e water was trickling down her back until her shoulders were damp
through her shirtwaist. Knowing she looked dreadfully foolish, she
could not make up her mind to do anything so unattractive as
deliberately to squeeze the water out of her hair or roll up her head in
a towel before this handsome young fellow.

He was somewhat older than Donald Harmon or Frank Kent, and his eyes
were as blue and his hair as golden as Siegfried's, thought romantic
Jean, if only he were dressed in a suit of silver armor instead of
dust-covered corduroys. The traveler had a knapsack strapped over his
shoulders and a gun in his hand; his whole appearance suggested a long
tramp.

Jean gazed at him meaningly. Ordinary intelligence might suggest to him
that he turn his back for a few minutes while she repaired her damaged
toilet, but the young fellow evidently had no such amiable intention. He
seated himself by the edge of the brook a few feet from Jean. "My name
is Ralph Merrit. I'm a mining engineer," he announced briefly.

Jean slightly inclined her wet head. "If you don't mind, I must beg you
to excuse me?" she returned as haughtily as even Jack could have
desired. Suddenly she made up her mind to snub this uncomfortably stupid
acquaintance. Off she marched in as stately a fashion as possible, when
one considers her damp, flowing locks and the fact that she had to pick
her way through their various articles of laundry spread on the grass.

Inside the security of the tent Jean rubbed her hair vigorously and
waved it energetically through the opening at the door, so it might dry
as soon as possible. Frieda stationed herself outside the tent so as to
communicate all possible information about the intruder to Jean.

"Has he gone yet?" Jean inquired for the fifth time in ten minutes.

Frieda shook her head. "He isn't going for a long time, Jeanie, I
believe," she returned. "He is sitting by our brook just as though he
never means to leave it. Now he has gotten up and is drinking some
water. Now he is washing his face," she whispered excitedly, "and is
taking a mirror out of his pocket to prink."

Jean and Frieda giggled and Jean joined her little cousin out of doors.
She had piled her hair in a loose, damp mass on top of her head, for she
was now determined, with Frieda for a chaperon, gently but firmly to
persuade the young man to leave their Adamless Eden.

"Oh," said Jean, as, holding fast to Frieda's hand, she got within
speaking dist