c
acts seem to just come natural to some people."

"You must be awful strong," continued Guinevere, looking at him with
approval.

Mr. Opp sank beside her on the bank and gave himself up to the full
enjoyment of the moment. Both hands were badly bruised, and he had a dim
misgiving that his coat was ripped up the back; but he was happy, with
the wild, reckless happiness of one to whom Fate has been unexpectedly
kind. Moreover, the goal toward which all his thought had been rushing
for the past hour was in sight. He could already catch glimpses of the
vision beautiful. He could hear himself storming the citadel with magic
words of eloquence. Meanwhile he nursed the band-box and smiled dumbly
into space.

From far below, the pungent odor of burning leaves floated up, and the
air was full of a blue haze that became luminous as the sun transfused
it. It enveloped the world in mystery, and threw a glamour over the
dying day.

"It's so pretty it hurts," said the girl, clasping her hands about her
knees. "I love to watch it all, but it makes the shivers go over
me--makes me feel sort of lonesome. Don't it you?"

Mr. Opp shook his head emphatically. It was the one time in years that
down in the depths of his soul he had not felt lonesome. For as Indian
summer had come back to earth, so youth had come back to Mr. Opp. The
flower of his being was waking to bloom, and the spring tides were at
flood.

A belated robin overhead, unable longer to contain his rapture, burst
into song; but Mr. Opp, equally full of his subject, was unable to utter
a syllable. The sparkling eloquence and the fine phrases had evaporated,
and only the bare truth was left.

Guinevere, having become aware of the very ardent looks that were being
cast upon her, said she thought the boat must be about due.

"Oh, no," said Mr. Opp; "that is, I was about to say--why--er--say, Miss
Guin-never, do you think you could ever come to keer about me?"

Guinevere, thus brought to bay, took refuge in subterfuge. "Why--Mr.
Opp--I'm not old enough for you."

"Yes, you are," he burst forth fervently. "You are everything for me:
old enough, and beautiful enough, and smart enough, and sweet enough. I
never beheld a human creature that could even begin to think about
comparing with you."

Guinevere, in the agitation of the moment, nervously plucked all the
leaves from the branch that had been acquired with such effort. It was
with difficulty that she finally manage