honest, I will."

"Oh, you're so absurd, Peter! I don't want to rule, either. I want us to
be equally interested in everything, and have equal say in any matter."

"All right,--equality goes. I'll race you to see which can be the
equalest. Now, are we engaged?"

"No, Peter, not till you come back."

"But I want to kiss you, and I can't, I suppose, until we are engaged.
Oh, can I?"

"Of course not! Take your hand off my hand."

"Lordy, can't I even touch your hand?"

"Not with that ownership grasp! I am afraid of your possessive
qualities, Peter."

"Meaning just what?"

"Oh, that if I do give myself to you, you'll own me so--so
emphatically."

"I sure shall! And then some. Don't imagine, my child, that I'll accept
you with any reservations. You'll be 'mine to the core of your heart, my
beauty'! Bank on that!"

"I do,--and if I'm yours at all,--it _will_ be that way. But wait till
you come back. There's time enough. I suppose there's no chance for
letters?"

"No; not after the first few days. We'll be out of reach of mail very
soon."

"And you're returning?"

"I want to be home for Christmas. Kit thinks we'll make it, but Blair
is some doubtful. So, look for me when you see me."

"Alive or dead?"

"Carly! What made you say that?"

"I don't know." The girl shuddered and her eyes stared into Peter's. "I
seemed to say it without any volition,--the words just came----"

"Well, don't let them come again. I don't like it a little bit. I'm
coming home alive, very much alive,--and I'm coming home to claim
you,--remember that."

"Unless either of us falls in love with some one else. Those girls of
the far North are beautiful, I hear."

"An Eskimo with a nose ring? No, thank you! My heart is true to Poll!
But don't you go and set your somewhat fickle heart on another man,
'cause if you do, I shall have to kill him, much as I'd regret such a
necessity."

"My heart isn't fickle! What do you mean?"

"Just what I say. I think it is. I think my little black-eyed,
rosy-cheeked Carly is quite capable of being on with a new love whether
she's off with the old or not."

"Oh, Peter," and the black eyes showed moisture, "how cruel you are!"

"Isn't it so, Carly? Tell me it isn't,--I'll be so glad!"

But the coquettish glance that answered him was not entirely
reassuring.

"Anyway," Peter pleaded on, "tell me you like me better than Kit or
Gilbert. Tell me that if I'm a prey to green-eyed jealousy up there