, at once disappeared, and the girl,
conscience-smitten, resolved never, never to entertain him again. She
rode down the river path through the forest, happy after many days of
wretchedness.

Billy Little's store building consisted of two log-built rooms. The long
front room was occupied by the store and post-office. The back room, as
Billy said, was occupied by his piano and himself. When he saw Rita,
clothed in dainty calico and smiles, gallop up to the hitching-post, his
heart was filled with joy, his face beamed with pleasure, and his scalp
was suffused by a rosy hue. Billy's smooth-shaven face was pale, the
blood never mounting to his cheeks, so he made amends as best he could
and blushed with the top of his head.

"Good evening to you, Rita," he said, as he lifted her to the ground and
hitched her horse. "I am delighted to see you. You come like the rosy
sun after a rainy day."

"The sun doesn't come after the day, Billy Little," retorted the
laughing girl. "You probably mean the pale moon, or a poor dim little
star."

"I know what I mean," answered the little old fellow in tones of mock
indignation, "and I'll not allow a chit of a girl to correct my
astronomy. I'm your schoolmaster, and if I say the sun comes after the
day, why after the day it comes. Now, there!" he continued, as they
entered the store. "Turn your face to the wall and do penance. Such
insolence!"

The girl faced the wall, and after a moment she looked laughingly over
her shoulder at him. "If you'll let me turn around, I'll admit that the
sun comes at midnight, if you say it does, Billy Little."

"Midnight it is," said Billy, sternly. "Take your seat."

She ran laughing to Billy, and clasping his arm affectionately, said
with a touch of seriousness:--

"It comes whenever you say it does, Billy Little. I'd believe you before
I'd believe myself."

Poor old bachelor heart! Look to your breastworks; the enemy is at hand.

"Now I've noticed," said cynical Billy, "that whenever the feminine
heart wants something, it grows tender. What do you want?"

"I want a letter, Billy Little. Father sent me down to fetch it, if
there is one."

"Yes, there's one here," he answered, going back of the glass-covered
pigeon-holes. "There's one here from Indianapolis. It's from your Uncle
Jim Fisher. I suppose he's after your father again to sell his farm and
invest the proceeds in the Indianapolis store. Precious fool he'll be if
he does."

"Indeed, h