dmit her own. Therefore, after I thought the silence had
become sufficiently impressive, I yielded to an impulse that many men
find irresistible--I made an egregious ass of myself.

"Lots of people," said I, sliding out upon thin ice with the braggadocio
of him who rocks the boat, "chatter like magpies when dozing in an
uncomfortable position. Police recognize this, and often arrange a
suspect's cell so he'll have to sleep sitting up, then they listen and
take down his inmost thoughts. That's the way you chattered last night."

"Chattered!" she caught her breath.

"Yes; just rippled along, you know, telling everything you've been
thinking these last couple of days. Some of it was rather interesting.
Shall I poke up the fire again?"

"Rather interesting!" She sprang around and faced me with blazing eyes,
the picture of embarrassment and fury. "You consider the things I've
been thinking the last couple of days 'rather interesting!' Oh," she
cried, dashing the pan of corn meal batter to the ground, "you're
damnable--I hate you!" There was a whirl of a skirt, the twinkle of a
little booted foot, and, by Jove, she had gone flying off like the wind;
while I, feeling about the size of a june-bug, stood first on one leg
and then the other, wondering what the devil she had been thinking these
last couple of days.

Now, when a fellow has made a blatant ass of himself, I hold that the
quickest road to salvation is "own up and shut up." If he's forgiven,
life may flow on as formerly. If he isn't, he has recourse to the pose
of having been grossly misunderstood, and eventually work himself into
quite a creditable reproduction of a martyred nobleman. If he's good at
that kind of thing, a girl will grow sorry and forgive him in spite of
herself. I got this from Tommy, one day, and Tommy knows a lot about
women--really, an awful lot.

But the most detestable part of my present muddle was that I had hurt
her--I, who would have bartered my life to shield her from hurts!
Feeling thoroughly contrite I went quickly in pursuit, looking ahead and
on both sides for a glimpse of the dress that meant the world to me.
Regardless of boundaries, regardless of everything but to implore an
instant forgiveness at whatever cost, I rushed impetuously on, calling
her name.

Then I came up with her at the side of the bubbling spring. She was
lying prone upon the bank, her face buried in her arms that were crossed
beneath it. And, having found her,