broke Tom Cooper's jaw when they fit.”
The girl was white, and trembling from head to foot as the boy ended his narrative, and looked inquiringly into her face. She could not answer. Indeed, she had hardly heard the question. The thought of what might have happened to her lover appalled her, and terror and remorse held her heart as in a vice. But oh!—and the hot tears came into her eyes—she'd tell him when they met how sorry she was for it all, and how bad she had been, and how she hated herself. She had acted foolish, very; but she hadn't meant it. She'd be more careful in future, much more careful. How brave he was and kind! How like him it was to get the water! Oh! if he'd only come.
All this while Jake looked at her curiously; at length he said, “Say, Loo, s'pose he'd had his eye plugged out.”
“Go away—do!” she exclaimed angrily. “I believe you boys jest love fightin' like dogs.”
Jake disappeared to tell and retell the tale to any one who cared to listen.
Half an hour later Loo, who had climbed the bluff to command the view, heard the sound of Jack's feet on the wooden bridge. A moment or two more and the buggy drew up beside her; the schoolmaster bent forward and spoke, without a trace of emotion in his voice:
“Won't you get in and let me drive you home, Miss Loo?” His victory had put him in a good humour, without, however, altering his critical estimate of the girl. The quiet, controlled tone of his voice chilled and pained her, but her emotions were too recent and too acute to be restrained.
“Oh, George!” she said, leaning forward against the buggy, and scanning his face intently. “How can you speak so? You ain't hurt, are you?”
“No!” he answered lightly. “You didn't expect I should be, did you?” The tone was cold, a little sarcastic even.
Again she felt hurt; she scarcely knew why; the sneer was too far-fetched for her to understand it.
“Go and put the horse up, and then come back. I'll wait right here for you.”
He did as he was told, and in ten minutes
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