le."

Prince helped her gently farther from the roaring flames, and again
pulled his bucket close to her side. He placed his hand in her lap and
Connie wriggled her fingers into his.

Suddenly she leaned forward and looked into his face, noting the steady
steely eyes, the square strong chin, the boyish mouth. Not a handsome
face, like Jerry's, not fine and pure, like David's,--but strong and
kind, a face that somehow spoke wistfully of deep needs and secret
longings. Suddenly Connie felt that she was very happy, and in the
same instant discovered that her eyes were wet. She smiled.

"Connie," whispered the big brown man, "are we going to get married,
sometime?"

"Yes," she whispered promptly, "sometime. If you want me."

His hands closed convulsively over hers.

"Make it soon," he begged. "It is terribly lonesome."

"Two years," she suggested, wrinkling her brows. "But if it is too
lonesome, we will make it one."

"You won't go away." Prince was aghast at the thought.

"I have to," she told him, caressing his hand with her fingers. "You
know I believe I have a talent, and it says in the Bible if you do not
use what is given you, all the other nice things you have may be taken
away. So if I don't use that talent, I may lose it and you into the
bargain."

Prince did not understand that, but it sounded reasonable. Whatever
Connie said, of course. She had a talent, all right, a dozen,--a
hundred of them. He thought she had a monopoly on talents.

"I will go back a while and study and work and get ready to use the
talent. I have to finish getting ready first. Then I will come and
live with you and you can help me use it. You won't mind, will you?"

"I want you to use it," he said. "I'm proud of it. I will take you
wherever you wish to go, I will do whatever you want. I'll get a home
in Denver, and just manage the business from the outside. I can live
the way you like to live and do the things you like to have done;
Connie, I know I can."

Connie reached slowly for her hand-bag. From it she took a tiny
note-book and tossed it in the fire.

"Literary material," she explained, smiting at him. "I can not write
what I have learned in Fort Morgan. I can only live it."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE SUNNY SLOPE

After Connie's visit, when she had returned to Chicago to finish
learning how to write her knowledge, David and Carol with little Julia
settled down in the cottage among the pines, an