ing. My sisters would mortgage their share of the
golden streets for your abounding health--and so would I."

"You are all right now," she smiled. "You don't look or talk as you
did."

"It's this sunlight." He lifted a spread hand as if to clutch and hold
something. "I feel it soaking into me like some magical oil. No more
moping and whining for me. I've proved that hardship is good for me."

"Don't crow till you're out of the woods. It's a long ride down the hill,
and going down is harder on the tenderfoot than going up."

"I'm no longer a tenderfoot. All I need is another trip like this with
you and I shall be a master trailer."

All this was very sweet to her, and though she knew they should be going,
she lingered. Childishly reckless of the sinking sun, she played with the
wild flowers at her side and listened to his voice in complete content.
He was right. The hour was too beautiful to be shortened, although she
saw no reason why others equally delightful might not come to them both.
He was more of the lover than he had ever been before, that she knew, and
in the light of his eyes all that was not girlish and charming melted
away. She forgot her heavy shoes, her rough hands and sun-tanned face,
and listened with wondering joy and pride to his words, which were of a
fineness such as she had never heard spoken--only books contained such
unusual and exquisite phrases.

A cloud passing across the sun flung down a shadow of portentous chill
and darkness. She started to her feet with startled recollection of the
place and the hour.

"We _must_ be going--at once!" she commanded.

"Not yet," he pleaded. "It's only a cloud. The sun is coming out again. I
have perfect confidence in your woodcraft. Why not spend another night on
the trail? It may be our last trip together."

He tempted her strongly, so frank and boyish and lovable were his glances
and his words. But she was vaguely afraid of herself, and though the long
ride at the moment seemed hard and dull, the thought of her mother
waiting decided her action.

"No, no!" she responded, firmly. "We've wasted too much time already. We
must ride."

He looked up at her with challenging glance. "Suppose I refuse--suppose I
decide to stay here?"

Upon her, as he talked, a sweet hesitation fell, a dream which held more
of happiness than she had ever known. "It is a long, hard ride," she
thought, "and another night on the trail will not matter." And so the
moments p