re."

"I knew you'd be. What'll I stir up for supper? Biscuits?"

"Um, um! Say, what y' s'pose I've got to go with 'em?"

"Honey."

"Oh, you're too sharp," wailed Ans, while Flaxen went off into a peal
of laughter. "Say, Bert's be'n in the _damnedest_--excuse me--plaguedest
temper fer the last two munce as you ever did see."

While this chatter was going on Bert sat silent and unsmiling on the
back seat. He was absorbed in seeing the exquisite colour that played
in her check and the equally charming curves of her figure. She was
well dressed and was wonderfully mature. He was saying to himself: "Ans
ain't got no more judgment than a boy. We can't keep that girl here.
More'n that, the girl never'll be contented again, unless----" He did
not allow himself to go farther. He dared not even think farther.

They had a merry time that night, quite like old times. The biscuits
were light and flaky, the honey was delightsome, and the milk and
butter (procured specially) were fresh. They shouted in laughter as
Flaxen insisted on their eating potatoes with a fork, and opposed the
use of the knife in scooping up the honey from their plates! Even the
saturnine Bert forgot his gloom and laughed too, as Ans laboriously
dipped his honey with a fork, and, finally growing desperate, split a
biscuit in half, and in the good old boyish way sopped it in the honey.

"There, that's the Christian way of doing things!" he exulted, while
Flaxen laughed. How bright she was--how strange she acted! There were
moments when she embarrassed them by some new womanly grace or
accomplishment, some new air which she had caught from her companions
or teachers at school. It was truly amazing how much she had absorbed
outside of her regular studies. She indeed was no longer a girl; she
was a young woman, and to them a beautiful one.

Not a day passed without some added surprise which made Anson exult and
say, "She's gettin' her money's worth down there--no two ways about
that."

CHAPTER XI.

FLAXEN GROWS RESTLESS.

But as the excitement of getting back died out, poor Flaxen grew
restless, moody, and unaccountable. Before, she had always been the
same cheery, frank, boyish creature. As Bert said, "You know where to
find her." Now she was full of strange tempers and moods. She would
work most furiously for a time, and then suddenly fall dreaming,
looking away out on the shimmering plain toward the east.

At Bert's instigation, a middle-a