side
he could hear her moving about, singing softly to herself. He caught a
line or two, and his memory instantly supplied the rest.

"Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall we see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather."

He smiled to himself, and a soft look came into his eyes. The girl was
making a jest of a situation that would have appalled multitudes of her
over-civilized sisters, and he marvelled at her courage. The glow in
his eyes grew brighter as he stared into vacancy. Some day-dream
softened the stern lines in his face, and for a few minutes the spell
of it held him. Then suddenly he frowned, and a little harsh laugh
broke from his lips.

"You fool!" he whispered to himself. "You fool!"

A moment later the girl entered the tent again. In her hand she carried
a rather decrepit hussif and a hank of strong linen thread. She held
them down for him to see.

"I am making free with your possessions, Mr. Stane, but there's no help
for it. I simply must repair these rags of mine."

He looked at her and noticed for the first time that her blouse was
badly torn. Half of one sleeve was ripped away, and there was a long
tear through which he caught the gleam of a white shoulder. Her skirt
he saw was in no better case. She caught his glance and laughed.

"I'm a perfect Cinderella! It will take me hours to sew up these
rents."

"Do you think it is worth while?" he asked with a faint smile. "I'm not
much of a tailor myself; and I should look at that job as wasted
effort."

"But what else can I do?" she demanded. "I can't get in a taxi and run
down to Bond Street on a shopping expedition."

"No," he answered slowly, "but you might look in the pack you carried
today. There's a habit there that is better suited to the woods than
the one you have."

"Oh!" she cried, her grey eyes alight with laughter, and a little flush
in her cheeks. "You brought it along then?"

"I put it in your pack, because I knew that two days of trail in the
forest would reduce your present costume to shreds."

She eyed the hussif distastefully. "I hate sewing," she said. "I think
I will leave the repairs till morning. There is no immediate hurry that
I know of."

"Not at all," he answered with a little smile, and divining that his
advice would be accepted he turned to a fresh subject.