A little, fresh mound marked the spot where the dead gopher had been,
and a narrow strip of shingle stood upright at the end. Someone had
scratched the words with a knife:

GONE BUT NOT FORGOT.

Probably the last word would have been given its full complement of
syllables, had the shingle been wider; as it was, the "forgot" was
cramped until it was barely intelligible.

Miss Satterly, observing the mark of high-heeled boots in the immediate
vicinity of the grave, caught herself wondering if the remains had been
laid away to the tune of "Bill Bailey," with the chorus of "Good Old
Summertime" shuffled in to make a full deck. She started to laugh and
found that laughter was quite impossible.

Suddenly the schoolma'am did a strange thing. She glanced about to
make sure no one was in sight, knelt and patted the tiny mound very
tenderly; then, stooping quickly, she pressed her lips impulsively upon
the rude lettering of the shingle. When she sprang up her cheeks were
very red, her eyes dewy and lovely, and the little laugh she gave at
herself was all atremble. If lovers could be summoned as opportunely
in real life as they are in stories, hearts would not ache so often and
life would be quite monotonously serene.

Weary was at that moment twenty miles away, busily engaged in
chastising Glory, that had refused point-blank to cross a certain
washout. His mind being wholly absorbed in the argument, he was not
susceptible to telepathic messages from the Meeker school-house--which
was a pity.

Also, it was a pity he could not know that Miss Satterly lingered late
at the school-house that night, doing nothing but watch the trail where
it lay, brown and distinct and utterly deserted, on the top of the bill
a quarter of a mile away. It is true she had artfully scattered a
profusion of papers over her desk and would undoubtedly have been
discovered hard at work upon them and very much astonished at beholding
him--if he had come. It is probable that Weary would have found her
quite unapproachable, intrenched behind a bulwark of dignity and
correct English.

When the shadow of the schoolhouse stretched somberly away to the very
edge of the coulee. Miss Satterly gathered up the studied confusion on
her desk, bundled the papers inside, and turned the key with a snap,
jabbed three hatpins viciously through her hat and her hair and went
home--and perhaps it were well that Weary was not there at that time.

The next nig