strenuously active days of
her career, and still the same old giant revolved her mind and turned it
upon herself and upon all she saw.

"What can I do?" she asked Bo, almost helplessly.

"Why, rest, you silly!" retorted Bo. "You walk like an old, crippled
woman with only one leg."

Helen hoped the comparison was undeserved, but the advice was sound.
The blankets spread out on the grass looked inviting and they felt
comfortably warm in the sunshine. The breeze was slow, languorous,
fragrant, and it brought the low hum of the murmuring waterfall, like
a melody of bees. Helen made a pillow and lay down to rest. The green
pine-needles, so thin and fine in their crisscross network, showed
clearly against the blue sky. She looked in vain for birds. Then
her gaze went wonderingly to the lofty fringed rim of the great
amphitheater, and as she studied it she began to grasp its remoteness,
how far away it was in the rarefied atmosphere. A black eagle, sweeping
along, looked of tiny size, and yet he was far under the heights above.
How pleasant she fancied it to be up there! And drowsy fancy lulled her
to sleep.

Helen slept all afternoon, and upon awakening, toward sunset, found Bo
curled beside her. Dale had thoughtfully covered them with a blanket;
also he had built a camp-fire. The air was growing keen and cold.

Later, when they had put their coats on and made comfortable seats
beside the fire, Dale came over, apparently to visit them.

"I reckon you can't sleep all the time," he said. "An' bein' city girls,
you'll get lonesome."

"Lonesome!" echoed Helen. The idea of her being lonesome here had not
occurred to her.

"I've thought that all out," went on Dale, as he sat down, Indian
fashion, before the blaze. "It's natural you'd find time drag up here,
bein' used to lots of people an' goin's-on, an' work, an' all girls
like."

"I'd never be lonesome here," replied Helen, with her direct force.

Dale did not betray surprise, but he showed that his mistake was
something to ponder over.

"Excuse me," he said, presently, as his gray eyes held hers. "That's
how I had it. As I remember girls--an' it doesn't seem long since I left
home--most of them would die of lonesomeness up here." Then he addressed
himself to Bo. "How about you? You see, I figured you'd be the one that
liked it, an' your sister the one who wouldn't."

"I won't get lonesome very soon," replied Bo.

"I'm glad. It worried me some--not ever havin' g