comes from the kiss of wind
and sun. She was an utter stranger to him, and yet there was something
vaguely familiar.

The fact was that he was staring at her. She met his gaze evenly.

"Do you know that you are lucky not to be badly hurt?" she said.

"It would have served me right if I had been."

"Why?"

"For leaving my rifle in the first place, and for rotten shooting in the
second," he replied seriously. "I should have stopped him, and so I
would if I had taken my time about it. I guess I got rattled."

"Is that your trouble?" she laughed. "The bear is simply riddled with
bullets."

"Is that so?" he returned with obvious pleasure. "Tell me what
happened."

"I stopped running when you fired the first shot," she said. "You and
the bear seemed to go down together, and he rolled clean over you. It
was only in his last flurry that he threw himself across your legs."

"Lucky he didn't claw me up in that flurry. He was a tough old boy."

"If you had been killed it would have been my fault," she said
seriously. "You were quite safe, and you attacked him to save me."

"I would have come down, anyway, the first chance he gave me to get hold
of my rifle."

"It was stupid of me," she persisted. "At first, you see, I couldn't
believe there was a bear. I thought you were trying to frighten me. And
then I just _couldn't_ catch that pony. I'm not used to horses, I'm
afraid."

Now, as she spoke, something in her voice struck a chord in Angus'
recollection. Where had he heard that faint lisp, that slurring of the
sibilants? For a moment he puzzled, groping for an elusive memory. And
then suddenly it leaped at him out of the one day, years before, whose
happenings, even the least of them, he never forgot. And he saw a little
girl, frightened but trying to be brave, and a lanky boy confronting her
with a rifle.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "you are little Faith Winton!"

She frowned, drawing herself up a little.

"I am Faith Winton, but how do you know? Have I ever--" She broke off,
staring at him. "Why, it's impossible. You can't be _that_ boy!"

"I used to be," he told her. "I've grown a little, since."

"Angus! Angus Mackay!" she cried, her face lighting swiftly. "Oh, I know
you now. I've never forgotten. And your sister's doughnuts! How good
they were, and how good you were to me!" She leaned forward, catching
his great, brown, work-hardened paws in her slim hands. "Oh, I'm so glad
to see you again, Ang--I mea