or even a tree toad. It's the song of life, I'm listenin'
for, Miner."

CHAPTER III

PEACHY

NEVERTHELESS, in spite of Ambrose's intentionally truthful declaration
to Miner, for the rest of that afternoon and evening he was never wholly
able to get free from the thought of Peachy. However, he did not then
stir from his first shelter in the woods, finding endless refreshment in
the beauty of the Kentucky river landscape, nor did he surrender himself
readily to the lure of the feminine; but poor Ambrose was a victim of
the strange force that lies embodied within a universal idea.

A bird appearing on the branch of a tree above his head and bending
over, peeped into his face twittering: "Pe-che, Pe-che," as impudently
as any small Susan; then, catching his eye, with a little mocking
courtesy, flew away. A robin hopping on the grass near the boy's side,
pecked at the crumbs left over from his luncheon; her full breast, her
air of concentrated domesticity somehow recalled the image of his latest
affection--Peachy, the youthful mistress of the Red Farm.

Now in setting out on this spring pilgrimage nothing had been farther
from the traveller's intention than any dallying with his familiar
weakness. Girls--why, the years behind Ambrose Thompson blossomed with
them; never could he recall a season since his extremest boyhood when he
had not been enchantingly in love. But actually there was little reason
why Peachy Williams should be thrust upon him more than another save
that he was growing older and had been devoting some time to her of
late. Besides which, she was comely.

Toward nightfall the bird songs became such intimate revelations of love
that several times the listener put his fingers into his ears in his
effort to fight their suggestions away. And yet it was not until next
morning that his decision actually broke.

And then it was not so much a matter of emotion. But he had had an
uncomfortable night of fitful dreaming and awakened with yesterday's
spiritual elation gone and with an intense desire for human
companionship.

Rising first on one elbow, Ambrose made a remark which has probably been
considered by the greater portion of the male creation. "I wonder now,"
he asked himself, "ef bein' looked after and made over ain't sometimes
better'n bein' free?"

A very little while after this the boy cooked his own breakfast, with
extremely poor results, and then making as pleasing a toilet as his
refle