the beach, guided by the low wash of waters on the
sand. She had not taken many steps before she stumbled over some dark
crouching object. Reaching down her hand she felt the coarse wiry mane
of the Princess.

"Bob!"

There was no reply.

"Bob. I've been looking for you, come."

"Go 'way."

"Nonsense, Bob. I want you to stay with me to-night, come."

"Injin squaw no good for waugee woman. Go 'way."

"Listen, Bob. You are daughter of a chief: so am I. Your father had many
warriors: so has mine. It is good that you stay with me. Come."

The Princess chuckled and suffered herself to be lifted up. A few
moments later and they re-entered the hut, hand in hand.

With the first red streaks of dawn the next day the erect Barker touched
his cap at the door of the hut. Beside him stood the hermit, also just
risen from his blanketed nest in the sand. Forth from the hut, fresh
as the morning air, stepped Miss Portfire, leading the Princess by the
hand. Hand in hand also they walked to the shore, and when the Princess
had been safely bestowed in the stern sheets, Miss Portfire turned and
held out her own to her late host.

"I shall take the best of care of her, of course. You will come and see
her often. I should ask you to come and see me, but you are a hermit,
you know, and all that sort of thing. But if it's the correct anchorite
thing, and can be done, my father will be glad to requite you for this
night's hospitality. But don't do anything on my account that interferes
with your simple habits. Good by."

She handed him a card, which he took mechanically.

"Good by."

The sail was hoisted, and the boat shoved off. As the fresh morning
breeze caught the white canvas it seemed to bow a parting salutation.
There was a rosy flash of promise on the water, and as the light craft
darted forward toward the ascending sun, it seemed for a moment uplifted
in its glory.

Miss Portfire kept her word. If thoughtful care and intelligent kindness
could regenerate the Princess, her future was secure. And it really
seemed as if she were for the first time inclined to heed the lessons
of civilization and profit by her new condition. An agreeable change was
first noticed in her appearance. Her lawless hair was caught in a net,
and no longer strayed over her low forehead. Her unstable bust was
stayed and upheld by French corsets; her plantigrade shuffle was limited
by heeled boots. Her dresses were neat and clean, and she wore a