erhaps
he himself was too young as yet and too bashful to know how to manage
things. It was the very evening after his return from Sacramento, and
the beauty of the weather still abode in the soft warm depth around
us. In every tint of rock and tree and playful glass of river a quiet
clearness seemed to lie, and a rich content of color. The grandeur of
the world was such that one could only rest among it, seeking neither
voice nor thought.

Therefore I was more surprised than pleased to hear my name ring loudly
through the echoing hollows, and then to see the bushes shaken, and an
eager form leap out. I did not answer a word, but sat with a wreath of
white bouvardia and small adiantum round my head, which I had plaited
anyhow.

"What a lovely dear you are!" cried Firm, and then he seemed frightened
at his own words.

"I had no idea that you would have finished your dinner so soon as this,
Mr. Firm."

"And you did not want me. You are vexed to see me. Tell the truth, Miss
Rema."

"I always tell the truth," I answered; "and I did not want to be
disturbed just now. I have so many things to think of."

"And not me among them. Oh no, of course you never think of me, Erema."

"It is very unkind of you to say that," I answered, looking clearly at
him, as a child looks at a man. "And it is not true, I assure you, Firm.
Whenever I have thought of dear Uncle Sam, I very often go on to think
of you, because he is so fond of you."

"But not for my own sake, Erema; you never think of me for my own sake."

"But yes, I do, I assure you, Mr. Firm; I do greatly. There is scarcely
a day that I do not remember how hungry you are, and I think of you."

"Tush!" replied Firm, with a lofty gaze. "Even for a moment that does
not in any way express my meaning. My mind is very much above all eating
when it dwells upon you, Erema. I have always been fond of you, Erema."

"You have always been good to me, Firm," I said, as I managed to get
a great branch between us. "After your grandfather, and Suan Isco, and
Jowler, I think that I like you best of almost any body left to me. And
you know that I never forget your slippers."

"Erema, you drive me almost wild by never understanding me. Now will you
just listen to a little common-sense? You know that I am not romantic."

"Yes, Firm; yes, I know that you never did any thing wrong in any way."

"You would like me better if I did. What an extraordinary thing it is!
Oh, Erema, I beg your