g somewhere around Lone-Rock. We'll miss you dreadfully. And I'm
not the only one who thinks so, either. From all I hear there's somebody
up the street who would almost rob the mails if doing so would keep you
from getting a letter calling you away."

From the twinkle of the eyes which peered at her through the steel-bowed
glasses, Mary knew that he was referring to Pink Upham, but before she
could reply the mail carrier dashed up on horseback from the railroad
station, with the big leather pouch swung across the horse in front of
him. It was the signal for every one along the street, who had seen him,
to come sauntering into the office to wait for the distribution of the
mail. Mary climbed up on the high stool again. She had started out from
home, intending to take a tramp far up the mountain road, but stopping
in the office to post a letter had stayed on talking longer than she
intended.

Pink Upham was one of the first to come in. He had been at the house
several times since his first call, and while some of his mannerisms
annoyed Mary even more than they had at first, she liked him better as
their acquaintance progressed. She could not help being pleased at the
attention he gave her slightest remarks. No girl can be wholly oblivious
to the compliment of having every word remembered, every preference
noted. Once, when they were looking at some soap advertisements, in a
most careless off-hand way she had expressed her dislike for strong
perfumes. Since then the odor of rose geranium was no longer noticeable
in his wake. Once she announced her admiration of a certain kind of
scarlet berry which grew a long distance up the mountain. The next day
there was a bunch of them left at her door. Pink had taken a tramp
before breakfast to get them for her.

There was a family discussion one night about celluloid. Nobody could
answer one of Mary's questions in connection with it about camphor gum,
and she forgot it almost as soon as it was asked, although she had
assumed an air of intense curiosity at the time. But Pink remembered. He
thought about it, in fact, as one of his chief duties in life to find
its answer, until he had time to consult Mr. Moredock's encyclopaedia.

At his last visit to the Wares he had seen a kodak picture of Mary,
taken at the Wigwam years before. She was mounted on the Indian pony
Washington. She wore short dresses then. Her wide-brimmed Mexican
sombrero was on the back of her head, and she was lau