ss at a limestone tower called
"Lover's Leap." And on these journeys he always went through the
shaded lane-like street that led past the banker's house. It was the
most pretentious house in the town, of brick, trimmed with stone. In
the yard, which was large, the great man had indulged his taste for
art, stucco statuary--a deer, a lion, a dog, two Greek wrestlers, a
mother with a child in her arms, and a ghastly semblance of Andrew
Jackson.

Lyman reached the shore of the creek and walked slowly among the
large, smooth rocks, that looked like the hip bones of the worn and
tired old earth, coming through. As he approached the tree and the
grassy slope whereon he was wont to lie and muse, he saw the
fluttering of something white, and then from behind the tree a woman
stepped. His heart beat faster, for he recognized her, and when he
came up, with softened tread, to the tree, he was panting as if he had
run a race. The woman did not see him until he spoke, her eyes having
been cast down when she passed from behind the tree, and she started
and blushed at beholding him.

"I hope I don't intrude," he said, taking off his hat.

"Oh, no, since you have as much right here as I have."

"I don't know but that I have a pretty good right," he said. "That is,
if occupancy means anything. I come here often."

"Do you?" she cried in surprise. "Why, I have never seen you here
before, and this has been my favorite spot for years."

"Well, as we are both at home," he said, laughing, "we might as well
sit down."

They laughed and seated themselves on the spreading roots of the tree,
though not very near each other. She took off her hat and he looked
with admiration at her brown hair, tied with a ribbon. She flushed
under his gaze and said he must pardon her appearance, as she had not
expected to meet anyone.

"A violet might say as much," he replied.

"You must not talk that way," she said.

"Why? Because you like to hear it?"

"The idea! How could you say that?"

"Because modesty protests against the words that a woman most likes to
hear, and modesty does not chide until she ventures upon an
enjoyment."

"Then modesty is a scold, instead of a friendly guide."

"No. But over-modesty is over-caution."

"We were not talking of over-modesty. Are you as bold with all women
as you are with me?" She looked at him with quizzical mischief in her
eyes. He plucked a white clover blossom and tossed it upward. It fell
in her lap