ot of just such cases as yours. Shell
shock, you know. One has to be awfully careful with it."

"I know. But I'm getting the best of care. I--ouch!" His interest
had exceeded his caution. The unbandaged hand had waved the flowers
for emphasis and absently gripped the stems. The wild roses fluttered
to the ground. "Gosh!" came dolefully, "I'm all full of thorns. Guess
I'll have to pick 'em out with my teeth."

"Oh!" Then she picked up the roses and laid them gingerly aside. "You
can't use your other hand, can you?"

"No. Arm's broken."

"Then--" she looked back toward Lost Wing, hunched on a stump, and
Barry's heart sank. She debated a moment, at last to shake her head.
"No--he'd want to dig them out with a knife. If you don't mind." She
moved toward Houston and Barry thrust forth his hand.

"If you don't mind," he countered and she sat beside him. A moment
later:

"I must look like a fortune teller."

"See anything in my palm besides thorns?"

"Yes. A little dirt. Ba'tiste evidently isn't a very good nurse."

"I did the best I could with one hand. But I was pretty grimy. I--I
didn't know," and Barry grinned cheerfully, "I was going to be this
lucky."

She pretended not to hear the sally. And in some way Barry was glad.
He much rather would have her silent than making some flippant remark,
much rather would he prefer to lean comfortably back on the old bench
and watch the quiet, almost childish determination of her features as
she sought for a grip on the tiny protuberances of the thorns, the soft
brownness of the few strands of hair which strayed from beneath the
boyish cap, the healthy glow of her complexion, the smallness of the
clear-skinned hands, the daintiness of the trim little figure. Much
rather would he be silent with the picture than striving for answers to
questions that in their very naiveness were an accusation. Quite
suddenly Barry felt cheap and mean and dishonest. He felt that he
would like to talk about himself,--about home and his reasons for being
out here; his hopes for the mill which now was a shambling,
unprofitable thing; about the future and--a great many things. It was
with an effort, when she queried him again concerning his memory, that
he still remained Mr. Nobody. Then he shifted the conversation from
himself to her.

"Do you live out here?"

"Yes. Didn't Ba'tiste tell you? My house is just over the hill--you
can just see one edge of the roof thro