a visit would necessitate an explanation which she would
dislike to make, as because her many burdens would have made the way a
long and difficult one to tread. How could she tell Layson that Joe
Lorey might resent his helping her to study, might resent the other
hours which they had spent so pleasantly among the mountain rocks and
forest trees together, might, in short, be jealous of him?

Her shy, maiden soul revolted at the thought and perforce she gave
investigation up, her thoughts, finally, turning from the really remote
chance of a difficulty between the men to the pleasanter task of
carrying on her planning for new gowns and small accessories of finery.

The homeward way was longer than the journey down had been, because of
her new burdens and the frequently steep mountain slopes which she must
climb, but she travelled it without much thought of this.

Never in her life had come excitement equal to that which possessed her
as she thought about the visitors, longed to make a good impression and
not shame her friend, wondered how the bluegrass ladies would be
dressed, would talk, would act, and what they all would think of her.
She had decided, in advance, that she would like Miss Alathea, aunt of
her woodland instructor; she knew positively that she would like the
doughty colonel, lover of god horses, barred from racing by his love for
Frank's inexorable aunt.

But the other members of the party he had told about--the Holtons--she
was not so sure that she would care for them. Frank, himself, when he