ess."

"Very likely," said Mrs. Mavick, persisting in her doubt, "of course in
Zoar. Anywhere else in the world it would be called the Lover's Leap."

"That is odd," said Alice; "there was a party of college girls came here
two years ago and made up a story about it which was printed, how an
Indian maiden pursued by a white man ran up this hill as if she had been
a deer, disappeared from his sight through these bushes, and took the
fatal leap. They called it the Indian Maiden's Rock. But it didn't take.
It will always be Pulpit Rock."

"So you see, Miss McDonald," said Philip, "that writers cannot graft
legends on the old stock."

"That depends upon the writer," returned the Scotch woman, shortly. "I
didn't see the schoolgirl's essay."

When the luncheon was disposed of, with the usual adaptation to nomadic
conditions, and the usual merriment and freedom of personal comment, and
the wit that seems so brilliant in the open air and so flat in print,
Mrs. Mavick declared that she was tired by the long climb and the
unusual excitement.

"Perhaps it is the Pulpit," she said, "but I am sleepy; and if you young
people will amuse yourselves, I will take a nap under that tree."

Presently, also, Alice and the governess withdrew to the edge of the
precipice, and Evelyn and Philip were left to the burden of entertaining
each other. It might have been an embarrassing situation but for the
fact that all the rest of the party were in sight, that the girl had not
the least self-consciousness, having had no experience to teach her
that there was anything to be timid about in one situation more than in
another, and that Philip was so absolutely content to be near Evelyn and
hear her voice that there was room for nothing else in his thought. But
rather to his surprise, Evelyn made no talk about the situation or
the day, but began at once with something in her mind, a directness of
mental operation that he found was characteristic of her.

"It seems to me, Mr. Burnett, that there is something of what Miss
McDonald regards as the lack of legend and romance in this region in our
life generally."

"I fancy everybody feels that who travels much elsewhere. You mean life
seems a little thin, as the critics say?"

"Yes, lacks color and background. But, you see, I have no experience.
Perhaps it's owing to Miss McDonald. I cannot get the plaids and tartans
and Jacobins and castles and what-not out of my head. Our landscapes are
just la