away, at the foot of the bluff, Cottonwood Creek ran, fringed on either bank by the trees which had suggested its name. On the horizon to their right, away beyond the spears of yellow maize, the sun was sinking, a ball of orange fire against the rose mist of the sky. When the girl turned towards him, perhaps to avoid the level rays, Bancroft expressed the hope that she would go with him to the house-warming. A little stiffly Miss Conklin replied that she'd be pleased, but—     

       “What have I done, Miss Loo, to offend you?” the young man spoke deprecatingly.     

       “Nothin', I guess,” she answered, with assumed indifference.     

       “When I first came you were so kind and helped me in everything. Now for the last two or three days you seem cold and sarcastic, as if you were angry with me. I'd be sorry if that were so—very sorry.”      

       “Why did you ask Jessie Stevens to go with you to the house-warmin'?” was the girl's retort.     

       “I certainly didn't ask her,” he replied hotly. “You must know I didn't.”      

       “Then Seth lied!” exclaimed Miss Conklin. “But I guess he'll not try that again with me—Seth Stevens I mean. He wanted me to go with him to-night, and I didn't give him the mitten, as I should if I'd thought you were goin' to ask me.”      

       “What does 'giving the mitten' mean?” he questioned, with a puzzled air.     

       “Why, jest the plainest kind of refusal, I guess; but I only told him I was afraid I'd have to go with you, seein' you were a stranger. 'Afraid,'”        she repeated, as if the word stung her. “But he'll lose nothin' by waitin', nothin'. You hear me talk.” And her eyes flashed.     

       As she drew herself up in indignation, Bancroft thought he had never seen any one so lovely. “A perfect Hebe,” he said to himself, and started as if he had said the words aloud. The comparison was apt. Though Miss Loo Conklin was only seventeen, her figure had all the ripeness of womanhood, and her height—a couple of inches above the average—helped to make her look older than she was. Her face was more than pretty; it was, in fact, as beautiful as youth, good features, and healthy colouring could make it. A knotted mass of chestnut hair set off the 

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