her in the 'Cloud Wisp'!" I exclaimed, with
the greatest pride, for Bess Rutherford has nothing to envy Pavlova about.

"I have--er--have a great desire to so behold her at some future time,"
answered Pan, with one of his eery laughs, and I could almost see hoofs
through the raw hide of his shoes. I would have ruffled the red crests off
of the tips of his ears to see if they really were pointed if he had not
stood just out of reach of my hand, where it would have been impossible to
catch him if I tried.

"You won't eat with me in civilization, you won't meet any of my friends,
and I don't believe you ever want to please me," I said as I turned away
from his provocation and began again with the scissors.

"I don't like world girls," he said with the fluty coo in his voice that
always calms the Ladies Leghorn when they are ruffled. "I only love farm
women. The moon is beginning to get a rise out of the setting sun, and
let's go away from these haunts of men to our own woods home. Come along!"
As he spoke Pan pocketed his long knife, picked up his stick and bundle,
and began to pad away through the trees down towards the spring, with me at
his shoulder, and for the first time he held my hand in his as I followed
in my usual squaw style.

In all the long dreary weeks that followed I was glad that I had had that
dinner at sunset and moonrise with him down in the cove at the spring that
was away from all the world. All during the days that never seemed to end,
as I went upon my round of duties, I put the ache of the memories of it
from me, but in the night I took the agony into my heart and cherished it.

"And it's the Romney hand ye have with the herb-pot, Woman dear," said Adam
as he squatted down beside our simmering pot and stirred it with the clean
hickory stick I had barked for that purpose when, very shortly after high
noon, I had put the greens, with the two wild onion sprigs and the handful
of inevitable black-walnut kernels, into the iron pot set on the two rocks
with their smoldering green fire between. "You know you'd rather be eating
this dinner of sprouts and black bread with your poor Adam than--than
dancing that 'Cloud Drift' in town with Matthew Berry--or Baldwin the
enemy."

"Yes," I answered, as I knelt beside him and thrust in another slim stick
and tasted the juice of the pot off the end. "But it would be hard to make
Matthew believe it. I forgot to tell you that Matt is really going in for
farming,