Keep your fingers off it."

Scott admired in silence for a while, then: "You certainly are a shark
at it, Duane.... You've struck your gait all right.... I wish I had....
This Rose-beetle business doesn't promise very well."

"You write most interestingly about it," said Kathleen warmly.

"Yes, I can write.... I believe journalism would suit me."

"The funny column?" suggested Geraldine.

"Yes, or the birth, marriage, and death column. I could head it,
'Hatched, Matched, and Snatched'----"

"That is perfectly horrid, Scott," protested his sister; "why do you let
him say such rowdy things, Kathleen?"

"I can't help it," sighed Kathleen; "I haven't the slightest influence
with him. Look at him now!"--as he laughingly passed his arm around her
and made her two-step around the room, protesting, rosy, deliciously
helpless in the arms of this tall young fellow who held her inflexibly
but with a tenderness surprising.

Duane smiled and seated himself on the edge of the bed.

"You plucky little thing," he said, "were you perfectly mad to try to
block that boar in the scrub? You won't ever try such a thing again,
will you, dear?"

"I was so excited, Duane; I never thought there was any danger----"

"You didn't think whether there was or not. You didn't care."

She laughed, wincing under his accusing gaze.

"You _must_ care, dear."

"I do," she said, serious when he became so grave. "Tell me again
exactly what happened."

He said: "I don't think the brute saw you; he was hard hit and was going
blind, and he side-swiped you and sent you flying into the air among
those icy rocks." He drew a long breath, managed to smile in response to
her light touch on his hand. "And that's how it was, dear. He crashed
headlong into a tree; your last shot did it. But Miller and I thought
he'd got you. We carried you in----"

"_You_ did?" she whispered.

"Yes. I never was so thoroughly scared in all my life."

"You poor boy. Are the rifles safe? And did Miller save the head?"

"He did," said Duane grimly, "and your precious rifles are intact."

"Lean down, close," she said; "closer. There's more than the rifles
intact, dear."

"Not your poor bruised body!"

"My self-respect," she whispered, the pink colour stealing into her
cheeks. "I've won it back. Do you understand? I've gone after my other
self and got her back. I'm mistress of myself, Duane; I'm in full
control, first in command. Do you know what that means?"

"Doe