ng to throw into the expedition the air of a
holiday excursion. Bob responded to her rather feverish gaiety, but Ware
looked at her with an eye in which comprehension was slowly dawning. He
had nothing to add to the rapid-fire conversation. Finally Amy inquired
with mock anxiety, over his unwonted silence.

"I'm on my job," replied Ware briefly.

This silenced her for a moment or so, while she examined the woods about
them with furtive, searching glances as though their shadows might
conceal an enemy.

To Bob, at least, the morning conduced to gaiety, for the air was crisp
and sparkling with the wine of early fall. Down through the sombre
pines, here and there, flamed the delicate pink of a dogwood, the orange
of the azaleas, or the golden yellow of aspens ripening already under
the hurrying of early frosts. The squirrels, Stellar's jays,
woodpeckers, nuthatches and chickadees were very busy scurrying here and
there, screaming gossip, or moving diligently and methodically as their
natures were. All the rest of the forest was silent. Not a breath of
wind stirred the tallest fir-tip or swayed the most lofty pine branch.
Through the woodland spaces the sunlight sparkled with the inconceivable
brilliance of the higher levels, as though the air were filled with
glittering particles in suspension, like the mica snowstorms of the peep
shows inside a child's candy egg.

They dipped into the canon of the creek and out again through the yellow
pines of the other side. They skirted the edge of the ancient clearing
for the almost prehistoric mill that had supplied early settlers with
their lumber, and thence looked out through trees to the brown and
shimmering plain lying far below.

"My, I'm glad I'm not there!" exclaimed Amy fervently; "I always say
that," she added.

"A hundred and eleven day before yesterday, Jack Pollock says," remarked
Bob.

So at last they gained the long ridge leading toward the mill and saw a
hundred feet away the mill road, and the forks where their own wagon
trail joined it.

At this point they again entered the forest, screened by young growth
and a thicket of alders.

"Look there," Amy pointed out. "See that dogwood, up by the yellow pine.
It's the most splendiferous we've seen yet. Wait a minute. I'm going to
get a branch of it for Mr. Welton's office. I don't believe anybody ever
picks anything for him."

"Let me--" began Bob; but she was already gone, calling back over her
shoulder.