nd? He wipes his brow, and
sits down on a mossy rock, glancing over opposite. Did any one ever
paint such light and shade, such an atmosphere? How still the trees
are! There is not a breath of air, the river floats lazily, undisturbed
by a ripple. There is a little boat over in the shade, and the man who
was fishing has fallen asleep.

Hark! There is a sudden cry and a splash. Has some one fallen in the
river, or is it boys on a bathing frolic? He leans over the edge of the
cliff, where he can command a sight of the river, but there is nothing
save one eddy on the shore where no one could drown. And yet there are
voices, a sound of distress, it seems to him, so he begins to scramble
down. A craggy point jutting out shuts off the view of a little cove,
and he turns his steps thitherward. Just as he gains the point he
catches sight of a figure threading its way up among the rocks.

"Keep perfectly still." The wind wafts the sound up to him, and there
is something in the fresh young voice that attracts him. "I am coming.
Don't stir or you will fall again. Wait, wait, wait!" She almost sings
the last words with a lingering cadence.

He is coming so much nearer that he understands her emprise. A child
has fallen and has slipped a little way down the bank, where a slender
birch sapling has caught her, and she is quite wedged in. The tree
sways and bends, the child begins to cry. The roots surely are giving
way, and if the child should fall again she will go over the rocks,
down on the stony shore. Floyd Grandon watches in a spell-bound way,
coming nearer, and suddenly realizes that the tree will give way before
he can reach her. But the girl climbs up from rock to rock, until she
is almost underneath, then stretches out her arms.

"I shall pull you down here," she says. "There is a place to stand. Let
go of everything and come."

The tree itself lets go, but it still forms a sort of bridge, over
which the child comes down, caught in the other's arms. She utters a
little shriek, but she is quite safe. Her hat has fallen off, and goes
tumbling over the rocks. He catches a glint of fair hair, of a sweet
face he knows so well, and his heart for a moment stops its wonted
beating.

He strides over to them as if on the wings of the wind. They go down a
little way, when they pause for strength. Cecil is crying now.

"Cecil," he cries in a sharp tone,--"Cecil, how came you here?"

Cecil buries her face in her companion's dres