interrupted. "Girls are flighty critters," he said, sadly. "I
don't know why she's taken to you so terrible strong; but she has. She
don't seem to care what people say so long as they do not blame you; but
if you should pull out you might just as well cut her heart to pieces--"
His voice broke, and it was a long time before he could finish. "You're
not at fault, I know that, but if you _can_ stay on a little while and
make it an ounce or two easier for her and for her mother, I wish you'd
do it."

Wayland extended his hand impulsively. "Of course I'll stay. I never
really thought of leaving." In the grip of McFarlane's hand was something
warm and tender.

He rose. "I'm terribly obliged," he said; "but we mustn't let her suspect
for a minute that we've been discussing her. She hates being pitied or
helped."

"She shall not experience a moment's uneasiness that I can prevent,"
replied the youth; and at the moment he meant it.

Berrie could not be entirely deceived. She read in her father's face a
subtle change of line which she related to something Wayland had said.
"Did he tell you what was in the telegram? Has he got to go away?" she
asked, anxiously.

"Yes, he said it was from his father."

"What does his father want of him?"

"He's on his way to California and wants Wayland to go with him; but
Wayland says he's not going."

A pang shot through Berrie's heart. "He mustn't go--he isn't able to go,"
she exclaimed, and her pain, her fear, came out in her sharpened,
constricted tone. "I won't let him go--till he's well."

Mrs. McFarlane gently interposed. "He'll have to go, honey, if his father
needs him."

"Let his father come here." She rose, and, going to his door, decisively
knocked. "May I come in?" she demanded, rather than asked, before her
mother could protest. "I must see you."

Wayland opened the door, and she entered, leaving her parents facing each
other in mute helplessness.

Mrs. McFarlane turned toward her husband with a face of despair. "She's
ours no longer, Joe. Our time of bereavement has come."

He took her in his arms. "There, there, mother. Don't cry. It can't be
helped. You cut loose from your parents and came to me in just the same
way. Our daughter's a grown woman, and must have her own life. All we can
do is to defend her against the coyotes who are busy with her name."

"But what of _him_, Joe; he don't care for her as she does for him--can't
you see that?"

"He'll do the righ