child,--very well, then, I'll behave like one, and
beset him with questions till he is driven to speak; for he can talk, he
ought to talk, he shall talk."

"Mr. Warwick, do you like children?" she began, with a determined
aspect.

"Better than men or women."

"Do you enjoy amusing them?"

"Exceedingly, when in the humor."

"Are you in the humor now?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then why don't you amuse me?"

"Because you are not a child."

"I fancied you thought me one."

"If I had, I probably should have put you on my knee, and told you fairy
tales, or cut dolls for you out of this bark, instead of sitting
respectfully silent and making a basket for your stores."

There was a curious smile about Warwick's mouth as he spoke, and Sylvia
was rather abashed by her first exploit. But there was a pleasure in the
daring, and choosing another topic she tried again.

"Mark was telling me last night about the great college you had chosen;
I thought it must be a very original and interesting way to educate
one's self, and wanted very much to know what you had been studying
lately. May I ask you now?"

"Men and women," was the brief answer.

"Have you got your lesson, sir?"

"A part of it very thoroughly, I believe."

"Would you think me rude if I asked which part?"

"The latter."

"And what conclusions do you arrive at concerning this branch of the
subject?" asked Sylvia, smiling and interested.

"That it is both dangerous and unsatisfactory."

He spoke so gravely, looked so stern, that Sylvia obeyed a warning
instinct and sat silent till she had completed a canoe-shaped basket,
the useful size of which produced a sudden longing to fill it. Her eye
had already spied a knoll across the river covered with vines, and so
suggestive of berries that she now found it impossible to resist the
desire for an exploring trip in that direction. The boat was too large
for her to manage alone, but an enterprising spirit had taken possession
of her, and having made one voyage of discovery with small success she
resolved to try again, hoping a second in another direction might prove
more fruitful.

"Is your basket done, sir?" she asked.

"Yes; will you have it?"

"Why, you have made it as an Indian would, using grass instead of
thread. It is much more complete than mine, for the green stitches
ornament the white bark, but the black ones disfigure it. I should know
a man made your basket and a woman mine."

"Because one