quartette of strings played for the ears
of those who cared to listen and for the legs of those who chose to
take chances on tripping their light fantastic toes over tree roots
in the grass.

Red loved music, and he loved the night. The poetic side of his
memories of watching the Dipper swing around Polaris, while he sung
the cows to sleep, came back to him. In his mind he saw the vast
prairie roll on to infinity; saw the mountains stand out, a world
of white peaks, rising from a sea of darkness. Again he heard the
plaintive shrilling of an Indian whistle, or the song of the lad
down creek made tuneful and airy by the charm of distance.

"Having a good time, Mattie?" he asked, with a smile.

"The best I ever had, Will," she answered, smiling back unsteadily.
Poor lady! The size of an occasion is so many standards, whether
the standard be inches or feet, or miles. Miss Mattie's events had
been measured in hundredths of an inch, and it took a good many of
them to cover so small an action as a successful picnic on a
beautiful night. Her eyes were humid; her mouth smiled and drooped
at the corners alternately. Red felt her happiness with a keen
sympathy, and as he looked at her, suddenly she changed in his
eyes. Just what the difference was he could not have told; nor
whether it was in her or in him. A sudden access of feeling,
undefinable, unplaceable, but strong, possessed him. There is a
critical temperature in the life of a man, when no amount of
pressure can ever make the more expansive emotions assume the
calmer form of friendship. There was something in Miss Mattie's
eye which had warmed Red to that degree, but he didn't know it. He
only knew that he wanted to sit rather unnecessarily close beside
her, and that he would be sorry when it came time to go home. And
he was very silent.

During the drive back to the house he spoke in monosyllables; he
went straight to the barn with Lettis afterward, and made no
attempt to take the usual frank and hearty good-night kiss.

"You're as glum as an oyster!" said Lettis, when they reached their
quarters. "What's the matter, old man?"

"I don't know, Let; I feel kind of quiet, somehow."

"Sick? Or something go wrong?"

"No; nothing of the kind; it's just sort of an attack of stillness,
but I feel durn good."

Lettis laughed. "If it wasn't you, Red, I'd say you were in love,"
he said.

It was well the barn was dark; or he would have seen a change
won