hoice and will cheerfully abide by it. I rather envy your
being a man. You have the world to conquer. A woman--what can she
do? She can knead the dough, ply the distaff, and sit by the lattice
and watch and wait."

"Let us postpone such melancholy thoughts until some future day. I
have not as yet said anything that I intended. I wish to tell you
how sorry I am that I acted in such a rude way the night your
brother came home. I do not know what made me do so, but I know I
have regretted it ever since. Will you forgive me and may we not be
friends?"

"I--I do not know," said Betty, surprised and vaguely troubled by
the earnest light in his eyes.

"But why? Surely you will make some little allowance for a naturally
quick temper, and you know you did not--that you were--"

"Yes, I remember I was hasty and unkind. But I made amends, or at
least, I tried to do so."

"Try to overlook my stupidity. I will not give up until you forgive
me. Consider how much you can avoid by being generous."

"Very well, then, I will forgive you," said Betty, who had arrived
at the conclusion that this young man was one of determination.

"Thank you. I promise you shall never regret it. And the sprained
ankle? It must be well, as I noticed you danced beautifully."

"I am compelled to believe what the girls say--that you are inclined
to the language of compliment. My ankle is nearly well, thank you.
It hurts a little now and then."

"Speaking of your accident reminds me of the day it happened," said
Alfred, watching her closely. He desired to tease her a little, but
he was not sure of his ground. "I had been all day in the woods with
nothing but my thoughts--mostly unhappy ones--for company. When I
met you I pretended to be surprised. As a matter of fact I was not,
for I had followed your dog. He took a liking to me and I was
extremely pleased, I assure you. Well, I saw your face a moment
before you knew I was as near you. When you heard my footsteps you
turned with a relieved and joyous cry. When you saw whom it was your
glad expression changed, and if I had been a hostile Wyandot you
could not have looked more unfriendly. Such a woeful, tear-stained
face I never saw."

"Mr. Clarke, please do not speak any more of that," said Betty with
dignity. "I desire that you forget it."

"I will forget all except that it was I who had the happiness of
finding you and of helping you. I cannot forget that. I am sure we
should never have been fr