otion she was as some wild thing of
forest birth, suggesting the spirits of the wind, the dappled sunlight,
the dancing waters; yet never lacking an ineffable refinement that added
both charm and mystery.

Each of us was breathing fast when, shoulder to shoulder, we reached the
fire, she claiming the race without the slightest show of embarrassment.

"But I was holding back," I said, finding combativeness a very fair
outlet to pursue, and adding: "You had the start, too!"

"In a race any one has the start who's able to get it," she asserted.
"Besides, I set the pace, and all you had to do was follow. I slowed up
toward the end, anyway."

The impertinence of it!

"You slowed up because you had to! And I don't believe you were angry a
while ago, either!"

"Don't you?" she asked, slowly.

"Not so very," I compromised, seeing the danger signal. "I think you
were just making a jolly chump of me, that's all. I don't so much mind
making one of myself, but it's rotten having other people do it for me!"

"I suppose," she said indifferently, raising her arms to tuck in a lock
of hair, "that if it's worthwhile making the distinction, you might be
allowed a choice."

For the pure deviltry of this remark I looked around for something to
throw at her, and then saw our fire--a tragic picture of dead ashes
which the wind was blowing over a now cold skillet.

"See," I cried, "what our family row has led to! Fire out, breakfast
ruined, and here I am due at the office in half an hour!"

"Oh, Jack," she looked at me gravely, putting an end to our banter--and
for the first time calling me Jack, though I believe she did it
unconsciously--"haven't we any more buttonwood? This is serious, isn't
it!"

"Not so very, perhaps. We can try another kind."

"Will it be safe?" she asked, uncertainly.

"With a small fire of very dry hardwood, and this rising wind, what
little smoke there is won't hold together long enough to be seen."

"But it'll blow right toward their camp! The wind's changed since
yesterday!"

"That's more than two miles off, and they're probably still after
Smilax. I'll make a very small fire."

This, indeed, seemed to work well enough, and by the time a new
breakfast was ready our uncertainties had become shadows of no
consequence.

"But you _do_ know I was angry, don't you?" she asked, out of a clear
sky, with an unexpectedness that made me throw back my head and laugh.

"You bet I do! And you beat me in t