exposure, was magnetic in
its strong, kindly grasp. There was perhaps a slight suggestion of the
practical Mr. Sol in her wholesome presence; and Rand could not help
wondering if Mrs. Sol had ever been a Gold Hill "Pet" before her
marriage with Mr. Sol. The young girl noticed his curious glance.

"You never saw me in my rehearsal dress before," she said, with a laugh.
"But I'm not 'company' to-day, and didn't put on my best harness to
knock round in. I suppose I look dreadful."

"I don't think you look bad," said Rand simply.

"Thank you," said Euphemia, with a laugh and a courtesy. "But this isn't
getting the dinner."

As part of that operation evidently was the taking-off of her hat,
the putting-up of some thick blond locks that had escaped, and the
rolling-up of her sleeves over a pair of strong, rounded arms, Rand
lingered near her. All trace of the "Pet's" previous professional
coquetry was gone,--perhaps it was only replaced by a more natural one;
but as she looked up, and caught sight of Rand's interested face, she
laughed again, and colored a little. Slight as was the blush, it was
sufficient to kindle a sympathetic fire in Rand's own cheeks, which was
so utterly unexpected to him that he turned on his heel in confusion. "I
reckon she thinks I'm soft and silly, like Ruth," he soliloquized, and,
determining not to look at her again, betook himself to a distant and
contemplative pipe. In vain did Miss Euphemia address herself to the
ostentatious getting of the dinner in full view of him; in vain did
she bring the coffee-pot away from the fire, and nearer Rand, with the
apparent intention of examining its contents in a better light; in vain,
while wiping a plate, did she, absorbed in the distant prospect, walk
to the verge of the mountain, and become statuesque and forgetful. The
sulky young gentleman took no outward notice of her.

Mrs. Sol's attendance upon Mornie prevented her leaving the cabin, and
Rand and Miss Euphemia dined in the open air alone. The ridiculousness
of keeping up a formal attitude to his solitary companion caused Rand
to relax; but, to his astonishment, the "Pet" seemed to have become
correspondingly distant and formal. After a few moments of discomfort,
Rand, who had eaten little, arose, and "believed he would go back to
work."

"Ah, yes!" said the "Pet," with an indifferent air, "I suppose you must.
Well, good-by, Mr. Pinkney."

Rand turned. "YOU are not going?" he asked, in some u