ok, where he expected to find her. It struck him suddenly
that if she had watched for him all week and had run when he came, then
she must have wanted to see him, but was afraid or shy or perverse. How
like any girl! Possibly in the week past she had unconsciously grown a
little away from her grief.

"I'll try something new on you, Allie," he muttered, and the boy in him
that would never grow into a man meant to be serious even in his fun.

Allie sat in the shady place under the low pine where the brook spilled
out of the big spring. She drooped and appeared oblivious to her
surroundings. A stray gleam of sunlight, touching her hair, made it
shine bright. Neale's quick eye took note of the fact that she had
washed the blood-stain from the front of her dress. He was glad. What
hope had there been for her so long as she sat hour after hour with her
hands pressed to that great black stain on her dress--that mark where
her mother's head had rested? Neale experienced a renewal of hope. He
began to whistle, and, drawing his knife, he went into the brush to cut
a fishing-pole. The trout in this brook had long tempted his fisherman's
eye, and upon this visit he had brought a line and hooks. He made a lot
of noise all for Allie's benefit; then, tramping out of the brush, he
began to trim the rod within twenty feet of where she sat. He whistled;
he even hummed a song while he was rigging up the tackle. Then it became
necessary to hunt for some kind of bait, and he went about this with
pleasure, both because he liked the search and because, out of the
corner of his eye, he saw that Allie was watching him. Therefore he
redoubled his efforts at pretending to be oblivious of her presence and
at keeping her continually aware of his. He found crickets, worms, and
grubs under the dead pine logs, and with this fine variety of bait he
approached the brook.

The first cast Neale made fetched a lusty trout, and right there his
pretensions of indifference vanished, together with his awareness of
Allie's proximity. Neale loved to fish. He had not yet indulged his
favorite pastime in the West. He saw trout jumping everywhere. It was a
beautiful little stream, rocky, swift here and eddying there, clear as
crystal, murmurous with tiny falls, and bordered by a freshness of green
and gold; there were birds singing in the trees, but over all seemed to
hang the quiet of the lonely hills. Neale forgot Allie--forgot that he
had meant to discover if