"You don't understand," she resumed bravely, trying to clear the
quaver in her voice, "and it's so hard for me to explain--and I _want_
you to understand--about--mother, I mean. Mother is dreadfully rude to
people at times--she is that way to nearly everyone whom she does not
consider smart people." Her young voice grew steadier. "I mean
whom she likes and are in her own set. It makes me feel so ashamed
sometimes I could cry."

"Come," coaxed Holcomb, "you mustn't feel badly about it. People are
all different, anyway. It's just Mrs. Thayor's way, I suppose, just as
it's your way, and your father's way, to be kind to everyone," he said
tenderly. He saw the colour flush to her cheeks.

"Mother has hurt you!" she cried indignantly. "I have seen it over and
over again. Oh, why can't people be a little more considerate. It's
not considered smart, I suppose. In society nearly everyone is rude to
one another--some of them are perfectly nasty and they think nothing
of saying horrid things about you behind your back! I hate New York,"
she exclaimed hotly; "I never knew what it was to be really happy
until I came to Big Shanty and these dear old woods. You have had
them all your life, so perhaps you can't understand what they mean to
me--how much I love them, Mr. Holcomb."

"They mean considerable to me," he replied. "They seem like home. I
liked what I saw in New York, and I had a good time down there with
Jack, but I know I'd get pretty tired of it if I had to live there in
that noise."

"I hate New York," she repeated impetuously, her brown hands trembling
after the tears. "If you had to go out--out--out--all the time to
stupid teas and dances, you would hate it too. It was hard waiting
for the camp. I--I--used to count the days--longing for the days you
promised it would be ready. It was so hard to wait--but I knew you
were doing your best, and daddy knew it too."

Holcomb reddened. "I'm glad you trusted me," he said, and added, "I
hope you will trust me always."

"Why, yes, of course I will!" she exclaimed, brightening. "Oh, you
know I will, don't you?"

Holcomb was conscious of a sudden sensation of infinite joy; it seemed
to spring up like an electric current from somewhere deep within him,
and tingled all over him.

"I'm glad you'll always trust me," he said, as he rose suddenly from
his chair and, going over to her, held out his hand. The words he had
just spoken he was as unconscious of as his impulsive ges