riental grass."

"Nas-tur-tium, Oriental. An' what's that vine?"

"That comes from North Africa--they call it 'matrimonial vine.'"

"Whut fer?" asked June quickly.

"Because it clings so." Hale smiled, but June saw none of his
humour--the married people she knew clung till the finger of death
unclasped them. She pointed to a bunch of tall tropical-looking plants
with great spreading leaves and big green-white stalks.

"They're called Palmae Christi."

"Whut?"

"That's Latin. It means 'Hands of Christ,'" said Hale with reverence.
"You see how the leaves are spread out--don't they look like hands?'

"Not much," said June frankly. "What's Latin?"

"Oh, that's a dead language that some people used a long, long time
ago."

"What do folks use it nowadays fer? Why don't they just say 'Hands o'
Christ'?"

"I don't know," he said helplessly, "but maybe you'll study Latin some
of these days." June shook her head.

"Gettin' YOUR language is a big enough job fer me," she said with such
quaint seriousness that Hale could not laugh. She looked up suddenly.
"You been a long time git--gettin' over here."

"Yes, and now you want to send me home before sundown."

"I'm afeer--I'm afraid for you. Have you got a gun?" Hale tapped his
breast-pocket.

"Always. What are you afraid of?"

"The Falins." She clenched her hands.

"I'd like to SEE one o' them Falins tech ye," she added fiercely, and
then she gave a quick look at the sun.

"You better go now, Jack. I'm afraid fer you. Where's your horse?" Hale
waved his hand.

"Down there. All right, little girl," he said. "I ought to go, anyway."
And, to humour her, he started for the gate. There he bent to kiss her,
but she drew back.

"I'm afraid of Dave," she said, but she leaned on the gate and looked
long at him with wistful eyes.

"Jack," she said, and her eyes swam suddenly, "it'll most kill me--but I
reckon you better not come over here much." Hale made light of it all.

"Nonsense, I'm coming just as often as I can." June smiled then.

"All right. I'll watch out fer ye."

He went down the path, her eyes following him, and when he looked back
from the spur he saw her sitting in the porch and watching that she
might wave him farewell.

Hale could not go over to Lonesome Cove much that summer, for he was
away from the mountains a good part of the time, and it was a weary,
racking summer for June when he was not there. The step-mother was a
stern taskmistress, a