ntented, working round the farm once more. It seems impossible
that he has really gone. If only I could know he was safe!"

Whereupon warm-hearted little Mrs. Collinson kissed her vehemently, as
an outlet for her indignation. "Don't you fret about his safety,
child," she said; "he's safe as can be. Safe, indeed! Why, that
little brown Indian wretch knows the country as few do, and they're
both used to wood-wandering, the naughty boys. Oh, he 's safe enough,
if that were all you have to worry about." But perhaps at the bottom
of their hearts neither she nor her husband were quite so confident as
they gave Stephanie to believe. They felt sure that the fugitives had
gone north to unknown wildernesses. And what dangers might those
unsettled countries hold?

"I don't doubt Dick's wanting to come back here before the year's out,"
remarked Mr. Collinson privately to his wife; "but they 're only a pair
of boys, and in my opinion, Mrs. C., it's a risky thing. Practically,
young Underwood has put his life into the Indian's hands, and I doubt
whether that clever little brown villain values the said life enough to
take very good care of it. However, there's no telling. Only when I
see Steenie's face, I should like to have the thrashing of both the
rascals, brown and white. What business had Dick to go off and leave
his only sister in this fashion?"

"Others would be glad to take care of her better," remarked Mrs.
Collinson oracularly. And her husband screwed up his face as in
preparation for whistling, and afterwards regarded Roger thoughtfully
but with approval.

The last of the grey drifts of snow disappeared from the cool hollows.
Roger always found time to visit the sheltered nooks along the edge of
the little ravine that cut through the fields, returning to the
homestead with great store of frail, exquisite arbutus, and the starry
hepaticas, blue, pink, and white, nested in silvery down; the promise
of leaf and blossom was fulfilled on every branch; the first sky-bird
calls were brought to perfect song; and still Dick remained away.

Through all its beautiful subtle changes, the spring passed on to
summer. The young leaves of oak and maple lost their tinge of scarlet,
and the wild fruit trees lost their snow of blossom. Sturdier, less
shadowy flowers replaced the bloodroot and hepatica. The birds were
busier. All about the homestead was a world of warm delicate air, and
skies shadowed with promise of rai