d lightly patted my hand with the coin in it.

"Well, it's decided. You have got me for a next-door neighbor for a
while longer, Miss Smith. No, don't go yet."

So I stayed, who would have stayed in the Pit to be near him, or
walked out of heaven to follow him, had he called me.

"Do you know," he spoke in a plaintive voice--"that I haven't had
any lunch? I forgot to go home for lunch! Boris, go get me something
to eat, old chap!"

Boris hung out a tongue like a flag, looked in his man's eyes, and
vanished, running as only the thoroughbred wolf-hound can run.

"I am so tired! Should you mind if I kept my dog's place warm at
your feet, Miss Smith?" And he stretched his long length on the
pine-needles, his hands under his head, his face upturned.

"I wish I had a pillow!" he complained.

I scooped up an armful of the pine-needles, while he watched me
lazily, and packed it over and between the roots of the pine-tree.

"You're a Sister of Charity," said he, gratefully. "But I can't
afford to scratch my neck." And coolly he took a fold of my brown
silk skirt, patted it over the straw, and with a sigh of
satisfaction rested his head upon it.

"This is very pleasant!" he sighed. Presently: "Your hair looks just
as a woman's hair ought to look, under that brown hat," he said
drowsily, "soft and fair. And after this, I shall order some
brown-silk cushion-covers. I never knew anything could feel so
comfortable and restful!" He closed his eyes.

I sat there, hands locked tightly together, and looked down at his
beautiful head, his slim and boyish body; and I felt an aching sense
of resentment. No man has any business to be like that, and then
come into the life of a woman named Smith.

He did not move, nor did I. We might have been creatures motionless
under a spell, in that Enchanted Wood; until from the outside world
came Boris, carrying a wicker basket, in which sandwiches, fruit, a
small bottle of wine, and a silver drinking-cup had been carefully
packed.

"Boris is used to playing courier." His master patted him
affectionately. "Come, Miss Smith. By the way, that isn't your real
name, though. Your name is Woman-in-the-Woods. Mine is--"

"Fortunatus."

He raised his brows. "I was about to say 'Man-who-is-Hungry,'"
he finished, pleasantly. "I once knew an Indian named
Tail-feathers-going-over-the-Hill. It taught me the value of
being explicit as to one's name. Here, you shall have the cup,
and I'll drink out