set on being a good girl when she quit Hudson. I don't _know_, but
I'm willing to bet that she'll turn you down."

From far away up the mountain-side came the fierce baying of the dog
pack. Cosme pulled himself together and stood up. His face had an
ignorant, baffled look, the look of an unskilled and simple mind
caught in a web.

"I reckon she--she isn't coming down," he said slowly, without lifting
his eyes from the floor. "I reckon I'll be going. I won't wait."

He walked to the door, his steps falling without spring, and went out and
so across the porch and the clearing to his horse.

At the sound of the closing door there came a flurry of movement in the
loft. The trap was raised. Sheila came quickly down the ladder. She was
dressed in a pair of riding-breeches and her hair was cropped like Miss
Blake's just below the ears. The quaintest rose-leaf of a Rosalind she
looked, just a wisp of grace, utterly unlike a boy. All the soft, slim
litheness with its quick turns revealed--a little figure of unconscious
sweet enchantment. But the face was flushed and tear-stained, the eyes
distressed. She stood, hands on her belt, at the foot of the ladder.

"Why has he gone? Why didn't he wait?"

Miss Blake turned a frank, indulgent face. But it was deeply
flushed. "Oh, shucks!" she said, "I suppose he got tired. Why didn't
you come down?"

Sheila sent a look down her slim legs. "Oh, because I _am_ a fool. Miss
Blake--did you _really_ burn my two frocks--both of them?" Her eyes
coaxed and filled.

"It's all they're fit for, my dear. You can make yourself new ones. You
know it's more sensible and comfortable, too, to work and ride in
breeches. I know what I'm doing, child.--I've lived this way quite a
number of years. You look real nice. I can't abide female floppery,
anyhow. What's it a sign of? Rotten slavery." She set her very even teeth
together hard as she said this.

But Sheila was neither looking nor listening. She had heard horse's
hoofs. Her cheeks flamed. She ran to the door. She stood on the porch
and called.

"Cosme Hilliard! Come back!"

There was no answer. A few minutes later she came in, pale and puzzled.

"He didn't even wave," she said. "He turned back in his saddle and stared
at me. He rode away staring at me. Miss Blake--what did you say to him?
You were talking a long time."

"We were talking," said Miss Blake, "about dogs and how to raise 'em. And
then he up and said goodbye. Oh, Sheila, it'