hoosing his words with particular care.

She was delighted when they came to the bank under the willows where a
pipe sent forth a clear, cold stream of water from a shady recess in
the hillside. Here, at Lee's solicitous suggestion, she rested after
her long walk--it was nearly a half-mile to the ranch-house--disposing
her skirts fluffily about her, taking her seat upon a convenient log
from which, with his hat, Lee had swept the loose dust.

"I'm dreadfully improper, am I not?" said Marcia. "But I am tired, and
it is hot, isn't it? Out there in the fields, I mean. Here it's just
lovely. And I do so love to hear about all the things you know which
are so wonderful to me. Isn't life narrow in the cities? Don't you
think so, Mr. Lee?"

The breeze playing gently with the ribbons of her sunshade brought to
him the faintest of violet perfumes. He lay at her feet, obeying her
tardy command to have the smoke which she had interrupted. His eyes
were full of her.

"I'd so love," went on Marcia dreamily, "to live always out-of-doors.
Out here I feel so sorry for the people I know in town. Here women
must grow up so sweet and pure and innocent; men must be so fine and
manly and strong!"

And she meant it. It was perfectly clear that she spoke in utter
sincerity. For this long, summer day, no matter how she would feel
to-morrow, Marcia was in tune with the open, yearned for the life blown
clean with the air of the mountains. In the morning her mood had been
one of rebellion, for her mother had said things which both hurt and
shocked the girl. Her mother was so mercenary, so unromantic. Now, as
a bit of reaction, the rebellious spirit had grown tender; opposition
had been followed by listlessness; and into the mood of tender
listlessness there had come a man. A man whom Marcia had never noted
until now and who was an anomaly, almost a mystery.

Fate, in the form of old Carson, turned a herd of bellowing steers out
into the fields lying between the meadow and the ranch-house that
afternoon just as Marcia, making a late concession to propriety, was
shaking her skirts and lifting her parasol. It was scarcely to be
wondered at that the steers seemed to Marcia a great herd of
bloodthirsty beasts. Then there were her pink gown and sunshade. . . .

"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" cried Marcia.

So it was under Lee's protection that she went back through the meadows
and to the house. At first she was frightened by the st