was busy with this serious affair of living. Ants and crawling
things moved to and fro about their business. Squirrels raced across
the road and stood up at a safe distance to gaze at these intruders.
Birds flashed back and forth, hurried little carpenters busy with the
specifications for their new nests. Eager palpitating life was the
key-note of the universe.

"Virginia told me about the Peltons," Laska said, after a pause.

"It's spreading almost as fast as if it were a secret," he smiled. "I'm
expecting to find it in the paper when we get back."

"I'm so glad you did it."

"Well, you're to blame."

"I!" She looked at him in surprise.

"Partly. You told me how things were going with them. That seemed to
put it up to me to give Pelton a chance."

"I certainly didn't mean it that way. I had no right to ask you to do
anything about it."

"Mebbe it was the facts put it up to me. Anyhow, I felt responsible."

"Mr. Roper once told me that you always feel responsible when you hear
anybody is in trouble," the young woman answered.

"Roper's a goat. Nobody ever pays any attention to him."

Presently they diverged from the road and sat down on a great flat rock
which dropped out from the hillside like a park seat. For he was still
far from strong and needed frequent rests. Their talk was desultory,
for they had reached that stage of friendship at which it is not
necessary to bridge silence with idle small talk. Here, by some whim of
fate, the word was spoken. He knew he loved her, but he had not meant
to say it yet.

But when her steady gray eyes came back to his after a long stillness,
the meeting brought him a strange feeling that forced his hand.

"I love you, Laska. Will you be my wife?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Sam," she answered directly. That was all. It was settled with a
word. There in the sunshine he kissed her and sealed the compact, and
afterward, when the sun was low among the hill spurs, they went back
happily to take up again the work that awaited them.

CHAPTER 25. FRIENDLY ENEMIES

Ridgway had promised Aline that he would see her soon, and when he
found himself in New York he called at the big house on Fifth Avenue,
which had for so long been identified as the home of Simon Harley. It
bore his impress stamped on it. Its austerity suggested the Puritan
rather than the classic conception of simplicity. The immense rooms
were as chill as dungeons, and the forlorn little figure in black, lo