did not lift his; then a boy and a girl and, when only
the two girls spoke, the other boy lifted his hat, though he did not
speak to Margaret. Still Chad's hat was untouched and when Margaret
looked up, Chad's face was red with confusion again. But it never took
the boy long to learn and, thereafter, during the walk his hat came off
unfailingly. Everyone looked at the two with some surprise and Chad
noticed that the little girl's chin was being lifted higher and higher.
His intuition told him what the matter was, and when they reached the
stile across the campus and Chad saw a crowd of Margaret's friends
coming down the street, he halted as if to turn back, but the little
girl told him imperiously to come on. It was a strange escort for
haughty Margaret--the country-looking boy, in coarse homespun--but
Margaret spoke cheerily to her friends and went on, looking up at Chad
and talking to him as though he were the dearest friend she had on
earth.

At the edge of town she suggested that they walk across a pasture and
go back by another street, and not until they were passing through the
woodland did Chad come to himself.

"You know I didn't rickollect when you called me 'little boy.'"

"Indeed!"

"Not at fust, I mean," stammered Chad.

Margaret grew mock-haughty and Chad grew grave. He spoke very slowly
and steadily. "I reckon I rickollect ever'thing that happened out thar
a sight better'n you. I ain't forgot nothin'--anything."

The boy's sober and half-sullen tone made Margaret catch her breath
with a sudden vague alarm.

Unconsciously she quickened her pace, but, already, she was mistress of
an art to which she was born and she said, lightly:

"Now, that's MUCH better." A piece of pasteboard dropped from Chad's
jacket just then, and, taking the little girl's cue to swerve from the
point at issue, he picked it up and held it out for Margaret to read.
It was the first copy of the placard which he had tied around Jack's
neck when he sent him home, and it set Margaret to laughing and asking
questions. Before he knew it Chad was telling her about Jack and the
mountains; how he had run away; about the Turners and about Melissa and
coming down the river on a raft--all he had done and all he meant to
do. And from looking at Chad now and then, Margaret finally kept her
eyes fixed on his--and thus they stood when they reached the gate,
while crows flew cawing over them and the air grew chill.

"And did Jack go home?"