ound her when he came following her with her coat
and hood.

"You better put these on, Ruth," he said, as he dropped the coat
across her shoulder. "It's too cold here."

The girl drew the coat around her obediently, but did not look up at
him. She was grateful for his thought of her, but she was not ready to
speak to any one.

He sat down quietly beside her on the stump and drew the dog over to
him.

After a little he asked timidly:

"What are you going to do, Ruth? You can't stay here. I'll tend your
stock and look after the place for you. But you just can't stay
here."

"You?" she questioned finally. "You're going to that Albany school
next week. You said you were all ready."

"I was all ready. But I ain't going. I'll stay here and work the two
farms for you."

"For me?" she said. "And not be a lawyer at all?"

"I--I don't care anything about it any more," he lied. "I told mother
this morning that I wasn't going. She said she'd have you come and
stay with her till Spring."

"And then?" the girl faced the matter, looking straight and unafraid
into his eyes. "And then?"

"Well, then," he hesitated. "You see, then I'll be twenty. And you'll
be old enough to marry me," he hurried. "Your father, you know, he
always wanted me to take care of you, didn't he?" he pleaded,
awkwardly but subtly.

"I know you don't want to talk about it now," he went on hastily. "But
you'll come home with mother to-morrow, won't you? You know she wants
you, and I--I never had to tell you that I love you. You knew it when
you wasn't any higher than Prince here."

"Yes. I always knew it, and I'm glad," the girl answered levelly. "I'm
glad now, Jeff. But I can't let you do it. Some day you'd hate me for
it."

"Ruth! You know better than that!"

"Oh, you'd never tell me; I know that. You'd do your best to hide it
from me. But some day when your chance was gone you'd look back and
see what you might have been, 'stead of a humpbacked farmer in the
hills. Oh, I know. You've told me all your dreams and plans, how
you're going down to the law school, and going to be a great lawyer
and go to Albany and maybe to Washington."

"What's it all good for?" said the boy sturdily. "I'd rather stay here
with you."

The girl did not answer. In the strain of the night and the day, she
had almost forgotten the things that she had heard her father say to
the White Horse Chaplain, as she continued to call the Bishop.

Now she remembered those