mbitious thoughts possessed her.
The snow had been removed, and a cushion of moss, also bare of snow,
made a resting place for two small feet, warmly incased in woollen-lined
"arctics."

Constance sat down and drew the red-covered book from her pocket, and
placed the seven sharply-pointed pencils, side by side and near at hand.

A sound startled the girl. Her brow puckered. Even in the deep woods
inspiration was not safe from intrusion.

Well, since some bothering person must take this time for appearing,
Constance hoped it would be Joyce, for she wanted to see her and talk
with her. Joyce did not invite intimacy. Up there alone in her shack,
waiting for Gaston's return, she was grappling with matters too sacred
and agonizing to permit of curious interruption. That Drew's family
should overlook any little social shortcoming in her and seek to meet
her on an equal footing, did not interest her in the least--she wanted
to be alone, and for the most part she was.

But it was not Joyce who appeared on the road. It was Jock Filmer and he
came, without invitation, to the log and put his foot on the end nearest
the girl.

"Pleasant summer weather, hey?"

Constance raised her eyes from the little book in which she had been
writing, and gave Jock the benefit of her honest inspection.

"If you had ever lived where winter was meted out to you in the form of
frozen moisture," she said, "you'd know how to appreciate this nice,
clean, undisguised cold."

"I know the other kind." Jock nodded reminiscently. "It is like being
slapped in the face with a sheet wet with ice water, isn't it?"

"Ha! ha! so you haven't always lived here? I thought as much. Indeed I
have a note to that effect--here." The girl tapped the red-covered book.

"No; I've travelled some," Jock confessed, "I've been to Hillcrest
several times."

"I believe you are masquerading." Constance viewed him keenly. "I've
written to my married sister about you all up here; I call you and
that--that Mr. Gaston, the Masqueraders."

"So!" Jock smoothed his chin with his heavily gloved hand. "That sister
of yours, doubtlessly, could spot us all on sight just by your
description. It ain't safe. How's your aunt and the Reverend Kid?" Jock
grinned amiably. The past weeks had given him time and opportunity for
broadening his views of life and enjoyment.

"Ralph is fine"; the clear, gray eyes shone with the joy of the fact;
"and Auntie is having the time of her life. Yo