for him and gave him a
nervous smile as he came near. His first words startled her out of her
dull mood.

"I've been up to the Hill Place. Him and her's there for a few days."

"Him and her!" Priscilla repeated, her face flushing. "Oh, him and her!"

"Sure!" McAlpin was holding her with a hard, fixed gaze.

In the mesh that was closing about Priscilla, strangely enough names
were always largely eliminated. They might have altered her course later
on, might have held her to the past, but Kenmore dealt briefly with
personalities and visualized whatever it could. The name Travers had
rarely, if ever, been spoken in Priscilla's presence. "The Hill Place
folks" was the title found sufficient for general use.

"And I was remembering," Jerry-Jo went on, "how once you said you wanted
to thank him for--for the books. We might take the canoe, come to-morrow,
and the day is fine, and pay a visit."

Still Priscilla did not notice the gleam in McAlpin's keen eyes.

"Oh! if I only dared, Jerry-Jo! What an adventure it would be, to be
sure. And how good of you to think of it."

"What hinders?"

"Father would never forgive me!"

"And are you always to be at the beck and whistle of your father even in
your pleasures?"

Priscilla was in just the attitude of mind to receive this suggestion
with appreciation.

"There's no reason why I shouldn't go if I want to," she said with an
uplift of her head.

"And--don't you want to?" Jerry-Jo's eyes were taking in the loveliness
of the raised face as the setting sun fell upon it.

"Yes, I do want to! I'll go, Jerry-Jo."

Then McAlpin came close to her and said in a low voice:

"Priscilla, give us a kiss for pay."

So taken out of herself was the girl, so overpowered by the excitement
of adventure, that before she realized her part in the small drama of
passionate youth, she gave a mocking laugh and twisted her lips saucily.

Jerry-Jo had her in his arms on the instant, and the hot kiss he pressed
on her mouth roused her to fury.

"If you ever touch me again," she whispered, struggling into freedom,
"I'll hate you to the last day of my life!"

So had she spoken to her father years ago; so would she always speak when
her reservations were threatened. "I declare I am afraid to go with you
to-morrow."

McAlpin fell back in shamed contrition.

"You need not be afraid," he muttered. "I reckon I was bidding
you--good-bye. Him and me is different. Once you see him and he sees yo