sed to it by now," urged Betty, mercilessly. "You
were in love last year, I remember."

"Betty, don't punish me for what I couldn't help. You know I love you."

"Oh, no," said Betty, nervously plucking rose leaves. "You have been too
often in love before, my good Dan."

"But I was never in love with you before," retorted Dan, decisively.

She shook her head, smiling. "And you are not in love with me now," she
replied, gravely. "You have found out that my hair is pretty, or that I can
mix a pudding; but I do not often let down my hair, and I seldom cook, so
you'll get over it, my friend, never fear."

He flushed angrily. "And if I do not get over it?" he demanded.

"If you do not get over it?" repeated Betty, trembling. She turned away
from him, strewing a handful of rose leaves upon the grass. "Then I shall
think that you value neither my hair nor my housekeeping," she added,
lightly.

"If I swear that I love you, will you believe me, Betty?"

"Don't tempt my faith, Dan, it's too small."

"Whether you believe it or not, I do love you," he went on. "I may have
been a fool now and then before I found it out, but you don't think that
was falling in love, do you? I confess that I liked a pair of fine eyes or
rosy cheeks, but I could laugh about it even while I thought it was love I
felt. I can't laugh about being in love with you, Betty."

"I thank you, sir," replied Betty, saucily.

"When I saw you kneeling by the fire in free Levi's cabin, I knew that I
loved you," he said, hotly.

"But I can't always kneel to you, Dan," she interposed.

He put her words impatiently aside, "and what's more I knew then that I had
loved you all my life without knowing it," he pursued. "You may taunt me
with fickleness, but I'm not fickle--I was merely a fool. It took me a long
time to find out what I wanted, but I've found out at last, and, so help me
God, I'll have it yet. I never went without a thing I wanted in my life."

"Then it will be good for you," responded Betty. "Shall I put some rose
leaves into your pocket?" She spoke indifferently, but all the while she
heard her heart singing for joy.

In the rage of his boyish passion, he cut brutally at the flowers growing
at his feet.

"If you keep this up, you'll send me to the devil!" he exclaimed.

She caught his hand and took the whip from his fingers. "Ah, don't hurt the
poor flowers," she begged, "they aren't to blame."

"Who is to blame, Betty?"

She looked up