?"

"Oh, f-f-f-fudge! Must be aw-aw-awful late. Moon don't rise now t-t-till
'most m-m-morning," observed Montgomery, declining explanations, and
wondering how she had perceived his distaste for girls. Besides, he was
rapidly regaining strength, and now when he raised himself an
inspiration came to him. The inspiration found voice in the words:

"M-m-m-might's well be hung for a s-s-s-sheep as a l-l-l-lamb."

The observation was apparently so senseless and Katharine's love of
mimicry so strong that she couldn't help replying and laughing:
"J-j-j-just as w-w-well. But where's the s-s-s-s-sheep and l-l-lamb in
the case?"

Montgomery did not now resent her imitation of his very tone. He even
condescended to laugh back; then ungallantly remarked: "I wish y-y-you'd
go h-h-home."

"Meaning to Aunt Eunice's. That's exactly what I want to do. So let's be
off."

"I s-s-said y-you," corrected Master Sturtevant, rising and taking a few
cautious steps to test the state of his legs. He found them usable,
though rather wobbly about the knees, and would have started off across
the ravine's bottom had not Katharine caught and held him. She was
herself shivering violently, but only from the cold of an autumn
midnight, against which her light summer dress was small protection. She
ached from long sitting on the stony ground, and from holding the heavy
shoulders of her companion. She was frightened by the lateness of the
hour and the intense loneliness of the place; and she felt that she had
sacrificed herself for just the very meanest boy who ever lived. Though
she was not a girl who often cried, tears came then, and that worst of
all feelings--homesickness--seized her and turned her faint.

Poor Monty! Here was a situation, indeed, for a boy who despised girls!
Yet also a boy who was a gentleman by birth; so that, while his first
impulse was to run away, his second was to offer such comfort as he
could.

"W-w-what you cryin' for, a-a-anyway? I-I-I'm all right, I guess."

"Well, if you are, I'm not. I'm just as anxious to go home as you are,
only how can I? I don't know the way, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid of
everything! Of that terrible forest, of Aunt Eunice's anger, of her
refusing to keep me and sending me off to that boarding-school, of--Oh,
dear! I wish I was back in Baltimore!"

Never had the cold countenance of the second Mrs. John or those of the
round little Snowballs seemed so humanly lovable to Katharine as they
d