o to bed,
and pull up in the daytime to clear the decks."

"And the big earthen pot in the fireplace--it has gruesome suggestions
of the 'Forty Thieves!'"

"Only a sort of perpetual hot-water tank. The fire never quite goes out
on this domestic hearth, and proves a very acceptable companion at this
high altitude. There is always the kettle on the crane, as you see it
there, but limitless hot water is the fine art of housekeeping--but,
perhaps you don't know the joy there is to be found in the fine art of
housekeeping?"

"No, I do not," her eyes took on a whimsical expression, "but I'd like
to learn--anything in the way of a new joy! In the way of small joys I
am already quite a connoisseur, indeed I might call myself a collector
in that line--of _bibelot_ editions, you understand, for thus far I seem
to have been unable to acquire any of the larger specimens! Would you be
willing to take me on as a pupil in housekeeping?"

"It would add to my employment a crowning joy--not a _bibelot_!"

"Pinchbeck fine speeches again," she shrugged. "Do you stop here all the
long summer quite alone?"

"All the 'short summer,'" he corrected, "save for the society of the
cat, who dropped down last year from nowhere. He must have approved of
the accommodations, for he has chosen me, you see, a second time for a
summer resort."

"Yes--I think he was trying to protest about you being his exclusive
find, when I invited myself to follow him down the mountain--leading and
eluding are so much alike, one is often mistaken, is it not so?"

She was sitting forward now, chin in hands, elbows on her knees, gazing
into the flames where a red banner waved above the back log. When she
turned to him again the westering sun had broken through the clouds and
was sending a flare of rosy light in at the window. Studying her face
more fully, he saw that she was years--fully ten years--older than he
had supposed. The boyish grace that sat so lightly was after all the
audacious ease of a woman of the world, sure of herself.

"I, too, am living the hermit life for the summer. I am the happy
possessor of a throat that demands an annual mountain-cure. Switzerland
with its perpetual spectacular note gets on my nerves, so last year we
found this region--I and my two faithful old servitors. Do you know the
abandoned tannery in the West Branch Clove? That has been fitted up for
our use, and there we live the simple life as I am able to attain
it--but you h