er is nearest."

The young man seemed to be debating. Barbara glanced at his thoughtful,
strong face from under the edge of her picture-hat, which slyly she had
rearranged. She liked his face. It was so good-humoured.

"It is almost sunset," replied the youth at length. "You can see the
shadows are low. How do you hope to push through the woods after dark?
There are wild animals--wolves!" he added, maliciously.

Barbara looked up again with sudden alarm.

"But what shall we do?" she cried, less composedly. "You _must_ take me
home!"

"I can try," said he, with the resignation of the man who can but die.

The tone had its effect.

"What do you advise?" she asked.

"That we camp here," he proposed, calmly, with an air of finality.

"_Oh!_" dissented Barbara in alarm. "Never! I am afraid of the woods! It
will be wet and cold! I am hungry! My feet are just sopping!"

"I will watch all night with my rifle," he told her. "I will fix you a
tent, and will cook you a supper, and your feet shall not be wet and
cold one moment longer than you will."

"Isn't your home nearer?" she asked.

"My home is where night finds me," he replied.

Barbara meditated. It was going to be dreadful. She knew she would catch
her death of cold. But what could she do about it?

"You may fix the wet-feet part," she assented at last.

"All right," agreed the young man with alacrity. He unslung the pack
from his back, and removed from the straps a little axe. "Now, I am not
going to be gone but a moment," he assured her, "and while I am away,
you must take off your shoes and stockings and put these on." He had
been fumbling in his pack, and now produced a pair of thick woollen
lumberman's socks.

Barbara held one at arm's length in each hand, and looked at them. Then
she looked up at the young man. Then they both laughed.

While her new protector was away, Barbara not only made the suggested
changes, but she did marvels with the chiffon. Really, it did not look
so bad, considering.

When the young man returned with an armful of hemlock bark and the
slivers of a pine-stump, he found her sitting bolt upright on a log, her
feet tucked under her. Before the fire he shortly hung the two webs of
gossamer and the two dear little ridiculous little high-heeled shoes,
with their silver buckles. Then in a most business-like fashion he
pitched a diminutive shelter-tent. With equal expedition he built a
second fire between two butternut-logs, pr