scue her, of course; but it would be a
situation whose pleasures he should fail to appreciate, both of them wet
through, and many miles from home. She had no sooner freed her hands,
therefore, than he took a firmer hold of her, so that she could not
stir.

But she still openly exulted; her face, close to his, was brilliant with
light and mirth. "That's of no use," she said. "You cannot possibly walk
backward on this narrow tree, even if you could carry me--which I
doubt."

It was true that his back was towards the bank which was near, the one
they had been approaching, and that he could not make his way thither on
that narrow surface without seeing where he was going. He had flushed a
little at her taunt. "I can carry you back to the side we started from,"
he said.

"No, you cannot do that, either. For I could easily blind you with my
hands, and make you stumble."

"Garda!--how absurd!"

"Yes; but it's _you_ who look so," she answered, bursting into a peal of
irrepressible glee.

Winthrop had the feeling that she might be right. He knew that he was
flushed and angry; no man likes to be laughed at, even by a girl of
sixteen. Her eyes, though over-flowing with mirth, had still an
unconquerable look in them. Suddenly he released her. "Your actions are
ridiculous," he said; "I can only leave you to yourself." And turning,
he crossed to the near bank. He had successfully resisted his impulse,
which had been to take her, mocking and mirthful as she was, and carry
her back to the bank from which they had started; he felt sure that he
could have done it in spite of any resistance she might have offered.

Garda ran after him, and put her arm in his. "Are you vexed with me?"
she said, looking up coaxingly in his face.

"Don't you think you are old enough now, Garda, not to act so much like
a child?"

"It isn't a child," she answered, as it seemed to him rather strangely.
"I shall always be like this."

"Do you mean that you never intend to be reasonable?"

"Oh, I don't know what I intend, I don't think I intend anything;
intending's a trouble. But don't be angry with me," she went on; "you
and Margaret are all I have now." And she looked up at him still
coaxingly, but this time through a mist of tears.

"I am not vexed," answered Winthrop, quickly. "Will you have the
kindness to glance at your feet?" he added, by way of diversion into
another channel.

They had been standing among the low bushes on the further s