company, Mrs. Bays," said Billy, "but I
want to--"

"Oh, Dic's no company; he's always here. I don't know where he finds
time to work. I'd think he'd go to see the girls sometimes."

"Rita's a girl, isn't she?" asked Billy, glancing toward Dic.

"Rita's only a child, and a disobedient one at that," replied Mrs. Bays,
but Billy's words put a new thought into her head that was almost sure
to cause trouble for Rita.

When Billy and Dic went around the house to fetch Billy's horse, Rita
was sitting at the window upstairs. She smiled through her tears and
tossed a note to Dic, which he deciphered by the light of the moon. It
was brief, "Please meet me to-morrow at the step-off--three o'clock."

The step-off was a deep hole in the river halfway between Bays's and
Bright's.

Dic and Billy walked up the river path a little time in silence. Billy
was first to speak.

"I consider," said he, "that profane swearing is vulgar, but I must say
damn that woman. What an inquisitor she would make. I hope Kennedy is
right about her heart. Think of her as your mother-in-law!"

"When Rita is my wife," replied Dic, "I'll protect her, if I have
to--to--"

"What will you do, Dic?" asked Billy. "Such a woman is utterly
unmanageable. You see, the trouble is, that she believes in herself and
is honest by a species of artificial sincerity. Show me a stern, hard
woman who is bent on doing her duty, her whole duty, and nothing but her
duty, and I'll show you a misery breeder. Did you give Rita the ring?"

"I haven't had the chance," answered Dic. "I'll do it to-morrow. Billy
Little, I want to thank you--you must let me tell you what I think, or
I'll burst."

"Burst, then," returned Billy. "I'd rather be kicked than thanked. I
knew how Rita and you would feel, or I should not have given you the
ring. Do you suppose I would have parted with it because of a small
motive? Have you told the Chief Justice?"

"No; she will learn when she sees the ring on Rita's finger."

Silence then ensued, which was broken after a few minutes by Billy
Little humming under his breath, "Maxwelton's braes are bonny." Dic soon
joined in the sweet refrain, and, each encouraging the other, they
swelled their voices and allowed the tender melody to pour forth. I can
almost see them as they walked up the river path, now in the black
shadow of the forest, and again near the gurgling water's edge, in the
yellow light of the moon. The warm, delicious air was laden w