at to the
indifferent natural grass.

"I thought," she said wearily, after driving away the intruders for
the third time,--"I thought fences were a sign of civilization, but
they seem to be the first necessity of the wilderness."

She was sitting on a rock, fanning her flushed face with her sombrero,
when Adam came to her assistance.

"You should have waited," he said. "I was coming, but I had to hitch
the team." He turned and looked at her, and laughed boyishly. "The run
hasn't hurt you," he said; "you look like a wild rose. I believe I
shall call you so; may I? I can't call you by the old name."

She colored hotly, then turned quite pale, and there was a touch of
reserve in her voice as she answered rather too indifferently, "If you
choose, still I think, O Adam Crusoe, that Friday or Robinson would be
a better name."

"We'll compromise on Robin," he said. "A rose by any other name is
just as sweet."

"I wish we had a fence," she said turning the subject hastily.

"We have," he answered. "If we were to build one ourselves, it would
have to be of rocks, but Nature has provided a magnificent stone
barrier. We have only to drive the animals we are not using through
the gateway, and fasten that little wooden concern after them. There
is good pasture outside, and if we need them we can go after them.
Lassie will look after Daisy and Lily, won't you, little dog? I will
go and open the gate and drive them through. You help Lassie keep
those two back."

She stood undecidedly, and he turned and said gently, "I will come
back without passing through the gateway. I will never pass it without
you. I wouldn't dare. Now see how nicely Lassie will conduct this
round-up."

As he went toward the gateway, her eyes followed him with a look he
would hardly have comprehended, it was so full of relief and
gratitude. He understood and reassured her without noticing her fears
or smiling at her weakness. Every day and many times she thanked God
that, of all the men who might have been left by this modern deluge,
it was Adam who had been with her and was with her in this terrible
experience.

III

It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count,--I took no
note.

BYRON.

They had been on the island nearly four months. The corn was waving in
the soft breeze, and the sun shone down hotly. Indoors sweet corn was
boiling in the same pot with new potatoes, while in an improvised
milk-boiler on coals,