ioned
harmonies. But, even as I stood swayed by the madness of the moment, I
felt that a great, an unseen, presence had pinned a decoration upon my
honor--not because it had already proved itself, but in order that it
might do so.

We therefore stopped and chose a new place on the side nearer her
spring, and that being settled--a most important selection, we pretended
it to be--she looked up at me, crying happily:

"After luncheon I'll come and help you build it!--and then you'll cut a
path straight from my tent to yours so, should there be any danger, I
can run to you without stumbling!"

For another moment, with eyes closed, I visualized my new decoration.

Luncheon, I thought, was even an improvement over breakfast. Nor did I
take so long to wash the dishes afterwards.

CHAPTER XX

SLEEPING BENEATH GOD'S TENT

That afternoon we built the lean-to. I had had some fair ideas about
building a lean-to, but Doloria was in possession of a practical
knowledge gathered on camping trips that she and Echochee had made--for
these, I judged, constituted one of her chief recreations since
childhood. She knew how to twist ropes of bark for tying the poles, and
how to interlay the palm fronds so they would neither leak nor be lifted
by the wind. She took the keenest pleasure in it, too, and I can safely
say that never in my life have I enjoyed building anything as much as
that lean-to. When it was finished I stepped back and, in a burst of
admiration, cried:

"It's a palace? I can't ever get along without you!"

A wave of color came into her face, as instantaneous as I believe it was
unexpected, though she said in a matter of fact tone:

"There are other little things to be done, but we'll finish them
to-morrow."

"It's already the coziest place in the world," I insisted. "Now I'm
going to cut that path, and then we'll have----" but I checked myself
and looked at her in some concern. She had worked over hard for me--I
had not realized it while we were busy; so now I begged: "Won't you let
me cook the dinner? I'm afraid you're about dead!"

"Oh, really I'm not. But I'm hungry and so are you, and----" a little
curve came into the corners of her mouth that was very tantalizing, "I
think I'd better cook it."

"I was hoping you would," I admitted shamelessly, "even if you are
tired."

"Purely a selfish decision on my part, I assure you," she smiled. "I
haven't forgotten the breakfast you attempted."

"Very we