r boys
and girls did not couple our names together oftener. Everybody knew who
got valentines at the real post-office and where they came from.

On the evening after the storm there was no loitering on the prairie.
While we knew there was no danger, a half-dozen boys brought the cows
home long before the daylight failed. At sunset I went down to
"Rockport," intending to whistle to Marjie. How many a summer evening
together here we had watched the sunset on the prairie! To-night, for no
reason that I could give, I parted the bushes and climbed down to the
ledge below, intending in a moment to come up again. I paused to listen
to the lowing of some cows down the river. All the sweet sounds and
odors of evening were in the air, and the rain-washed woodland of the
Neosho Valley was in its richest green. I did not notice that the bushes
hid me until, as I turned, I caught a glimpse of a red blanket, with a
circular white centre, sliding up that stairway. An instant later, a
call, my signal whistle, sounded from the rock above. I stood on the
ledge under the point, my heart the noisiest thing in all that summer
landscape full of soft twilight utterances. I was too far below the
cliff's edge to catch any answering call, but I determined to fling that
blanket and its wearer off the height if any harm should even threaten.
Presently I heard a light footstep, and Marjie parted the bushes above
me. Before she could cry out, Jean spoke to her. His voice was clear and
sweet as I had never heard it before, and I do not wonder it reassured
her.

"No afraid, Star-face, no afraid. Jean wants one word."

Marjie did not move, and I longed to let her know how near I was to her,
and yet I dared not till I knew his purpose.

"Star-face," he began, "Jean drink no more. Jean promise Padre Le
Claire, never, never, Star-face, not be afraid anymore, never, never.
Jean good Indian now. Always keep evil from Star-face."

How full of affection were his tones. I wondered at his broken Indian
tongue, for he had learned good English, and sometimes he surpassed us
all in the terse excellence and readiness of his language. Why should he
hesitate so now?

"Star-face,"--there was a note of self-control in his pleading
voice,--"I will never drink again. I would not do harm to you. Don't be
afraid."

I heard her words then, soft and sweet, with that tremor of fear she
could never overcome.

"I hope you won't, Jean."

Then the bushes crackled, as