d the pair looked one another straight
in the eyes. "You an' me'd best come to an understandin' and get it
over. I don't mind tellin' you, as man to man, that I've been thinkin'
things out; and the upshot is--I don't say 'tis certain, but 'tis
probable--that in the near futur' I shall be spendin' a heap o' my time
at Rilla."

"You'll be welcome. I can almost answer for it," Cai assured him
heartily.

"You've noticed it, eh? . . . Well, that saves a lot o' trouble."
With a grunt of relief 'Bias turned his gaze again upon the empty grate
and sat smoking for a while. "I'd a sort o' fear it might come on ye
sudden . . . eh? What's the matter?" He turned about again, for Cai
had emitted an audible groan.

"I'm sorry for ye, 'Bias--you can't think--"

"Oh, you can stow that bachelor chaff," interrupted 'Bias with entire
cheerfulness. "I used to feel that way myself, or pretend to.
It's different when a man _knows_."

"I can't let ye go on like this!" Cai groaned again. "Stop it, 'Bias--
do!"

"Stop it?" 'Bias stared. He was plainly amazed.

"I mean, stop talkin' about it! I do, indeed."

Still 'Bias stared. Of a sudden a partial light broke in upon him.
"Good Lord!" he muttered. He arose, knocked the ashes from his pipe,
laid it carefully on the chimney-shelf, slid his hands under his
coat-tails, and very solemnly faced about.

"I'd an inklin' o' this, once or twice, and I don't mind confessin' it,"
said he, looking down with a compassionate air which Cai found
insupportable. "Tho' 'twas no more than an inklin', and I put it aside,
seein' as how no man with eyes could mistake the one she favoured."

"Meanin' me, o' course," interjected Cai, jabbing the tobacco down in
his pipe.

"_You?_" 'Bias opened his eyes wide: then he smiled an indulgent smile.
"Ho--you must excuse me--but if that isn' too rich!"

"You needn't start grinnin' like that, or you may end by grinnin' on the
wrong side of your face." Cai, instead of pitying his friend's
infatuation, was fast losing his temper. "What'd you say if I told you
I had proofs?"

"I'd say you was a plumb liar," answered 'Bias with equal promptness,
candour, and aplomb. "Proofs? _What_ proofs?"

Cai hesitated a moment. . . . After all, what proof had he to cite?
A gentle pressure of the arm, for example, is not producible evidence.
"Never you mind," said he sullenly. "You'll have proof enough when the
time comes."

'Bias received this with a dry