ke it back. Now, I want to be alone. Damme, I
say, don't thank me. Get out of here, you young scoundrel; to come in
here and take my ring away from me! Jove! I'll have the law on you, the
law! Good-by."

"I fear I should not have given them the ring," mused Billy when Dic had
gone.... "It might prove unlucky.... It came back to me because she was
forced to marry another.... I wonder if it will come back to Dic?
Nonsense! It is impossible.... Nothing can come between them.... But it
was a fatal ring for me.... I am almost sorry ... but it can bring no
trouble to Dic and Rita ... impossible. But I am almost sorry ... go
off, Billy Little; you are growing soft and superstitious ... but it
would break her heart. I wonder ... ah! nonsense. Maxwelton's braes are
bonny, um, um, um, um, um, um." And Billy first tried to sing his grief
away, then sought relief from his beloved piano.

THE FIGHT BY THE RIVER SIDE

CHAPTER VI

THE FIGHT BY THE RIVER SIDE

Deep in the forest on the home path, Dic looked at the ring, and quite
forgot Billy Little, while he anticipated the pleasure he would take in
giving the golden token to Rita. He did not intend to be selfish, but
selfishness was a part of his condition. A great love is, and should be,
narrowing.

That evening Dic walked down the river path to Bays's and, as usual, sat
on the porch with the family. Twenty-four hours earlier sitting on the
porch with the family would have seemed a delightful privilege, and the
moments would have been pleasure-winged. But now Mrs. Bays's profound
and frequently religious philosophizing was dull compared to what might
be said on the log down by the river bank.

Tom, of course, talked a good deal. Among other things he remarked to
Dic:--

"I 'lowed you'd never come back here again after the way Rita treated
you last night." Of course he did not know how exceedingly well Rita had
treated Dic last night.

"Oh, that was nothing," returned Dic. "Rita was right. I hope she will
always--always--" The sentence was hard to finish.

"You hope she'll always treat you that-a-way?" asked Tom, derisively. "I
bet if you had her alone she wouldn't be so hard to manage--would you,
Rita?" Tom thought himself a rare wit, and a mistake of that sort makes
one very disagreeable. Rita's face burned scarlet at Tom's witticism,
and Mrs. Bays promptly demanded of her daughter:--

"What on earth are you talking about?" Poor Rita had not been talking at
a